Petar
1 member found
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Petar
Australia
58 creative works found
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What do you call the light that permanently imprints itself into the deepest corner of your cerebral real estate? Just a memorable one, divine, sublime? The star was going down fast, as it was just a matter of ‘to get it over and done with‘ a daily sunset routine – until that moment. Like it was switched on by some all powerful hand residing somewhere in the center of a kingdom of light, the sunbeam reached across the valley, bringing all the associated attributes with it, like joy and warmth, just for a few moments, before disappearing altogether. The blue cold haze drowned the beautiful Hawkes Bay valley, but not before the last ray of sun got there first. I was standing in awe … for a while in fact, still in disbelief. Review button and LCD screen confirmed it did happen. Sweet. I’ll treasure selfishly the melody of breeze passing through the treetops, the smell of golden grass and feel of fallen leafs under my feet. Not to worry, I left something to share with you. Here it is.
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The road to cloud nine, where our new attitude energy is supposed to come from.
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I caught up with my thoughts just before Greytown, the storm caught up with me shortly after.
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I was seldom able to see an opportunity until it had ceased to be one. Mark Twain (1835 –1910)
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A fact never to be underestimated – someone, out there, may still call this their birthplace. It captured my attention while in the car on my way south. A short walk on the gravel road is all it took to reach the old house that parted with its best years sometime in the last millennium. That colour, the textures of decaying wood, rusting roof and the remains of the dead tree, fallen where it lived, still searching with its long fingers for the occupants, long gone. I was mesmerised by the scene. There is something profoundly sad about the remains of buildings, any kind of ruins. Is it because they remind us of the inevitable and our disposability in this world. And all the usual questions: how old is it, who lived in it, and will it make it to the next autumn or even next week? Time to go, I had better move. The sky of ‘I mean business’ colour has been gathering strength for a while. Its forward party already seized the strategic heights from the playful patches of the late afternoon sun. When it hits, it will hit hard. On the way back, just one more look … enough time to take another breath of impressions, to treasure, and an image to share, with you.
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We don’t have to protect the environment, the Second Coming is at hand. / / James Watt
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What is it that I love about the mountains? Is it the shape, the one I remember I used to draw as a kid, the grandeur on such a scale that easily outsize anything ever made by man, or just the special kind of atmosphere that always seems to linger around these giants. This is a striking mountain. I couldn’t stop looking at it, and just like with a beautiful women, you seem to notice a new set of attractive details with each pass your eyes make. The light was soft, the sun generous but the clouds were restrictive, creating deep, strong and wide shadows. At the end it didn’t matter, only giving the whole sight a rich, painting like quality. Enough talking. Indulging in beauty is a hard job, I know that better than anyone, and the moment is perfect for a rest-stop. The usual muffin and a flat white would give me enough strength to push the release button until the day expires, but where? That’s an easy one – the mountain house on the slopes of the volcano, where else.
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If you are not prepared to give up your past, you may as well ride back into it.
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If God forbade drinking, would He have made wine so good? Cardinal Richelieu (1585 –1642) Our personal space seems to require considerably more real estate when in wide open areas or places that we don’t expect to find other people. Another couple, tourists by the look of them, pitched their tent with a clear view of the iconic mountain, a colossal cone made by someone or something in search of true perfection. It didn’t bother me though. A mutual wave of hand exchanged the intense common feeling, only possible between souls who passionately share a love for the same thing. Seaspray found its way into the car and mixed with the mellow music into a mind thawing brew. Only a few olives away from completing an award winning sandwich, something made me look over my left shoulder. The way a scratch on vinyl does it to a beautiful melody, the scene ripped a sore through the self induced nirvana. Oh, the vision I had, that little hallucination of mine. It was a cloud in the shape of a giant tsunami, a half mountain high about to splash into it and turn the whole world, myself, my drinks, a loaf of exotic bread, cold meats and half finished sudoku, into a big featureless swamp. I learnt later, the entire incident was the result of an ancient curse of Bacchus, invoked without exception upon any soul who dares to consume fine wine from a plastic cup. Don’t do it.
