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Posts Tagged ‘Photography’


                                                                                9 Things Only Highly Creative People Understand

1. They challenge the system.
To put it plainly, highly creative people like to challenge the status quo. They ask why and why not often and embrace alternate values. It may seem like they’re fighting against order, but really, they’re trying to make sense of it.

2. Their creativity is cyclic.
There are times that they paint all day, or stay up all night writing music. There will be other times they don’t produce much of anything. That’s okay. Creativity sometimes runs in cycles.

3. They need their space.
If they retreat to their studios to work, pop in and say hi once in a while but know that they need their space to do what they do.

4. They are focused.
Highly creative people, once their juices are flowing, will be difficult to distract from it. Remember to stay flexible with your schedules.

rock

5. They may have mood swings.
There’s nothing like art to make you swing between joy and depression. They’re smart and they have sensitive hearts. Play your best supporting role.

6. Their work is personal.
They take it personally if something doesn’t turn out like they wanted. Every critique can be seen as validation or condemnation of their work and therefore their worth.

7. They have trouble believing in themselves.
So encourage them.

8. They may have difficulty completing projects.
Again, encouragement is crucial. Highly creative people take their work personally, so tell them how much you love it. Tell them it’s awesome. It is, after all.

9. They see through bullshit.
Watch out, pal. Creative types connect the dots better than most people. They see patterns before the patterns are even clear.

10. They don’t ever really grow up.
Creative people have a childlike sense of wonder. Join them in it once in a while. We’re sure you’ll enjoy it.

By Higher Perspective

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There was once a saint who was giving a discourse to a huge crowd of people in India. After he had finished talking, a young mother brought her baby to him to ask for healing as the child was seriously ill. He simply spoke a few words of blessing over the child. A man suddenly stood up in the crowd and shouted, you can’t just do that. How can a few words make any difference to this sick child? The teacher looked at him and then proceeded to hurl abuse and insults at him. The man reacted by flying into a rage and ran towards the teacher with the intention of hitting him. Just before he got to him, the teacher raised his hand and said, ‘Stop! Do you not see how my words have had the power to make you so angry? Why then should they not also have the power to heal?

Words can heal or harm and that is why we should speak few words, and when we do speak, we should make them kind and uplifting. If you cut others with your words, you cut yourself, and where is the wisdom in that?’

 

atmosphere-color-fog-forest-landscape-light-Favim.com-38800

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“When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.”

fgh

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Ignacio is a crusty old bastard.  Or so everyone told me after I met him for the first time.  He was one of those mixed breeds of men, a blood line blended from all the major human food groups.  He had a look of an old warrior, eyes that could penetrate the soul of any man and a laugh that was contagious as any I have ever encountered.

I met him that first time a number of months ago when I asked him to share my table at one of the many over-crowded greasy spoon diners that permeate the Midwest landscape along Interstate 90.  He had an air of “I don’t give a shit” and another one that said “Don’t fuck with me”, yet he seemed amiable enough when he sat down and nodded a thank you in my direction.

“How be ya, son?”, he asked me in an accent that had that a twinge of that “Downeast Mainah” thing going on.

“I recognize that accent.  You from Maine?”, I asked.

“Ayuh” he chuckled as he exaggerated the word, “Born and raised up around a place called Millinocket.  The gateway to nowhere.   Left there to join the military back in 71 and never looked back.  Get up that way to visit once in a while, but wouldn’t move back to live. Pretty country but the politics sucks.  Too many educated idiots making too many regulations to live by. 

“So, what brings you out this way?”, I asked

“Hell, this is probably just another stop along the way, although a longer stop than usual.  Since Vietnam, I really haven’t stopped moving.  I like variety, both in work and in location…..and in my women.” He added with what looked like an innocent grin though it was difficult to tell under his shaggy, salt and pepper beard. 

“Quite the gypsy.  Sounds like you have had an interesting life.”, I said

“Had?…Shit, man…I ain’t dead yet.” He laughed as his plate of home cooked beans and steak was dropped in front of him.  He looked up at the young waitress.

“Thank you, Emma.  Looks and smells great.”

“Any time Roach.”, she said as she walked off.

