to perceive that concept you need to see spy with your eyes underneath your view
make sure of wet knees determine worm glimpse sleep underneath your lips velvet observation
consider no evaluation just look what you see receive no consultation walk to interview with eyes wide open
distinguish what lays behind your vision notice that slightest sight catch espy
appreciate your flight comprehend sheltered love within your fathom
Perhaps, maybe, possible, you need to see before you look inside photography perhaps not Morning light sure helps to ease ones mind.
on a personal note, i am moving house going away from city persuit, leaving behind an other garden for somebody else to enjoy, creating more gardens on ground force, going north to a house on floor level.
On page 31 of the “Dropped Feather” book you find a poem with the title “Stoof”, here follows the inspiration of that poem.
The poetry in the book is about the moment. While taking the photos my mind wanders, sometimes to surprising places, at times following memory lane. It took me a while before i found the place, cycling in memories on straight road framed with straight trees, along bare agricultural land. Contrasting landscape compared with the river landscape, where so many of the photos come from. It is intensively farmed land and nature has no change, except along the edges. The above photo was taken in April 2020, ploughed soil, partly covered by plastic, artificial irrigated. New land, the riverside is new nature, this is new created land from nature.
Once the land was a cultivated natural landscape with mainly Willows. The Willows were harvest for basket making and other crafts, including clog making, them traditional wooden shoes. The land was swampy with many creeks and small lakes, flooded during the winter months. There were little hills, called Terps the top photo shows one of them Terps with a small house. The houses on the Terps in the old landscape were used as shelter and sleeping areas for the Willow-workers. The whole area is around 1100 hectares, or was 1100 hectares.
In 1926 they started to take out the Willows and filled in the many creeks and small lakes, by hand, with shovel and wheelbarrow. Work for the many unemployed man and woman from the locale area, it was the way they earned their ‘benefit’ literarily the only way they could survive. Refusing to work here was loosing your ‘benefit’ and with no money, no food etc. etc.
The worst of all it was seen as charity. The new landowners became rich over the backs of the poor who found themselves in a situation, which was not their making. This story i was told as a little girl when my parents took us on the bike (they never owned a car) to a place we called de Stoof but its official name is Stoop. We would picknick there on a sunny summer day. The Stoop is situated on an old Terp and was, this always makes me laugh, given to the community ha ha ha, it was made by the community.
Sitting there on the picknick bench i wrote the poem you find on page 31. Why it ended up on page 31 is pure coincidence, it has nothing to do with the photo. The Stoof was written on 24 July 2020, the photo under the poem was taken on 16 September 2020, the photo next to the poem, page 30 was taken on 1 June 2020. The way to create Photo Poetry in some way related yet not at all.
In the proces of making a book-car to wander about with, showing the books, selling the books. It will hook onto the bike, butte, it looks boringly black. Paint, waterbased gravity paint, to get the colours. Car was painted on the allotment in the open air. People remember mostly the drop photos, so went to get the car with the camera, to take photos of dew on the paint. Walking as bike has not yet the ‘towbar’. Just made it in time for the vanishing mist, almost there, forgot the key. Got the photos as a background for a logo. AND Walking back became just perfect, still water, morning light, floating catkins, perfect for the Salix book. Will safe them perfect photos for the book only as always. One day soon (hopefully) tourists will walk along the Windmills meeting me and the book-car. The date for publishing is postponed as it takes the printer longer, to get it prefect.
noise over noise
inside more noise
need to get away from it
can't work like this
25 kilo metres
here we go
dark and cold
scooter stink scooter noise, now there should go subsidies to electric scooters much better much better they who can afoord electric cars do they really need subsidies
solved one problem in my mind just in my mind while fleeing what can not be left
here we go
dark and cold
you know that feeling of
ultimate argument non winning sensations
now here comes the camera
what about them catkins ja
you are in macro mode ja
hey i am getting wet here ja
no win situation
under water what do you want to achieve
with them spots them white spots
where did they come from in the first place
not inside my lenses my light focus shows something else
silence of water
music for mind
coming and going
let it be let it come let it smooth all away
hundreds of photos coming and going
suddenly Virginia Woolf flows by her shoes sink inside sand her pockets are filled with rocks her hair flows like waves over her facial expression just a moment out of hours reflecting in my mind her dead her books her words
3 women 3 timescales 3 livelihoods
1 movie hours away
like my mind hours flowing on water forgetting all what can not be left
leaving reality out of my mind like wolfs with dubble Osss
creating stories making lines of words over screams entering my mind
letting go of what lays behind entering what lays ahead in my mind just my mind not yours not his her lines are different than mine in offensive minefield going where insults solve into waterlines going where outrage sinks to bottomlines.
yep here an old place a new way
hours later words later images later
the certain need to go back
headache picking up
cold till the bones
almost too late for bakery almost not yet
so cakes and bread to celebrate hours
hours in solitude when creativity flows the best
now spending hours to fix it all inside my mind
creating my own words creating storylines
showing my vision
what noise never will see
what hurry never will see
what concrete never will see
If you came this far to read what was written you might wonder i have lost my mind but no these are real feelings true feelings coming and going every day as i can not get used to city living inside a huge village but for dutch pricipes it is a village for me it is a city. To do what i do i need nature so need to escape.
My books are about just that in a certain way batteling against the stream in peace of mind. Perhaps Virginia Woolf is the inspiration by the river. More Virginia
None of the photos nor the poems will be published in the books they will stay unique for the books only, not for screens nor screams.