Challenge Entry - Invisible

SFS challenge prompt: Invisible

The image that came to mind would have worked for last week’s challenge (Self), but it is the story that came to me this week (Invisible). As you have heard me whine say before, I do not have a computer that can handle virtual worlds. Therefore I could not create that image. It would take too much work (translate: digging for something that might not even exist) to make a photo composite to translate what I see in my mind. In addition, some aspects just haven’t been captured.

Allow me to try to describe this dual-purpose story-picture. Imagine, if you will, the following:

      A small living room. There is a long couch along one wall, a love seat along another. The two couches form an L shape with the corner being a table. Across from the long couch is a TV. Your view is from the remaining wall or entryway. There is a man sitting on the couch at the end where the small table and loveseat connect to create the L-shape. He is staring at the TV. The image of the man is echoed outward (along the couch cushions) with various colours of shirts, giving the impression of passing time – a constant, a habit, a daily ritual. (Upon editing, the various faded images may contain him talking on the phone or looking at a laptop.)
      Between the other end of the couch and the tv, closer to your view and in the middle of the room, stands two teenagers a few feet apart. One is clearly a few years older than the other. The one on the right, male and older, is taller and angry; the one on the left, younger and female, is shorter and angry. Their poses are, for there are many to express a constant state of discord, shouting at each other. They too have the translucent echo of passing time with various shirts, poses expressing stages of yelling and expressions of irritation/hatred.
      In the middle of the room, out of the line of sight of all three, stands a shadowed form of an exasperated and broken woman. The form is … large. Her hair is unkempt. Even though it is but a dark form, you can tell. Within that shell is a smaller version of herself – thinner, pleasantly dressed, healthier looking – crouched, head tucked in…waiting and unseen. The woman is ignored, her inner-self is unseen, invisible, lost…
      There is no time blur, no echo of form, no change for her. 

That is my SFS-challenge mental-image story that tells the tale of both “Self” and “Invisible.”

However, I missed last week and this week that picture just won’t come to pass – at least not by my hand.

So, I have created another picture. I was passing time and getting lost in images on a popular website. I came across one that inspired me. I took the concept and twisted it around in my head and let the words flow. The image, in case you wondered, can be found here:
http://pinterest.com/pin/125397170847341260/ (copy and paste; link inactive)

The new picture-story my mind created contained a fade woman’s form. It may even have been blacked out with a white background. Words describing what people see are contained within the woman. What you see is not always what is.

That, of course, progressed into something else. The words of what people see were outside the woman's faded form; within her form were words describing what people do not see.

That original something else went far beyond the limit of 140 characters (obviously). Cutting it down stay within the boundaries of the challenge was very, very difficult. Once I finally did, I ended up with this:



It is not my favorite. It is not quite as elegant as the image in my mind. It is more of a rough draft than a final image, despite the fact that it is, indeed, the final image.

My mind’s eye saw a couple of other picture-stories as well.
- A bar scene. Average girl. Guys. Sleezy girl… The “average girl” was, of course, invisible
- A photo of a person mid-fall. Tripping over nothing. “It must have been something invisible…”

Perhaps one day I will either get back into a virtual world or take the time to properly photograph a good base to create the tale that should be told. Until then, I suppose, those images will remain, to you, forever invisible.

~B

Challenge Entry - Vanilla

The Single Frame Stories prompt for last week was an aromatic one. It was a word that, to some, brings to mind cookies and cakes, ice cream and candles. However, those are not the images that came to my mind. Perhaps this is more a commentary on where my mind was or where I expected others to go, but what I imagined was a woman standing outside a door. The woman was pale, shocked. What was behind that door was … too much for her, too unusual. She was vanilla; behind the door was anything but vanilla.

If I had access to a VW, I may have made that picture. If I took the time to find the proper door and model, I may have made it in RL. Instead, I slacked. Instead, I waited. Instead, I made a different image.

My life is not what it once was. That is probably true of everyone.

I could go into detail of how I’ve become an old, boring adult. I could go on about life in a small town. I could (longingly) reminisce about a former life and a former me. However, I’ll spare you all that and just say that as I went through ideas for this prompt, my mind formed an image of a woman drowning in a sea of vanilla…


"Lost in a Sea of Vanilla"

It's not exactly what I had in mind, but (considering I had to "steal" one of my own, very old, photos for the "girl") I think it conveys the story I wanted to tell.

