CloseUp Portrait Photography

Posted February 9, 2010 by dawkinsphoto
Categories: RedBubble, art, how-tos, tips, tutorials, photography

Tags: , , , , ,

Close up photography gives a strong and uniform light. It gives a certain brilliance to the eyes and face but does not hide and imperfections. Thus, the subject must be comfortable with their own skin.

Although, close-up portraits can make those imperfections look…well… Perfect. It will give the subject a more human look when the eyes shine like they will.

This allows for a very powerful and mysterious look to the photo. Perfectly frame the face to give it a penetrating gaze. A bonus for the photographer is that little to no direction is required. The subject simply has to be in front of the lens. Then it’s up to the photographer to get what he/she wants.

Wait for the perfect moment. An unguarded moment between strength and weakness. That’s when the personality presents itself. This will give a stronger visual impact and that’s when you set your subject free.

Be ruthless, don’t conceal, and don’t do anything too fancy. Show the reality and the raw emotion of the human face and people will respect you for it.

Technical mumbo jumbo:

Canon EOS 20D

F/1.4

50 mm

1/125 sec

ISO – 400

TBF Group Art Features – Week of January 31, 2010

Posted February 2, 2010 by pjdjennel
Categories: RedBubble, art, graphic design, photo manipulation

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

“There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I believe this quote and these beautiful pieces of art speak for themselves… if you are touched by them please visit the artists pages and leave a comment.






TBF Group Writing Features – Week of January 31, 2010

Posted February 2, 2010 by pjdjennel
Categories: RedBubble, art, writing, poetry, literature, prose

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

“There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.”
~Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith~

I know I’ve read good writing when I can taste the blood that was laid down to make the words. Each one of these pieces have that element – the raw outpouring of soul that gives them their own life. They each amazed me in their own right and I’m so glad to have the honor to blog about them.

Vagabond Odyssey by Trenchtownrock

I am more than just words
that rain from my tongue
becoming pure fire
that burns passion of pumping fist
removing the callouses from the chambers of heart
reminding feet to get up and march
the dead needs a voice.
I am more than the history of my skin
that provokes my heart to do and say things
causing stares from those who are tired
of this journey and has gotten off the road
maybe someday they will need a hand
of a Samaritan.
I am more than the noose that still speaks
their stories written in my head
searching for a proper ending
my ink has not yet dried
so I am still trying to write it for them.
I am more than fire hydrants’ voices
whose wet bodies are dripping with the sixties
and church pews mercy for strength
they still speaks to me even when I want them to be quiet
their cries still haunt me
waking me nightly
they sit and wait though I feel tired.
I am more than the many trouble I have caused
prompting God to send his angels numerous times
to defend my actions
keeping me an uninvited guest
from Lucifer’s party
I will fall short again tomorrow….it is written
and I hope they will come once more.
I am more than the Caribbean sea
and the death in the ocean from centuries ago
that still walk on waves hallucinating
they can’t find their way back
their cries break me.
I am more than the laugh
and silliness that overcome me at times
wearing that feel good moment
I have learned that peace is good
and tears are tiring.
I am more than the back porch tears
with morning prayers to a God
I am struggling to hold onto
I can feel his fingers peeling away
while my wings rest in a holding room
I haven’t made my case fully yet.
I am more than that knife held with a teenager finger
my adult hands still reminisce the pinch
feeling the love that I thought it held
some days I wonder what if.
I am more than the eyes in my head
that play the memory of bedroom secrets
stealing from a boy who is still standing and watching
I have never recovered
I can’t recover
my heart is too precious to open
it is all I have
a woman’s body I will always love
their tongues I will never trust.
I am more
just give me sometime
to look more deeply in your eyes
and see if your heart and my heart
can walk this narrow path.

© 2010

Umbilical Mother by Wildwomenlove

Looking up
amongst her leaves
I lay quite still
the air I breathe
smells pure

I roll face down
and claw the ground
send my umbilical
spiralling round
her earthen core

I breathe in grass
and shoot a blast
of pent up rage
down my umbilical mast
back deep into her molten well

She adds my rage
to the molten fire
co-creating earth
and my hearts desire
as one

This loving Earth
with great round girth
holds me, and tree
is inter-planetary
and so much more

She lives
she breathes
my rage she sees
clawed to her crust
and sets me free, once more

I hope I didn’t burn the worms…

© 2010

The Poet by Bill Bell

The Poet

I heard you died in Tibet
no doubt dressed in black
the walls of your dispair
too high to climb
so your friends
played music around the walls
and waited.

