Surprise
434 creative works found
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Won’t somebody think of the children?
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11th installment of the pingpong colab. / Aaaahhh…. finally finished it. Its ridiculous how much time I’ve spent doing this, probably the longest of all Lookout series. Feel like something fishy (been eating a lot of fish and chips lately) Check out all previous versions here or shortcuts here: 1. Lookout!: Search 2. Lookout!: Mystery 3. Lookout!: Reach 4. Lookout!: Evil Emerges 5. Lookout!: Battlefield 6. Lookout!: Not Over Yet 7. Lookout!: Beyond the Gate 8. Lookout!: Is the battle over? 9. Lookout!: Greetings! Friend or foe 10. Lookout!: Currently peaceful, will it last? 11. Lookout!: Fallen Flight
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Wild and curious red squirrel backlit. Taken in Baxter State Park, Maine, USA.
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part of my work for { the cleanskin collectif }... visit our official website for more info + interesting articles + more photos! / www.cleanskincollectif.com model: mishka la mink
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Chinese & Amsterdam Storeys
by Maxwell Edward“Good afternoon Gentlemen. Our delicious Chinese restaurant serves some of the greatest Chinese delicacies. Can I take your orders?” J…
“Good afternoon Gentlemen. Our delicious Chinese restaurant serves some of the greatest Chinese delicacies. Can I take your orders?” Jermaine takes charge as usual. “I imagine you can sir. Well my friend will have special fried rice and I will have special sweet n sour chicken. Could you make sure it’s especially sweet n sour though? Thanks sir.” People love to eat Chinese. More often the meals though…for the appetisers may prove too fattening over time. Neville and Jermaine have definitely had their share of fattening up over time. Neville is said to eat more Chinese than most Chinese and as for Jermaine, he probably eats more of most things than most people. “Jerry, don’t you think it’s strange how he mentioned they serve some of the greatest Chinese delicacies?” Jermaine who finds nothing short of highly unusual strange, makes a joke from anything less of great importance. “_Why_? What did you expect in a Chinese Restaurant, Indian food?” Neville who hears these jokes more often than not (but still not in appreciation of them) seems to always be misunderstood. “No, I mean, we’re not Chinese. I can’t see anyone in here that is Chinese…In fact I would say that the only Chinese this restaurant ever sees is on the plates. So, they could get away with telling us that this restaurant actually serves the greatest Chinese delicacies. Why would they not?” Jermaine’s opinion always went back to philosophy. “Some wise advice I have for you Nev. Never question the Chinese.” Something about the way the duo talked, it was utter enjoyment. The puns continuously employed emphasised it. A certain kind of pleasure whenever they accompanied one another was unleashed. “Oh Jerry, you got to hear about what happened to my cousin. _You’ll never believe it_…So Ben was in Amsterdam for some time, on holiday or something. Well on the last week he jumped off the top of a three-storey apartment balcony.” Jermaine who believes most things reasonable, but also hesitates in jumping to conclusions always feels obliged to question the situation. “Why the hell would anyone do something like that?” Neville started blushing. He was never as outgoing as Jermaine, even being questioned made him feel slightly insecure. “Well Jerry, you know my cousin Benjamin. No one questions him.” A certain kind of tension was building somewhere between Nevilles growing timidity and Jermaine’s pursuing nerves. “I think anyone thinking about jumping off the third storey of an apartment should be prepared to answer a lot of questions.” There was an uncomfortable short-lived silence between the duos. Neville thought of it as his responsibility to protect his cousin’s reputation, yet his loyalty had previously shown to lead to misdemeanours. Neville decided to break his loyalty for what his reason was telling him was sensibility. “Yeah Jermaine, agreed. Benjamin sure must be a moron hey. Oh, which reminds me, did I tell you he is going to become a lawyer?” The Chinese waiter had brought back the dishes. This is possibly the fastest time a waiter had brought out dishes (which were supposed to be quality cuisines). Then again, Jermaine and his friends always had their doubts about Chinese