"Lyrically I was looking for something that deals quite generically with the sense of loss. But not in a depressing sense. It could be about a family member, someone close, [..] it could be about loss of any kind. I really wanted to convey a recognition of coming to terms with that loss in a positive way and remembering someone with immense affection. Initially the loss makes you sad, but then you feel that glow of warmth and I think this is something everyone can relate to."
Here I am, Lost in the light of the moon, That comes through my window.
Bathed in blue, The walls of my memory divides, The thorns from the roses. It's you and the roses.
[CHORUS] Touch me and I will follow, In your afterglow. Heal me from all this sorrow, As I let you go. I will find my way When I see your eyes, Now I'm living, In your afterglow.
Here I am, Lost in the ashes of time, But who wants tomorrow, In between, Longing to hold you again, I'm caught in your shadow. I'm losing control.
My mind drifts away, We only have today.
[CHORUS] Touch me and I will follow,
In your afterglow. Heal me from all this sorrow, As I let you go. I will find my way, I will sacrifice, 'Til the blinding day, When I see your eyes.
Now I'm living, In your afterglow [in your afterglow]. When the veils are gone, As I let you go, As I let you go.
[CHORUS] Touch me and I will follow, In your afterglow. Heal me from all this sorrow, As I let you go. I will find my way I will sacrifice, Now I'm living, In your afterglow.
Bathed in blue, The walls of my memory divides, The thorns from the roses. It's you who is closest.
Some might say I am stuck in past. But I don't really care about those thoughts. It's too hard to be anything other than who I was. These are my memories and they all I have now.
The power of photography to remember. They are all about the past from the very moment they are taken. So maybe all I am now is just a photography of love, loss and a life that was well lived.
Going out on a Limb - Tree of Life Review (click to read) - Paul Byrne (Sat 02 Jul 2011)
This is my Life - just completely blown away by this Movie.
The imagery of Water and Trees. The silent suffering and subsequent loss of a son and brother, a Brother's searching and wandering, the amazing Jessica Chastain - her inner and outer beauty as Mrs O'Brien - her tragic loss, the one a Mother should never have to bear.
Not for everyone and I would not recommend it, unless you have some kind of empathy towards it's themes, until after reading Paul Byrnes review above (it helped me see it in a different way, compared to if I had not read the review).
Audiences will be polarised. During my screening yesterday afternoon, one person stormed out loudly within the first 30 minutes, while most appaulded at the end (the only time I have witnessed this, based on my experience of watching many movies at the Dendy since Jenny left us two years ago). The audience was definitely an older one compared to the usual Dendy audience and I was probably the youngest one there.
Will definitely go again as I fell asleep in a couple of parts (exceptional tired from all the training and early hours commuting), besides I just want to take it all in again.
Geoff, Jenny and Betty (my Mum) - Off to the 2005 NSW Sport Awards - Jenny had been nominated for the NSW Masters Womens NSW Sports Award Alexandria / Sydney (Tue 15 Feb 2005)
Geoff and Betty - at the same time, 300km away, Tim's world fell apart and we almost lost him them that night, as we would find out later - our world, my Mother's world would change forever, 20 Days Later - Alexandria / Sydney (Tue 15 Feb 2005)
Lance Armstrong Rides Again Vanity Fair (9 Sep 2008) - I read this article last year on the day it was published online. The following quote helped me start to understand a lot things about Lance Armstrong, Jenny and Cancer. It finally motivated me to read It's not about the Bike, all be it 9 months later (May/June 2009) which Jenny had read just after it was published ..
'.. it is only fun if we win.' And for me, I think a lot of that stems from just the illness and the diagnosis and the process there. Because failure there is death. Loss there is death. And victory is living. Which people just assume they’re going to do. I mean, most people—cancer survivors—don’t always assume that. But I was scared. You know, from that point on, I associated loss with death. And so I didn’t. It was burned in my mind forever.
the truest, most authentic self is only revealed in isolation. For me, the social self is a mask. The photographs collected here are, simply put, a record of my attempt to penetrate the mask and expose some glimmer of the mystery beneath.
