Grew
57 creative works found
-
So tiny, yet so powerful. They rustle like paper when touched and I can never resist brushing them ever so lightly with a fingertip.
-
...and danced by the light of the moon. Many thanks to my dear friend Lu for her encouraging words. self portrait
-
I grew these little snapdragons myself from seeds so they turned out really tiny… a little smaller than my thumbnail.
-
I grew these marigold myself… to me they look like orange candy.
-
A variation of Poppy Dark, Dismal, Bright, and 3 with a little added prose for effect.
-
but they need constant attention, so one day I decided I had better things to do… / ~Storypeople
-
mixed media on canvas / Original size 50.8cm x 60.9cm (20”x24”)
-
Winner of the MULTI-COLORED FOOD DISPLAY in the Bits and Pieces group – June 2009 Featured in Black with a hint of colour – August 2009 / Featured in the Berries, Seeds and Fruits group © Walker 2009 No part of this image may be copied or reproduced in any way without permission. All rights reserved. /
-
A shirt depicting the iconic mountain, Mt. Blanca, located in the vast San Luis Valley. Intended for current and former San Luis Valley residents.
-
Four Bewick’s Wrens about to leave the nest…which was a bird feeder…. Rock Hollow Lodge, Arcadia, Oklahoma / 27 June 2009 1425 hrs Nikon D2X / Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 VR / SB-600 Speedlight ISO 100 -0.3 EV / F/8 1/60 sec
-
“Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?” / Frida Kahlo
-
These 4 were commissioned for someone’s office
-
Grace (8)growed them and Kristen (10)took the picture… / photo /
-
FOR BETTER VIEWING GO LARGER Alpine National Park Mount Buller / There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around / That the colt from old Regret had got away, / And had joined the wild bush horses – he was worth a thousand pound, / So all the cracks had gathered to the fray. / All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far / Had mustered at the homestead overnight, / For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are, / And the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight. There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup, / The old man with his hair as white as snow; / But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up - / He would go wherever horse and man could go. / And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand, / No better horseman ever held the reins; / For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand, / He learnt to ride while droving on the plains. And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast, / He was something like a racehorse undersized, / With a touch of Timor pony – three parts thoroughbred at least - / And such as are by mountain horsemen prized. / He was hard and tough and wiry – just the sort that won’t say die - / There was courage in his quick impatient tread; / And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye, / And the proud and lofty carriage of his head. But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay, / And the old man said, “That horse will never do / For a long a tiring gallop – lad, you’d better stop away, / Those hills are far too rough for such as you.” / So he waited sad and wistful – only Clancy stood his friend - / “I think we ought to let him come,” he said; / “I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end, / For both his horse and he are mountain bred. “He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side, / Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough, / Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride, / The man that holds his own is good enough. / And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home, / Where the river runs those giant hills between; / I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam, / But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.” So he went – they found the horses by the big mimosa clump - / They raced away towards the mountain’s brow, / And the old man gave his orders, “Boys, go at them from the jump, / No use to try for fancy riding now. / And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right. / Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills, / For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight, / If once they gain the shelter of those hills.” So Clancy rode to wheel them – he was racing on the wing / Where the best and boldest riders take their place, / And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring / With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face. / Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash, / But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, / And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash, / And off into the mountain scrub they flew. Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black / Resounded to the thunder of their tread, / And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back / From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. / And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way, / Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide; / And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day, / No man can hold them down the other side.” When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull, / It well might make the boldest hold their breath, / The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full / Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. / But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head, / And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer, / And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed, / While the others stood and watched in very fear. He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, / He cleared the fallen timber in his stride, / And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat – / It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride. / Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground, / Down the hillside at a racing pace he went; / And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound, / At the bottom of that terrible descent. He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill, / And the watchers on the mountain standing mute, / Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still, / As he raced across the clearing in pursuit. / Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met / In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals / On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet, / With the man from Snowy River at their heels. And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam. / He followed like a bloodhound on their track, / Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home, / And alone and unassisted brought them back. / But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot, / He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur; / But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot, / For never yet was mountain horse a cur. And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise / Their torn and rugged battlements on high, / Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze / At midnight in the cold and frosty sky, / And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway / To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide, / The man from Snowy River is a household word today, / And the stockmen tell the story of his ride. The Bulletin, 26 April 1890. / THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER by A.B. “Banjo” Paterson Equipment: Nikon D300, Sigma 10-20mm lens , Manfrotto Tripod / Technique : HDR 5 Exposures, Photomatix 3.2, Capture NX
-
As Their Numbers Grew In Size It Became Obvious To Us All Exactly What They Were After
by matthewdunnartThis was a CD packaging design, constructed using various monkeys I’d used for t-shirt designs, and then ditched at the last minute for another design I’d put together. So rather than let it sit on my hard drive gathering dust I thought I’d post it up here. The banana in the speech bubble is my little tribute to “Zombies VS Robots” by Ryall and Wood (a wonderful comic series that everyone should own).
-
Look, I grew you a kitten! How can some people hate cute kitten moments? To all of you who love them: Good on you!!! Canon Digital Rebel / 1/80 sec / F 4 / ISO 100
-
Photo, ink, coffee stains and photoshop
-
experiment
-
love is fragile but if you care for it and water it then it will flourish :) text says” it started out as a feeling…then grew into love.” in the shape of a breeze
RedBubble is a great place to find art, design, photos and writing from over 80,000 talented people.
You can buy their stuff
On stunning greeting cards, awesome t-shirts or beautiful prints to hang on your walls.
Risk Free Returns
It’s really simple. If you’re not happy with your purchase for any reason, we’ll fix it.
About RedBubble
Since February 2007 we’ve shipped over 331,500 items to more than 70 countries around the world.
Join In
Sign up for your free account, upload your work, join some groups and share your creative genius with the world.