Either that or one of a cargo plane crash that was carrying a shipment of vanilla...

~B

Challenge Entry - Blur

Single Frame Stories Prompt: Blur

Last week the prompt at Single Frame Stories was “Blur.”

I had an image in mind that I wanted to create, but (as usual) it just didn’t work out. I did, however, create three other stories. I even posted them to Flickr.


"Life passes by in a blur"


"A memory… or a dream"


"A moment in time, everything else is just a blur"

Although in the moment of creation I liked them, when it came time to commit and submit, I just wasn’t “feelin’ ‘em.” I saw the flaws in the images rather than the stories. So, I waited.

Add to that the fact that I wasn’t feeling well last week, and I was out all day and night Friday (and most of Saturday)... I just did not get anything submitted.

All three images tell a story. A picture is worth a billion words, or something like that.
Still, I just couldn’t choose and, even if I could, I ran out of time.

So, there you go. The story behind the lack of story.
My story of last week. Incomplete.
Again.

~B

EDIT:
Because a friend asked about the second image, I thought I'd add a little information about it. This is, essentially, what I said to her:

The objects are literally an entryway, a leash, and a shoe....
But, it is not a picture to be taken literally.

Perhaps the leash is a snake? Perhaps it is a rug-tack or ruler... perhaps it is a dream, or an unclear memory,
a blur... a moment ... an image in your mind of a story... but did the story happen when you were awake or was it dream....

Perhaps a boy took a pet for a walk
Perhaps you were a pet then turned into a snake and then a person
*shrugs*
It is whatever you see, whatever story forms in your mind as you “read” the picture.

I know not everyone "gets" every image. Perhaps sometimes there are some people who just need permission to imagine, to allow their mind to create the story that a picture could be telling...

So, if you don't get it, that's okay.
However, if you just need permission to imagine, you have it.

~B

Challenge Entry - Almost & Block

I decided to work a little differently this week. Rather than forming a story around an image, I wanted to create a story and then conform the image to it. The idea was that maybe, just maybe, there would be less back and forth about which image to choose. I'd be telling telling a specific story rather than general one. Then two things happened.

One, I was gentled reminded that the goal is not to define a word but to tell a story.

Two, an immediate image did not come to mind.

Well, this worked out ... well.

It took a few minutes before my mind started creating word stories (as opposed to picture stories). Of course, I was (am) only operating on about four hours of sleep. It went something like this:

Single Frame Stories Prompt: Almost

First there was nothing. No image, no song, no sayings, not even a dust bunny moved in my noggin. Which was fine since I wanted to try a different process. Until I realized that I was completely blank. I had to take a few moments to ponder the word.

Then, it began - What is almost? Um. Uh. Okay, let's see... It's, uh. Hmm. Think! A story with almost. I... Hmm. Again, what is almost... Almost is everything and nothing. It is something that is not quite or is yet to come, such as: And scenes, settings, movie type imagery, RP and book type writing started kicking in. There may or may not have been audible motorcycle engine revving sounds to go along with the steam coming out of my ears as my brain began to work.

Many short stories and situations formed. Everything, as opposed to something, became an "almost."

Fast forward approximately 2 weeks.
(Single Frame Stories Prompt: Almost & Block)

Company arrived before I completed the "Almost Challenge." Company stayed through the "Block Challenge." To be honest, I am not sure I even knew last week's challenge word until today. My point is this - I do not have any images to share at this time. However, I do intend to visit the Single Frame Stories site soon and begin working on this week's word - whatever it may be.

Sorry to disappoint anyone who had hoped to find my challenge submissions and their back stories. Maybe I'll get something more ... artistic for you later this week.
Here's hoping!

~B

Challenge Entry – Edge

Here I sit.
It is Friday night and SFS (Single Frame Stories) should be posted in less than 12 hours.
Here I sit.
It is Friday night and I still have not officially made my submission this week.

The word of the week is “edge.”

I do not think I am the only one to form a mental image of a razor-blade, but, then again, maybe it is just me. I wanted to take a picture with a black backdrop. I wanted a shiny, new box-cutter type blade. My mind’s eye could clearly see the razor’s edge, the light reflecting off the surface, the focus capturing the sharpness. I wanted to use a lens that allowed the focus of that edge to be so clear, so sharp that there would be no doubt of its ability to slice smoothly.