I have also found that the true authentic self is often revealed in those raw moments in your life involving your Heart where something is lost - a relationship through a breakdown or a death. A Tear is often a manifestation of the true authentic self because there is nothing left - no masks, no filters. In those moments of loss, before, during and after, the true authentic self is most often revealed, as it should be. For it not to be, might show great resilience in character and [maybe] a Heart of Stone, but this will only magnify and potentially extend the grieving and bereavement process that should follow any significant loss.
There is a beauty (if you are prepared to look at life this way) to the process, it's rawness and what it reveals in character. It shows you are living and experiencing a meaningful life in all its extremes. I have thought that my photography could - and to some extent it has already (and when I think about it as I write these words, it is the very reason I bought my first small digital camera way back Dec 2000) - pursue this direction. They are often markers and important references in your life as you move forward. I have found great comfort in my photographs.
Now that I am commuting 35-45 minutes each day to and from Kirrawee to Alexandria, I am getting to hear a lot more songs on the radio. I have heard this song a few times over the last year or so and have always liked it. A few times I have tried to remember a few words from the lyrics, but have not been able to track it down until Friday, when I heard on the way to work.
Having seen Tree of Life (more here and here) yesterday afternoon. I was stunned by the movie and how it seemed to capture many of my thoughts on the loss of my brother Tim, and how he coped (or struggled his whole life really) with the loss of our Father when he was just 18 years old (yet another story for another day). The following lyrics to me have some connection with the Movie and my feelings from it - they intertwine.
Closer to the Edge
I don't remember one moment, I tried to forget I lost myself, is it better not said? Now I'm closer to the edge
If it's a thousand to one and a million to two Time to go down in flames and I'm taking you Closer to the edge
No, I'm not saying I'm sorry One day maybe we'll meet again No, I'm not saying I'm sorry One day maybe we'll meet again
(No, no, no, no)
Can you imagine a time when the truth ran free The birth of a sun and the death of a dream Closer to the edge
This never ending story Hateful with pride and fate We all fall short of glory, lost in ourselves
No, I'm not saying I'm sorry One day maybe we'll meet again No, I'm not saying I'm sorry One day maybe we'll meet again
(No, no, no, no)
I will never forget I will never regret I will live my life
No, I'm not saying I'm sorry One day maybe we'll meet again No, I'm not saying I'm sorry One day maybe we'll meet again
Memories of Jenny - The Time of Your Life (youtube)
As many of you will know, I have another obsession in my life beyond paddling - Photography.
I started out buying a small digital camera for our Dec 2000 trip to the Cook Islands to visit Jenny and Jo's Meditation teacher, Barbara, who had moved there to help setup a refuge for women . We didn’t know a thing about paddling back then.
I had bought the camera hoping I would be able to capture our memories. It was a tiny digital camera by today’s standards, 1 Mega Pixel and it cost $1600 duty free and a 64 MB compact flash memory cost more than $300.
I did not flinch and I thought it was all worth it, as my credit card was swiped at Ted’s Pitt Street Camera Store the day before we flew out. 15 years later I can tell you here that it was one of the best things I ever did.
My motivation for the camera came from that fact that Jenny had 11 tumours in her lungs and I did not really know how long we would have together. In the end we had just over 9 years of married life. Given Jenny’s condition, a miracle really ..
We were married on 30th April of that Sydney Olympic year and we honeymooned on Lord Howe Island for 10 glorious days in May 2000. Jenny had a film camera and she took many photos.
On our return flight to Sydney, I remember a conversation we had at the Departure Terminal with an older couple from Whyalla who congratulated us on our marriage. We had briefly met them at dinner at one of the small restaurants on the Island.
They told us they had been married for many years and the trip to Lord Howe Island was a way of creating another experience in life and expanding their memories. Better than [running a busy business or] sitting at home and watching the Telly, they said.
This conversation and piece of simple worldly wisdom has stuck with me and I remind myself of it constantly. It was my main motivation to buy that small expensive digital camera for our December 2000 trip to the Cook Islands.
I took many photos that trip to Cook Islands, even of the Outrigger Canoes on the shore of Muri Lagoon - we had no idea what they were – who would guess our future.
Shortly after our return, Jenny and Jo found Dragon Boating. And over the ensuing years many experiences and memories were created, dutifully captured by our cameras.
I documented the many dragon boat campaigns here and abroad, and ensuing holidays that followed each event.
