On Memorial Day Weekend 2012, Peter and I headed for a weekend at Waldport. We drove up to Philomath, then drove down the Alsea River. We made a pit stop at Clemens Park and stayed a while as the larkspur was in bloom, and the river brought back memories to Peter.
I put this together like a journal entry, trying to capture the rhythm of a mind, a set of eyes, and an interaction with another person’s memory. Audio turned out rougher than I would have liked, but maybe next time I’ll get it right!
A class assignment for my Digital Photography class morphed of its own accord into a couple of projects: I started with a photo showcase of the magnolias I photographed at Owen Rose Garden and created a Jux.com post (clickety click!).
Then I started thinking more deeply about the nature of Magnolia, how outrageous a tree she is, and I made a video to express those ideas more fully.
I have started a Digital Photography class with Richard Lennox, Spring 2012, and I have recorded a video journal entry as I begin my journey toward more fully understanding the light that comes in my camera’s lens.
My dream hands do the work In another world, one I need A black cat’s eyes to see.
I travel the red river of my own sleeping blood In search of three strings I know I must find and braid together.
Raven’s wings take me up To that Rainbow Place Where One Eye sees all.
Sandy Brown Jensen
This collage image was made with an iPad ap called Mixel. Because I don’t usually believe that an image tells its own story without words, I wrote a poem to go with it–not to make it less mysterious, but to add to the mystery and speak to it.
Here is the Make The Untranslatable Understood assignment:
Use the Random Words with No English Translation tool (http://lab.cogdogblog.com/nowords/) to generate a word that could be better understood with a photo or image. Find a creative commons image or make your own, and include the word somehow in the image. Then share it with someone and ask if it makes sense.
I chose the word “boketto” to go with my current mood this stormy day at the end of 2011. I had dreamed about searching for my grandmother in the river of my childhood, and she had appeared for the third time in a dream as a great fish. I have often seen my father (who passed long ago in 1979), with that boketto look on his face. I pulled the skein of my artwork and dreams together into this poem and blogpost.
For six months, a dozen well-dressed geese with green cards from Canada, have talked apart the sky above my house, wearing smooth the air between the open Willamette River and the foraging fields of Fern Ridge.
Now, in the dawn dark, I hear them high up over the bike path cottonwoods, coming my way. I imagine what I cannot see–twenty four wings beating tip to tip, veed out like talkative angels. I can almost understand the jokes, the chuckles, as they come faint, pass over 340 N. Grand loud, and, still in strong confabulation,fade south to Skinner