lloydslensphotographyllc

Wounded

black and white photography, Thoughts and Musing

We seem to have a tendency to do one of two things when we encounter a person who has been wounded either physically or emotionally. We either ignore the scar totally or we focus on it completely. Old wounds ache with a dull throbbing pain as a constant reminder that we messed up somewhere along the way. I was a rough child. I seemed to collect scars like merit badges. The stitches in the palm of my hand from a broken jar of fireflies, the scars on my knees from falling out of a moving pickup truck. I even have a couple of scars from a sword. ( only superficial and skin deep) I have numerous scrapes and scratches from briars and brambles. All of are a roadmap of my life. But the only scars I feared to collect were the scars on my soul. Broken bones and torn flesh heals so much faster than a wound of heart. As I approach a half of a century of earthly experience I have observed that to some people it’s the emotional scar that carries the badge of honor. Where I have lived life to it’s fullest and carry the physical marks of my adventures others have loved life and bear the honor of those adventures.

The image used in this post is a chestnut tree on my old home place. Years ago the metal fencepost was leaned against the trunk temporarily and then we got busy. The wound to the tree was one of neglect. When I think about the emotional wounds and scars of this world I have to believe that the majority are caused by neglect. We simply forget to go back and relieve a burden. The person wounded carries that burden until it works it’s way into the soul and becomes a part of them. It’s okay to remind a person of the burden that they left behind. It’s okay to simply cast off something that’s not supposed to be a part of your life. It’s wise to avoid the wound. But if you carry no scars have you really lived? One day this tree will be cut down. All that will remain will be the wood. As is a tradition in many rural areas someone will use the wood and the inclusion of scars will make for a beautiful end product. So it is with the scars we carry in the soul. They say that beauty is only skin deep but they are wrong. Beauty comes up from the very depth of the soul. It’s the scars and inclusions that make that beauty unique.

Electricity Is Delivered By Train

Color Photography

Electricity is delivered by Train. In my Appalachian home coal culture runs deep. Almost every family has at least one family member who is a miner. The rest of us only have jobs because the miners buy our goods and services. The hours are long and even though great advances have been made the work is brutal. I don’t know if you have ever been in a darkness like the bottom of coal mine miles underneath a mountain. It’s absolutely pitch black. Or so I’m told. (I’m one who never went into a mine). As a child I grew up with men who had black spots just beneath the skin as a result of a piece of coal that fell from the roof of a mine. They all had hands that were hard and calloused. I’ve listened to stories about what it means when you feel a sudden breeze from one end of a tunnel and the the rebound hits you from the other end. It means there was a cave in somewhere in the Labyrinth underground. It’s the most terrifying experience a miner can have. People scramble to find where the roof has fallen. Miners always pack extra food because they never really know if they will be trapped or for how long. Self rescue is sometimes the only option. This is the reality behind the lights we see by, the energy that powers the microwave, the refrigerator that preserves that food and even the Hospitals that save our lives. All of it is powered by the men and women who enter the deepest part of the world and pull the light out of the darkness.

A SHAY REPRODUCTION ROADSTER AND A THOUGHT ON DRIVERLESS CARS

Color Photography

I’ve always loved the artistry of older cars and Trucks. Some people can quickly rattle off the make and model. They’ll tell you all about the horsepower, fuel economy and history that went into the vehicle. I’m not that guy. I’m the guy that just wants to drive. And yet there’s something special about early models. The curve of fender. The chrome and leather along with the fine woodwork created something that was more than the sum of its parts. Driving a roadster is about the journey more than just the destination.

Pictured here is a Shay reproduction vehicle based on the 1929 Roadster. It was made in the 1980s. I think about the world that we are going to live in within the next 20 years. Will a car even have a steering wheel? More sophisticated doesn’t necessarily mean more perfect. The melding of man and machine was perfected decades ago in a time when iron and steel merged with flesh and spirit to produce the freedom of an open road.

Sunday

black and white photography, Church, Sunday, Uncategorized

Growing up in the Bible belt I’ve been blessed to have the opportunity to visit a lot of small churches. In the days before the mega church and when there was nobody selling religion. The churches of small communities were places where families gathered to hear the word of God and not just what the preacher said. We knew good and well that nobody can buy a ticket to heaven with money or goid works. Vain obligations were just that. We resisted judging each other because we were justified by the blood of Christ and not by works or money. Church is a place for bonding not bondage.

The architecture of small community churches is something special. Everything from little cabins to scaled down cathedrals can be found tucked into Appalachian landscape. Bells and spires are sometimes topped with crosses and sometimes not.

The ringing of the church bell was a special privilege. Young people (mostly boys) would like up and take turns tugging on the rope. In trutruth we just liked making noise.

After church service extended family would get together at the home place for a large meal. The cooks would all gather in the kitchen and soon the house was full of wonderful smells the sounds of laughter. During the warm weather the children be outside trying to have fun without getting dirty. That’s a very difficult skill to master for a 10 year old boy. I can still smell my grandmother’s homemade bread when I think about it.

The Beacon..part 2

digital art, Fiction Story, short stories, The Beacon

This is second render of the lighthouse. For this version I used the same lighthouse base image. I added rain drops from the windshield of my truck. I also wanted a brighter feeling to this one as if the storm was almost gone.

The younger person draws the blanket around himself like a robe. His hands are heavily calloused from the time spent at sea. His jet black hair hung coarse strands from being wet. The fire reflected in his dark eyes as he gazes at the flames. The shock of his experience weighs on his very soul. The old caretaker sets a thick earthenware mug of hot coffee on the table and slides it to him. There’s no need for words. They only understand a few words of each other’s languages anyway. They are brothers of the sea. As they communicate with the few words and gestures the dawn breaks and the storm retreats. The new day brings peace and with it new future.

The story above is an excerpt from one of the many stories that I have in progress. Inspection seems to come in spurts. I will add more to the story as time and inspiration allow.