In the process of this documenting I came to realise the power of photography, not only its visual power, but its ability to record our experiences and remind us of things we have done and who we were. We were doing selfies before the term was even invented. We called them “Holdouts” and I think this might be the main cause of Jo’s shoulder injury.
In those last few weeks at St George Hospital in Jun 2009, I captured the last moments of our lives together. They are the best I ever made.
After Jenny’s passing, It took me a while to pick up a camera again. I had lost my purpose and will. I was hurting and numb all at once but paddled through for a year or two – it helped a lot to be busy and in the company of friends. New experiences were created and I even smiled [for] a little [while].
Lost in the enormity of what had happened so quickly, though it was not a surprise, I found my first moments of comfort and hope, when I decided to start looking at some of the photos from our lives together. It made me cry, but it also made me smile. I was so happy that I had this archive of bits and bytes to remind me of Jenny, Joanne, myself and who we were.
It was only after Jo told me to organise my photos and my Mum said I should start making photos again, that I started to move forward. I was completely broken but I took up their advice and kept myself busy again, organising and photographing again. I am still broken but I live with it better now, it is part of me and who I will always be, but I am happy, optimistic, naïve and creating more experiences.
So I guess what I am trying to say is that we have to go out there and make our memories through the experiences we create for ourselves.
In our lives we have loss, grief and bereavement. It is a part of living. You make a choice when it knocks on your door. And we have chosen to live in the Afterglow of our loss of Jenny – to remember and honour and be guided and inspired. Accept it and live with it and make the most of it, even let it inspire and motivate you. And that is what Jo and I have done, I would like to think.
“Believe in Hope” as the graffiti’ed wall in Cleveland Street said for a few weeks in July 2015.
Believe in Hope - Cleveland Street / Chippendale (Wed 29 Jul 2015)
Seven year ago today.
We remember Jenny. She (as they all do) lives on through our memories.
Memories of Jenny - The Time of Your Life (youtube)
This is my 2000th post here at eljeiffel.
I always try to write something for the Annual Presentation of the Inspire Award. Most times it is just for me, but sometimes I share it with a few people.
So here it is, unedited from the time it was written on the evening of Fri 27 Aug 2015. I think it is a pretty good way to mark the milestone.
As many will know, I have another obsession in my life - Photography.
I started out buying a small digital camera for our Dec 2000 trip to the Cook Islands to visit Jenny and Jo's Meditation teacher, Barbara, who had moved there to help setup a refuge for women . We didn’t know a thing about paddling back then.
I had bought the camera hoping I would be able to capture our memories. It was a tiny digital camera by today’s standards, 1 Mega Pixel and it cost $1600 duty free and a 64 MB compact flash memory cost more than $300.
I did not flinch and I thought it was all worth it, as my credit card was swiped at Ted’s Camera Store the day before we flew out. 15 years later I can tell you here that it was one of the best things I ever did.
My motivation for the camera came from that fact that Jenny had 11 tumours in her lungs and I did not really know how long we would have together. In the end we had just over 9 years of married life. Given Jenny’s condition, a miracle really ..
We were married on 30th April of that Sydney Olympic year and we honeymooned on Lord Howe Island for 10 glorious days in May 2000. Jenny had a film camera and she took many photos.
On our return flight to Sydney, I remember a conversation we had at the Departure Terminal with an older couple from Whyalla who congratulated us on our marriage. We had briefly met them at dinner at one of the small restaurants on the Island.
They told us they had been married for many years and the trip to Lord Howe Island was a way of creating another experience in life and expanding their memories. Better than [running a busy business or] sitting at home and watching the Telly, they said.
This conversation and piece of simple worldly wisdom has stuck with me and I remind myself of it constantly. It was my main motivation to buy that small expensive digital camera for our December 2000 trip to the Cook Islands.
I took many photos that trip to Cook Islands, even of the Outrigger Canoes in the lagoon at Aitutaka, we had no idea what they were – who would guess our future.
Shortly after our return, Jenny and Jo found Dragon Boating. And over the ensuing years many experiences and memories were created, dutifully captured by our cameras.
I documented the many dragon boat campaigns here and abroad, and ensuing holidays that followed each event.