But, I also knew that I would not be able to capture the image in a way that would satisfy me.

Therefore, I moved on. Quickly. So quickly, in fact, that I had a new image before the day’s end. It did include razors. It also included bottles. I was going to use it with no caption and no explanation. You either got it or you didn’t. What you read into it would be what I intended or not; it was going to be put out there for you to interpret and apply your own meaning.

I shared the image with one person and she did not get it. What she “saw” was not even close to what I meant. Someone else got it right away.

I knew the image was risky because, for some, it could be very difficult to view. It is raw and dark and could have several different meanings – or none at all.

Later in the week I became unsatisfied with the picture. I say that, yet I wonder if I was truly not satisfied with the image or if I was just not comfortable with sharing the image. Either way, I decided to take the concept I had and work on it little more. Thus began my most reserved journey over the edge.

I called a relative and asked if they had certain bottles of alcohol that I could use for a photograph. They not only told me no, but they also informed me that it is a good thing I do not drink. “You’d be an expensive alcoholic.”

No, my relatives really don’t know me.

But I digress. This member of my family told me she, the family, and their friends are all cheap drinkers and mostly have beer. She did offer one brand of Vodka but it was not, shall we say, what I wanted.

A day or two later a friend and I were chatting. I asked her if she would be willing to lend me some of her bottles of alcohol. After a little clarification and informing her that it does not matter if they are empty or not (a little water, a little color, a little tea, I can make it look how I need), she was willing to let me use her stuff (no water or tea needed). 

Interesting side note: She is not an alcoholic and says she has not ever been drunk. She just likes to experiment with the flavors and have a little (seriously, little) drink every now-and-then. Yet, she has a bigger collection of booze than the serious drinkers I know. I guess in way that makes sense – in their houses, that liquor wouldn’t last! But, I digress, again…

This friend ended up letting me use her light box, lights, tripod, foil, and bottles. I supplied the camera, blades, and knife. The images, while they are mine - step up and photographed by me - they didn’t feel completely reflective of what I was trying to convey or capture.

After getting all the pictures home, cycling through them, choosing a few, playing with them in my editing software, I finally chose a considerably cropped picture. I manipulated it and added text.

Again, a couple of days later I became dissatisfied. There is another type of edge. Something that is not a literal sharp edge, something other than the vagueness, something different from an inability to cope soberly or escaping, something that is not over the edge, something more or less defined. The edge of broken heart, however that break occurs. Whether it is the kind that comes as relationships fail, the result of shattered aspirations, or any other moment that results in a broken heart, it is... difficult.

As for my submission for this week's prompt, in the end, I decided the “blood” in the images may be too much for some people to cope with – the meaning for them may be too difficult to unexpectedly face. I realize that many others will not “get it,” but this is not about whether they get it or not. It is my response to or expression of a word. The word is edge. Still, since I do not wish to push anyone over the edge, I did not choose not to display “blood” pictures. I think the two images I did choose to submit still express “edge” adequately. Don’t you?

Note: Stating that this is my "most reserved journey over the edge" means I did not partake in the consumption of any alcohol despite the portraits and accompanying text. Thank you.

 ~B

Challenge Entry - Climb

Single Frame Stories Prompt: Climb

The word was a simple, monosyllabic one. However, the image that sprung to mind would not be simple to create. It was a view from the bottom of a steep cliff.

When I was a teenager some friends and I went swimming. Swimming was the simple part; the hard part was getting there. See, the spot was hidden down a back road. It required knowing which dirt road to go down, which area of trees to park in, and which way to walk through the woods. Then, there was getting to the water. When the walk through the woods ended, you were at a cliff that over looked a lake - a lake that had huge rocks slightly jutting out and just beneath the surface. Still, my friends and I didn’t travel all that way in just for the view.

Each of us stripped down to our swimsuits, took a deep breath, walked a few steps back, and individually made a small run followed by a big jump. Falling, falling, and falling past the jagged edges hoping to land in the water that was said to be over 100 feet deep with scarcely a thought of what would happen if we hit a rock instead.

