Two more iPhone Metro pictures, also from the Charlevoix station in Montreal. This metro is not only one of the deepest on the system, it’s also one of the most beautiful, with stunning stained glass windows that spill multi-colour abstract lights onto the upper escalators — as long as you’re there at the right time of day.
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It’s the person behind the lens, not the camera equipment, that creates the photograph — although using different equipment can lead to different effects. As much as I love my Nikon DSLR, I was delighted to find a series I took in Montreal last spring, to remember how much fun it was to take pictures there — with my phone.
Some of those photographs, which were also tweaked on my phone, focus on the interiors of two Metro stations, with their vibrant red and yellow mosaics, stained glass windows, and long, steep escalators.
I am intrigued by street photography, and in a city like Montreal, a small phone is a handy, unobtrusive way to get colourful shots — and process them on the spot, too.
I also like the rough edges of some phone photographs: the graininess in low light, the blurs… The quick focus, the immediacy, the wide angle. All free me from technical issues, so I can just enjoy the language of light.
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Pink shoes, blue shoes, orange shoes, too… Running shoes, working shoes, sandals and boots.
Sounds like the start of a children’s rhyme!
It’s also a summary of the shoes stacked in my front hall during a recent mini-renovation in our house. Mine, my husband’s, our son’s. (Though mainly the former and latter, I see; we must be the messy people who leave all their shoes by the door. Well, good to know that someone is neat!)
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Snow and freezing rain today, but I know spring is here because migration is beginning, and hibernation ending.
This past week, I’ve seen a gopher (Richardson’s Ground Squirrel) — albeit on a snow bank, with a snowball in his paw.
I’ve fed an American Tree Sparrow at our backyard feeders and watched hundreds of Horned Larks swirl over grid roads near Regina.
And I’ve photographed the magically iridescent flashes of Mountain Bluebirds along the sun-warmed slopes of the Qu’Appelle Valley.
Spring. Migration. Movement, new beginnings. Every year at this time, I wonder what change is on the wing, what beauty it will bring.
No trickery, only common objects: One CD, one light source, one drop of water.
When CDs first came out, I was amazed by their reflective glow and the rainbows that shimmered across their surfaces when I tilted them into, and then away from, the light. I’m still fascinated by these properties. The sun, a flashlight, or even a beam from an overhead lamp will charge the surface with magic.
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The magic of morning ice transforms dried seeds into a confection of lace, crisp crystals cresting from the husk, the stalk and other crystals. Hoar frost. White frost. Winter magic.
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As winter moves into spring, mornings come when the air and ground differ so much in temperature that ice fog forms, draping a white mantle of hoar frost over the Prairies until the sun rises high enough to burn through the fog and melt the delicate crystals. A prosaic, somewhat scientific explanation for the truly magical.
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A highly entertaining weekend project: Research freezing motion with flash, and test ways to capture water droplets in a dimly lit sub-ground room. Experiment with colour — the red below comes from the surroundings, not the water itself. (That is, no food colouring was used in this project. There was enough mess without that!)
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A section of a lace scarf in light olive green, a colour that reminds me of delicate spring buds in the rain.
I’m knitting this on teeny needles, following an Estonian pattern that features nupps, scallops and a garter stitch edging. It’s narrow, but slow going… Luckily, the wool is wonderfully fine and soft (and Canadian, too), so it remains an interesting project.
Once finished and blocked, the lace pattern will magically appear in what I hope will be exquisitely fine detail. (Lace knitting is an act of faith, trusting that the finished work will look like more than a muddle of yarn.)
For now, a photograph of this art/craft in progress:
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A Common Redpoll, part of a large flock of Redpolls wintering on a farm near Muenster, Saskatchewan. The colours caught my attention, and the dynamic lines of the wire and building behind.
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