In the process of this documenting I came to realise the power of photography, not only its visual power, but its ability to record our experiences and remind us of things we have done and who we were. We were doing selfies before the term was even invented. We called them “Holdouts” and I think this might be the main cause of Jo’s shoulder injury.
In those last few weeks at St George Hospital in Jun 2009, I captured the last moments of our lives together. They are the best I ever made.
After Jenny’s passing, It took me a while to pick up a camera again. I had lost my purpose and will. I was hurting and numb all at once but paddled through for a year or two – it helped a lot to be busy and in the company of friends. New experiences were created and I even smiled [for] a little [while].
Lost in the enormity of what had happened so quickly, though it was not a surprise, I found my first moments of comfort and hope, when I decided to start looking at some of the photos from our lives together. It made me cry, but it also made me smile. I was so happy that I had this archive of bits and bytes to remind me of Jenny, Joanne, myself and who we were.
It was only after Jo told me to organise my photos and my Mum said I should start making photos again, that I started to move forward. I was completely broken but I took up their advice and kept myself busy again, organising and photographing again. I am still broken but I live with it better now, it is part of me and who I will always be, but I am happy, optimistic, naïve and creating more experiences.
So I guess what I am trying to say is that we have to go out there and make our memories through the experiences we create for ourselves. And this is what I love about PD’s, we are always out there doing something. This time last year we were in Bologna on our way to Ravena, this year we are heading to Hawaii in the next week and month, next year Adelaide and who knows where after that.
Finally, in our lives we have loss, grief and bereavement. It is a part of living. You make a choice when it knocks on your door. And we have chosen to live in the Afterglow of our loss of Jenny – to remember and honour and be guided and inspired. Accept it and live with it and make the most of it, even let it inspire and motivate you. And that is what Jo and I have done, I would like to think.
“Believe in Hope” as the graffiti’ed wall in Cleveland Street said for a few weeks in July 2015.
Believe in Hope - Cleveland Street / Chippendale (Wed 29 Jul 2015)
With this post it is time to let go of a lot things, including the photos of another time and life. I have shed my life here (and Facebook more recently) like a snake sheds it skin and there is nothing left but to start over again. Time to move on, but it is hard to let go .. but I will.
Trying to make a new start here (arotlt.com) with photos from this point onwards. There will be the occasional post at eljeiffel to mark the odd moment in our lives that are relevant, but for now thanks for coming along for the ride these last, almost, 7 years.
Following on from yesterday's post (*), Paulo Coelho (*) writes on lost Inspiration (*) and Purpose (*):
One day, for no apparent reason, the warrior realises that he does not feel the same enthusiasm for the fight that he used to.
He continues to do what he has always done, but every gesture seems meaningless. At such a time, he has only one choice: to continue fighting the Good Fight. He says his prayers out of duty or fear or whatever, but he does not abandon the path.
He knows that the angel of the One who inspires him has simply wandered off somewhere. The warrior keeps his attention focused on the battle and he perseveres, even when everything seems utterly pointless. The angel will soon return and the merest flutter of her wings will restore the warrior's joy to him.
via The Manual of the Warrior of Light (*) by Paulo Coelho (*).
I posted this passage back in Aug 2010 (*), while struggling with Jenny's loss. I think of it often and I guess that is why yesterday's post (*) seemed so important. I just thought I would repost it (*) again as my Angel did flutter her wings and my joys of paddling and life did return. Maybe it started here (*)?
Why Letterman was so good. In all the zaniness, there were incredibly touching, revealing interviews and live performances, this being just one ..
There are plenty of moments in life and most we move through as we should. Some we miss and let it pass us by. And there are those where we can get stuck. Inspired and written about the sad and tragic loss of a good friend ..
Saw this on the TV when I was in New York. It was shown in a repeat episode while the show was on a summer break. Thought to myself at the time I would put it here when I get back. Here it is. The music starts at around the 2m:20s mark. The interview before this is worth listening to BTW.
