Escape Hatch

Saw this the other day and took my camera along to grab it before it get’s cleaned off. Not the most artistic, but I do like the humour.

Photo Assignment: Week 8

The third assessment was themed ‘Secret Spaces’. My original idea was to shoot a doorway with someone just about to enter the room beyond. I could only think of one location and it wouldn’t have been possible to shoot there, so I improvised and kept the idea, but at a location I could shoot.

Light was quite important for this one and there are two desk lamps inside the wardrobe. The room lights were switched off so the emphasis would be on the light coming from inside. My daughter modeled for me – she’s the only one that will – and as usual, she took her direction straight away and added her own twist. (If she doesn’t end up an actress I’ll be very surprised!)

The image has probably had more post capture work done to it than any other image. I’m not one to mess around images beyond curves and contrast, but this one needed a fair amount of cloning, masking around the wardrobe and some dodging.

So that’s three assessments down and two to go – got those to do over the Christmas break. In the mean time, Merry Christmas to everyone. Thanks for the visits, likes and comments over the year. Here’s hoping for a great 2013 for everyone.

For the Fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Robert Laurence Binyon