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WATER COLORS

“Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself”….George Bernard Shaw

If global warming continues and I fervently believe it will, we may have to rely more on the sea to produce our food. The above photograph was taken looking into a shallow rock pool at the plant life below. It would be good to know whether this plant life, which could be a renewable resource, is edible. No! I didn’t try it, I leave that sort of thing to the scientists or the guinea pigs.

As I was walking along the foreshore one day, the tide was coming in and there were a small number of fingerlings swimming. I photographed them and the above photo was the result. The fingerlings were opaque and not being a professional photographer as such, I have no idea how they represent in this photograph as a shade of purple and white.

The above photograph was taken of sea water rushing in and over a shallow crater in the rock I was standing on and I thought at the time that it made an interesting pattern.I should imagine that this pattern, as mixed as it is, would be extremely difficult to replicate in a painting. If nothing else, it makes a good talking point.

I’ve always been fascinated to see the result of light hitting water and the resultant picture it creates and if I was to come back in an hour’s time, the above picture would have changed dramatically, particularly if the weather changes. Perhaps that is why it is called a moment in time.

There is something very peaceful in sitting and watching the tide flow into the shoreline. Watching the play of colours on the surface and listening to the rippling of the water as it flows gently over the rocks.

This photograph is a good example of how you can turn something very simple into an abstract or decorative art piece simply by manipulating the colour. It is not necessary to capture a panorama to make a visual statement. Sometimes, simplicity speaks the loudest.

Enjoy what you do and do it well.

Jimmy Bee

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ART DECOR

“The Principles of true art is not to portray, but to evoke.”

Jerzy Kosinski
The above scene is of a creek and taken by the author.

Have you ever had a discussion on whether photography is an art form?

I chose to place the above image under the subject heading “ART DECOR” because to me the above photograph is a piece of decorative art similar to that seen in hotel rooms, offices, etc. The question is, am I right?

Personally, I’m confused. I have heard arguments for and against and even though I feel that photography presented in this form, is art, I would like to know what your thoughts are?

Please spare a few minutes to make a comment.

Jimmy Bee

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PIKE PLACE MARKET

Seattle, Washington State, U.S.A.

“Seattle is for people who love culture, but refuse to sacrifice their wild nature to attain it.” 

― Kimberly Kinrade, Seduced by Innocence

Thank you Good Reads

Fish Market

How fresh is this?

The Pike Place Market located on the waterfront of Elliott Bay, opened in 1907 and is one of the oldest continuously operated markets in the U.S.A.

Cracked crab and chilli sauce – a Singaporean delicacy

The fish market in particular was really alive with vendors calling to each other and throwing these massive fish through the air to each other without dropping one.

The quality of the seafood was top notch, so fresh and surprisingly well priced for fresh seafood.

Flower Market

The prices being charged for the cut flower were comparable with what we would pay at markets in Australia.

The Pike market which is open 7 days a week has over 10 million visitors annually.

The quality of the hotels and restaurants around the market are of high quality. My wife and I had lunch across the road from the main market and found the quality good and the price was within the reach of most people.

If I was contemplating settling in the US, Seattle would certainly be on my short list.

Hang loose and enjoy life.

Jimmy Bee

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THE OWL CRITIC

By James Thomas Fields.

“Courtesy gives it’s owner a passport round the world. It transmutes aliens into trusting friends…..James Thomas Fields.

My sincere thanks to Keven Mueller and Unsplash for this photograph

“Who stuffed that white owl?

No one spoke in the shop,
The barber was busy, and he couldn’t stop;
The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading
The “Daily,” the “Herald,” the “Post,” little heeding
The young man who blurted out such a blunt question;
Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion;
And the barber kept on shaving.

“Don’t you see, Mr. Brown,”
Cried the youth, with a frown,
“How wrong the whole thing is,
How preposterous each wing is,
How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is —
In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck ‘t is!
I make no apology;
I’ve learned owl-eology.

I’ve passed days and nights in a hundred collections,
And cannot be blinded to any deflections
Arising from unskilful fingers that fail
To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.
Mister Brown! Mr. Brown!
Do take that bird down,
Or you’ll soon be the laughingstock all over town!”
And the barber kept on shaving.

“I’ve studied owls,
And other night-fowls,
And I tell you
What I know to be true;
An owl cannot roost
With his limbs so unloosed;
No owl in this world
Ever had his claws curled,
Ever had his legs slanted,
Ever had his bill canted,
Ever had his neck screwed
Into that attitude.
He cant do it, because
‘Tis against all bird-laws.

Anatomy teaches,
Ornithology preaches,
An owl has a toe
That can’t turn out so!
I’ve made the white owl my study for years,
And to see such a job almost moves me to tears!
Mr. Brown, I’m amazed
You should be so gone crazed
As to put up a bird
In that posture absurd!
To look at that owl really brings on a dizziness;
The man who stuffed him don’t half know his business!”
And the barber kept shaving.

“Examine those eyes
I’m filled with surprise
Taxidermists should pass
Off on you such poor glass;
So unnatural they seem
They’d make Audubon scream,
And John Burroughs laugh
To encounter such chaff.
Do take that bird down;
Have him stuffed again, Brown!”
And the barber kept on shaving!

“With some sawdust and bark
I could stuff in the dark
An owl better than that.
I could make an old hat
Look more like an owl
Than that horrid fowl,
Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather.
In fact, about him there’s not one natural feather.”

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch,
The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch,
Walked around, and regarded his fault-finding critic
(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,
And then fairly hooted, as if he should say:
“Your learning’s at fault this time, anyway:
Don’t waste it again on a live bird, I pray.
I’m an owl; you’re another. Sir Critic, good day!”
And the barber kept on shaving.

_________________________________

James Thomas Fields was born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. His father was a sea captain and died before Fields was three. At the age of 14, Fields took a job at the Old Corner Bookstore in Boston. Afterwards, he wrote for the newspapers, and in 1835, he read an anniversary poem entitled Commerce before the Boston Mercantile Library Association.

Fields wrote the following poems: The Lucky Horseshoe; The Lover’s Peril; Patient Mercy Jones; The Captain’s Daughter; Common Sense; With Wordsworth at Rydal.

As with the first poem posted, I was brought up with this poem, only this time it was recited by my father.

Fair weather to all,

Jimmy Bee

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POETRY/ BALLADS

” When the crow says an intelligent thing, chickens may laugh at it. This is the laughing of the sand castles at the powerful waves…..Mehmet Murat Ildan

Image captured by author.
Image of a crow supplied by https://pixabay.com/photos/crow-bird-animal-corvid-feather-4261744/

Three Black Crows…

Three black crows sat on a tree,

They were as black, as black as crows could be.

Faark, Faark, Faark.

Said one black crow unto the others

“Where shall we dine today my brothers?”

Faark, Faark, Faark

“On yonder hill’s an old grey mare.

I think we might as well dine there”.

Faark, Faark, Faark.

They perched upon her high backbone,

And picked her eyes out one by one.

Said the second black crow unto the other,

“Isn’t she a tough old bugger”

Faark, Faark, Faark.

Up come a squatter with his gun,

And shot them all excepting one.

Now that one black crow got such a fright,

He turned from black right into white.

That is why you’ll often see

A white crow perched upon the tree.

Author unidentified.

I first heard “Three Black Crows” recited back in the 1950’s . A family friend by the name of Billy Monteith, an old ringer/drover from North Queensland, used to recite it, and I never forgot it. Every time I see or hear a crow and there’re a lot around here, I think of old Billy and his ballad.

Cheers,

Jimmy Bee