Tag Archives: trees

sentinels of the lost

sentinels of the lost © 2016 Jered Dawnne

sentinels of the lost © 2016 Jered Dawnne

and then like rain these fetters fall and crash upon the floor

windows on a world and pictures moving sway and tumble
come to me and sweet-surrounded water-torn love me
sing to me your songs of love and unity and peace and joy
and i shall sing to you and cling forever like the dawn’s sun rising warm

when winter comes and covers me in cold and blanket screaming
warm me with your heart and soul and spirit and your strength
and like these cracking windows melt and break the chains that bind me

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of bluer skies and rain © 1988 Jered Dawnne, published 1993 in “The Sabre”

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transient stasis

transient stasis © 2015 Jered Dawnne

transient stasis © 2015 Jered Dawnne

I brought this bench to where it now resides: a brute-force effort moving it from a former home to this place. The decision to move it was arbitrary and a spurious: made on my last pass through the house after it had sold. But I had spent some good time sitting on it where it once was. I had conducted some good pondering there, and even a few photographs were taken from upon it, so it came along for the move.

After the move, I also spent a goodly amount of time perched upon it in its new setting, taking counsel both for and against certain decisions that were being made at the time. The place where it sits had an interesting feel during the night, even without all the things that were in my head: part melancholy, part solace, part fear, part hope, and part maundering. Whenever I come to visit it now, it feels simultaneously of stasis and transience to me: simple projections, both, I have no doubt.

It has always struck me as odd, this human propensity to mentally attribute one’s emotions upon a place. The skeptic in me strongly doubts that we can truly imprint portions of ourselves on places, let alone imbue them with our essences, but nonetheless, we create such deep connections, regardless of rational considerations. This place is one such for me.

When I took this photograph yesterday, I was reminded not only of what this place means to me, but what it might also mean to my children. And how those meanings have undoubtedly shifted over time. That thought, of course, led to considering what I thought of this bench in the place where it was, and of the things I had considered while sitting upon it there, and what its former setting must have meant to my children. And then the all of what had come before. It is a remembering thing in a remembering place, and there are very few things which I have managed to forget across the years.

But the transient stasis I perceive within this bench is nothing but what I carry within myself. My home is wherever I am, and my places of security are things which move within me, and which move with me, and which are ultimately mine alone.

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rimeMorn

rimeMorn © 2007 Jered Dawnne: late winter, Lincoln County

rimeMorn © 2007 Jered Dawnne: late winter, Lincoln County

A mere week after “underTree and overWrought”, my view was thus. Another place I miss quite a bit: this was part of the daily scene from our back porch of our first house in South Dakota. 3.5 acres was beyond our means to keep up with, and that was unfortunate. My upstairs condo of today pales in comparison, and has a far less intriguing view. Although to be fair, the ploughed fields weren’t exactly always “pretty”, either, I suppose.

But, I used to love those rime-covered mornings out there. It’s such an infrequent and fragile thing, the rime, and so very ephemeral. During my first few years in South Dakota, it was a novelty to me, of course, just like snow, sleet, and freezing rain were, growing up in central Texas.

The flat rise across the center of the image is the raised track for the old Rock Island Railroad. For four years or so, it was my favorite place to walk. Two of the old bridges over Spring Creek, built in the late 1800’s, lie to the left of this image, but would be obscured from this vantage. I used to visit them several times a month, as they had their own little ecosystems, and were a welcome distraction from hours upon hours of wedding post production and the long work-days spent for someone else’s benefit.

As winter approaches again, I am reminded that similar mornings remind me of this time, and even of this day in particular. It took me a week to pick up the camera again for myself, after the visit to San Antonio. I shot this having only briefly reviewed the photos from that trip; I was too raw, and raw in a manner it has taken me two handfuls of years to begin to come to terms with, in some ways. I shot this, with “underTree and overWrought” very much on my mind, actually. This was the day I gave it that name. Yes, “briefly reviewed”, for me, actually means a few things.

I learned to love the snow, here. It is very likely that I’ll eventually move even further northward, to the lands where the snow truly rules over all, and covers certain memories from obsession. That wouldn’t be a further evasion of my roots: more of an acknowledgement of the branches I slowly spread.

I might be done with trolling through my memory-factory for a while. There is still a bit of a story to tell, there. But for now, let me be on to other things.

