Fifteen
31 creative works found
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Mitty & Mandy were my neighbous cats. This was done in celebration of the fifteen years they spent with Shirley & Errol. / /
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a twist on Andy Warhol’s famous line…this is a comment about the rise of a new social phenomenon CCTV as entertainment and the fleeting nature of fame….
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I’ve been posting a few nudes etc lately so I thought I start putting up some more of my IR landscapes just for a change. Taken with IR film early one bright summer morning. here is its companion image Songlines framed
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THIS PIECE IS AVAILABLE TO PURCHASE AS A: / • Card / • Canvas Print / • Framed Print / • Laminated Print / • Matted Print / • Mounted Print / • Poster
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Fifteen Cards of My Photography
by Stephen MitchellNice. They arrived this afternoon. Thanks RedBubble. They look great. !http://www.redbubble.com/rbimages/works_work_main_view/Cards_On…
Nice. They arrived this afternoon. Thanks RedBubble. They look great. Here is a newer photograph which more clearly defines each card, also showing the back of the card.
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Detail: The 15 handprints, the sati marks of Maharaja Man Singh’s widows who threw themselves upon his funeral pyre in 1843, can be seen beside the Lohapol or Iron Gate at the Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur.
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My favorite fruit. Moiliili Community Garden, Honolulu. / Shot taken this morning, 30th April 2008. /
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These Cards Have Been Given a New Home
by Stephen MitchellAs previously mentioned, I purchased fifteen of my own photographs ...
As previously mentioned, I purchased fifteen of my own photographs as cards. I’d ONLY planned to give a few away as gifts to close friends, and in particular to the one person who convinced me that my photography was worth selling. She knows who she is. So this morning I brought fifteen cards into work purely to allow these friends to choose the picture they liked most … and allow them to have it for FREE. These are the photographs they choose. / / ... for Yve / ... for Rosie / ... for Jenny / ... for Liam / / Little did I realise what would happen next… / / First, Jenny liked them so much she insisted (read: I caved) on having four more. Who am I to argue with a woman? So I decided on a price, she agreed … and I earned another ten dollars. Yes, I reduced the cost to $2.50. But that’s what you do for friends, and free publicity. / / , , So I stopped for a minute to consider my options. Why not sell them? OK, so I had instructions from “SWMBO” to keep some for Xmas and Birthday cards later this year. I was implicitly told that two would go family interstate within the next week! / / So after a quick email, these two photographs were purchased by Yve: / / , Then Wendy said she might miss out – so she bought three (and asked for three that had already been purchased)! / / , , Whew! I feel exhausted and exhilarated all at once! And I need to remember to exhale. Because selling one’s artwork is like giving one’s children away. The photography and post-production is nothing compared with suddenly becoming a ‘recognised photographer’. One person did say I could make more money if I did all this myself. Possibly. But all I want to do is photograph. RedBubble remove the hassle by doing all the framing, laminated, sending, and finances for me! / / One more thing: Wendy also gave me the boost and the BEST Quote of the day : ” I’d rather spend my money on your work, not on Hallmark! “ / Wow, I’ve been compared with Hallmark – and won! She also indicated she will purchase more of my cards online. Only one of the didn’t sell. I get to keep this one for my desk: ‘A picture tells a thousand words’. I love this quote. No longer do I need to write to family and friends – I only have to take one photograph to write a thousand words!
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Fifteen Tripple Eight... Sounds like the price of a car!!!
by Craig WatsonI just went in to my “art” tab on “my bubble” and noticed there have been 15,888 views of my bubble… this sounds very much like…
I just went in to my “art” tab on “my bubble” and noticed there have been 15,888 views of my bubble… this sounds very much like the number being rattled off on TV adds these days about the price of a second hand car… HOW ODD!!!... LOL
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Or maybe fourteen, but fifty years ago, give or take. Oh, how carefree we are at that age, the innocence and the trust we have that life will always be fair. Oh, the dissolution, when we find out otherwise…oh, the faith, which keeps us going anyway.
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Departure!!
by Chris RichardsWell, today has finally come. In an hour and a half, I’ll be off to the airport to wait aropund for another four hours or so, and then…
Well, today has finally come. In an hour and a half, I’ll be off to the airport to wait aropund for another four hours or so, and then I’m hopping on a jet to Paris with about fifteen or so friends for… hey, fifteen days – never noticed that. Now, I dont know if someone or anyone at all really cares, but the travel agency we’re using has a site where they’ll be posting photos and such of the trip as it goes along. It’ll take a few days before the first set of photos to appear, but I believe uploads will be steady after that initial period. The website is right here on this wonderful clickable link and should give you all a sense of what I’ve been doing, where I’ve gone, and if I’m still alive, though I wouldn’t worry about that last one too much if I were you… I’ve got it under control =) Other than that, there’s not too much going on. I’m all packed, my shoes are by the door… now I just wait for the time to pass. You may hear from me along the way should I be able to find an internet cafe, but should I not, you’ll hear from me in two weeks =) Take care bubblers!! Chris Richards
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Fifteen days, eleven hundred hits
by Ginny SchmidtFirst of all, I have never been big on diary keeping, so this journal business does not come naturally to me. Not sure what the point is….
