Posted in blogging, Writing

The so-called imperfections you see in your face are some of your most alluring features-because they are you.

Faces

‘I love its vulnerability, it’s impossibly human position. I love how it reaches out, willingly or not, sucks the breath out of your lungs and pulls you in…’

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They carry on their surface, the angles, shapes and colours that collectively unify to create an outward appearance;

yet the story

The unique, impossibly raw and beautiful story

is embedded within it’s character.

Faces cannot lie.

Can you see who is the person that lies behind the face when they meet your eyes?

Can you see their powerful individualism that is their reality?

I love a happy face

One that has warmth and sunshine pinned to its smile. One that smothers you with its bright yellow rays and wraps itself around your every breathing cell

Every happy face, is a beautiful face.

I love a sad face

I love its vulnerability, it’s impossibly human position. I love how it reaches out, willingly or not, sucks the breath out of your lungs and pulls you in

Every sad face, is a beautiful face

Perhaps one of our failings as a human race is our perception of beauty

Our perception that character, and the insuppressible beauty of uniqueness is imperfection

Overwhelmingly, the most alluring quality in a face is its powerful mystique

It’s honesty, it’s visible reflection of the soul, it’s unquantifiable energy, it’s stunning uniqueness, it’s story

The character in a face is the epitome of human perfection-beauty beyond definition,

for it cannot be measured.

Faces blooming with emotion, life and character have endless depth and come with infinite interpretations and possibilities, unlike the finite form of perceived physical beauty.

In the words of Amy Bloom-

“You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed.

And you are beautiful.”

Portraits

Posted in blogging, Poem, Wordpress photo challenge, Writing

Opposites

As the mountain darkens with the dimming light of day the skeletons of the past emerge from behind the trees that cover it’s surface as black as night it hides yet it’s eyes are wide op…

Source: Opposites

Posted in Photography, Writing

Through your eyes…

 

Through your eyes…

I don’t remember being informed at any stage in my life that to achieve optimal results as a photographer, one must not only be a contortionist, but several other things as well.

One must be spiderman.

I mean today for example, it was necessary to be in a partucular place that required me to literally stick to the rocks and balance with no hands as I attempted to haul my camera equipment down a tortuous path. I can see how easily an expensive camera could be smashed into smitherines in one miniscule lapse of concentration.

One needs to have the patience of a Tibetan monk.

Let’s face it, there are so many variables. Light, co-operation, the perfect f-stop, iso, shutter speed and shooting mode for the scene…and when shooting wildlife, lots and lots and lots of luck.

One needs to be mozzie proof.

When out in the bush near a river, the bitey things love to sink their teeth into one’s skin whilst one is trying to remain still-this is a no brainer for me-I’m out of there like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Today I decided to shoot a little waterfall by the name of Crystal Cascades in Cairns.

Yawn, I hear you say. Who hasn’t seen a million, zillion photographs of a waterfall? I know I have, and generally I am totally bored by them.

Yet the flip side, is that nobody has seen a photograph of a waterfall with my eyes behind the lens.

There is nothing in this world that hasn’t already been done, or photographed, or thought of, yet there are many, many, brilliant new perspectives. A myriad of unique pairs of eyes and differently configured neurons, that ensure we are stunningly different from every other soul on this earth.

And that is the secret to an increasingly colouful world, with light and shade and fascination and sustained interest in outdated tricks.

Authenticity,

New perspectives,

New eyes…

So when you yawn, and view these two dimensional images of an over photographed waterfall, remember, I had to wear a spiderman suit, to capture them…

Posted in blogging, fitness, Writing

Triathlon

 

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The Triathlon I did on the weekend…

Every step of the run felt like sandpaper slowly scraping the skin off my toes. I thought seriously about stopping, taking my shoes off and wiping away the grains that were responsible, but wasn’t keen on losing time, and then there was the risk of losing all motivation to continue…

I competed in an Olympic distance triathlon today (1.5km/40km/10km) ‘Twas a bit of a rash decision to say the least, no training for 7 weeks post the Cairns 70.3 Swim and Cycle legs (1.9km/90km), but I was interested to see just how much fitness I had lost in this time, and of course I was adding in a run.

The shower was hot. Nice, but the sting inside my blistered, nicely sandpapered toes was something comparable to childbirth-That may be a slight over exaggeration, but I think you get the point. My sun tinged shoulders and face screamed the moment the drops of water cascaded across their surface-and then I exhaled.

It was a spectacular Far North Winters day. Sun, blue skies despite some patchy rain, and warmth that was conducive to casual dress-but it was the water temperature that was worrying me. I despise swimming in cold water. Makes me feel like I’m in Antarctica imitating a seal or something-I am NOT a seal. Or a penguin for that matter, but the water was ok…in fact it was the least of my problems.

“Mum. Let’s go for a cycle” Xavier piped

Now let me just say, he never says that.