Your gums turned black
yet you smiled aware
your brothers death
your mothers health failing
you turned the haiku
for in a breath the senses
can confirm
a candle in the window pane.

High upon the snows
high above the world you expired
falling into heaven
falling from the spire
exhausted flame around you
the smoke streams from black to white
I expected a pulling up
but you fell into the frozen sea.

Where one day
like Virgil you emerge
into the wood it was but but a scene
that you had taken me on
the seventh ring
I hear music
and the beating of my heart
you gave me the word
that had always existed
the poet that you were
exhausted
and the light then emerged.

© 2010

Wrap Remedy by ianez

my plexus a mess.
i awoke in unfamiliar spaces.
pressing my eyes around
four walls of some
unfurnished room.
there hung a fervor of estrus in the atmosphere.
i felt every utterance that escaped
my ample tonguesnips.
they devoured the exhausted aftermath
of labored.. … . breaths
and sebacious finger.prints. … .. no.presses.
ten digits tune my facets.
i was alone, ardent in the glow that snuck into my oubliette.
the omnipresent peering of a sickle soft moon.
lunar silent stalker, you do what you must do.

want to scape a for you tonight
feeling lushly
the lusc,
less romance
more; precise decimation.

you are a guided missile.
i am the film of mosquito wings
i am you, as neuroptera.

swoonly into your palms.
penned in the posture of your
plebeian grammar.

© 2010

how many parts walk in an alley by Lisa Jewell

I walked home alone
thinking
what if I turned tricks?
and
what if I licked my lips
while
holding hands with a demon
would
I no longer be sweet
if
I looked for ways home
would the heart of death
point the way
if
I spewed pomegranates picked by winged angels
would I
see the future
if I told you
I
do not
aspire
to be heavenly
I do not aspire to be the burning pit of Hades
if
I told you
living in a cave
is not cold
it is
like heather on a hill
it rides the tiny hair on my legs
if you met me
walking down a dark alley
would
you walk on by, scared
or
take a chance
not knowing
if
I’m sweet
or
dark

© 2010

Permission to be Brilliant (on Mandela) by Siki Dlanga

In a dream I wrote you a speech. I was important enough to be in the same room as you. No, I will be honest in the dream I was still not important. It was the fact that I only had my name which holds no weight that made me feel significantly more important to you in the midst of great names. In your presence was every reason to feel so much more significant because it was dreams of my freedom that kept you imprisoned for 27 years.

I looked at your face and it lit. Lit by dreams that have been fulfilled as you looked back at me. Your aspirations would be fulfilled through me, my friends and grow through our children. I would love to see you but I would rather I gave you rest so that you would greet one less person and have more rest so I visited you in a dream. I remained brilliant for at least 2 whole minutes. My heart spoke a fresh word because I had seen your face in the reality of my dream. I tried to read my speech but my words diminished because your person filled the room in a way that contrarily suddenly made me feel great.

What makes you so much greater is that our country is rich in resources and minerals. We have diamonds and mines rich with different kinds of gold as if it were all not enough, we have you. In that moment my heart realised your South Africanness makes us so much more affluent.

The name Mandela now robes the hills, the mountains, seas and islands of our country with a royal mantle of dignity and honours anyone who calls themselves South African. Your name adorns our many coloured flag with admiration. Your name is no lesser currency or wealth than the gold and minerals of our land.

The children covered by your 46664 campaign will benefit not only for themselves but their children’s children also. You gave us a future. By your life you lifted the lid that kept us in captivity in the land our predecessors had once freely grazed their cattle. By your carefully chosen words as you declared the new South Africa born you made us realise our own greatness. You challenged us to get out of our inferiority complexes’ and gave us permission to be brilliant.

I know there is a God because it had to take a superior-being to design such a master plan. We were a country that was so broken and desperate for a miracle. You are the perfect miracle at 90 you still amaze us.