restaurants. Over their many meals they had discussed many things ranging from the health issues to the political and economic consequences of the different restaurant franchises. The Chinese waiter did not talk this time. He had a chilling frown cast upon his face. Perhaps he had heard their talking? Perhaps it was just the all-round atmosphere of working in such a demanding service. Jermaine and Neville dug into their meals, each choosing their pick of chop sticks and spoon respectively although ironically not in quite a disorderly manner. It was only lucky that Neville chose a spoon for the fried rice to prevent any more mess (if more mess were possible). “So Nev, back to the story; now that you tell me Mr. Benjamin wants to be a lawyer…that makes much more sense; their all lying bastards. This is one big story to you in order to gain your sympathy or something. It can’t really be explained, except that he is behind it all…” “Not true. I saw his bandages and cuts and sores; everything. That can’t really be faked.” “I’m sure for a lawyer, anything can be faked. Any kind of falsehood can be created and unleashed by those guys!” “No seriously. Okay here’s the story, he said he went to a party. He got pretty drunk knowing it was his last week. Who knows maybe he even did…goddamn man it’s Amsterdam! I don’t have to mention the possibilities, their limitless! Anything could have happened. Well anyway, he woke up and that is when the nurse told him what had been reported to her.” “You know what this sounds like? Chinese whispers. She said this; he said that, you say this…” Sceptical Jermaine could never let any possibility go. “Okay whatever, whatever.” Neville had enough. This sort-of-debate had turned into a sort-of-argument. It was time for him to try and change the mannerism of things “Hey Jerry, this kind of talking is probably not good for eating, let’s just eat okay. I mean just the other day I saw the scars and bleeding…well you know.” Eating continued. Polite (enough) slurping of Chinese tea and rice among other things died down the sound of thought. Than Jermaine continued speaking, but not where they left off. “Hey Nev, I’ll be back in a minute. Just have to convenience myself!” Neville sat there. Five minutes boring his intellect- no one to talk to! Jermaine returned. Back to his meal; back to messy eating and the hope of more polite interesting talk. Before Neville had seen it, Jermaine had finished the rest of his special sweet n sour. “Hey Neville, are you still feeling hungry at all?” Before Neville had a chance to reply Jermaine had beckoned the waiter over and ordered “Special Chinese fortune cookies”. The cookies came in no time at all again. It made it seem like there was surely something efficiently magical about this restaurant. “Hey Nev, can you tell me about this story a bit more. So would you get this, I actually heard about a story similar to his; actually two stories, exactly like his…they both sort of were like these crazy stories where these things happened to guys in…well Chinese restaurants actually!” Neville was only half listening, except the information was still unconsciously processing into his mind. He opened his fortune cookie. “No I do not believe it! Coincidences of such do not occur! Madness unleashed!” Neville started shaking intensely, trembling, his usual steady figure rumbling in what looked like fear; his skin pale and pupils dilating and goose bumps on his skin forming. Than he shoved his hands over his head and continued his fearful actions half-hidden by the table. Jermaine grabbed the little slice of Chinese paper, it must be not so fortunate whatever the fortune be he thought! “You will suffer falling three-storeys tonight. Do not question the Chinese” They both sat there; Jermaine seemingly doing and thinking nothing except watching the actions of Neville. Neville with his behaviour turning more and more intense and shocking as seconds progressed and turned into minutes. “Neville!” Neville took no notice, for a moment, to only a moment later reply, “What? Don’t you fucking get this? Can’t you see what’s happening?” Jermaine looked at his watch. Five minutes. Long enough…longer would be dangerous perhaps. “My good friend Neville. I have a confession. I put that note in your cracker…it’s to teach you a lesson really. But it’s also quite a cracker now too to think of it! You should have seen the look on your face! And my friend, I’ll tell you the moral of the story…Question anything with suspicion, even the Chinese, otherwise who knows what will be unleashed!”