Stuck in a Moment Lyrics
I'm not afraid Of anything in this world There's nothing you can throw at me That I haven't already heard I'm just trying to find A decent melody A song that I can sing In my own company
I never thought you were a fool But darling, look at you. Ooh. You gotta stand up straight, carry your own weight 'Cause tears are going nowhere baby
You've got to get yourself together You've got stuck in a moment And now you can't get out of it Don't say that later will be better Now you're stuck in a moment And you can't get out of it
I will not forsake The colors that you bring The nights you filled with fireworks They left you with nothing I am still enchanted By the light you brought to me I listen through your ears Through your eyes I can see
You are such a fool To worry like you do.. Oh I know it's tough And you can never get enough Of what you don't really need now My, oh my
You've got to get yourself together You've got stuck in a moment And you can't get out of it Oh love, look at you now You've got yourself stuck in a moment And you can't get out of it Oh lord look at you now You've got yourself stuck in a moment And you cant get out of it
I was unconscious, half asleep The water is warm 'til you discover how deep I wasn't jumping, for me it was a fall It's a long way down to nothing at all
You've got to get yourself together You've got stuck in a moment And you can't get out of it Don't say that later will be better Now you're stuck in a moment And you can't get out of it
And if the night runs over And if the day won't last And if your way should falter Along this stony pass
Jogging Path (1 of 5) - Charles River / Boston (Mon 22 Aug 2011)
Jogging Path (2 of 5) - Charles River / Boston (Mon 22 Aug 2011)
Jogging Path (3 of 5) - Charles River / Boston (Mon 22 Aug 2011)
Jogging Path (4 of 5) - Charles River / Boston (Mon 22 Aug 2011)
On a whim, I recently bought myself a copy of Haruki Murakami's (*) book, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (*). As I read it, I was quite taken by the following passage ..
It's been 10 years since I lived in Cambridge [Boston]. When I saw the Charles River again, a desire to run swept over me. Generally, unless some change takes place, rivers always look the same, and the Charles River in particular looked totally unchanged. Time had passed, students had come and gone, I'd aged ten years, and there'd literally been a lot of water under the bridge. But the river has remained unaltered. The water still flows swiftly, and silently, toward Boston Harbour. The water soaks the shoreline, making the grasses grow thick [..]
Maybe because it's the home of the Boston Marathon, Cambridge is full of runners. The jogging path along the Charles goes on forever, and if you wanted to you could run for hours. The problem is, it's used by cyclists, so you have to watch out for speeding bikes whizzing past from behind. At various places, too, there are cracks in the pavement you have to make sure you don't trip over, and a couple of long traffic signals you can get stuck at, which can put a kink in your run. Otherwise, it's a wonderful jogging run.
I sat beside the River Charles. It was late afternoon on the last day of our 4 days in Boston. We had arrived on the Friday from a week in New York. Here are a few photos from my time sitting by the River Charles.
We had already been away for a day short of 4 weeks and it would be another 3 weeks before arriving back home. I was enjoying the trip but was thinking a lot about all the changes that had been occurring in my life - I was without a car and I had moved back to Kirrawee while I waited for my house, I had never really planned or contemplated to live in, to become available while I was away. Tried not to think about these things too much from a far, as I had no control over them. Instead, I just sat myself down on a seat bench by the River Charles and tried to think of other things.
I sat there in the beautiful afternoon sun, I thought of many things. I thought of all the other times I had been to Boston, what took me there and what I did while I was there. I also tried to remember who I was and what I was doing in my life around the time of each trip.
September and October 1988 was the first trip, and it would be just under a year before I would meet Jenny for the first time.
I reflected on the two years since Jenny had left us and all the things that happened since that time. In some ways, it was just sitting there by the River Charles, that I finally stopped and had a chance to clear my thoughts and to really think about things.
I had really kept myself busy and distracted since Jenny's passing (*) - it was one way of coping with the enormity of Jenny's loss. In some ways, I was starting to forget things - who I was, the things that we had done and what I thought I was going to do with my life.
As I sat there by the River Charles, I watched the walkers, runners and bicycle riders go past. Their long shadows, created by the late afternoon sun, are what struck me and this is what kept me interested as I captured these photos. I wondered who these people were, what had brought them to Boston and whether one of them was the future creator of the next social media craze.
A couple of rowers set off from near where I sat and I wondered if they were the Winklevii (*) of Facebook fame (*).