We’d play in the water, swim around, and watch someone else jump. Eventually we’d have to climb up the bluff to either jump off again or to leave. The climb was treacherous and steep. I remember watching one guy scale up the wall, paying special attention to his hand and foot placement. I climbed up, trying to follow where he had gone, while another guy followed behind me.

Up the rock wall, finger and toes my only safety net, I ascended the wall in a little blue swimsuit. There was a guy below me “in case I fell” (as if he could do anything if that were to happen) and to keep me safe. Of course, being teenagers and in our swimsuit (and considering the comments later), there was more than my “safety” that he had in mind being below me.

Still, those were the days of youthful fearlessness. Of a time when energy and strength were not a consideration when it came to planning a day’s events; the only thing to consider then was whether or not it would be fun.

I wanted a picture from the base of a semi-sheer cliff or bluff. I wanted that particular climb, that moment, that feeling pictured, expressed, conveyed. The strength and the fun and the fear…

There were a few places I could go to get something similar. However, I had no time nor desire to go on a lake or hiking this week. So that image will remain in my mind.

A few days later I thought of the local landscape. I considered a photo of the horizon, or perhaps just a distant mountain or hill. I could add text that reflected being over the hill and the climb. I had ideas of the climb up or the struggle to climb back to the other side once you are “over the hill.”

That, however, did not happen either.

For a moment I toyed with the idea of ladder with a corporate theme. That, too, did not pan out.

Finally, I entertained the thought of skipping this week’s Single Frame Story.

Then, late Friday afternoon/early evening, I found myself with a little bit of time. I recalled Girl wanting to take photos at a specific location earlier in the week. So, I told her to get ready to go and grab her camera. I’d take her to the spot she wanted to go and then, if there was still enough light, I’d try a few places for mine.

We were at her chosen location when it happened. I saw the potential in the area she wanted to take pictures. It was not near the depth I had envisioned, but maybe…

As I stood at the edge, one step away from a short but steep drop, I tried to figure out the easiest way for me to get to the bottom. I also had to decide if I was willing to actually lie in the stream to get the right perspective. The, I realized the rocky bottom view was all I needed. My entire concept for the word “climb” changed in an instant. Climb was suddenly what one had to do once they hit rock bottom.

Once you have lost it all, and then some, you have a choice. You can sit there, cold, hurt, feeling lost, alone, and maybe even sorry for yourself. You can blame the world and others for your fall. Or, you can get off your duff and struggle to climb out of the hole you’ve found yourself in. It is not an easy climb. It often takes more strength than you know you have, energy you feel you could use elsewhere, time you don't want to spend, and have moments where the path seems impossible and impassable. You may even stumble and slip back down. It just may be the hardest thing you ever do. So much so, you could even have to ask for help along the way. However, once you make it, no matter how difficult the struggle, you know the battles that still lay ahead are but hills compared to the cliff you just scaled.

Therefore, I offer this small visual representation of the struggle that some of us know… No matter what or where your rock bottom is, may you one day understand the worth of the climb.

(Note: Girl in photo composite is my daughter)

~B

Challenge Entry - Switch

Single Frame Stories Prompt: Switch

The prompt this week over here is Switch (as indicated above). As usual, images came to mind when I read it. I had to figure out how to convey the instant mental pictures, the meanings of the word to me, to others. I wasn't sure how I would do that.

All that is typical reaction to prompts.

I happened to acquire a photo of my grandmother this week. I created a high-resolution scan of the photo to "clean it up." I had already written my 100 word story, so the text for an image was somewhat in my mind. I had the photo in my editing software... The next thing I knew, I was working on my entry. I made a few different version. I ended up with two that I kind of liked.

One the focus was more on the words.



The other focused a more on the woman.



Both, I'd say, were topical.

I couldn't choose which I liked. So, I shared them with a friend. She chose the second, saying it was easier to read.

I still had another image in my mind though. Another meaning that was just as strong. It was a different kind of switch.


"Picking a proper switch isn’t always easy." 

To my knowledge, only one entry per challenge per person is allowed. So I went with my grandmother, smaller lettering. If I could though, I'd also contribute the "Proper Switch."

~B

{Edit: Whiskey has informed me that more than one entry is allowed. "Proper Switch" shall be submitted as well. Yesh!}