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André’s creation: eclectic pleasures
by Maxwell EdwardBlack and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words…
Black and white keys, saxophone, guitar, everywhere. The music has much more magnificence than can be tried to be explained through words. This jazzy rendezvous has always been André’s favourite ear-food. He just loves the way its beauty, splendour, radiance is ‘unleashed’. André stares at the canvas for over a dozen times. Here he is staring at the blank space which is future marvel…or was it to be past marvel? Had he missed his chance, missed the boat which would have sailed to sentimental stardom? He refuses to collaborate more than a sentence for any one idea. Any idea that deserves a sentence must deserve no doubt. Any canvas is only worth the greatest ideas. Two André’s exist; though only one at any one time. The withdrawn analytical front, designed for most occasions. On rare occasions the other character may appear, the intensive, massively determined André who acts on impulses. Impulsive André must be begged out. A Pandora’s Box of surprises, his job will at least never cease to astonish. “Dearest André, Through years have you befriended my son Louis, so therefore I am offering an opportunity to benefit both of our interests (with intent towards your gain). Litton inc., my company has stepped up towards mainstream success. We require visual arts for our newly bought edifice. I understand you have been painting for the eight years since high school. To your discretion I would like to require a painting; just one will suffice. I would like something vibrant and colourful, yet deep and meaningful; Contemporise to your own vision. Much thanks, Dr. Raymond Fonck.” The commissioned paper lies stuck on the wall. André has read it. Now it is time for the future. It has been too long sitting around (or rather bouncing around); too get too much productivity from anything. Someone once said to him that anything is good experience. True perhaps, although he prefers productivity, especially in a time of intensity such as this; three days left until confrontation. His vigilant eyes stroll around the room, searching for advice. He is not bored, nor has he painters block, for such a term does not exist and will not ever for him. His eyes strike the clock. The clock glares 5:48 pm back. What a disgusting fierce look it has. Not 5:45, nor 6:00 and only one uncomfortable minute in-between. For at this time these uncomforting three digits add to the frustration in the actual time. “Aw!” André suddenly realizes the importance of the time. It is the one factor which never seems to be on his side but actually encourages his total progress. It is an epiphany like that of a mother to the newborn. André decides to let his hands take / control. They are the secret key, (sometimes the gatekeepers of unleashing impulsive André) His dominant left one picks up the brush (over time it has made up for its fault of statistically losing him seven years). His right hand decides to lose cognition. It dips itself into a little puddle of Sangria oil paint muck. Than it flies onto the near-centre of the canvas, smeared diagonally. His left hand takes initiative once again, waving lines of smudge to and fro. Right hand brings more paint to its destination. Myrtle, Indigo, Olive, Magnolia…and no, not that…Yes, yes, even black! (Well seal brown to be precise). All of these contextually beautiful colours unleashed! There are no thoughts in André’s mind now. This is impulsive André now; organised thought is of little importance! That colour is important here. This colour is unimportant there. A few lines of any colour are important right here or there, but perhaps a darker colour is better. More negative space up and down the edges. Shape is forming. Lines are bolding. Complete non-representational form is diminishing. Visualizations; the visualized images in mind are being…unloaded bit by bit. It is coming about. What is it though? No one knows. If anybody could guess it definitely would not be André. André knows he has the power to bring out the reality in it though. In a seemingly paradox situation he must not connect to reality at the moment though. Now, after these hours of painting, André is in the painting. He would not know it has been hours besides the constant glare of the illuminating digital clock staring from across the room; it unconsciously processes its recognition into André. The phone screams out, ‘br-ring, br-ring!’ Like the other external matter it creeps into André, until finally its screams become too annoying to ignore. It’s too late now…impulsive André has vanished; his conventional counterpart has replaced him. The phone persists though. André decides to take it (typical for his returned mannerism). He dives across the room horizontally attacking the corner where that nuisance phone lies. ‘Aw, aw, aw, aw!’ A tube of paint has squirt from underneath his stomach. Agonising that his material friend can be so painful at times (like any of his life long friends). He picks up the phone; only the tone. He has missed whatever, whoever it was. Once again, missing the boat… Now thought and all that comes with it has returned. Why now out of all times possible? There is only sadness, misery, all this escalated from these small miniscule misfortunes; all has turned to turmoil! What can one do, when feeling like crawling into a hole? His secret minor disorders such as his claustrophobia would prevent him from crawling into that hole, even if he had one. At the moment everything feels like one big hole. Not surprisingly André’s eyes begin doing the only thing they know to do in times of unrest; wander. It is impossible to ignore what is there; it has been there all along, yet has never been seen. It is beautiful! It is splendour! It is radiance!! It is interrupted by another scream of ‘br-ring br-ring’. André picks up the damn phone. Without contemplation he whispers, “Sir, madam, I’m very terribly busy, could you perhaps call back sometime?” A deep sophisticated voice replies, “Raymond Fonck, André. Listen, I need to know about the progress of the painting. How is it going; ready to sell on Friday?” Many emotions garner at the speed of light inside André allows these emotions to clash inside of him. The painting; it is beautiful, splendour, radiance! How could he give it away now, after an indescribable series of emotional contributions? It is something that has not been attempted before; yet it is new but the expression of old. It is everything, at the moment, hopefully containing more interpretive inoculations for the future. It is a subject, of just some time, yet it contains a collaboration of detail separated from time. It is…once again interrupted by screams, this time of another sort; the infuriating talking of man. “André. Are you there?” Feelings of great rebellion sweep André off his feet. He knows how he will revolutionize his life, because after all; this painting has revolutionized his thought already. “Mister Fonck. I am so sorry. Some things have come over me…a type of sickness…although I am sure you are not aware of this mad syndrome I am suffering due to it. Well to the point, I must say I will not be supplying you with your wanted artwork. Thank you for your understanding. Hopefully we can collaborate something in future.” André hangs the phone up without replies, without a stated understanding from the mister Fonck. Without even the knowledge of acceptance or approval from the mister Fonck…it does not matter. All that matters is this new painting, this contemporised vision. It is everything. Most importantly of all, it is…unleashed!
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So we went to a party last night, got a little merry and filled the taxi home with balloons. Matron allowed us to keep them, on the condition that we didn’t let them anywhere near the kitties. Sadly, George has a helium addiction and is under vet’s orders not to inhale any, lest he starts reciting Shakespeare again. I’m not so sure there’s anything to worry about given that’s just the effect you get with the pink furry pills – and they’re perfectly safe. So anyway, I wanted to see what would happen if George ate a helium balloon. It has this effect, evidently…
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Taken at the Great Salt Lake. Just happened to get a lightning shot with the sunset.
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Model – Halohid. Translation: ‘Cute’ / Oh my eyes, the colours… #_# Copyright 2008 Harmony Nicholas
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Flavour attack or should i say colour attack. / Vegies are good for you!
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Mixed medium collage on various papers. Photograph of bird’s nest printed on Japanese rice paper with gouache staining and chinese calligraphy. Red square collage with bird head. Japanese block printed tree paper. Two leaves collaged onto Kinwashi paper. A fortune reads ” A pleasant surprise is in store for you”. The characters mean: love, trust, dream, and fortune.
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A nice surprise featuring!
by jacqiWhat a lovely surprise on logging on to find my cactus flower shot in the featured section of Flowers In Macro! Thanks so much to the hos…
What a lovely surprise on logging on to find my cactus flower shot in the featured section of Flowers In Macro! Thanks so much to the hosts. Whee hee!
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what a character, so quick on his feet, that onion-boy!
