Showing posts with label Flower Photos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flower Photos. Show all posts

Saturday, 3 August 2019

Dahlias


Dahlias.  You can't say their name without saying, "ah".  Their abundance of petals, circling symetrically around a sunny centre, may draw you inward, and, like the mandalas of India, encourage meditation, and thoughts of yoga.  Dahlias, however, are from the New World.  Early in the16th Century, Spanish Conquistadors "discovered" them in Mexico, and brought them back to Spain.


The dahlia is Mexico's national flower.  Painter Frida Kahlo, the daughter of a gentle, German photographer and a Mexican mother is an iconic modern figure, with black braided hair, often decorated with dahlias.  She once said, "I paint flowers so that they will not die", and dahlias are in many of her self portraits and still life paintings.     


Dahlias are part of the Asteraceae family of flowers which includes sunflowers, chrysanthemums, zinnias, and daisies.  Think of the word, astral.  These flowers have a starlike appearance, with rays extending in all directions.  Hardy, and gorgeous, they are stars of the garden.  There are more than 40 varieties of dahlias, ranging in width from two inches, to dinner plate size.  The colours range from cream, to yellow, pale pink, lavender, and fiery salsa red.  Dahlias radiate energy! 



These long lasting flowers are lovely in any arrangement, and work especially well with snapdragons, lilies, and deliphiniums, which bloom at the same time of the year.  Dahlias are showy, and dramatic, although they can be old fashioned and demure, depending on the softness of the colour.  To paraphrase Frida Kahlo, bring dahlias into your home, and make the Summer last longer.     




Portrait of Frida Kahlo Fiery Dahlia of Mexico, by Oksana Gruszka Sanaj
Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.

Tuesday, 5 March 2019

Mardi Gras: Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler!


Laissez les bon temps rouler!  That's French for let the good times roll...it's Mardi Gras!  Which is French for Fat Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday.  Which is the beginning of the forty days and forty nights of Lent.  Which is a time of penance, self denial, self discipline and repentance in the days leading up to Easter.  If you were going to give up chocolate, wine and even sex from now until Easter, wouldn't you have a big all-day-all-night party the day before?

Mardi Gras is celebrated in Catholic communities all over the world, yet, only two cities are synonymous with the festival: New Orleans in the USA, and Brazil's Carnival in Rio de Janeiro.  I can hear my Italian friends saying, "what about Venice, Italy?  It's been celebrating Mardi Gras off and on since 1162, when Venetians gathered in victory dances against the Patriarch of Venice!"  Venice is famous for it's spooky, elaborate masks...but it doesn't have the passion and rhythm of the two New World cities.  Vivaldi is lovely for a wedding, not the bachelor party!


From the pancakes and beignets Tuesday morning, 'til the last drop of bourbon and champagne early the next morning, the people of New Orleans eat, drink, and make merry in the streets of their city.  The food and music have a French and Creole influence, heard in the Cajun fiddles, Zydeco accordions, and the horns and drums of brass bands.

Portuguese-speaking Rio dances to a different beat: the Samba.  Samba's roots are found in West Africa's Angloa and Congo regions.  All year long, Rio's dozen samba schools create, choreograph, compose and rehearse for the big Carnival samba competition - called the "biggest attraction on Earth".  Once a theme is announced, musicians, dancers, costume designers, float designers work together to create the best dance parade.  The floats are three storeys high.  Nearly nude dancers are adorned in vibrantly coloured feathers, sequins, feathers, silk, feathers, satin...and feathers.

New Orleans is more of a free for all, with jubilant neighbourhood parades, including the "Indian Nation" gangs dancing through the streets of the city, the Chiefs wearing enormous feathered headdresses.  A popular '50s song, Jock-A-Mo by James "Sugar Boy" Crawford, tells of the tribes running into each other at intersections.  They'd call out, "Jock-a-mo fee na na", and "Iko, Iko".  The Dixie Cups' cover is Iko, Iko.


The Blacks in New Orleans formed the Indian Nation gangs about 120 years ago, as a tribute to the Indigenous people of the region who gave pre-Civil War runaway slaves safe refuge.  They also parade on St. Patrick's Day.

Louisiana was refuge to white runaways too.  In 1755, the English expelled the Acadians from what is now Nova Scotia, Canada...burning down their homes to drive them from their land.  The Acadians had come to Canada, from France, and in 1605, established the first permanent European settlement in the New World.  They were French, and would not swear an oath of allegiance to the King of England.  So, the great exodus began. 


