Billowing - an experiment in editing

Today's post is an experiment... rather than go out and snap shots to fit the subject, I decided to search my portfolio and take four not-so-good shots and try to improve them by converting to black and white or sepia.   

  I used to be the kind of photographer who wanted to show the world with an unfiltered eye, but have slowly come to realize that sometimes editing is necessary as what we capture isn't always what caught our eye in the first place.  

It is interesting to see just how different an image can look with a little change in perspective... just like life.

This shot was taken out the window of an airplane.  
I  liked the way the top of the clouds appeared wave-like, 
but the original image was a smear of tans and pale grays that 

were very unappealing.  This one is definitely an improvement 
on the original, though its still missing something... I do like the 
shadow being cast from clouds higher above, which 

wasn't as apparent in the untreated shot.

I really liked how the clouds looked across the sky in this shot, 
but felt it needed something in the foreground to give it interest.  
The original shot captured the tree in grays, which was lost in 
the image.  A change to sepia tones helped everything to 
stand out from one another, but it could still benefit from a 
bird or two in the sky to give it some life.

I love how this one turned out... the original had the sky in 
pale blues and grays while the trees were a darker gray, 
making everything a bit muddy.  Changing to sepia tones 
brought everything into balance, and yet made what was 
early morning clouds burning off with the rising sun take on 
the appearance of a menacing storm.  Love it. It is amazing 

how a little bit of editing gave this shot new life.

Loss of color helped this shot a lot, as the original had a 

pale sky and the flag looked rather washed out and

 faded in color.  The only thing I would do to improve this 

is to take time to smooth out the wrinkles in the flag itself 

as it looks as if it hasn't always been properly folded and 

stored. Which is a shame considering the building I shot 

this in front of.

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Worse than things going bump in the night....

Image courtesy of http://www.ceviu.com.br

I’ve been putting off this subject post for a long time now, seeing as how nightmares are a rather personal thing.  I feel that it is somewhat appropriate though that I post this today, seeing as this is my youngest sister Lucie’s birthday. 

Lucie is a fan of horror movies and I am not.  Luckily we have enough in common to compensate for this when we get together and want to watch something.  There are times, however, that she asks for something horror themed and I know that I am in for that creepy feeling as I walk to my car to head for home.  

You see, Lucie’s taste in horror is more along the lines of demons, ghosties and human possession rather than your average serial killer chopping up hitchhikers type of fare.  This is a bother for me in that I truly believe that there is more out there than what is easily seen, and I do believe that you can invite the wrong sort of feeling into your home when you embrace that kind of thing.

But I digress.  I wasn’t actually going to speak about horror movies today.

You would think that with my aversion to horror flicks that my nightmares would be tinted with ghouls and menacing figures, but most often they are not.  I rarely have nightmares, but when I do they are things that linger long afterwards.  You see my nightmares are of loss: the loss of my family, the loss of my friends… the loss of the people that matter most to me.

I know people will probably think heaps about my psyche and about how I have abandonment issues or some such garbage (I firmly do not believe in dream interpretation).  Rather, I believe it is because my family means everything to me, and it is precious.  It is something that I would fight to protect, so a dream where I am helpless to do anything is truly the worst horror that I can come up with.

Or so I thought...

So what does this have to do with my sister?  Well, I was 20 when she was born.  I watched my mom (who was in her 40’s at the time) struggle with health issues related to the pregnancy.  Mom had already lost a child in a previous pregnancy and there was of course that worry added to everything else.  The worst nightmares I ever had were during this period of time and one still haunts me even now, decades later.

In the dream I am faced by my mother and she is accusing me.  I am sobbing and trying in vain to apologize and find myself saying “it was an accident”.  In the dream I am responsible for the death of my brother, the child that in real life was stillborn (I won’t go into details because it isn’t important and also because it is very disturbing), but it was a highly detailed dream that carried over into the waking world, for when I awoke I was filled with the horror that I had actually committed murder.  

Needless to say I was up for the rest of the night….

I still find myself waking on occasion shaking and crying and filled with a conviction that I truly have killed someone; a feeling so real that I have to get up and walk away from the bed.  It takes time for reality to sink back in and allow me to calm down and reassure myself that it was only a dream and that I am not some horrible monster who has carelessly destroyed the life of an innocent baby and ripped a family apart in grief.

I have a good idea of what triggered this dream (something quite innocent actually) but it is something that I wish I could lose. To be haunted by something that has never happened is a terrible feeling. The fact that it has morphed over the years into something I wake up from only to find that I am still being accused (and realize upon waking for real that I only dreamt I had awoken) is just one more cruel twist of the knife.

Who knows, maybe it has served to make me a little more cautious than I would have been, but I can’t help but wonder if my mind could have come up with a nicer way of going about it.

Something involving prancing pastel ponies and orchards full of candy corn trees perhaps?  

The Magic of Snow

I awake to a ballet on a stage of white: forms leaping and twirling in their graceful dance upon drifts of air. Downy flakes drift from the sky, growing heavy under a warmth that threatens to transform their crystalline bodies into something infinitely more liquid.

I come out and pause a moment in reflection of snowflakes once captured on my tongue.  A random thought of tasting one again comes and passes as I move to take shelter in  my car, shaking the stowaway flakes from my hair and watching as they melt before they can hit the floor.

I drive; a reluctant participant in this impromptu third act on the stage of winter, and I wonder when did I stumble from childhood into this person I have become.

I have heard the sledders at night on the hill; their shrieks and laughter carry over the hush of snow, but I do not think to join them.  I think only of the warmth of my four walls and blankets of wool rather than the chilly white I once plunged into making angels of snow upon the lawn. I have grown cautious where once I would have roamed unfettered by the thought of wet socks and a runny nose.

When did I let go of childish adventures I wonder.  When did I trade youthful exuberance for adult restraint?
Did it pass while I slept?  Was it wished away with the blowing out of candles on a birthday long past? Or is it the result of some changeling being left in my place while I and those around me failed to notice.

I may still dream, but I have forgotten how to play, and find myself the poorer in soul for it.

I pull up to work, my driving done for the moment.  I look up at the flakes still swirling down and smile as they dance around as if enticing me to join them.  I hesitate a moment before thrusting my arms out and twirling; I open my mouth and sample the first snowflake in what seems a lifetime.  Its chill on the tongue passes quickly, but it tastes as sweet as they did long ago.

I lose myself for that moment and simply thrill at the scent of snow.

A passing car honks, bringing me from my play I allow myself a few more twirls before gathering up my things and making my way indoors.

Maybe I am not as lost as I thought after all.

Bonus!  As this blog is taken from word inspirations written by my brother, I thought I would share his own little thought on winter in here.