Tones
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4354 creative works found
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Acrylic on masonite board.
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I’ve used three photographs to produce this image. Two for the wolves and one for the background. / For paint effects I used Photoshop elements and for freehand painting, cloning, layers, colour ajustments, I used Corel X3.
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B&W here: http://www.redbubble.com/people/japaslavian/art/1231659-2-a-feeling-of-emptiness
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For my beautiful Mummy.
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Sometimes wallflowers are the prettiest in the garden….
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JUST LOVE THE CRISP SILHOUETTE HERE IN SEPIA JUST AS THE SUN IS SETTING
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I melt when you come down and curl up with me, / Candle drips and curly tips / Here you are my babyji / Sobbing lightly and descending to chill / Now I am attracted to you most / In all my senses / Participating / Available / Without thought or notion / Of where we began / Any of this… It is when you set all the vibrating ideas / Aside, / That spins you like a topsy tervy / Whirling dervish / And you box them up and pack them away / …..only for a moment, I know, / It is then that I see / You. / A Soul completely simple and basic / And here it is the loving of Us / That I feel / Nothing comes between us except / Maybe a fine smearing of tears, / Soon to be dried / Against the warmth of my skin. There is quiet / The quiet that makes me focus on the sound of our Kiss, / Or the complete understanding of my / Hands sliding over your skin / Then the involuntary intake of breath when I’ve Touched you / Somewhere that makes you feel / Grounded here / On the common waves of silence / Human and raw / Intertwined / Allowing your own sexuality / To call you in / And let my love speak in tones / That become the color of our world. Babyji and Co. / 2009 This was Co-Written / with my Heart. Thank you so much!!
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View other works from this series Best viewed LARGE
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The early morning mist rises from the waters of Loch Lubnaig in the Trossachs. Part of the Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park, Scotland. Single RAW file tone-mapped; added 3-layer Orton effect with selective sharpening; Canon EOS 450D + 17-85mm zoom; Featured in the following groups: / Unlimited Quality / For the Love of Canon / Collage and Landscape Photography
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Winner of the Challenge – Stripe Time – in the group Bubble Boutique – July 09 – thank you for voting! Place second in a selective colour challenge in the Contrasting Perceptions Group – July 09 – thank you! Featured in the group Moms 4 Art – June 09 – thank you so much! The plan was to shoot some fun shots of Perrin (13) in the socks, but while we were busy, Hudson (4) decided he needed to join in the fun. When he plonked himself down in the middle of the shot, I saw an opportunity I couldn’t resist. ( : Canon 400D, pp in photoshop cs2
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ONE TO BLOW YOUR SENSE OF PERSPECTIVE! / IS THIS A BRIDGE SPANNING THE SKY THAT DISAPPEARS INTO THE CLOUDS? IS IT A VERY TALL BUILDING TAKEN FROM AN EXTREME LOW ANGLE REACHING FOR THE SKY? / YOU BE THE JUDGE! ENJOY / TOOK THIS ONE IN LOVELY CHICAGO /
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Practice in one tone/color Version 2- more dress showing, less blur, more contrast in sky, etc… elandria.deviantart.com I am not used to doing the one tone thing – but my dear friend :iconelenadudina: was giving me a few pointers on tones and colors (thank you sweetie).... / and I did this kind of goth/vampire thing… :) Not sure if you like it – but it’s my first time trying…so bear with me.
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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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” Rustling leaves with russet tones gently drifting down, / a spectrum of hazy light filtering through the shadowed canopy. / Like a golden wine glistening with kaleidoscopic light, / and Summer’s just a memory. / Winter soon upon us bringing bare trees with bleached bones”. ..experimenting with my PSCS4 fusions 66 layers brushes/gradients/moon/leaves & redfield plug-inz… / ..
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Did a strobist SP / No dodging/burning was involved here …. just upped the contrast and converted to B&W with a little toning. Nikon D80 / Sigma 10-20 at 10mm / f/4 @ 1/45 secs / ISO 100 / Snooted Nikon SB600 wirelessly fired from directly above my hands. Had a to cut a little hole on the side of my Pringles snoot to get some light on my face. / Room kept dark. I wore dark clothes. 200+ views (for the 100-499 views Group)
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Featured in: / Photo Manipulators Credits: / girl / background / lighthouse / storm Suggestions: / /
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