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I took to “heart” the suggestions made by Chris and Cozmist and uploaded a second version of “Rooted in Love,” this one without the frame for those who might prefer this unique image without any frills. Hope this works better! Like I said in the original “Rooted in Love,” this tree root is on the northern periphery of our property. I marvel at its perfect heart shape and think it’s a little note from God to remind me of his undying love. I borrowed the title from the refrain of a hymn written by Father John Foley, S.J. / Here are the lyrics of that hymn: Dwelling Place / by John Foley, SJ I fall on my knees to the Father of Jesus / The Lord who has shown us, the glory of God. May He in His love give us strength for our living / The strength of His Spirit, the glory of God. May Christ find a dwelling place of faith in our hearts / May our lives be rooted in love, rooted in love. May grace and peace be yours in God our Father / And in His son. May Christ find a dwelling place of faith in our hearts / May our lives be rooted in love, rooted in love.
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Surprise Visitors...
by tkrosevearJust got a call from my sis-in-law…coming in for the weekend with her 3 boys (1, 3 & 5 years old), while my brother is doing AF reserve…
Just got a call from my sis-in-law…coming in for the weekend with her 3 boys (1, 3 & 5 years old), while my brother is doing AF reserve duty in Nebraska – so I will be otherwise detained over the weekend… / Will try to answer anything coming through with urgency – but won’t be commenting or uploading til after the long weekend – hopefully, as these three boys are FULL of energy… / Love ya all and have a great weekend! / TK
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I used to love collecting these plastic eggs (they can be handy as back massagers!) I folded this bird while RB was “enjoying a brief hiatus” today, from a 15×15mm piece of paper that I colored with a gold pen; didn’t want to get too small otherwise I would need a smaller egg. I stuck the tail to the inside of the egg shell with double sided tape. Here’s to a moment of excitement when opening a little present! For a better understandind of scale: / This work has been featured in: / Stillness Speaks Works by Category / Featured/Popular / Origami/Ori-plastic / Drawings,Paintings and Graphics / Flowers, Trees and Plants / Water and Waterscapes / Scenery / Light, Shadow, and Reflections / Living Creatures / Human Portrait / Japanfluence / Canada / Still Life More sample origami: For more images please visit the category links at the top
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In Yatina, a tiny town just south of Jamestown – a post office, a couple of houses and this, once imposing two storey establishment. Further investigation has revealed that the town once had two churches, a school (1879-1952) and lots of sport!
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Many people find a fascination with youth, beauty and the advancement of old age. As we all know looks fade and with age, there is another source / of beauty despite the wrinkles and apparent signs of aging that we all must face in what has been referred to as “the croning years.” In Western culture, there is so much emphasis on external beauty that women and men feel compelled to find surgical solutions, creams, botox, liposuction and any method possible to slow down the aging process and retain the appearance of youth. For hundreds of years we in the West have been taught to deny ourselves. “Mind over Matter” is a time-honored maxim that has merit in treating illness, but the danger is that true body wisdom or the messages we receive about our bodies must be ignored or denied. Every magazine gives us methods of ridding ourselves of undesirable pounds and the newest trends and fads for reversing the aging process. One woman born in the Netherlands and moved to the United States expressed her pain about her anorexic daughter who did not feel accepted or physically attractive unless she was frightfully thin. Her mom asked, what happened to the idea of “aging gracefully?” She felt that her elderly mother was more beautiful with age and the wrinkles on her aging face showed a wisdom and inner beauty that was absent in youth. Observing her daughter’s fierce compulsion to stop the clock and pursue anything that would mask the aging process was very painful to her mother, an immigrant to the United States who had enjoyed values that helped her deal with aging and the passage of time. She told me that the term “immigrant grief” described her inability to teach her daughter who was in her mid thirties that she was more beautiful now than ever before. Many women and men can not face aging and the general result is that the body and its functions have been relegated to the shadow side of life;regarded as dark and possibly evil. As Jung points out, “The body is a most doubtful friend because it produces things we do not like;there are too many things about the body which cannot be mentioned. The body is very often the personification of the shadow of the ego. Sometimes it forms the skeleton in the cupboard, and everybody naturally wants to get rid of such a thing.” We need our animal selves, our