Saturday, 2 August 2014

Portfolio on Lens Culture

And then I get an Email from Lens Culture telling me I get a portfolio on their page and have been smiling uncontrollably ever since:))))))))) the portfolio will probably be working from sometime next week :)))))

Sunday, 15 June 2014

Today's Vegan

The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that is wrong in this world

Paul Farmer

Friday, 13 June 2014

Tuesday, 10 June 2014

IPPAwards 2014

I'm happy to say, that I did well at IPPAwards 2014 with the photo posted. See link:


Friday, 16 May 2014

Study - My Surburbia VI

Study Globe

Study - My Suburbia V

Poem and Ravel

This road takes me; a horse guiding a horseman
A traveler like me cannot look back
I have walked far enough to know
where autumn begins:
there, behind the river,
the last pomegranates ripen
in an additional summer
and a beauty mark grows
in the seed of the apple
The road and I will sleep like partners
behind the river, beneath our shadows,
then rise at dawn and carry each other.
I will ask it: Why so fast?
Slow down, O horse saddled with seasons!
No matter how few our dreams
we will cross the desert and valleys
to reach the end at the beginning.
The beginning is behind us;
Before us, clouds bringing winter's tidings.
I have walked far enough to know
where winter starts:
there, over the hill
a gazelle looks for a fawn under the clouds.
A hunter points his rifle;
I will howl like a wolf
so the white gazelle can flee the fire
and the hunter is scared.
The road and I will sleep
there, next to a cave, over the hill,
then rise at dawn and carry each other
asking: What next? Where are you taking me?
I see the fog, but I don't see the road,
nor does it see me.
Have I arrived?
Or have I been separated from the road?
I asked myself, then said:
Now, from this distance,
a traveler like me
can look back! 
Mahmoud Darwish


And they don't ask: What comes after death?
Though more intimate with the book of Paradise
than with accounts of the earth, they're preoccupied
with another question: What shall we do
before this death? Near to life, we live
and we don't - as if life were parceled out
from a desert where the haggling gods of property
settle their disputes.
We live beside an ancient dust.
Our lives burden the historian's night:
'Though I make them disappear, they come back to me
from absence.'
Our lives burden the artist:
'I draw them and become one of them, veiled in mist.'
Our lives burden the General:
'How can a ghost still bleed?'
We shall be what we want to be. And we want
a bit of life, not for just anything - but to honor
the resurrection after our death.
Unintentionally, they speak the philosopher's words:
'Death means nothing to us: if we are then he isn't.
Death means nothing to us: if he is then we are not.'
And they have rearranged their dreams
and sleep standing. 

Tuesday, 29 April 2014

No More Frost?

My studies are getting enjoyable, I'm so surprised, but everything seems changed. I hope it lasts!

Monday, 28 April 2014

Fun in the Sun - study

My Suburbia - studies I

It was and still is a place of asphalt and stones, stones and asphalt. Before the Internet, kids playing in the streets. Now they are sent to do organized sport instead. We got too much money, I guess. The houses were built before Norway struck oil, but often ambitiously rebuilt after. Flats built when builders thought the people living there would not be able to afford cars. Groves of tress in the middle of everything. Pines. Woods near by. Schoolyards full of asphalt, cold, heat, and dust. Secret places. Offices and semi industrial buildings. Gardens turning into high rises. My heart cries out for the land and the place I grew up. Why are we so blind and deaf and without hope?

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