Inner Dimensions

A double torus created by two spirals with their ends linked, a mathematical conundrum of intersecting dimensionalities, wormhole physics come back to bite itself on the bum, Ouroboros...I wish I could have worked the Onion into this abstract of Slinkies, but it disappeared in a puff of quanta when I sat it down, possibly to make a reappearance some time last week.

Waldrick Road Farm

Washington's Deschutes River runs through this little valley (not to be confused with the larger Oregonian river which bears the same name), a pastoral setting of prairie grassland and stands of Douglas fir and glossy-leaved Garry oak. The valley is dotted with family farms where cattle and horses can be seen grazing in perfect idyll. The sounds of machinery and motors are for the most part distant and unobtrusive and fall with less impact on the ear than the call of the Scrub Jays or the gleeful chirrups of the smaller birds. Voices carry across the open space, a farmer calling to a farmhand or his wife; the words almost distinguishable, but not quite. The river says nothing. It passes silently in its course, undisturbed by rocks in its bed or changes in terrain. The peace of the moment is a window into a time when life was simpler, when you could sit of a warm afternoon and listen to the corn grow without the interruption of a cell phone.

Island In The Mist

Island In The Mist, a photo by DeForestRanger on Flickr.

Years ago before Alder Lake existed, this little island was a high spot in the terrain of the small town of Alder and, as is often the case with high spots in small towns, it was chosen for the site of a one-room schoolhouse. A dam was put in place across the Nisqually River in 1945, and as the water level rose, the town was flooded out of existence. You can still access Schoolhouse Island on foot for much of the year from Sunny Beach Point, although the land bridge may or may not be under a couple of feet of water, and if you know where to look, you can see the remnants of the old school's foundation. Today, Schoolhouse Island was surrounded by mist, appearing like Camelot for only a brief span of time. Bogucki Island, much larger and about a mile distant, was entirely obscured.

Collared

Collared, a photo by DeForestRanger on Flickr.

A natural monochromatic scheme!

After putting in an unscheduled two hours at work today following our Division's annual group photo, I came home, changed out of my uniform and then headed back up the hill to do some photography of my own. The Mountain has a way of delivering the unexpected, and I was delighted to find one of our overly habituated foxes at an overlook. I was disappointed that she seemed to prefer pavement to snow, and after taking several shots, I moved on, taking note that she was not radio-collared. I drove on up to Reflection Lake and on my way back, I spotted a second vixen, much blonder than the first. Her radio collar was quite obvious, and once she'd figured out that she was going to get no treats from me, she strolled off into the forest, giving me the perfect opportunity for this "habitat" photo. If you look closely, you can see the black transmitter under her neck ruff.

Son Of No Man

Son Of No Man, a photo by DeForestRanger on Flickr.

I have to admit that when I first read "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy," I was not particularly taken with it, but I am not one to condemn a book on one reading. I forced myself through it a second time and then it began to grow on me. Eventually, I joined the vast number of fans who delight in Douglas Adams' clever and often cheeky series, and in these last few years it has been my custom to reread them in honor of International Towel Day.

As for the photo, it is a nod not only to Hitchhikers everywhere, but also to René Magritte's painting, "The Son of Man." To me, the two themes go hand in hand, the Son filling the same metaphorical niche as does Arthur Dent. Dent is Everyman and no man, the last human. All the poor sap wants is a honest cup of tea. He is thrown into a surrealistic series of events through no fault of his own, yet manages to maintain his identity even while being forced to accept that he is no more than a flyspeck in the Universe. His dilemma is one which addresses us all as we each try to find some point of stability in the confusion of our lives. Magritte's Son is faceless but unique, his identity firm but obscure. He too is Everyman and no man, conflicted by his own vision and what others see of him.

Thus the logic of my composition. I am the Son of No Man because I am a woman. I stand on a boundary between two states of matter, faceless, with the Universe behind me, and I cannot see forward.

Happy International Towel Day! And Pangalactic Gargle Blasters all around!

Alas, Poor Onion

Alas, Poor Onion, a photo by DeForestRanger on Flickr.

Alas, poor Onion! I saw him, my Flickr friends; a fellow of infinite possibility, of most excellent taste; I have borne him in my kettle a thousand times; and now, how perfected in my imagination it is! My appetite growls at it. Here hang those layers that I have tasted I know not how oft. Where be your flavours now?

With apologies today to the Bard, Onion #1 has not yet outlived his photographic potential. Might be nice with a little ham...cough!...Hamlet on the side.

Odd Onion

Odd Onion, a photo by DeForestRanger on Flickr.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that my favorite artist is Salvador Dali (an odd onion if ever there was one) and of course this shot was inspired by his unique vision. It also has its roots in the amazing photographic collage work of Ted Joans, colleague and friend of Jack Kerouac, and creator of "The Hipsters," published in 1961 as the Beat Era was reaching its end. Sadly, Joans' work is now out of print and I was unable to locate any examples of it on line.

Surrealism according to Webster is "the principles, ideals or practice of producing fantastic or incongruous imagery in art of literature by means of unnatural juxtapositions and combinations." That definition barely scratches the surface. I would add to it a large helping of metaphor and layered meaning, and a fair sprinkling of simply wanting to confuse the hell out of your viewers. Lemme know when you figure out why I'm wearing a silk jabot with hiking pants, will ya? I really need to know.