bone, muscle, and instinct-laden physicality to survive on this planet. One wonders why we as a culture have become so anti-body, as our very flesh were a disease against which we must wage war. Jung hoped that “we can reconcile ourselves to the mysterious truth that the spirit is the living body seen from within, and the body is the outer manifestation of the living spirit.” / For centuries many terrible cures attempted to cleanse the collective psyche or the ancient goddess worship that honored the female body as the matrix in which there were no divisions. There are many books that celebrate the return of the Goddess, to cherish the power of the feminine and to accept all the disowned parts of the psyche that lead us to illness and become pathological enough that we are forced to notice. When disowned aspects of ourselves are repressed, fear is projected onto the body in such forms as siren, enchantress, witch, hag and devouring mother. When we face our greatest fears, we also see the glimmering hope of of a new creative life. / When we accept that as we age our bodies are mortal, we can embrace our terrors and our failures and the hope for the celebrations to come, when what we have incubated emerges from the underworld. Legend and myth tell us again and again that transformation is possible. The maiden becomes the queen. The dragon becomes prince or princess. The fool becomes wise. The naive attitudes of youth change and develop. Slowly we become ourselves, free to be the keepers of memory and wisdom. We learn when to be silent and when to speak, what can be shared and what is secret. We learn to honor our bodies even as they begin to fail. We come to a visceral understanding of the cycles of change and our part in them. Ulrich Schaffer writes in his book of poems, Surprised By Light; “Again and again the miracle takes place / in the amazing transformation / in which the air turns into leaves / and the earth becomes roots, / in which the sun fills the seed to bursting / then lets it break open and sprouts, / New life breaks through / in the transformation of death. We are sustained by the surprise of the miracle, / by the change of the seasons, / and I am a link in this miraculous chain, / In me the unchangeable also changes, / and I know that I would break / the rhythm of creation / if I did not change / I would be dead to life / even as I continued to live. I am not yearning for great miracles, / but for the daily change, / the almost imperceptivle rebirth, / the insignificant miracle of growth, / which is greater than all others. “ It is a sad fact that as we approach old age, the deterioration or our bodies / seem loathsome. In fright, we run off into frantic activity, becoming too busy to think or feel as we sink deeper and deeper into a paralyzing depression. / Only rarely do we have the wisdom to honor our changes and allow their development. Most of us, unguided and untaught, flee in fear from the life that precedes our old age and death. Today in the Western world the human life span is increasing, and as it does, the need grows for a deeper wisdom that can help older persons honor rather than deny the physical and psychological relinquishing that precedes a late blooming. We are explorers of a stage of life that is different than it was for previous generations. The years of coming to age are now a new challenge and like most challenges bring the stresses of relinquishing familiar ways. Going through the changes of this time can be as exciting and as difficult as any outer journey. Those of us now coming to age are pathfinders, hopefully marking a way for others to follow.
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This painting is based on a photograph given to me by a photographer in Lamy, New Mexico. She knew how I love to paint cactus, so she gave it to me with permission to paint it. I had a cactus like this at one time and it would bloom vibrantly once each summer. This is an original acrylic painting on canvas, which measures 16”h x 20”w. It is available for sale. / .
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....Today I saw a new life born and it was magical…..Taken within a moment of the actual birth, a home birth, very little space to work in, a camera I was unfamiliar with and very shaky hands, but I think I was still holding my breath. Wow what a moment. Kevyn :) Image copyright © 2006, krg – of elegantsavage. Copying and displaying or redistribution of this image without permission from the artist is strictly prohibited.
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Sunset comes to the Central Shortgrass Prairie in Southeastern Colorado near Comanche National Grassland.
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100% of proceeds received from Redbubble in respect to sales of this item, will be donated to Bush Heritage Australia Photo of a MacLeay’s Honeyeater taken deep in the World Heritage listed Daintree Rainforest of north Queensland. / The photo was taken hand held using a high speed sync flash to overcome the very dark conditions.
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Meet Sammy, my neighbour’s little Yorkie..I took a load of shots of him today, so I thought I’d put him in the tiny boat so he could have a fun ride… ;-)
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