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“If your pictures aren’t good enough, you’re not close enough“. Robert Capa’s wisdom echoes as fresh today as it ever was. If you accept the truth that you can’t be too close, how far is too far? I was sharing the afternoon with my computer, all the light stuff, browsing and shifting files around, when events in the harbour hijacked my attention Just one look through the window, and you know it’s the moment you should be part of, somehow. As a dedicated instinct driven photographer you grab your camera and run into the oncoming rain, braving the wild wind and the clusters of objects, which on an ordinary day don’t reside in mid air, just to get a shot, or better, The Shot. Not quite, not me. I did take my compact camera but observed the menace for a while behind the safety of a closed window. The dark clouds extinguished the sunlight within minutes, and what was left of it refracted considerably before hitting the harbour from different angles, creating an extraordinary dance of light and shadows on the motionless surface of the ocean. I took a couple of shots from left to right with the clear intention of stitching them together. Shortly after, the darkness descended. How come the most threatening events can look so spectacular? The storm climbed uphill and started to shake the house, rattling windows in an attempt to rip the glass from the frames, as it wished to suck in that couch potato and spit him out there, where he should be. Yeah baby, just go hard; you may be angry but the structure is sound, and I know it. I casually walked back to my seat and continued browsing the Net as if nothing had happened. What else can you do on a day like this?
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Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old. Franz Kafka (1883-1924)
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Memory feeds imagination. Amy Tan
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If I can put one touch of rosy sunset into the life of any man or woman, I shall feel that I have worked with God. G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936)
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A fireplace with no home to keep warm, in the peak of a dry season.
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Yes, that very delightful illumination, the one I‘ve been searching for a long time, far and wide, the light indescribable and as elusive as ever. Like in this landscape, where the dark forest still drains its branches, just moments after the mean storm and the sun reappears cautiously in a quest to reclaim the heavens from the gloomy threat, highlighting the spots on the puffy clouds and the ground, randomly, or possibly in a pattern I can’t comprehend. The very luminosity that makes you start seeing things – around the ruin of an old house, behind the mysterious woods, between shy little clouds that float slightly above the tree tops and all the creatures that only need a good reason or a site like this to crawl out from your subconscious self, right from the deepest ends of your storytelling childhood memories. I know, I should get serious and meet my age specs, but with a scene like this before my eyes and a camera in hand, that may not be trivial, even worse, I may be too old to grow up now.
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Love of beauty is Taste. The creation of beauty is Art. Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)
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I think we consider too much the good luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the early worm. Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882-1945)
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Fashions fade, style is eternal. Yves Saint Laurent (1940-2008)
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Some people claim they witnessed sights before they were born; here is my 1953 recollection of a path to the lighthouse.
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We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children. / / Native American Proverb
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Just like you, once upon a time i was a beautiful promise.
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Ah me! Love can not be cured by herbs. Publius Ovidius Naso (43 BC – 17 AD)
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On a perfect day, everything that matters in life can fit into a single frame. I am pretty sure you know what I mean by a statement like this. A chilly morning starts with a haze trapped in the garden treetops, and you blossom with a completely unprovoked smile on your face. Lunch tastes like it is your last, the warm air around the table smells of exhilaration. Night is peaceful, with the sky of colours seen only on postcards from exotic lands that make you wish you were there. Hold on, I was there. Yes, it was a short trip on a rural road from the regional centre to the lovely beach. The sun was already low, somewhere between the sun visor and the horizon. I had only a quarter of an hour to make a shot. I must have taken at least a half a dozen images of the scene before I saw them. A couple, their footwear in their hands and a dog, barely visible here sniffing the rounded rock, emerged from the cliff shadows. The animal spotted me, and decided to check out the puffed middle aged man with his shoes full of sand and a photo bag that is ripping off his shoulder, a someone who clearly doesn’t fit in the surroundings. Despite the odds, I seemed to smell ok. They waved. My initial thought was, I had no intention of posting an image of a couple in love on a sunset lit beach, no way. But then, it must have been the overall warmth of the picture painted by the beautiful blazing star that gives us existence, the pacific that outlines our sovereignty, multihued sky crisscrossed with the Golden Fleece left by the planes on the air corridor North-South, and the mighty dark cliffs of the West Coast vanishing into the horizon. And of course, Love, eternal and pure Love.
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