Here's another example of what a tree story might look like in the end. You can see the whole creative process behind this image on HGTV's show "That's Clever!" on Oct 27th, noon & 5 p.m. est/pst.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Monday, September 19, 2005
Every tree tells a story
Every tree has a story. Somehow the tree was planted, maybe seed was blown by the wind, carried by a bird, sown by a gardener, maybe it's an offshoot of another tree. Conditions were right for this particular tree - others seedlings may have been eaten, pulled up or died from lack of water, but this special seedling managed to survive.
Time passed and the tree grew, maybe many years passed, hundreds even and the tree is a local legend. This tree has seen many seasons: summers of drought and clouds, followed by a falls of fire or rain, bitter and mild winters, floods and warmth of springs. Maybe only a few years have gone by and the seedling has grown only to the size of a large bush.
Soemthing has happened where the tree grows, it's seen human dramas, roads and buildings have come, the tree even became host to some child's fort of dreams. Children have imagined great things here, picnickers have dozed in its shade, lovers have hidden under its arching canopy. Perhaps a gardener has tended it carefully and planted a whole garden to compliment it. Shy animals have come cautiously to the tree, brought their young and gone again, unseen by human eyes. Migrating birds have rested here en route to far off destinations.
The tree stands as a sentinel, guarding a gateway, a witness to history, a memorial to someone loved and lost. The tree provides shelter to some, nutrition to others - perhaps was once part of a long forgotten orchard - it provides fodder for fires and for our imaginations.
Look at this tree, growing strong in all its glory, or past its bloom, it's nearly ready to fall. Listen to the tree, to the birds in its branches, to the wind whistling through the leaves, to the rain as it falls. Listen to the story this tree has to tell.
Time passed and the tree grew, maybe many years passed, hundreds even and the tree is a local legend. This tree has seen many seasons: summers of drought and clouds, followed by a falls of fire or rain, bitter and mild winters, floods and warmth of springs. Maybe only a few years have gone by and the seedling has grown only to the size of a large bush.
Soemthing has happened where the tree grows, it's seen human dramas, roads and buildings have come, the tree even became host to some child's fort of dreams. Children have imagined great things here, picnickers have dozed in its shade, lovers have hidden under its arching canopy. Perhaps a gardener has tended it carefully and planted a whole garden to compliment it. Shy animals have come cautiously to the tree, brought their young and gone again, unseen by human eyes. Migrating birds have rested here en route to far off destinations.
The tree stands as a sentinel, guarding a gateway, a witness to history, a memorial to someone loved and lost. The tree provides shelter to some, nutrition to others - perhaps was once part of a long forgotten orchard - it provides fodder for fires and for our imaginations.
Look at this tree, growing strong in all its glory, or past its bloom, it's nearly ready to fall. Listen to the tree, to the birds in its branches, to the wind whistling through the leaves, to the rain as it falls. Listen to the story this tree has to tell.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Spammers are scum
Now I've gotten all 57 of the initial images for Tree Stories uploaded and ready for your comments. I'm sorry but I've had to put some securities on comments because I was instantly assaulted by spam comments, if you can imagine such a thing. I had no idea. It took me over an hour of work to clean up all the crap, but now it's done and I just want to go on record as saying that indeed, spammers are scum, plain and simple.
So now that I've gotten that out of my system, I hope to start seeing some real comments in the not-too-distant future. I'll continue to post, including some more finished versions of these images, and likely new images as well.
For those of you thinking that April is a very long time from now, it is just over six months hence, which in terms of darkroom, painting, matting and framing time is just enough time to get it all done. Please don't delay in getting stories to me. Thanks so much.
So now that I've gotten that out of my system, I hope to start seeing some real comments in the not-too-distant future. I'll continue to post, including some more finished versions of these images, and likely new images as well.
For those of you thinking that April is a very long time from now, it is just over six months hence, which in terms of darkroom, painting, matting and framing time is just enough time to get it all done. Please don't delay in getting stories to me. Thanks so much.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
tree story #50: Under the Shade
Tree Story #50: Under the Shade
One day the angel of God came and sat down under the oak in Ophrah that belonged to Joash the Abiesrite, whose son Gideon was threshing wheat in the winepress, out of sight of the Midianites. The angel of God appeared to him and said,
“God is with you
O mighty warrior!”
Gideon replied, “With me, my master? If God is with us, why has all this happened to us? Where are all the miracle-wonders our parents and grandparents told us about, telling us, ‘Didn’t God deliver us from Egypt?’ The fact is, God has nothing to do with us - he has turned us over to Midian.”