Last year in the 90 minutes for Mandela, I wrote a poster hoping the camera man might put it on TV but decided to etch it in my dreams. It reads; “you have shown us how great we can be. My gift to you is that you will not be the last great South African because there is nothing enlightening about shrinking back.”
© 2010

Calenders by Touched By Fire Members

Posted January 27, 2010 by dawkinsphoto
Categories: RedBubble, art, photography

Tags: , , , ,

Have you purchased your calnders for this year yet?  It’s still early in the year and I’m sure you have someplace in your office, kitchen, bathroom, formal dinning room, friends house that is still without an awesome calender.  Now is the perfect time to buy.  Holiday shipping is ridiculous and takes forever.  It’s all over with now, so you don’t have an excuse.  So why not check out some of these awesome calenders below???  A couple of which are to benefit Haiti.

tshirts by touched by fire members

Posted January 24, 2010 by pjdjennel
Categories: RedBubble, art, graphic design, photo manipulation, photography

Tags: , , , , , ,

In addition to the art, photography, and writing submitted to the touched by fire group, there are also some great tshirts for under $30. You can never have enough tshirts, and it’s super cool to have custom designed one-of-a-kinds that nobody else has. Check these out!

Support our artists and buy a tshirt!

Touched By Fire Featured Writing – Week of January 17th

Posted January 22, 2010 by dawkinsphoto
Categories: RedBubble, writing, poetry, literature, prose

Tags: , , , , ,

And finally the writing features for this week.

Her Enemy – MommaKluyt

The silence is deafening
Can she hear me?

Why do you come for her?
To paralyze her soul with thoughts…
With things she doesnt want to see
The dark corners of her imagination
You left her choking in fear

Your sick game, so easily played in her brittle mind
Dont take this girl, my fragile doll
She doesnt belong in pieces
Leave her here, her heart I need to mend
That day I cannot wait, when you come for me instead…

Virgin Name – Siki Dlanga

he said my name
what was in that
that made me pause
listen
wonder
as though
he were the first
to ever say it
when he said it
i heard it
as though it
had never been uttered
since he

The Value Of Your Own Worth – Shoaib

I thought she was a perfect match
So striking the way she lit up my face that fast
The spark was brilliant, but the flame didn’t last
Nights out drinking turned into pain and wrath
And each injury sustained was simply bandaged and wrapped
Not even healing before the next lashing overlapped
Till finally one day my bones gave out and smashed
I wondered if I would ever be the same after that
Looking at the pain from the gash
I felt my burnt hands would never be able to maintain in their grasp
An endless love that would stay lit instead of burning out and blaming a draft
I realized that I was looking for a match that would last
To feed an addiction that spread like a cancerous path
Because I felt like I was just a cigarette and only worthy of the ash
Not realizing that I am candle and am made out of wax
So instead of choking, that’s when I let out a gasp
And promised to give myself much more than that
What hurts the most is knowing I had stabbed my own back
But when you don’t know the value of your own worth you search for something that’s lack
And you will do anything to just keep what you might have had in tact

Candles are meant to shine light into lives not be discarded in the trash
So I lived for a while on my own because in order to heal you must cast
And when I took it off I realized that what I was missing was a simple fact
A lesson that only comes when we see ourselves outside of our box and our pack

We often mistake a quick fix and brilliant flash for love until it burns us and our lungs turn black
But true love is like a wick that melts with you and remains inside your heart as long as you last

Heart of Ice – MagpieMagic

Crystal heart of the frozen wastes
tempered by the vagaries of never-winter
moored in flakes of ice white beauty

where the sweet song of birds
and the fragrant scent of blossom
never follow the cold North Wind

where floral beauties
are carved by Jack Frost
into the brittle skin itself.

Crystal heart of the frozen wastes
tempered by the vagaries of never-winter
moored in flakes of ice white beauty

where treasures are hidden
in plain sight for all to see
obscured by mist and fog

where ravages of time
have left their mark
in secret runes upon the frost.

Crystal heart of the frozen wastes
tempered by the vagaries of never-winter
moored in flakes of ice white beauty

where memories are frozen
and beauty leaves you shivering
no shelter and no respite

where no one goes
and no one stays
unless the choice is none.

