Lighting tone
721 creative works found
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Taken on the spectacular Victorian west coast – a place that I never tire of frequenting… Each visit evokes new and old excitement and humbles me into the awe of nature. / / / / Canon EOS A2, Velvia 50. / ©T.Middleton2008 / / —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—— /
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One of my favourite portraits of my Dad, doing what he loves more then anything else in the world fishing. If he could he’d spend every day fishing, as it is he sometimes wets a line three or four times a day. On this occasion I decided to get up early and document him enjoying his sport. This is the result, it has special sentimental value to me, but I felt like sharing it as something different to what I’ve been posting recently.
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Lake Bohinj, Slovenia. I shouldn’t really advertise it because one of the delights of this place is that it’s not too crowded… Available for sale as: / Laminated Prints, Cards, Mounted Prints, Canvas Prints and Framed Prints
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Garlic and chilli prior to being mortar and pestled for bolognese sauce. They were crushed along with a dash of virgin olive oil, whole black and red peppercorns, rock salt and fresh basil picked from my garden. Eventually cooked and simmered slightly with a brown onion, a dash of red wine and kalamata olives thrown in the mix along with some chopped fresh tomatoes. I took this image because I loved the organic natural woody textures and tones that beset them in the kitchen light. :)) Featured in the Natural Light and Color Group and the If it doesnt belong group!
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This is the version without border, suitable for matted prints, framed prints etc. with a border of your choice, for example: You may want to check the version with old-paper border: Also available as a T-Shirt: More hands: click here!
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WARNING / ©2008 Globalphotos All rights reserved. / All photographs, text and images by Globalphotos are the exclusive property of Globalphotos – protected under Australian and international copyright laws. / These images may not be reproduced, copied or manipulated without written permission. / No use for Public Domain. / Use of any image for another photographic concept or illustration is a violation of copyright.
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Here’s an image from a photo shoot I did yesterday posted with permission of course. Taken at 37 weeks of pregnancy
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my 12 yr old daughter
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“Praise” Photography & Artwork / by Holly Kempe © An agapanthus beginning to bloom. “Praise the young and they will blossom.” / ~Irish Proverb
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Two seagull feathers, each of equal importance.
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And Mary said: / “ My soul magnifies the Lord, / And my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior. / For He has regarded the lowly state of His maidservant; / For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed. / For He who is mighty has done great things for me, / And holy is His name. / And His mercy is on those who fear Him / From generation to generation. / He has shown strength with His arm; / He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. / He has put down the mighty from their thrones, / And exalted the lowly. / He has filled the hungry with good things, / And the rich He has sent away empty. / He has helped His servant Israel, / In remembrance of His mercy, / As He spoke to our fathers, / To Abraham and to his seed forever.” / ~Luke 1:46-55 Photomanipulation created in Photoshop CS2. Stock Credits: / Woman by faestock.deviantart.com / Textures by spiritsighs-stock.deviantart.com
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FOR ADAWG CHALLENGE Digital Abstract BANG! Sudden Expansion…Massive Explosion. The point at witch it all started, that is what this challenge is all about. / Show us your interpretation of the moment it all goes BOOM! UNFORGETTABLE
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STREETS OF LONDON /
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Such a mighty stream! No surprise that the waters of Trümmelbach are so powerful; the area this brook drains includes the famous glaciated mountain trio Eiger, Mönch, Jungfrau... Lauterbrunnental, Switzerland. July 2008. Canon EOS 300X, Sigma 28-135, Manfrotto tripod. Post-processing: retouch, tonality adjustment, sharpening, colorize, crop to square, subtle frame.
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It’s all about light in the Mantra of Love.
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Abstract nude monochromatic bodyscape of shoulder, back and butt of female model
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Torridon, Highlands, Scotland / / A Soft Caress of Welcome and the Scent of Old High Places. This spacious light was common in those days. A soft silk gossamer net that would have to fade to become mist. That would whisper across the glens in common history and Alexion’s gloaming myth memories. This and that would hide and seek, would become damp and shiver spider pearls from the Popish brown and purple of the mountain. Always catching the edge of a rough dress made from banned and ragged tartan. That would be secret sought for later remembered images and collapse in upon itself to find regional rural meaning. That would eventually create pictures that will hang in the hunting lodges of the rich and royal, in need of cleaning. It was morning fresh mood and midge covered evening in the latter end of Summer in the west. Alexion’s stories of the glen in her century. The Black house highland cow dung, black chicken pecked, villaged small secret world of the hidden and the regional self aware. The high views that were seen differently and with much less romance than now in this sad century. A wish to climb the highest in her remembered sight with the breathless wonder and detailed knowledge of the way down, but still not wanting to return to slavery. The stories mythical of a childhood in this fastness of black rock and crashing falling water. The black witch prediction watchfulness of a mother that did not care and besotted father who apparently did; but only in negative for his animals and the mountain at his back. The black seasoned preacher, with his genital showing perversion and stealing of nightgown righteousness. The light shafted mist that began and ended each short day of work. These were her words. These were the notes musical that tried to convince me of the strangely impossible. That fascinated my youth with such detail as to seem real and seen, experienced and happening then as even now. That to me were legends. That to her were as real as breathing. These she told across my neck lying sweat stuck together as we waited for our breath to come back from the past. That she shouted in her ghost voice to the moon and the unfaithfulness of man. Waiting for an explanation with hypnogogic understanding from me and extra detailed history from her. A soft caress of welcome and the scent of heather and old high places. The even softer accent of whispered clasping and spooned bodies that did not want to let go, no matter what forces were at play. Suppose you juxtapose this memory history with small, sweet sounds on the edge of hearing. Of cold softness, of the bed sinking from beneath and behind. Feeling the weight gradually, slowly filling. There are no sudden movements, only the gradual awareness of something else. Gradual and strange. A weight, a pushing back of the sheets. Of small arms across my chest. Very warm and pointedly aware of nakedness. The brushing of nipples across back and buttocks. There is always in this a smell, an evocative sense of something, somewhere else. Nothing I can usually or immediately resolve, but it comes anyway. I can remember every time a witches warmness moving slowly down my back, solar centring. Gathering around her madness and pulling me in. A prick scintillating pricking that does not feel like love, rising to a pointed word. The centre of a celtic spiral. This is far more than pleasure… She will then and only tell her stories, after the brief vicious coupling that rang in this present past with inexperience and needy solutions. That salty, like the sea, spurted with premature love and sang with unfulfilled hopes before we finished with each others thoughts and myths. / © 2009 Ken Simm.
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Black Cullins, Skye, Hebrides, Scotland. / /
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featured in Globes, Sphere’s&Curves 11-26-2009 / featured in Yellow Gallery 11-13-2009 / featured in Monochrome 11-04-2009 / featured in Peace, Love & Tranquility 11-04-2009 / featured in Bits&Pieces 11-02-2009 / featured in Imaginative Realism 11-02-2009 / featured in The World As We See It 11-02-2009 The summer sun is fading as the year grows old, / and darker days are drawing near, / the winter winds will be much colder, / now you’re not here. / I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky / and one by one they disappear / I wish that I was flying with them, / now you’re not here like the sun through the trees you came to love me / like a leaf on a breeze you blew away through autumn’s golden gown we used to kick our way / you always loved this time of year / loose fallen leaves lie undisturbed now / cos you’re not here like the sun through the trees you came to love me / like a leaf on a breeze you blew away a gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes / as if to hide a lonely tear / my life will be forever autumn / cos you’re not here / / Created with Apophysis & Incendia /
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Featured in: / Photo Manipulators Credits: / girl / background / lighthouse / storm Suggestions: / /
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