First of all, I have never been big on diary keeping, so this journal business does not come naturally to me. Not sure what the point is. I don’t get blogging. That said, this function must be here for a reason and appears to be encouraged. So. I post artwork both here and on ImageKind. A lot more on IK than here, because I am trying to be a little more discriminating about quality on RB. Although, to see some of the rude t-shirt designs, particularly to be found under the popular tab, I can’t help but wonder to whose idea of quality we are catering. Ennyhoo. I do not begrudge any contributor one iota of her or his successes. Some of the artists displayed on redbubble are extraordinarily talented. I feel humbled by their work. Even so, I have to admit that I don’t think that what I produce is half bad. So. What’s the secret for attracting viewers? A number of RB artists boast a thousand hits a day! I’d be grateful for half that…a quarter, even. Eleven hundred in a little over two weeks sounds so pitiful. Although, I must admidt that my IK collection averages about the same number of hits a day that I am getting on RB so that, with fewer pictures here (combining art and clothing), the view/picture stats are better on bubble. One guy’s post in a forum suggested some kind of hit meter so that he could tell how well his portfolio was stacking up to some redbubble norm. Nice if that sort of thing could be possible. Although I’m not sure how I would feel seeing proof of my dozens of hits per day against other people’s thousands. Could be a tad discouraging. Someone else asked how long does it take to sell, or get anyone to look for that matter. I empathize. There were several views to her post, but nobody had answered. So I did. She’s got some really nice work in her portfolio. But there does seem to be a great divide between the haves and the have nots here. Paupers and princes(ses) with a huge wasteland in the middle. Well, I gotta go feed my cat. Thanks for listening.
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another 15 cards of "Perfection" sold!
by Melissa Kosswigsuh-weet!
suh-weet!
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seemed like a lot of rods for them and when I went out there no fish were caught here at Hervey Bay Qld
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This one is for Clive!! Do you know why the numbers do not go all the way around the face of a sundial???
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Fifteen Years In Two Moments
by MayBoxCandy surveyed the blood-splattered linoleum thoughtfully. It was curious, she thought, how the old man had eventually kicked it on the o…
Candy surveyed the blood-splattered linoleum thoughtfully. It was curious, she thought, how the old man had eventually kicked it on the other side of the kitchen, yet the majority of the mess was on this side. ‘God damn pervert!’; she reprimanded the corpse. ‘Got what you deserve now haven’t you?’ Of course, her Southern-drawl was lost on the deceased ears of Farmer Joe. It had been less than a week since Candice Rye Truin McCoy’s release from Ranille Penitentiary (County prison of choice for particularly ‘troublesome’ teens). Left to hitch her way from the prison, Candy truly believed an Angel had intervened when Joe Tanner pulled over his green pick-up and asked why anyone would want to walk along this God-awful road in the middle of nowhere, all alone and at the peak of Summer? After three hours boring and exhausting walk along the deserted road without seeing a soul, perhaps the appearance of anyone, let alone Joe, would have seemed the manifestation of an Angel. ‘Just got outta Ranille, Sir‘, Candy had replied. She was a firm believer in honesty. Joe Tanner had laughed – right from his stomach; a real laugh – ‘Well, we all make mistakes then, don’t we Darl? Hop in’. The original plan was for Joe to drive Candy to the nearest gas-station, where she could make arrangements for a Freedom bus ticket back home. But as they drove, it seemed that between the unrelenting heat, the hum of the engine, the bourbon, and every mile of road bringing another mile of relaxed freedom to their conversation, the plan changed. Both though it would do Candy well to take a break from the drone of city dwelling for a while, and, Joe said, he and his wife could ‘sure do with some help around the farm…’ The ‘farm’ turned out to be a run-down old homestead about four hours from the nearest town and at least an hour from neighbours of any description. There were several unwell looking hens pecking about in the dead lawn surrounding some battered chicken coops, and a small walled area of half-living fruit trees. There was no sign of Mrs. Tanner anywhere, but Joe said she was just visiting aunts in Jervoy, and would be back in a day or so. Although far from the scene she had expected, Candy saw no harm in sticking to the ‘country air’ plan for a week or so, and spent the next two days collecting eggs, learning to kill, pluck and prepare chickens and picking shriveled apples from the sad orchard. Then Old Farmer Joe obviously decided to let his true intentions surface. At first, Candy brushed the perverted remarks aside, figuring the bourbon was to blame. The so-called ‘life’ her mother had left her to lead, mainly unsupervised, since the age of eight, had jaded Candy irretrievably, yet she was still rather naïve in a number of respects. But even Candy knew when enough was enough. ‘I don’t think you’re yourself, Joe’, she told him as he drunkenly groped her up against the dirty wall out front of the homestead. Incoherent dribble in response, she pushed him aside, letting him fall to his knees on the splintered wood of the verandah. ‘And where’s your damn wife, then Joe?’ Candy snapped at the farmer. She knew now that there was no such person as Mrs. Tanner. A real shame. She’d looked forward to meeting a true-life farmer’s wife – baking pies and talking family history and all that; like they did in movies. Candy walked inside to the lounge-room. ‘Might as well see if the old Shit’s got any money I can take before I leave’, she thought. The lounge was really in a state of disarray. Not just mess, like if you didn’t clean your lounge for a few days, but real ground-in dirt, as though a caring hand hadn’t graced the place in years. Candy scolded herself for not realising the truth of the situation earlier, but decided there wasn’t much point ruminating about it. Best thing to do, was to get some money and cigarettes and just leave. No real harm done. Maybe she’d even take the pick-up if she could find where Joe put those keys…or just wire the thing like the girls in Ranille talked about. She could leave it some place safe and the old creep could get and find it himself. There was no money to be found in the lounge. Candy threw a pile of porn magazines at the wall in disgust as she made her way through the door to the equally filthy kitchen. A groaning-creak from the wooden sleepers of the verandah told her Joe was up and about again; she had better work quickly. ‘God, Mrs. Tanner!’ Candy muttered to herself as she rummaged the dusty cupboards. ‘You’re a real bitch for not even existing you know!’ In futile desperation Candy tore open the door of the hundred-year-old looking refrigerator. There must be at least something in this hole worth taking? What Candy saw when she opened the refrigerator door was without doubt the most disturbing sight she had ever laid eyes on. In fact, ‘disturbing’ didn’t even come close to a decent description for it; was this Mrs. Tanner? Maybe the farmer’s wife did live and breathe once upon a time after all… Candy retched; unable to tear her eyes away from the sickening, rotten mess sloughing it’s way between the wire of the refrigerator shelves. Her stomach heaved again; this time she really did vomit. With head-spinning and trembling hands she managed to slam the refrigerator door. She turned away, gasping in air from as far away from the refrigerator as possible. Then he was there, as if from nowhere, grinning like a boy who just won a show-bag. ‘Seems you’ve been acquainting your sweet self with my lovely wife, Miss McCoy’ Joe drawled, smashing his glass of bourbon down on the table in the centre of the room. The cracked glass fell into itself in apathy, as if passively joining the rest of the filth and wreckage surrounding it. Up till now, Candy had thought it was all just sayings and nonsense about ‘hearing your own heartbeat’ and ‘thunder in your ears’. Now all she could do was shake her head in disbelief; as if doing so would prevent what she predicted would be a seizure of fear if she didn’t. And she did hear the thunder, and felt an iron weight on her chest. But this wasn’t her time. No, she’d had enough of this world’s shit – this monster was not gonna take her out. ‘What you think you’re gonna do, Joe?’ she managed to rasp. Joe laughed – that gut-laugh again – ‘What you think you’re gonna do, Joe?’ he parodied her cruelly. He grabbed a large rounded blade – a sickle – from a hook on the wall, and swung it casually. ‘Depends what you think you might like to do for me, sweet Candy’ he leered. As if enacting every cliché she’d ever heard, Candy watched her own self as though from a distance; tearing over the table, her left hand grabbing the broken glass before Joe could register her actions; swiping the jagged edge across his throat with as much force as she could manage. Joe stumbled back, dropping the sickle, and clasped both hands to his throat. Blood seemed to spurt like small explosions from the wound; but Candy was dubious of the damage she’d done. Without further thought she snatched up the sickle from where it lay and slashed across Joe’s front and once more at his throat. He dropped to the floor, his feet sliding in his own blood. ‘Got what you deserved’, Candy spat breathlessly. ‘Got what you deserved’, she repeated, again and again. Minutes passed. Her heart seemed to slow, or at least sound a little quieter. Joe was still now. Without warning, a surge of rage swarmed over Candy as she took in the scene surrounding her. The filthy kitchen, the knowledge of the foul monstrosity in the refrigerator, the memories of the last fifteen years. The site of the perverted, fallen-angel in Joe before her. ‘God damn pervert!’ she screamed at the bloodied, unresponsive body. ‘Got what you deserve now HAVEN’T YOU??!!’ No matter her words were lost on a corpse, Candy was alive. And she was free. Unleashed at last.
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bathing beach box number fifteen on the beach in Brighton, Melbourne, Australia. MELBOURNE IN PHOTOS
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This reminds me of a scence from “The Birds.” / I was wondering if they had something dead in the attic. / That was such a weird day I had to post this. / Usually we geat a pair of Turkey Vulture in the area. / This was quite unusual! / Best Viewed Large Please visit my Birds Gallery / Or visit my website Cometman.com
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f22 / 1/4 / iso100 / 28mm
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While shooting some pool at my brother’s home I decided to do some shooting of another kind. Pool Balls and crossed cue sticks make an interesting and colorful still life.
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