But God faced him directly: “Go in this strength that is yours. Save Israel from Midian. Haven’t I just sent you?”
Gideon said to him, “Me, my master? How and with what could I ever save Israel? Look at me. My clan’s the weakest in Manesseh and I’m the runt of the litter.”
God said to him, “I’ll be with you. Believe me, you’ll defeat Midian as one man.”
Gideon said, “If you’re serious about this, do me a favor: Give me a sign to back up what you’re telling me. Don’t leave until I come back and bring you my gift.”
He said, “I’ll wait till you get back.”
Gideon went and prepared a young goat and a huge amount of unraised bread (he used over half a bushel of flour!). He put the meat in a basket and the broth in a pot and took them back under the shade of the oak tree for a sacred meal.
The angel of God said to him, “Take the meat and unraised bread, place them on the rock, and pour the broth on them.” Gideon did it.
The angel of God stretched out the tip of the stick he was holding and touched the meat and the bread. Fire broke out of the rock and burned up the meat and bread while the angel of God slipped away out of sight. And Gideon knew it was the angel of God!
Gideon said, “Oh no! Master, God! I have seen the angel of God face to face!”
But God reassured him, “Easy now. Don’t panic. You won’t die.”
Then Gideon built an altar there to God and named it “God’s Peace.” It’s still called that at Ophrah of Abiezer.
Judges 6
tree story #49: Wonderland Under Rock and Hummock
tree story #49: Wonderland Under Rock and Hummock
Our own wondering Alice squeezes
her young life
to the size of a mole’s
burrow, inquiring eyeless of the mole:
his comings and goings,
the sleek upholstery
of his wonderland under rocks
and hummocks.
In season she picks flowers:
buttercups and lilies, daisies,
all the daylight beauties.
But on cloudy as on sunny days
she walks under tall trees, wondering
at where their roots live; still
inquiring after her friend
of the dark, the ashy-gray mole.
Taylor Graham
tree story #43: Things We Cannot See
Tree Story #43: Things We Cannot See
"Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed everyday. for our present troubles are small and won't last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don't look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever. " 2 Corinthians 4: 16-18
part of the Heaven project at http://www.heavenartproject.blogspot.com/
tree story #42: Castle in the Sky
Tree Story #42: Castle in the Sky
The little girl tugs on the man's sleeve and, with longing in her eyes pleads, "Please Daddy? Will you build me a tree house? I can go there to have tea parties with my dolls. And how fun to peek down on the tiny people on the ground!"
The man contemplates the tree as if through his daughter's eyes. What is childhood without a tree house? Could he ever live up to his title of “Daddy” if he were to push this request aside? Did he not ache for the same thing when he grew up in a suburban home that offered no hope of a castle in the sky?
Of course he will do it. The weekend is free to get started right away. Lumber is purchased, designs drawn, dad and daughter excited at the thought of seeing it built. The floor first. Maybe a roof next, but plan to protect the growing branches that burst forth from the rafters. And walls are a must. Those teacups need shelves to store them, and windows with lace curtains to waft in the breeze.
The little girl moves in right away, happy with just a floor. Her dolls can imagine the rest. Walls? Who needs walls when the sun offers the warmth and security that those very walls would block? Spring blossoms peek in the windows that do not even exist. She is content.
The pleasant seasons offer hours of escape in her tree house. Daddy visits, but the excitement of the building process is dampened by other duties, other projects, maybe another day?
Fall turns to winter. The leaves vacate the tree, as does the little girl.
Maybe next spring will be time enough to get to those important details: roof, walls, a rope to climb.
Then again, the little girl is growing. Tea parties and dolls may be stored away and replaced with more young womanly things. Maybe a tree house with no walls will offer her the freedom to grow without boxing her in.
LVA
tree story #39
Jacob’s Ladder
Meanwhile, Jacob left Beersheba and traveled toward Haran. At sundown he arrived at a good place to set up camp and stopped there for the night. Jacob found a stone to rest his head against and lay down to sleep. As he slept, he dreamed of a stairway that reached from the earth up to heaven. And he saw the angels of God going up and down the stairway.
At the top of the stairway stood the Lord, and he said, “I am the Lord, the God of your grandfather Abraham, and the God of your father, Isaac. The ground you are lying on belongs to you. I am giving it to you and your descendants. Your descendants will be as numerous as the dust of the earth! They will spread out in all directions—to the west and the east, to the north and the south. And all the families of the earth will be blessed through you and your descendants. What’s more, I am with you, and I will protect you wherever you go. One day I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have finished giving you everything I have promised you.”
Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I wasn’t even aware of it!” But he was also afraid and said, “What an awesome place this is! It is none other than the house of God, the very gateway to heaven!”
The next morning Jacob got up very early. He took the stone he had rested his head against, and he set it upright as a memorial pillar. Then he poured olive oil over it. He named that place Bethel (which means “house of God”), although the name of the nearby village was Luz.
Then Jacob made this vow: “If God will indeed be with me and protect me on this journey, and if he will provide me with food and clothing, and if I return safely to my father’s home, then the Lord will certainly be my God. And this memorial pillar I have set up will become a place for worshiping God, and I will present to God a tenth of everything he gives me.”
Genesis 28:10-22
tree story #31: Honduran Mist
Tree Story #31: Honduran Mist
You told me of the place
In the dark.
We were in the night.
And you told me of the place in the dark that wasn’t night
where our dreams met.
Did our dreams drift apart?
It was a question.
I didn’t realize that
it was a question
of you and I,
between you and I.
It was one more thing that I didn’t see.
You told me of when you were in the jungle.
You would have dreams of being in the jungle.
It was difficult for you to see the difference of being and dreaming.
Then there was the story.
How to explain the stars that stain our skies?
Oriental carpets flying above in the dark underneath of wonder.
Stars are the souls of trees.
When a tree is killed its soul appears in the sky.
And I looked at you,
I couldn’t hide my confusion
and my shameful disbelief.
By the hand, you took me
into the darkness of your jungle.
In the night the darkness,
I could taste it,
feel it on my face,
weighing my feet with dark.
Turning my face to look up at the underneath
of trees,
not enough air to breathe,
the sky can be cruel, I thought.
And you said “When a tree dies its soul is now alone, naked . That’s why when we stand here and look we cannot see the sky but if this tree were gone in it’s place a star appears.”
There are places more quiet than the night.
There are places
inside me that look like that night.
JF
Tree Story #30: The Mustard Tree
Tree Story #30: the Mustard Tree
The Kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard see planted in a field. It is the smallest of all seeds, but it becomes the largest of garden plants; it grows into a tree, and birds come and make nests in its branches.
Matthew 13: 31-32, see also Luke 13:18-19
tree story #27: What is Love?
tree story #27: What is love?
Love is when someone gives their life for yours...
Love is a tree on a hill.
The Way of Love
If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.
If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.
If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.
Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep a score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
Love never dies. Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete...
We don’t see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!
But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.
1 Corinthians 13
tree story #25: My Red Oak
Breathe deep
and the subtle fresh fragrance fills you;
Listen quietly
and its silence envelopes you;
Swallow with eyes gently closed
and greenness tingles your taste buds;
Run your fingers down its trunk
and tangled layers of bark catch your skin;
Open your eyes to massive arms reaching up,
stretching out, shading confetti-colored blossoms
beneath ...
the red oak re-born.
Thank you for creating your space for others to enjoy ... and contribute to,
Gayanne Leachman
tree story #23: Slow Dancing
tree story #23: Slow Dancing
I stand with my back against an oak —
actually two oaks that have wound
their trunks together as if they’d been
slow-dancing, her head on his shoulder,
her golden leaves disheveled in light.
That’s what comes of slow-dancing,
my mother might have said, as if she
knew. As if she’d once heard music
sweet as Orpheus when she was young.
As if she’d ever been as young as these
two oaks that grew into one tree rooted
like any other oak in the woods, but
their good grain so curved and spiraled,
they’re useless for lumber, the way
they just stand here, dancing.
Taylor Graham
tree story #22
tree story #22
(Decided to use the story from my own journal for this - )
Beckoning Path
The weather has changed a lot these past two weeks - rains have come and gone and the creek is higher now. The plants and lower banks look as if they have been flooded lately, no doubts the waters rose during the storm. A couple small brown sparrow-type birds twit and hop among a pile of cut branches across the creek. I go a little farther away from the road, the sound of running water competes with the traffic noise. A crow passes overhead, calling out.
A couple smaller birds chit chit chit in the branches of trees while the beep beep beep of heavy construction calls out as well. Poking up from the dry horizontal straws rise a carpet of fat green short blades - rain here means green. I stop to make a photograph and I hear rustling noises in the tall dead growth next to the path I’m on. I’d love to look farther but my time is up...
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