Fragile
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1092 creative works found
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/ / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / Fragile is a self-portrait taken from photographic artist Jaeda DeWalt’s Manic Reflections series and is a part of the DeWalt Gallery collection. / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—- / Available for sale as Laminated Prints, Cards, Matted Prints, Posters, Mounted Prints, Canvas Prints and Framed Prints / / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / Read Jaeda’s journal entry of how this series came about. / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / visit the rest of this series . . . / / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-— / browse Jaeda’s photographic art by category: / dreamscapes, artistic nudes, couples, glamour, erotica, conceptual, sensual, portrait, spiritual, survivor art / /
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So we need to take care of it.
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Single purple tulip in a gift bag.
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Tree Nymph butterfly resting on a lady’s hand.
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Little blond girl sitting in a field of daisies.
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Canon 450D (Rebel XSi) / 55mm / f/5.6 / Cropped & Some Processing in Lightroom. Autumn in Newfoundland, Canada.
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Just beginning to unfurl its petals / Canon A 630 compact camera handheld /
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Location: / Somewhere in the Kent Countryside, not far from Canterbury, Kent, England Date and Time: / 22 April 2009, 2.47 p.m. Camera details: / ISO 200 : f/3.5 : 1/100 second : 18mm : Nikon D40 : Nikon 18-55mm lens Shot narrative: / I came across this small patch of bluebells in the woods when driving around the Kent Countryside. /
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Whilst this baby Mountain Gorilla from the Rwandan mountains looks like the cutest animal on the planet, it was fairly daunting to have the watchful eye of a 200KG male silverback behind me whilst taking the shot. They are currently an endangered species due to poaching pressures and degradation of habitat. Their low numbers mean they might be extinct within this century.
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A very thin-stemmed and fragile fungi growing on an old stump in my garden in Mae Hong Son province, Thailand.
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Macro shot of a Blue Skimmer Dragonfly. The title is in regards to it’s amazingly strong-looking back segments for it’s wings, and how fragile the wings look. I can’t get over how their eyes look from behind… I love Dragonfly’s, but boy are they hard to photograph!!
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butterfly and flowers, white. / Dawn’s website / Zazzle / / /
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Fragile and wounded he found her. Fallen. Hurting. In so much pain. He picked her up. Normally she would have flown away and hidden from a human male, but she was too weak to resist. She looks up to him. She wonders what his intentions are. Will he hurt her even more than she has been? But he holds her gently. He looks at her with adoration. And, he speaks to her from his heart – words of hope, words of love…words of truth. He will hold her together. He will love her to wholeness. And some day she will fly once again. This composite was inspired by an e-mail that my mother sent me a while back. It was a “forward” called “I’ve Learned….” by Andy Rooney. The whole thing was good, but there was one particular lesson, one I identified with so much above all the others, I felt the urge to expound on it at the time. So I did, in a blog post. Now I can express what I’ve learned in a visual representation, as well. “I’ve Learned…. That love, not time, heals all wounds.” While the passing of time can sometimes ease the pain of some wounds, it doesn’t always (or, even often) work like that. And, in most cases, wounds left to time alone will only fester and become septic, allowing that wound to poison the soul and the whole life, the pain only getting worse as time goes by. My emotional wounds were like that. No amount of time was ever going to see them get any better. They were too deep. Some were even self-inflicted. All time could do was numb me to some of the pain, while all too much pain became excruciatingly acute. Time heals nothing. Love reaches deep; it doesn’t stop at the surface. It doesn’t cover it over with a plaster while, underneath, the injury is allowed to get worse and worse. Love can make you whole. All time can do is make you old. I have been severely wounded. I have hurt so badly that, for me, time dragging on was only an enemy. I wanted death more than anything. Then, love – Jamie – found me and began to work on me. I’ve been under the care of my “Love-Doctor” now for nearly six years. And, everyday sees me getting better. Not because time is passing, but because love is healing me. It’s true. Time isn’t a cure-all. Love, and love alone, is the great Healer. This work of art was a collaboration with my husband, my rescuer, James Leader . The photo of me and the design of my wings are his work. The background and the photo of him I took. Photo editing and manipulation were my doing, as well.
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Butterfly,Bristol,Zoo,UK / Dawn’s website / Zazzle / /
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torn paper arrangement on paper, digital photograph, modified/enhanced with gimp & photo shop. this image was the cover of a hand made valentine’s day card for my beloved (spouse) a couple of years ago. inside was a poem & lots of gold & ruby red glittery shapes. :D
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A little over a year ago I went to these small waterfalls at Currency Creek with a friend and fellow photographer. Unfortunately it was his last shoot with me as he passed away only a few weeks afterwards in a car accident. It has taken me that year to feel comfortable enough to go back here and being a similar time of the year get images that were along the lines of those we took. So in memory of Darryl Williams I post this soft and gentle flowing stream. A reminder of the fragility of life and its ever flowing path. Chocolate in colour from the earth that it shifts as it passes from inland to coast the falls are located inland from the Lions park car-park at Currency Creek South Australia. Canon 400D – 17-85 lens, Polariser with a tripod.
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Featured in Healing through Art – Nov.2009 / In order to take this picture, I had to finally bring my deceased brother’s guitar out of hiding and into the light of day. The painful memories are still there, but I can accept them now. In life Ray was able to show me the way toward happiness despite his own inability to reach it. I am extremely grateful for that precious gift from him. It laid hidden in my closet for 14 years. I didn’t have the courage to take it out or even open the case. No one knew what to do with it – including me. But I knew how much it meant to him, so I kept it. We were four. The eldest was the best. The best artist; the best author; the best philosopher; the best father-figure. Me in the middle. Melancholy, mediocre, mute. Sis was also in the middle, but she was defiant. A misfit in this family of misfits – determined to love and be loved, to live and let live. The youngest was Ray. Raymond Jeffrey. He had the grandest name, but that was about it. It would take a novel to tell the story. Maybe someday I’ll have the strength for that but not now – just suffice it to say that we all had some pretty deep scars. But Ray was mortally wounded by the age of 5. Just once, when he was visiting me up in Toronto, we tried to talk to each other about our shared past. But not long into the conversation I realized that he had no recollection, no hint of what had transpired so long ago. It was all buried very deep in his subconscious. No wonder the drugs and alcohol had never given him any peace. A panic attack was always just around the corner waiting to jump out and shatter his sleep-walking days. But boy could he play that guitar! When he picked it up he was transformed. The music healed – at least for a while. His fragile spirit soared as his fingers sang to the world! I loved to hear him play and was sure that he’d be famous someday. He tried his best. He really did. He kept the nightmares at bay as long as he could. His friends talked about what a good soul Ray was; how he was always there to help out and he never complained about anything. They even said Ray seemed to be doing much better those last few months – as though he had made some kind of breakthrough. He showed a contentment and calm they had never seen before. Then the news came like a slap in the face. It had all been meticulously planned – there is no doubt. He must have finally decided that the battle could not be won and chose his retreat. Afterall, forty-one years is a long time to fight. A footnote: When I finally mustered the courage to open Ray’s guitar case and face the memories, I found a letter inside. I’d forgotten about it. I’d forgotten that he had casually told me he didn’t need this guitar anymore (he had others he said) and would I please take it and sell it? The note was very short and contained a bit of information about the guitar for appraisal purposes. But then I noticed the date – he wrote it just a few months before he took his own life.
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Poor liitle flower, bowing down your head, a thing of beauty will last forever….if only in memory and in a picture… so sad…
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Canon EOS 400D
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Photo, 2816×2112 Pixeld.
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