I definitely go for the 14 - 24 mm more often. This is one of those times I’m so glad I abandoned the ‘whole’ for the details. St. Peters Basilica interior dome is one of the most magnificent works of art; it’s crafted from millions of tiny pieces of stained glass. I’m so glad that this time I went tight and captured some of the detail. Had I shot wide? I might not appreciated this artistry of this masterpiece quite as much.
Thinking that today will be a good day to just take one thing and enjoy the fine details. Have a great Sunday
Yesterday it was lunch outside and today I was at the waterfalls …. rain! Hard driving-soaking rain! Did it alter anything? No, just put on rain ponchos a. A big shout out to our excellent waitress, ~Ashley~ at McMuneman’s Exgefiekd who got ponchos for us from the gift shop! Now that’s excellent customer service!
I love the sweet smell of freshly mowed alfalfa hay. It’s the smell of summer: sunshine, sweetly perfumed breezes and smiles that are etched on faces. As a kid, I use to love a fresh load of alfalfa hay. We’d immediately head up to the hay loft, building forts and nibbling on succulent stems. This is tranquility….
Wishing you some summertime tranquil moments this Monday.
This replica of Stonehenge was created and donated by Sam Hill as a tribute to the Veterans of World War 1 who lost their lives. It was dedicated July 4, 1918 in Maryhill, Washington. This is a part of my collection of texture over-lay images from my Eastern Washington and Bend in the Road series.
I’ve always loved the muted tapestries of the rolling hills and sage brush that are now sprinkled with bold splashes of green infused vineyards. The countryside and sage brush has always reminded me of plush, soft, velvet. Because this place isn’t just visual but very textural for me; I’ve created this collection of work of HDR images infused with rich texture overlays. To me, texture begets texture.
This collection is about the tapestries of our journeys and what lies just around the bend.
I’ve always loved the sage brush, wheat and golden rolling hills of Eastern Washington. It’s very mesmerizing. I’m forever taunted with a desire to reach-out and stroke my hand across them—they look soft as velvet. It’s ironic how wiry their texture actually is. Sage is not a color I particularly even like: I’d never paint a room that color, buy a piece of furniture or wear something sage colored—yet, I can’t take my eyes off of the sage brush. They look so rich, velvety soft and fluffy, even when the wind blows them tumbling away. This collection is all texture overlays because to me, this country side is all about texture.
This field of golden wheat gently catches the breeze and makes a whisper of sound. The blue vistas in the distance are some of the most impressive mountain ranges in Oregon and Washington. The lonely path leads to the shack that was once a home.
I was driving down the highway and I saw it! There it was—the Love Shack—and she pulled me in with her voodoo magic. She possessed such mystery, yet she was well known by the worn path to her door; she was desolate, yet prominently displayed in the foreground of one of the most majestic views. The barbed wire didn’t slow me down at all. I was over the fence and ready to follow the curiously ‘odd’ cleared path that lead to her door. I hesitated as my mind wondered the possibilities that lie before me: haven for some homeless, site of nefarious goings-on, teenage party palace or love shack. My flip flop covered feet stepped very deliberately and guarded because I knew the field could be filled with large copperheads and other assorted rattlesnakes. Then I heard the faint rattle in the distance as if to dare me to venture closer. How I wanted to follow the path all the way to the door, but fear kept me away. I settled on my spot and drank in all there was to offer: the sweet smell of wheat, the bitter taste of adrenaline on my lips, the warm sun on my skin, the gentle breeze and the soft rhythmic beat of the distant rattles.
Each time I head westward I can’t wait for my return and each time, I’m a bit more prepared with boots and resolve to venture forward. Last time I made it to the front door. There was a big long hole that had been dug in the dry, rocky soil that looked like it was a to be a grave. The wall outside the doorway had warnings carved into the wood and inside were pentagrams carved on the walls, while other walls were carved with young affirmations of infatuation and initials.
I love this old dilapidated house. I’ve returned to it and I plan to again. It’s a house with a shady past and a risque story. The house once was home to two spinster sisters that allegedly kept a young man their ‘love slave.’ I love that it sits isolated in the middle of a huge field of ripened wheat.
The first time I photographed it, there was a path worn down from the road back to the shack. The wheat was 3 feet tall, and this path was 3 feet wide, and weaved it’s way through the wheat and back to the shack. I so desperately wanted to venture back to the shack and explore but my flip flops, and fear of getting captured for trespassing, kept me at bay. You have to understand two important things: this field was likely full of big, deadly venomous rattle snakes, and my car was right along the main highway so my activity would be very visible to any passing police cars. The next time I returned the field was full of activity, with big massive combines thrashing the wheat. I approached one of the men who appeared to be a supervisor and asked if I could take pictures of this old shack and that of course, I would be careful not to disturb anything and assumed all personal liability. The man probably thought I was nuts and granted me passage. After all, I was probably their afternoon entertainment.
I’m planning a venture back to Oregon, and I have this and more on my list of places I plan to shoot.