Monday, 22 May 2017

And what is done in love is well done


I am working hard on making things happen. The health is not always at it's top and the energy taken is increased. But that creative work is one of the beautiful things that keep me affloat. Working on the flowers book, on sites and projects. Making storms in my brain to reorder the universe. It is necessary to move furniture around from time to time. Every morning I seek for an inspirational sentence, a poem that will instill high spirit for the day to come.

Magical bouquets of little Forget-me-not have appeared in the garden. It is dear to my heart. 



"It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength,
 and whosoever loves much performs much, 
and can accomplish much, 
and what is done in love is well done."

~Vincent Van Gogh

Friday, 19 May 2017

Opus Magnum

Il y a longtemps que sur ce blog, les premières images sont apparues. Plus de onze années sont passées pendant lesquelles la vie a sillonné son grand chemin. Le monde a tellement changé en si peu de temps. Puis pour moi aussi, le temps a déroulé son long fil de jours. Un instant d'arrêt, le temps de quelques mots...

La photographie de rue, les séances photo mariage, les événements et les portraits de diverse nature m'ont amenée à faire une belle tournée d'années où les visages multiples on tapissé ma route. Lors des séances, j'ai reçu le cadeau de la confiance et de confidences intimes. Des coeurs ouverts sur des souffrances parfois intenses, le regard sévères des femmes sur elles-mêmes, la maladie sans retour. Puis la grâce du rayon de soleil qui sublime l'image. La beauté sous toutes ses formes. J'ai été heureuse pendant ces moments; ces grandes joies et la fierté d'accomplir.

J'ai fait de l'art des fleurs dans un herbier d'images, arrimé ma caméra sur la rive du lac et fait des ses mouvements lents et de sa vie intime le miroir de mes bois. Puis j'ai gravé ce temps qui passe par les autoportraits de différentes séries. La photographie, c'est mon «grand oeuvre», mon alchimie par laquelle j'ai réalisé ma pierre philosophale susceptible de transmuter, de guérir et d'apporter l'immortalité.

Ma quête est celle de ce poème de John Keats:

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Les sites ont été redécorés. The 52nd, le mien et celui de Charlie Beresford avec qui cette quête de beauté conserve son sens.  Mille fois merci...

Je continue sur ce sentier de création qui me nourri et m'anime. Ces jours que je dis sans dire vraiment, ont été parsemés de doutes, de craintes, de peines et de deuils. Mais aussi de ces émerveillements quotidiens et des petits miracles qui font que tout espoir reste possible. 

Ma liste est longue, d'accomplissements à réaliser. Je prépare demain. 

Merci d'être là depuis tout ce temps...

New looking site for Spring time

I have been busy making things, living and so on... Here is my updated site...


Saturday, 7 January 2017

The White Radiance of Winter Project


From The White Radiance of Winter Project...

The colour that glanced and glowed in the heart of the hills of dream,
The light that dazzled and drew in the year that is on the wane.
The song with the moan of the wind and the whirr of the moorland steam,
they are still in a realm unreached, so we turn to the quest again.

Bring us new hopes, New Year; kindle fresh pharos-fires,
But whatsoever thou bring this boon of thy grace afford,
That in twelve moons' time we may still be afar from our dream-desires;
For never the thing attained is the thing we have toiled toward.

Not found poet...

Sunday, 1 January 2017

Sunday, 25 December 2016

Monday, 23 May 2016

Or From That Sea Of Time


Samedi à l'Île d'Orléans

OR, from that Sea of Time,
Spray, blown by the wind--a double winrow-drift of weeds and shells;
(O little shells, so curious-convolute! so limpid-cold and voiceless!
Yet will you not, to the tympans of temples held,
Murmurs and echoes still bring up--Eternity's music, faint and far,
Wafted inland, sent from Atlantica's rim--strains for the Soul of the
Prairies,
Whisper'd reverberations--chords for the ear of the West, joyously
sounding
Your tidings old, yet ever new and untranslatable;)
Infinitessimals out of my life, and many a life,
(For not my life and years alone I give--all, all I give;)
These thoughts and Songs--waifs from the deep--here, cast high and
dry,
Wash'd on America's shores.

Currents of starting a Continent new,
Overtures sent to the solid out of the liquid,
Fusion of ocean and land--tender and pensive waves,
(Not safe and peaceful only--waves rous'd and ominous too.
Out of the depths, the storm's abysms--Who knows whence? Death's
waves,
Raging over the vast, with many a broken spar and tatter'd sail.)

Walt Whitman, Or From That Sea Of Time

Sunday, 15 May 2016

Beresford Hammond Hume album ‘The Lightning Bell’


New release coming soon. The Beresford Hammond Hume album ‘The Lightning Bell’ will be officially released this June. It contains 8 tracks of improvisations recorded last year. They are joined on this record by Judie Tzuke which really adds to its heady mix. The glorious images for the sleeve have been supplied by Gaëna (da Sylva) and it will be available through the 52nd. It can be pre-order at the moment via the Bandcamp site:

https://the52nd.bandcamp.com/album/the-lightning-bell

Sunday, 24 April 2016

The Black Herbarium



Soon, images and books availlable...

The Black Herbarium ✿ L'herbier noir
Garden of images | Jardin d'images
Black and white fine art photographs
Copyright © 2016 Gaëna da Sylva
www.gaenadasylva.com

The 52nd

Sunday, 17 January 2016

And yet the books will be there on the shelves


And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
That appeared once, still wet
As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
And, touched, coddled, began to live
In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
Tribes on the march, planets in motion.
“We are,” they said, even as their pages
Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
Licked away their letters. So much more durable
Than we are, whose frail warmth
Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
I imagine the earth when I am no more:
Nothing happens, no loss, it's still a strange pageant,
Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.

Czeslaw Milosz

(Dans ma bibliothèque, des livres anciens et les fleurs de L'herbier noir... )

Friday, 1 January 2016

Thursday, 24 December 2015