MIT / TIM - Charles River / Back Bay / Boston (Mon 22 Aug 2011)
As I sat there I could see tiny sail boats, standup paddle boards and wind surfers. One wind surfer was fairly inexperienced and a more experienced wind surfer went to his aid, if only to provide advice and moral support, in the knowledge of just being there.
The small sailing boats were from MIT, which is just across the River, and it was only when I saw through the transparent sails, that I realised that in reverse, MIT, spells TIM, my late Brother's name - so I thought about him for a little while. He had been to Boston a few times also, so I thought about all the same things for Tim. Maybe he had sat here and pondered some of the same things, 25 years earlier? I also wondered why I had never made the MIT to TIM connection. Or thinking about it now, I think I may have thought about it a long time ago, but maybe I had forgotten remembering the connection.
Have been to Boston four times prior to this trip and I have visited it on each of my trips to the USA. The last time was just over 17 years earlier in April 1994, where I had hoped I might be able to run the Boston Marathon (*).
Now as I sit here and think about the things I thought about by the River Charles in Boston that late afternoon on Mon 22 Aug 2011, I can now see where Haruki Murakami's (*) ran along the side of the same river on the very path he captured in words above and I have captured in the photos on this page. I also now have an appreciation and can imagine where he found part of the inspiration to write What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (*), which I am now reading and enjoying.
That will do for now. Just leave it here.
Jogging Path (5 of 5) - Charles River / Boston (Mon 22 Aug 2011)
A beautiful version of this song, even with this low-resolution YouTube version.
Three years ago today this song was the one I chose to play as the first song as we left the Service for Jenny's Farewell. I will never forget the first few notes of this version of this song - each note is like a pin dropping and a kind of an awakening to the reality of Jenny's loss. I felt at the time, and even now, that Jenny has found her Island Home.
It's a long story how this song ended being played, but it seemed right at the time and it still does.
I remember a lot about this day and I seemed to be in control of everything even though everything was out of control. I could tell a few stories about what could have gone wrong but was avoided through a sense of calm and control I have rarely felt throughout my life.
I know everyone remembers the amazing Sunset as we left the Chapel and people still talk about it even today.
It was only at the end of the day when I finally arrived home that evening after the "Get Together" following the Funeral, that I broke down alone in the darkness of the room where I had written my talk for Jenny's Eulogy earlier that day.
It's been a long and hard road since then but I keep moving forward as Jenny would have I wanted.
Thinking of the leading three or four acoustic guitar notes of My Island Home, in the silence of the Chapel, at the end of Jenny's Funeral, always puts a tingle up my spine and is one of the defining memories of that day and my Life.
Today I remember, 7500 km away from where she rests ..
Jennifer Joy Petterson - Three Years On - Woronora (Sat 30 Jun 2012)
With 'no more' comes 'knowing more' and its only through getting stuck that we can appreciate getting un-stuck.
We must hit a wall to know whats its like to pass or over come one.
We must be without an answer or solution to realise what its like when we can find a way.
Being in the thick of it is critical to success as its in the times of stress, loss, thickness and heaviness that we can learning, realise and appreciate another state, way or experience.
Typical Drew at his abstract and convoluted best. A great read which takes a few times to digest.
As well as traveling to the Snowy Mountains during summer, Jenny, Jo and I decided to spend some time in the Mountains during Winter. We did this in Jun 2000, 2001 and 2002. After that the Dragon Boating took over our winters.
It was always nice to go to Perisher during the first week of the ski season (mid-late June) where the Boonoona Ski Lodge was not really that busy - mainly accountants getting a small holiday in before the end of financial year rush.
Jenny and Jo were good skiers and they were able to get out onto the ski fields, while I did some reading and wondering around the local snow covered bush land. Would always have my camera at hand and found many nice photos from these little (actually some were quite long) walks.
This particular photo was taken on the side of the Perisher Valley Water Supply Dam. It was near sunset and there was a nice golden glow on the water. The original photo is shown below.
When I got back to Sydney, I uploaded the a cropped version to my photo.net portfolio (see here). In the discussion I provided the original uncropped photo, which is shown below, and I wondered which was better (cropped or uncropped?).