The Acadians, mispronounced as Cajuns, fled to Louisiana.  The Cajuns brought their fiddle music with them, and for the next 150 years, shared music with African American freed slaves, and Creole Haitians who had fled Haiti.  The Cajun Creole sound was born.  They used whatever instruments would create a beat, including washboards and spoons.  Around the late 1800s, the accordion was brought in, almost drowning out the fiddle.  Listening to Cajun music, I hear the sounds of Quebec kitchen parties in my Grandparents' home...Metis friends will hear the same sounds. 

In recent times, Creoles dropped the fiddle, and left it with the Cajuns.  The accordion became the dominant instrument.  Clifton Chenier coined the word Zydeco, to describe the accordion "swamp blues" cajun music he made famous in the late '50s.  Chenier, known as the King of Zydeco, was given a Lifetime Achievement Award at the 2014 Grammy Awards.

Today, Cajun is a little more Country, and Zydeco is a little more Rock 'n' Roll.  Those sounds, along with Jazz, and Blues are heard spilling out of bars, onto the street corners where brass bands are playing. It's the rich fusion of all these sounds that makes New Orleans music great.


Don't make this just another day at the office...Here's a playlist of music that will get you in the Mardi Gras spirit, and let the good times roll:

Mardi Gras in New Orleans - Olympia Brass Band
Big Chief - Professor Longhair
I'm Comin' Home - Clifton Chenier
You Used to Call Me - Clifton Chenier
Beast of Burden - Buckwheat Zydeco
Let the Good Times Roll - Buckwheat Zydeco
Josephine Par Se Ma Femme - Clifton Chenier
Mardi Gras Blues - Beau Jocque and the Zydeco Hi-Rollers
La Vielle Chanson de Mardi Gras - Cedric Watson
Jock-A-Mo - James "Sugar Boy" Crawford
Iko, Iko - The Dixie Cups
Ballin' on Zydeco - Lil Nathan
Blue Moon Special - Lost Bayou Ramblers
Twistin' the Night Away - Marc Broussard
The Girl From Ipanema - Antonio Carlos Jobim
Corcovado (Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars) - Antonio Carlos Jobim
Mas Que Nada - Sergio Mendes
A Batucada dos Nossos Tantas - Fundo de Quintal
Aquarela do Brasil - Gal Costa
A Voz do Morro - Ze Keti
Alma Boemia - Toninho Geraes
Samba Pa Ti - Carlos Santana




Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.

Sunday, 25 March 2018

Time Is A Gift


"What time is it?"  It's the first thought that comes to mind every morning.  Time is ever present. From the moment of our birth - measured in the hours of labour our mothers endured, and exact hour and minute of our arrival - 'til the hour of our death, time is right there walking alongside us, beckoning, hovering, carrying us away. 

I was listening to an "old" Ed Sheeran song, Thinking Out Loud, "darlin' I will be loving you 'til we're seventy".  I heard myself think out loud and laugh, "that far off, huh".  There was a time when seventy was a long way off.  Now that I am, as I tell everyone, Sweet 16... and dyslexic, seventy is just around the corner.

When I was five, there was a ponytailed girl visiting her grandparents up the lane.  I was fascinated by her.  She was thirteen!  I thought she was so sophisticated and grown up, reading magazines while laying on her stomach on the balcony, kicking one poised foot overhead.  I could hardly wait, until the day that I too would be a real teenager!  Time was beckoning me to hurry.

While I don't wish to go back that far, there are days when I would love to turn the clock back a few decades, giving me more time here on earth.  


  
Time is measureable, however, it exists on another immeasurable plane.  Major events in the distant past,  may feel as though they just happened yesterday.  Emotional memory is strong.  Details may be fog shrouded, and ancient history.  Time is fluid that way.

As a child - when a day would last forever - time was a concept that eluded me.  When my grandfather's health was beginning to fade, he and Dad went on a fishing trip to Vancouver Island.  I endlessly asked my grandmother, "when's Daddy coming home?"  We were in her back garden, when she pointed to their huge cherry tree.  "When the cherries turn dark red, they'll be home".  I was blessed to have a father who took time for the people in his life.  He died when I was 17.