Rest – Siki Dlanga

hands that formed me
please embrace my face tightly
wash me with kindness

Osmosis of Love – ArcadiaTempest

A barrow of monkeys danced
Cheeky grins enticing
to smell the cheery blossom

A flying clock lands on a well made bed
hours have pleated a healing quilt
just a few minute threads to be sewn

A petard left by the grief gargoyle
rolls into the dug out of yesterdays
No casualties for the count
safe in the meadow of new buds

Fear stung into submission by fire ants
New skin forming in the fire light of now

Hair is tussled by a playful wind sprite
tangles or not
there is
laughter more rich than ever before
A pearl forms in the osmosis of love

Touched By Fire Art Features – Week of January 17th

Posted January 22, 2010 by dawkinsphoto
Categories: RedBubble, art, photography

Tags: , , , ,

I apologize for being a little slow this week on picking the features and getting this posted up on the blog.  We had a little confusion between the hosts and I was out of the country for a few days.  Anyway, here they are….

Art:

Never Let You Go Contest Winner and Top 10

Posted January 21, 2010 by pjdjennel
Categories: Uncategorized

Winning Work: Love, Lust and Misery by Mammakluyt
Love Lust and Misery
Mammakluyt really knocked our socks off with her utterly emotive self-portrait.

Congratulations to the winners of our “Never Let You Go” contest!
Top 9 Placements

Welcome – Helene Ruiz

Posted January 17, 2010 by msdebbie
Categories: RedBubble, writing, poetry, literature, prose

Tags: , ,

Hello lovelies!

I am so pleased to be offering some small contributions to the Touched By Fire blog and group. I am in awe of artists and all creative expression, but words are my main passion…so I will likely be more at ease commenting on poems for the most part.

Essentially, I intend to focus on

art that very distinctly touches peoples soul and shows a creative and unique voice that inspires and urges us to look at our world in new and exciting ways.

As PJ has so brilliantly put it – that is what TBF is all about!

Recently I came across an artist i have swiftly learnt to adore! Helene Ruiz is a multi-talented and creative genius! I’d firstly like to tell you about a poem she shared – it has moved me in ways that my words barely cover, but I’ll try! For it is important to our own creative journeys to think about the poems and photos and paintings which take us to other worlds, or illuminate our own! I love discovering people and art which grab hold of my soul and throttle me, or comfort me, soothe my mind, challenge me…

  • So it starts with a favorite.
  • And then I trawl through a portfolio.
  • I revel in the moment and mood.
  • I think of other images and musics evoked by the words or art.

I have no interest in the critical blah blah blah that some sites love to use to condescend.

Basically – I know what I like, what holds true for me, what I feel.

And that is the place where I post comments from. I’m not always eloquent – but I try to convey my meaning and how I respond to something.

For all words and images – I believe it is their purpose and intent. We are meant to feel them.

Even if I don’t know a word or have no intellectual background to the archetype – well, all words and images which are good, I think they are felt on a cellular level just about. Our heart knows things our brain can barely encompass! Which I love!!!

So, to return to Helene Ruiz. The poem which floored me is called You..Fuckin Piece of Shit!