“Ok. You’re not dead yet.  Any plans for the future? I asked, hoping that it would lead into a longer conversation.  His demeanor and his attitude created this certain curiosity.  There might be a story somewhere inside this man’s life. 

“What was Maine like…growing up”? I asked. “And…Roach?”

He just looked at me with those black eyes of his and said something about Roach being another story.  I accepted that graciously and commenced to eating the greasy cheeseburger I had ordered, along with the greasy fries and my weakness…chocolate milk.

“Growing up in Maine?  Probably like any other backwoods country place during the 50’s.  We never locked our doors; we raised our own meat and vegetables and hunted when we needed to.  Were we poor?  My dad worked hard for little money, but we never were cold or hungry and we enjoyed ourselves as much as any kids of that time.  So, no, we were not poor by those standards.  Using today’s elitist criteria for measuring “poor people”, I would have to say we would probably be called poor today.  God damned government idiots.  Have to put a label on everything, based on unrealistic statistics, just to validate to themselves that they are important and that we are too stupid to take care of ourselves without government assistance.  Shit, what I carry in the treads of my boots has more value than most politicians.”

“Problem with today, son, is the government is running scared.  Politicians are scared of losing their ill-gotten and undeserved benefits and their status with the people is lower than whale shit.  Government agencies have infringed themselves into people’s lives without permission and they are now beginning to understand that the citizens of this country are becoming extremely pissed off.  Rules, regulations, licenses, fees, taxes, spying and a whole shitload of other unnecessary crap.  Ain’t much that does get me riled except the fucking government, religious fanatics….. and thieving insurance companies.” he added with another grin.

“So, who the hell are you”?, he asked.

“My name is Bruce Swanson.  I make my living by writing and photography.  Nothing special, but it pays the bills.” I answered him.

“Shit, that is all that counts.  Doing something you like and earning enough money to get through life.  More people need to follow their dreams but don’t have the cojones to do so.  Be a lot less bitching to listen to if they did.” He said as he finished his plate.

“Anyway, thanks for the chair and have a good one.”,  he said as he pushed his chair from the table, dropped a couple dollars for a tip and headed to the cashier.

For some reason, I liked the coot.  He was opinionated and sometimes vulgar but he was the genuine article.  He wasn’t like the many people I have met that offered little, if any, transparency of their life.  Always trying to impress with exaggerated innuendos of how great they are.  This guy didn’t care one bit if you liked him or not, had actually lived the political history of the social upheaval of the 60’s, of the hippy movement with their “Peace, love, dove and pass the joint” philosophy and the vulgar events of Vietnam.  And due to his long history he could definitely understand that the recent raping of the Constitution by our so-called leaders is a serious problem that would eventually come to a head.  I needed to learn more about this guy.  What actually made him tick and how he faced life with patience, understanding and a slightly off kilter perspective that might make for good reading.  Now all I had to do was figure out a way to get to know him without pissing him off.  This type of guy you don’t piss off.  I needed a plan……(con’t)

Fish Pond, Northern Maine in autumn.

Fish Pond, Northern Maine in autumn.

        

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A Place called Love….awesome words and photos…check it out

spirit-of-the-night

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"Without Knowledge, Skill cannot be focused. Without Skill, Strength cannot be brought to bear and without Strength, Knowledge may not be applied."

“Without Knowledge, Skill cannot be focused. Without Skill, Strength cannot be brought to bear and without Strength, Knowledge may not be applied.”

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There comes a time for everyone of us when we suddenly realize our own mortality.  This realization usually occurs during a time when we have lost someone close or we are faced with serious, life threatening situations.  On that particular day, we will see our world through completely different eyes and ask ourselves  “Where have I been?”

“The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself.” Anais Nin

“Spirituality exists wherever we struggle with the issue of how our lives fit into the greater cosmic scheme of things. This is true even when our questions never give way to specific answers or give rise to specific practices such as prayer or meditation. We encounter spiritual issues every time we wonder where the universe comes from, why we are here, or what happens when we die. We also become spiritual when we become moved by values such as beauty, love, or creativity that seem to reveal a meaning or power beyond our visible world. An idea or practice is “spiritual” when it reveals our personal desire to establish a felt-relationship with the deepest meanings or powers governing life.”
Robert C. Fuller



It is your choice, your decision and your imagination to create the music to make your world dance.

 

dance

 

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