'Freezing' (Orignal) - Perisher Valley - 25 Jun 2002 (picasa)
I was pleased to receive this well thought out response from Marc G:
Very clearly, for me, the cropped version is better. Just sharing with you, here, a very simple method I use for years to know in similar cases whether it should be cropped or not.
I just ask myself "what I have I lost if I crop ? What have I gained ?
Here, the crop makes you lose the extension of this line - but it isn't a curved extension, so not very elegant, and not actually a loss. Then, no other important elements at the bottom. Now what have you gained ? You have gained simplicity and peace. Peace because you gained simplicity, and peace because that's in general what comes with squares - by the books.
Now in what sense have you gained simplicity ?
That's the most important question. The curved line being shorter, it is seen faster. Since we start from top left and go down, and since what was in the lower part was nothing great, we can say that here we keep only the nectar.
In the original, the nectar came with not much at the end. Then, here, since the eye is quickly finished with the main curve, it then moves to the right, and that's where it can find extra beauty in the dented ice and in the light at the top.
Basically, you kept the best only. Honestly, I would never have thought of hanging the original on my walls, but this one, I would - without a single hesitation. If you are interested, by the way, I'd buy a print of this - provided you give me a good price. It is no, to me, the best ice shot I've seen on this site, without a doubt for me, and I'd regard this as POW material - if I were an elfe, that is...:-))
Meanwhile, if you are keen, I'm serious, let me know the price for a 50 cm square print... Regards.Marc G. August 05, 2002; 02:00 P.M.
All of his critique made sense to me and I was very happy that a professional photographer would like one of my photos so much - was quite flattered. Unfortunately, the photo was taken on a small digital camera (1600 by 1200 pixels) and there was no way the image could be printed to a 50cm square. I would send the full-size original to Marc with my thanks for such a helpful critique and my best wishes that he might find something useful from the original file.
Over the years I have played around with the cropping of this image and I am quite satisfied with the version below.
'Freezing' (Alternate Crop) - Perisher Valley - 25 Jun 2002 (picasa)
Ella Taylor (*) writes On Vivian Maier (*), photography (*) and maybe a few more of us:
Perhaps she just loved taking pictures; perhaps they kept her company or even prevented her, for a while, from falling apart. Perhaps it never crossed her mind that she was an artist.
via 'Vivian Maier' Brings Nanny-Photographer's Life Into Focus (*) by Ella Taylor (*).
In 2010 as I struggled with the loss of Jenny (*), those around me were concerned. So I am thankful to my Mother who suggested I should try to get back into my photography and Jo, who independently, suggested I start to organise my photos. And so I did (*), and still do ..
As we struggle with the loss of Jenny and we try to find our place in this new world, we have much to be grateful for.
Joanne, Jenny and Geoff - Paddling on Fitzroy Island Far Nth Qld - 26 March 2009
Jenny "in her element" - PD's Women's - CNY/Heat 1 - Sat 08 Feb 2009
We are grateful for the time we had with Jenny. We did some amazing things together and we feel honoured that we were a part of her journey through this life and that we were there to support her in all her endeavours (and for her support in ours) and in particular the final steps she made as she broke free from this world. She "touched" many people, more than we will ever know. She has given us strength, motivation and inspiration to go forward. She lives on through us and she helps to inspire and guide us as we continue to live fullfilling lives - something she showed us and wanted for us all. In particular, we are very grateful to our Family and Friends who have shared our Grief, shown us their Empathy, given us their Support and quietly look out for us.
PD's and the "Orange Twist" - FOW - Sun 07 Dec 2009
Family and Friends - FOW - Sun 07 Dec 2009
We continue to lead the lives that Jenny would want for us, and the day following Jenny's Funeral, Joanne and I returned to our training with the Australian Dragon Boat Team. We went to Prague to represent Australia at the World Dragon Boat Championships barely 8 weeks after Jenny's passing.
Jenny - St George Private Hospital - Tue 23 Jun 2009
Geoff, Mike and Joanne with Jenny's Paddle and Gold Medal - Prague/Racice - Day 5 - Sun 30 Aug 2009
Australian Senior Mixed 500m Team – Prague/Racice - Day 4 - 29 Aug 2009
Joanne and I have so many people to thank. I cannot even attempt to start this process, but I hope everyone will know the part they played in supporting and guiding us through this period of our lives.
