Image

Weekly Photo Challenge: Abstract

Abstract

Weekly Photo Challenge: Abstract

This week, Ben has asked us to turn the concrete and familiar into something new and mysterious! I chose to conceptualise scenes of London that I see and photograph a lot. These are my city abstracts from around The Shard and Guys’s Hospital. I took the photos on my Sony a6000 and then transferred them onto my phone to edit in Snapseed and Adobe Touch. It kept me busy on the train journey home!

Image

Weekly Photo Challenge: Angular

The Shard

Weekly Photo Challenge: Angular

What does angular mean to me? Only my favourite building in the whole of London! The Shard. I’m drawn to this building in ways I can’t fully explain. I was never really a fan of modern architecture. Some have intrigued me, others disgusted me, many have amused me but The Shard fascinates me. I’ve really enjoyed processing my photographs, the building lends itself perfectly to artistic interpretations!

Its angular design, sleek lines and sharp edges, seem more like a sculpture to me than a building. It has an intrinsic beauty from every aspect that just cries out to be photographed! I can’t resist it. I’ve been up to the viewing platforms several times now and I hope to get back up there soon to capture some night views of the city. The Views from The Shard really are the icing on the cake!

I delayed posting for the challenge this week, as I had another trip to hospital in London yesterday giving me the opportunity to see some fresh angles of The Shard. All my earlier images are from the south of The Thames so I ventured over to the north bank of the river by The Tower of London to get a different vantage point. Everyone seemed to be drawn to the riverside to gaze upon this masterpiece of architecture and construction!

Blood Swept Lands And Seas Of Red

Blood Swept Land And Seas Of Red

Blood Swept Lands And Seas Of Red

This extraordinary installation at The Tower of London was created by ceramic artist Paul Cummins, with setting by stage designer Tom Piper. 888,246 ceramic poppies have progressively filled the Tower’s famous moat over the course of Summer and Autumn. Each poppy represents a British military fatality during the First World War. To the crowds who have flocked to the Tower, from all over the world, each poppy represents so much more; the lives lost on all sides of all the wars that have followed, whether combatant or not. Inspired by the installation and with excerpts from The Blood Swept Lands by Unknown Soldier; Beauty, Asleep and Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen, I have written this poem of remembrance, accompanied by photos from around the Tower and views of the installation from The Shard.

Through blood swept lands
And seas of red
I saw him stumbling.
Bent double with age,
The old soldier
Treads softly through
This field of mud
To place his marker.
His hanging face, lost
In some smothering dream
Of another field,
Where he once marched
Through sludge and filth,
Deaf to the shouts
Of those he left for dead
In a war that never
Should have been
Had lessons been learned.
His marker for the
Father he never met,
The friends he left behind,
The son who died too
Far from his fathers arms,
The grandsons who now
March through desert sands
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags.
Their mother cries
“Come home boys, come home”.
His tears are lost
In the falling rain.
Crowds watch on as
The lives long lost
Seep from the Tower Walls.
Hands reach in, again and again
To plant another fallen angel.
Here lie the flowers of our people
Filling the ancient moat
Each a boy who fell back
To fill some forgotten trench
With their aborted lives.
Regard this beauty,
So fair and elegant
That pleases and delights.
In these flowers we see hope.
All stand in strength to
Remember the glorious dead.
One hundred years since
That war to end all wars,
Yet thousands more have
Killed and died and bled
For naught but the ancient lie,
The struggle over territory
To seize a scrap of this land
That belongs to no one, and everyone.
In time when these blooms are gone
And verdant grass heals
The tortured,trampled land,
What will remain in the minds of man?
And later on will we hear
Of some canker that worked
Itself into the misted memories
Of those crimson flowers?
And laid vile, incurable sores
On the innocent minds of our children,
Ardent for some desperate glory.
Who knows, who hopes, who troubles?