It's been almost three and a half years since my husband died.  One of the first conversations we ever had, was about time:  the most precious commodity, a non-renewable resource.  He always had time for me.  The time he took every day to listen, and talk strengthened us.  Even when we lived in two separate cities, in two different provinces, he would phone every day...for three years!  If a friend or family member had a problem, he would spend hours with them, talking late into the night, helping them find clarity.  His gift to each of us, was his time.


For friends on transplant waiting lists, watching as their health pours through a metaphoric hourglass, or friends diagnosed with terminal illness, more time truly is a gift.  Each day of life is honoured. 

With age comes wisdom, and the knowledge that time is more valuable than gold.  As we grow older, the awareness that we don't have much time left on this earth, becomes less abstract, and more of a reality.  Both the quantity and quality of experiences and conversations with loved ones become all important.  Ever notice how much living retired people cram into a week?  Ever notice that many have given themselves permission to say "no thanks" to something they just don't want to spend time doing?  It's freeing.

Take time to smell the flowers!  It's more than an expression - it's a way of living, of being present in this gift of life.



Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incoporated.

 





  




Friday, 2 March 2018

Festival of Colour


While much of Eastern Canada and the US woke up to a blanket of fresh snow today, people in India are blanketed with vibrantly coloured powder.  It's Holi - the Indian festival of colour!


All through the streets of India's largest cities, and smallest villages, crowds of people - their faces smeared with colour - are throwing red, pink, yellow, blue, purple and green powder at one another.  They toss water balloons too! 

 

Holi is a joyful, playful equal-opportunity street festival, inwhich women and men, young and old, poor and rich drench one another in coloured powders.  It's everywhere.  The air is thick with powder.  It's all part of the fun, getting your crisp white shirt covered in yellow and pink powder...and your hair dyed bright green!  

If you think Holi is inspired by Bollywood, think again.  Bollywood's raucus crowds, and riot of colour are pure Holi-wood.  Highly-choreographed Bollywood scenes are inspired by Holi.   


To read more about Holi, and find out how to make your own Holi powder, and shop for vibrantly coloured clothes, go to:






Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.



Friday, 2 February 2018

I'm Not Afraid of My Shadow!


Furry little rodents have seen their shadow, and I'm told I now have to wait six more weeks 'til Spring.  In Pennsylvania, internationally famous groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil, drew back in horror at the sight of his looming shadow, as did Ontario's own albino groundhog, Wiarton Willie.  They could have toughed it out!  

The truth is, I too, am afraid of my own shadow.  Metaphorically.  The larger than life person that I know is in me, scares me.  It takes all I have to put myself out there in the business world.  I know that I am not alone.  Success scares a lot of people.     


Psychologists who work with men and women suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), say the physiological reaction to the excitement of growing success, is the same as the reaction to stress.  Each time I click "publish" on my blog, or, "send" a post on a new clothing design, I feel that double edged excitement.  The moment when I say all in the same breath, "look what I did!", and "what have I done?!"

For some, there's the fear of being unmasked as an imposter, who's been faking it all along.  I photograph flowers.  How can I take credit for their great beauty?  Mother Nature, and my Canon Rebel do all the work!  Yet, when I study the body of my work, I clearly see that I capture the soul of each flower.

Performers - musicians, actors, public speakers - know this next insidious fear:  being successful means being in the spotlight, and being in the spotlight makes you a target for rotten tomatoes!  That's a very real unrealistic fear!  Most of my career was spent in broadcasting, as a News Editor and Announcer, yet, public speaking terrifies me. 
 
Being on-line means strangers critique my work.  Having a successful blog, and on-line shops, means even more strangers critique my work.  Chefs and actors may dread bad reviews - they dread empty seats even more.  Criticism is rough, being ignored is worse.   

Then there's the fear of turning bad.  If you have success confused with being an obnoxious, greedy jerk, then you may not want to be successful.  If you think the only route to success is by being cutthroat with the competition, again, you may not want to be successful.

It's enough to make a little groundhog stay in its burrow, and never come out!  My burrow has been a safe place for me, and now I need to get out into the great big world.  At the start of the new year, I finally, timidly created a profile on LinkedIn.  

I'm not afraid of my shadow, I repeat to myself.  I'm not afraid of my shadow!  I'm declaring it Spring, the season of rebirth, rejuvenation, and new beginnings!




Cherry Blossom bodycon dress and draped kimono:

http://bit.do/AOWbodycon
http://bit.do/drapedkimono

LinkedIn profile:

https://www.linkedin.com/in/ruth-adams-806804157/

Photographs copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.