After all this time, all I can say is "THANK YOU" from the bottom of our hearts.
Gained a couple of insights from watching this movie and then having a look around the web where I found a couple of good reviews written by Grief Counsellors:
In fact, part of the process of grief is to find one’s “new normal.”
Conversely, as we change, our grief changes.
As Leah’s mother eloquently describes it, grief is like a brick in one’s pocket – we always feel it, but over time it feels less heavy. After some time, we can actually forget that it’s there sometimes, but memories come back, and we feel the brick again.
Had kind of worked this out for myself (i.e. in order to move forward, you need to adapt, otherwise you can get stuck) and was actually going to write about it to mark the 2nd anniversary of this little Blog, which passed quietly while I was in Auckland for the Takapuna Cup. In the end I did not get around to posting (happens a lot - only a fraction of what I would like to post makes it here - have started so many posts that never quite get finished).
Anyway, what I had thought I would write about for that unwritten 2nd Anniversay Post was how my life (and is some ways my identity) had changed since that first post on the Wed 25 Feb 2009 and how I thought the blog might give some indication to what I am passionate about, who I was , the transition to who I have become and where I am heading, at least in the short-term.
I have enjoyed the Blogging. It has given me a creative outlet and has kept my mind stimulated. It is fun to look over what I have written. Like a photograph, I can remember the feelings and the reasons why I might have written the post.
Finally, as Ken Burns said at the 2004 Commencement Yale Class Day Speech (as pdf):
Write: write letters. Keep journals. Besides your children, there is no surer way of achieving immortality. Remember, too, there is nothing more incredible than being a witness to history.
Grief is concentrated in the face. It makes the flesh sodden and unresponsive, dull with blood, like when you are drunk and heat comes off the skin like vapour off water, as if your vitality is evaporating into the air. The muscles go dead around the mouth and eyes. It almost hurts when others smile and your own face remains inert, held down by the drag and weight of the blood. The memory of grief stays in the flesh. The body recalls it, feels its weight, moulds itself automatically to its shape as the loss is remembered, the mask becoming tighter as the memory becomes clearer; not the memory of the dead person, but the memory of grief itself.
Geoff - "an early start for the first day of the rest of my life - 'where do you start?'" - Alexandria - 7am Wed 01 Jul 2009 (picasa)
Took this photo of myself the first morning after Jenny had died. I slept OK, all things considered and was up early - I had no idea what the day would bring. All I knew there was a Funeral to organise and many people to be contacted. No stranger to all of this, so I headed up to my usual Coffee shop (Cafe Sofia) so that I could have a few quiet moments to myself before the onslaught of the day.
Not sure why I took the photo - maybe so that I could remember that moment of numbness, despair and initial grief. I did a similar thing when my younger brother Tim died (see here).
The words above by Jonathan Walker (he reviewed one of my photos that I took in Newtown - see here) seem to match up with what I now see of myself in the photo.
The following gives some context to his writings on Grief - The Art of Grief - and its relationship to his new Novel - Five Wounds. It is complicated, but Grief is a long drawn out and complicated process. I am still trying to work it all out myself.
Five Wounds is a parable as well as a fairy tale. Throughout, it refers to an invisible, suppressed source: ‘The Art of Grief’, an abandoned essay on the deaths of my parents. This essay is never acknowledged directly within the novel, but it will be made available in March or April 2010 as a free download on my website for those who wish to investigate.
[..]
‘The Art of Grief’ is a key, which unlocks hidden meanings in Five Wounds. However, the relationship between the two texts is more complex than that of a riddle to its solution or a joke to its punch line, because Five Wounds has an independent life of its own. Its characters act according to their own natures, and make their own choices. They are not mere ciphers, condemned to act out episodes of my biography in a disguised, pathological form. The characters may be fantastic, but they are real within their own world, even when they unknowingly refer to events beyond its borders.
In this case, then, one text does not solve the other. Rather, Five Wounds places stolen fragments of ‘The Art of Grief’ in a new setting, which transforms their meaning, as the Venetians studded the façade of the church of San Marco with pieces of marble looted from Constantinople. Here, however, the arrangement is reversed. It is not the loot that shines brightly, but the container, within which the quotations are safely hidden away, like bones in a reliquary.
