Hauntingly detailed. A primitive folk narrative, all memories from a moment of clarity amidst a faded fever dream, presented at once, resonant and not fleeting, to me at least.
The Flying Pig awarded in recognition of fine art created with photography, especially in Expert editing challenges. See previous awards & comments in The Flying Pig thread.
The title is like a line from a poem or song. The drama of light & shadow, the sense of a story, allows my imagination to create its own narrative. That's better treat than the finest champagne. After I enjoy the semi-familiar in this work of art, my gaze settles on the unfamiliar. The white light dripping on the wall, the animalistic shadow with one white paw draped over the corner, the doll's face with the reflective nose. Or is it a window? I'm left wondering if these friends live only in your wallet. It feels a little sad.
Very artistic - a Modernist feel to it. While I don't think it will score high, I certainly appreciate the execution of the image's subject matter. This is a good one - certainly one of the more creative images in the challenge although most probably won't agree.
The Flying Pig awarded in recognition of fine art created with photography, especially in Expert editing challenges. See previous awards & comments in The Flying Pig thread.
The title is like a line from a poem or song. The drama of light & shadow, the sense of a story, allows my imagination to create its own narrative. That's better treat than the finest champagne. After I enjoy the semi-familiar in this work of art, my gaze settles on the unfamiliar. The white light dripping on the wall, the animalistic shadow with one white paw draped over the corner, the doll's face with the reflective nose. Or is it a window? I'm left wondering if these friends live only in your wallet. It feels a little sad.
The fickle memory. Magical picture. 10
I would suggest a different title. Virgil Tempus fugit: Sed fugit interea fugit irreparabile tempus, singula dum capti circumvectamur amore
("But meanwhile it flees: time flees irretrievably, while we wander around, prisoners of our love of detail.")
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