Tag Archives: colour

Painting the night

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drizzle

Missing the slush (not my photo)

Stepping up from the drizzling darkness that changed snow to slush at my feet, I climbed onto the bus, swallowed by the jaundiced warmth to join my fellow riders, isolated from the world in their cocoons of rayon, wool and leather.

Taking a seat as the bus pulled away from the curb, I too slowly descended into mental torpor, an oblivious partner on a journey across the east end of town, the warm companionship of time spent with a friend leaching from my body like the heat of a dying ember.

But before I entered my traveler’s coma, a brief flash forced its way onto slumbering retinas, drawing my attention to the window beside me. And yet, I saw little other than the salined grime of the city that blocked my view of the houses that I knew rolled past in the darkening night.

grimy-window

A veil of sodden salt and grime blinded me

And then another flash. Or perhaps it was a splash.

Ready now, I waited and watched, and was soon rewarded with flares of green and orange and red and white. An aurora transportis dazzled my eyes, unheard musical notes traversing my optic nerve to tickle my brain.

And as quickly as those colours had passed, white puddles of light twinkled at shoulder height, blebbing through the mire; abstract art painted from the other side of a translucent canvas for my pleasure.

Reds, blues, whites mingled with greens, mauves and yellows. Or blinked out of existence altogether, only to reappear elsewhere before my eyes. Multi-hued ballerinas and dervishes spinning without purpose; colour without design; existence the only goal.

splash

Image doesn’t really capture the diffractive dance

As my conscious brain finally arose from its slumber, awaken by the visceral tarantella that stomped the grey matter, I began to understand what I was seeing.

The salted matting that covered the bus windows could not hold back the shine of the many porch lights, Christmas lights, headlights and street lights that I passed on my journey, instead providing myriad prisms through which the photons waved their many lengths.

The very mire that weighted and closed my world was the vector through which the display existed to dazzle.

Unfortunately, consciousness came at a price as my understanding of what I was seeing meant that I now saw what I understood. And although the display continued until I reached my destination, it was slightly dimmed as mental clarity broke through grimed windows.

But even as I mourn the loss, I am warmed by the memory, and even if I never experience it again, I have been changed by my journey through a tunnel of light and colour.

Bombast of Victoria Day – part two

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As promised, a few more shots of colour and fire from Monday’s Victoria Day celebrations along the eastern Beaches of Toronto.

See also:

Bombast of Victoria Day – part one

Bombast of Victoria Day – part one

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Although not officially summer, the Victoria Day Weekend (aka May 2-4 weekend) signals the beginning of warmer weather and summer breezes in much of Canada. It is the weekend that everyone starts to plant their gardens, and when people abandon the big city for cottage country.

It is also the first of two weekends of fireworks (the other being July 1, Canada Day), and I am fortunate enough to live down the beach from one of the biggest fireworks shows in Toronto. Here are a handful of shots (blasts) from last night.

Falling into autumn

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Last week, I took my camera out to catch a glimpse of nearby Toronto’s Kew Gardens and the fading remnants of our Remembrance Day commemorations.

Sidewalking

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Of to visit with a friend at a local baconery (not bakery, but baconery…a restaurant called Rashers dedicated solely to bacon) and decided to take my camera with me, catching some of the gardens and a surprise guest along the way.

A spot of colour in a B/W world

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Oh no! I discovered a new toy…well, new to me.

Using Lightbox, I’ve learned how to convert a photo to black & white and then return to the colour to one or more component of the photo.

And now I’m distracted all to hell. And worse, a friend has a shopping list of images she wants for her apartment.

So, if you don’t hear from me for a while, at least you’ll know why.

PS Who knew all those colouring books would come in handy!?

Spring’s release

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ux96cj-l-610x610-dress-floral-backless-floral-dress-summer-dress-open-back-summer-flowers-cute-clothing-pink

Greys and browns slowly release

Their deathly grip on our souls.

Minor moments of colour—

Red, orange, green, yellow—

Poke out weary heads,

Finding welcome, seizing hope.

Splashes grow to puddles,

Puddles into deluge,

And the world is bathed

In chromatic bliss.

Spring lines have arrived.

Can the sales be far behind?

(Image is property of owner and is used here without permission, but appreciation.)

Shapes and colours – Toronto style

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A seemingly random assortment of images highlighting the unusual and unexpected.

Writer’s Block-ed – Part One

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Anyone who has stared at a blank page or screen and been incapable of adding words to it understands the living nightmare that is writer’s block. The whiteness of the sheets or the blinking of the cursor mocks you as you struggle before it, desirous of wondrous expression but incapacitated and mute. You feel incapable, devoid of ideas, and worry that your creative ju-ju will never return.

But are we correct in feeling this way? What is writer’s block?

To my mind, the only difference between creatives and non-creatives is a willingness to create. We all have it within us; it is just that some of us move unbridled to the fore while others linger back. It is as though there is a psyche membrane or filter that separates us, or perhaps, to be more granular, it separates thought from expression.

Think of any filter in your house. The air filter in your car, for example. The filter keeps particulate matter—dust, dirt, debris—from damaging your engine while still allowing air to reach the combustion cylinders that convert fuel to power. When that filter gets clogged, however, less air can reach the cylinders and therefore the car underperforms or does not run at all.

I think the psyche filter works similarly but with a twist. In creatives (and likely in children), the filter is clear and wide open, allowing thoughts generated deep within to pass through freely and find expression in the outside world.

In non-creatives and people experiencing writer’s block, it is less that the pores of the filter have become clogged, so much as the pores have shrunk to microscopic size—a self-clogging filter, if you will. This prevents almost all of the generated thought from reaching the surface to be expressed.

You are generating ideas, but for whatever reason, your filter is keeping you from letting them free.

Alternatively, the filter works more like the car filter in that your psyche requires stimulating input to convert brain energy to creative power. In creatives, the filter lets in everything (or a large part of everything), whereas in non-creatives, again, the pores are too small to let anything more than the rudimentary information needed for survival enter and so the creative engine stalls.

In either case, the capacity to generate thought and to express those thoughts is the same in both groups of people. It is the nature of the filter that distinguishes us.

I wish I could present you with the secret answer for unblocking that filter when it becomes troublesome, but the working mechanisms of each filter are unique, yours attuned to your psyche.

In Part Two, I’ll offer some thoughts on what I have found effective in dealing with a clogged filter. They don’t always work, but by having multiple outlets, I hedge my bets that something will work.

The following gallery explores colour at one of my favourite buildings in Montreal, the Palais des Congres.