Guess I just wanna say all i have held back for so long
Now 28 yrs later you wanna know something about your son..
Well you fuckin piece of shit…
let’s go back in time….
From the moment he was concieved
You lied, cheated and abused
You took my kindness for weakness
You said I was strange and dumb
Why??
Cause I didnt think like everyone else?
Cause I didnt hate like everyone else??
Then my beautiful little baby boy was born, You were there in the room…
but the moment his head popped out you called your Bitch to tell her YOU had a son
Me and my little angel had to get home in an ambulance
Why?
Cuz you forgot to pick us up, too busy with your bitch(es)
We come home to an apartment full of your dogs shit, piss, and garbage…
I have to clean the mess on hands and knees so I can have a clean environment for my new baby…. I began to hemmorhage
but, hey what can I do??
Your fuckin piece of shit ass was too busy to take me back to the hospital
From the moment the child could walk and talk you forbade him to call you daddy
but your bitches kids all called you daddy
then you had a little baby girl,
she could call you daddy, you married her mommy
she was just like everyone else, you could deal with that!
but then you were in court, you had to pay outta your ass for her? hmmmmm
strange… huh?wonder why i left your ass huh??
I never took you to court, in 28 yrs you contributed $30 once, LOLOLOL…..
i worked 2 and 3 jobs to take care of my 2 beautiful “fatherless” kids….MYSELF
Over all the years, you every now and then would feel as though you wanted to connect with YOUR son…by coming to visit with a different bitch and their kids each time…Your bitch and her kids bragging and showing all the gifts you bought them…my son sitting there wondering if you just didint remember his birthday? never even bothered to call him or send a card….
Your princess little girl got showered with gifts
Now, 29 yrs later you have the audacity to ask me
“Is he a goddamm faggot?
Well You fuckin piece of shit…I assume you meant”Is he gay?”
Well, You fuckin piece of shit, he’s 28 yrs old now…ask him your fucking self
You tell me if he’s a “faggot” it’s my fault cuz I hugged and kissed him too much.
Do you mean he is gay because I showed him the love a child deserves? Because I loved and encouraged him, I made him gay? You fucking DUMB piece of shit…
I used to think my son missed out on havin a father….but Your fuckin piece of shit ass missed out on getting to know a compassionate, responsible, intelligent, wonderful young man…your son….your loss…
YOU FUCKIN PIECE OF SHIT!
Yea…Guess I am mad as hell…
Yea…Guess I feel defensive…
Yea…YOU ARE A PIECE OF SHIT
Hey, you know what? You piece of shit?
FUCK YOU>>>>
I love my son…He is my angel…

There is so much that I could list as to why I love the poem, but I’ll cover the three main things I gained from it in the interests of curbing my verbosity!

  1. 1. Sense of triumph The intensity of this poem really evokes the trials of knowing someone who judges others based on sexuality. Yet there is a great sense of Helene’s love for her son – who cares what some asshole who provided DNA thinks! I really like that contrast. It makes me smile with pride for a Mum standing up for her child like a lioness – so courageous and strong. Wonderful!
  1. 2. Support outpouring The emotional chords struck by this sort of raw and powerful writing make me so thrilled to be a member of the RB community. Helene has received many messages of support and love – it is wonderful to see. The beauty of people in the face of prejudice, ignorance – it makes each word resonate that much more for me. We can unite in disgust at people who try to push others around to their own shitty way of seeing the world – and stand tall. I love the feeling that Helene and her children are admired and respected for the adversity they have overcome. It warms my soul in fact!
  1. 3. My own comment This is so powerful I am actually barely able to write a reply! It makes me so angry and yet, the love for your son is what I adore about it. So vibrant and beautiful; lovely in its raw truth Helene. Congrats on raising such a fine son and obliterating the deadbeat dad who deserves so little and holds to his hate, which I am sure will wreak its usual effect with time. Bravo for your beauty and the wonderful parenting you have achieved through adversity. Well, it seems time and space does not weaken the impact of her poem. It makes me quite speechless to think of people so quick to judge. But I sigh, take another deep breath, and try to focus on mutual support and love. They are what count – the rest is peripheral!

Everyone is touched by fire, but we can burn brighter than before, like a phoenix.

Please, be sure to check out Helene’s other works.
I also highly recommend these images as my own personal favs to date
The colours of pain
and u just wait until i get those wings

TBF welcomes MsDebbie

Posted January 15, 2010 by pjdjennel
Categories: RedBubble, writing, poetry, literature, prose

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Touched By Fire’s Latest Blogger!

I’m so excited to see Touched By Fire growing exponentially. In order to keep up the pace I’m excited to announce we have another blogger joining us. MsDebbie, as she is known on the bubble, has been a member of RedBubble for nearly a year and has made herself quite cozy. She’s a highly motivated and emotive writer who shares her inspirations with everyone that she comes across. My first impressions of Deb were her sincerely supportive and sweet comments that she would leave for others writings. She always leaves an artist feeling worthy, like what they shared was truly valued.

Deb is definitely a woman on the prowl for inspiration in everything around her. She is a lover of poetry, music, art, books, thinking, challenges, conversations, and so much more. She will be sharing with us commentary on poetry, art, motivational thoughts, and whatever else floats through her dreamy beautiful mind.

And to use a quote that she uses “The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware” – Henry Miller. So here’s to having our joyous, aware, and divine Debbie join us – welcome Deb, we already love you!

p.s. don’t forget to check out her bubble page to see her art, writings, and journal ramblings!