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of that which will become

which was (original) © 2007 Jered Dawnne

which was (original) © 2007 Jered Dawnne

i vow to roam this spring and summer. i abhor this stasis, this unmoving pensiveness. i will rediscover the little things, and redevelop my joy in the beyond. i will recall where i have been and what i have done, but i will reach beyond the little deaths that are the mundane, the well-known, and the half remembered. and i will meet the skies in celebration.

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nightfall provenance

lightfall prominence (version 3) © 2014 Jered Dawnne

lightfall prominence (version 3) © 2014 Jered Dawnne

sometimes, when the night is deepest, i return to this place, in my head, and i wander. i would have roamed those mountains for months, if i could have, and while I was pleased with the angles that i had, they will never be enough. if only i could. if only.

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dark brightened

dark brightened © 2007, 2015 Jered Dawnne

dark brightened © 2007, 2015 Jered Dawnne

this was christmas day, now seven past, in a time i may be glad i cannot really remember. i was operating on remote, at the end of one of my toughest creative years, with another large wedding looming before me at the turn of the year. images such as this were far more haphazard than they seem, because moments of solitude like this were few and far between. i let them sit for seven years because i was broken, and they were broken, and like everything from my past, they take considerable effort to repair. they were captured with a broken lens, and that means not a single one can stand on its own “as shot.” but, i get to them, each one, each throw-away, each keeper. and i touch them with eyes attached to a brain that barely remembers those fleeting emotions that compelled me to get out and capture them. and each time i put one out, it is a little life, and a little death.

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what then shall come

what then shall come (prime), copyright © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

what then shall come (prime), copyright © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

there are times when my mind wanders to past things, to past haunts, to past hopes unrealized: to moments gone before and lost in streams of consciousness that can no longer be recalled. there are nights like this when i don’t even need to wonder if i will sleep, if the peace will come, if the silence will enfold me: these complement the nights when the dreams drive from the ætherial to the over-saturated hypercolour prominences that sneak into the waking. dreams woven in sound and vague wanderings no longer trouble me as they once did: it is the memory of what i escaped to be there and capture these moments, only to haunt me each time i revisit them and walk those times anew.

the winter before this photo was taken, these trees were nearly decimated by a severe ice storm. i was unable to capture the ice when it occurred, so maybe that’s why i think this, but i rather enjoy the way they looked that first year afterwards, with just one summer’s growth, and the aching need to survive.

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the ice that binds

the ice that binds (version 2) © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

the ice that binds (version 2) © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

it seems like my older photos work best in monochrome. or, perhaps, i have simply renewed my love for monochrome again. there’s just so much flexibility in what to present versus what to disguise: our eyes are bound to particular colourimetric interpretations that are inherently limiting. at any rate, i find myself not at all liking the full-colour versions of these photographs, so here’s another monochrome from a winter past. almost eight years ago, this was. my, how times have changed.

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a shift of focus

treeline offset (version 3) © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

treeline offset (version 3) © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

this is one of the pieces which some of you may remember from towards the end of my private blog. tonight, i attempted to replicate a series of treatments that i was goofing around with on a low-resolution version of this photo on an old iPad. this more intensive, high-resolution version using Nik filters comes very close to what i had done at the time, and of course a bit better. it involves two separate utilizations of bokeh, along with what has become my typical colourimetric manipulations prior to going monochrome. sometimes, the post-production is rather complex, in order to achieve a simplistic-looking result. i’m sure some of my fellow photographers would cringe at the amount of digital darkroom time i spend on some of these, but to me, this is where the real pleasure is at.

if you could track your eye movement when viewing this image, you would discover that your eyes get pulled in a very distinct pattern across the image, and that almost everyone’s eyes would follow the same general pattern. i use this dual-focus “trick” quite a lot, usually a bit more subtly than here. the lines of the tree trunks just make it a bit more imperative than normal.

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the wintered why

luminarial rime © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

luminarial rime © 2007, 2014 Jered Dawnne

and so completely
entwined in rime and
reason—that dark
shining, at once
luminarial, then
interpolated—now
comes the certain
remembrance of
your embrace:
that cloak of
the wintered why.

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image: “luminarial rime”, original © 2007, monochromed © 2014 Jered Dawnne
words: “the wintered why”, © 2014 Jered Dawnne

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