It’s like ripping out his appendix with no anaesthetic to get him to ride, but today, he chooses to ask when I am a shattered woman.

“Are you serious Xav?”

“Hmm. No not really, but can you take me to the Esplanade because I need to catch some pokemon’s.

It is very windy on the Nade today. Windy August I call it, so I’m hiding in a nice little sheltered spot, writing this, whilst the ‘lighty’-translation for non Zimbabweans-young child-runs around with a small square object in his hands, dodging all the other Pokemon hunters, trying to avoid collisions with trees and dangerous moving objects, pressing random buttons and apparently catching little teddy bear things that give him points and the uttermost satisfaction with life-I’ll never understand how this game has become globally viral with millions of people across cultures, nationalities, and races, transfixed. It makes international political warfare a total joke-just give them Pokemon.

…whoever knew the secret to happiness was that simple-well kids of course, that’s who…and dogs, who do similar things with tennis balls-run after them and don a smile so big you’d swear their tongue was going to fall out.

The swim was lovely, a few waves, a bit of nausea, but I hadn’t lost that much, and I was grateful. The cycle was another story.

Me and my $500 buck second hand Aluminium bicycle had arguments with the headwind, although having said this, I thought I was fairing quite well, considering. I did notice that there were less and less cyclists on the course and I began to feel suspicious that I wasn’t as fast as I thought I was.

I approached the last turnaround and the marshall lady person, was standing in the middle of the road…

“Are you in the race?”

I was flabbergasted.

“Yes?” I yelled

“Oh. Well then are you in a team love?”

“No?” I yelled again.

What is with this lady? I mean it wasn’t as if I was the only competitor left on the course. There was one man, he didn’t quite fit on his seat properly, but he was there, and there was a bloke having a little rest while he replied his tyre, then there was the lady. Plenty of people left, I thought. I have no idea who she was, as I couldn’t see her face. It was covered. With her hair. Her visibility must have been appalling.

It’s a massive reality check when all one wants to do is go home, lick ones wounds, feel sorry for oneself for a while, beg for sympathy, shower and curl up in bed, but instead, the ball of life keeps rolling and one ends up enduring gale force winds, in the sun, buying cinnamon donuts and milkshakes for the love of a little Pokemon hunter and his happiness.

I only have one word for the run leg;

Sandpaper.

No, I can think of a few more- I am not a one word person, except when I’m extremely tired (sometimes not even then) or extremely grumpy;

Snail pace, hot (Cairns residents are lying when they tell you it’s winter. We never have winter, just less of a summer), strangely satisfying-in a kind of painful sadistic kind of way, and complete.

Yes. I completed it, which is what I was aiming to do.

The time is largely irrelevant to me, but humans generally don’t understand words…what they want is numbers.

Final time?

2:43 Hours.

Thank goodness it wasn’t over 3, and thank goodness I trusted myself enough to enter, regardless of my fitness status quo; for the experience, the camaraderie, the fresh ocean air, and the sympathy I am hoping to receive for the blisters…they really are quite big…huge, no they’re huge.

Thanks to all my friends who supported me.

XN

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Posted in blogging, Writing

Don’t tell me I can’t

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She writes,

yet her writing does not appeal to her year 12 English teacher.

“English is not your subject”

…and so, she follows the path of Science

“because you’re better at that”

and yet, 20 years later, when she no longer listens,

she writes anyway.

Because that is what is inside of her

because she has ‘stuff’ to say

because she has ‘stuff’ to share

and because she has a heart for it.

Literary brilliance, literary magnetism, literary success,

is about passion, and truth, and reality.

It’s about perseverance

and  belief

and sharing

and  risk

It’s about throwing away the rule book

…and daring to be free

It’s about blocking your ears to the entire universe

in order to unlock the gates to yours.

It’s rebelling against the world with prose

It’s making peace with one’s thoughts

It’s about you

and no-one else,

and having the strength to expose yourself to vulnerability, and failure, and fear and judgement.

It’s about believing, that if your year 12 English teacher says you can’t, it’s not the end.

Because it’s never over, until YOU say so

and if you truly, truly, want it…

you absolutely can. 

…and so she writes. 

 

Posted in blogging, Writing

A pen and paper is all I have…

The power has gone out
a pen and paper is all I have.
My phone is dead, so that’s out.
I am hungry, yet the toaster doesn’t work-no power
I feel like a coffee, yet the kettle has no charge.

So I kick start the gas-to boil some water
…for coffee
But the ignitor is not working.

Matches

I run for the matches.

One, two, three strikes and I’m out.

The matches won’t light, they must be wet, from the rain.
Darn it.
I try another box, and another, and another, and another…

Bingo.

The rain pours down outside.
I snap a shot or two, but the camera gets wet.

Steam rattles the pot lid,

Tink, tink, tink…

My coffee is hot, I add condensed milk-smooth and sweet.

It’s dark today, and it feels lifeless without the usual subtle sounds that electricity brings.

Now. To cook toast on my gas stove.

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