tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72968898701639475202024-03-18T23:07:40.940-05:00The Rendering Wellbending ideas with light...Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-50838663794571528242012-07-05T04:43:00.000-05:002012-07-05T04:43:22.378-05:006.3.2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwfNx6Z78IBTf4Cpqi1gY8OE2rsWjbIlKzBMxmdyJ8hs16spr8TdJnu0c3DPBkcVdhHemoQItiSdd139rNjC-lIwOzEi-gTZ2-8RDZ4ngPwyM3U7a4LSpLBw_cAfxPkB275zEPrY2IUSg/s1600/The-Farmstead---Typewriter-Poem---Bookmarked-Version.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwfNx6Z78IBTf4Cpqi1gY8OE2rsWjbIlKzBMxmdyJ8hs16spr8TdJnu0c3DPBkcVdhHemoQItiSdd139rNjC-lIwOzEi-gTZ2-8RDZ4ngPwyM3U7a4LSpLBw_cAfxPkB275zEPrY2IUSg/s400/The-Farmstead---Typewriter-Poem---Bookmarked-Version.jpg" width="291" /></a></div>
<br />Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-19074884139108485802012-05-17T19:28:00.000-05:002012-05-17T19:28:15.167-05:004.29.12 | Journaling<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">i'm writing this from my tiny phone screen in the back of a truck somewhere in </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the pacific northwest to the sound of eastern storm on western ground and irish </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">folk music being sung by men with soft souls but rough faces. my friend is </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">asleep on my lap. we are wrapped in Icelandic wool, heading north and the wind is </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">very cold. I need a good meal but all we have is a bar of chocolate. I can </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">sometimes see mt. hood in my view. what I really want is a bag of kettle chips </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and warmer hands. there is a man speaking about jealousy to a woman relating it, </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">somehow, to democracy. he is sure, she is sure... and all i know is that it's good for my writing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">notice this, these little things and also that my hair is wind torn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-28918851863685199172012-05-16T16:14:00.000-05:002012-05-16T16:19:42.678-05:004.15.12 | 3 A.M., to say the least.<h2>
<br /><tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">creature person, </span></tt></h2>
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<tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></tt><tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">today was like ingot & hung in ochre by noontime. </span></tt><tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">it left as an ingot again for the other piece of sky that blows westward. </span></tt><tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I napped with my eyes shut & palms in fresh water during the beginning to night with heavy handed light & looming thunder, under an awning. </span></tt><tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">they were both like lullabies and spoke some ancient language my dreams know. </span></tt><tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in the woods, morels were hunted in the maze of brown & gloom. </span></tt><tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">it was a vertical thicket where ground mud grew to bark that grew to vine until it was in branch form. </span></tt><tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">all were disheveled like sleeping monsters in mammoth shapes. </span></tt><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">amidst that wyeth palette, a cardinal sat like a needle prick of red and fluttered like a pulse to the scenery - a breathing signature. there was no sound but hail in the high branches.</span></h2>
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</h3>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-37773336020994845882012-01-25T13:16:00.003-06:002012-01-25T13:21:39.545-06:00a poem a day for four days | day 3<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>1.25.2012</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>-----</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><div>What direction are you now from this Nordic mountain house?</div><div><br /></div><div>dusty, vacant</div><div>chipping beamwork, </div><div>capsized cabin. </div><div><br /></div><div>No matter the route - </div><div>Just follow me down, </div><div>to the boat that needs an anchor,</div><div>though she floats</div><div>bold balloon</div><div> only just above the ground. </div><div>siphoned death weight, </div><div>midday waverin</div><div>black eyed crater.</div><div><br /></div><div>that parallel: my closest cousin</div><div> folded me ‘round</div><div> and slit the moon into her mouth</div><div> that lofty spectator.</div><div><br /></div><div>decadent dreamer, with cinder feet </div><div>and breath of soot</div><div> would you concede?</div><div> It signed and swore our oaths in flames </div><div>to palms of water.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>four gloaming basins</div><div>carved us there</div><div><br /></div><div>2 marionettes where, once, a tree.</div><div><br /></div><div>cold vine bushels</div><div> past-prime fruits</div><div> scarlet guilt upon our cheeks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Same sorta ghosts, we.</div><div><br /></div><div>those limber</div><div> linden grove</div><div> dream thieves.</div><div><br /></div><div>----</div><div><br /></div><div>ash xo</div></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-39668987444369555802012-01-23T20:19:00.015-06:002012-01-23T23:09:01.660-06:00a poem a day, for four days | day 2<div><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>written 12.18.2011 @ 38,000 ft. without a pen, on a red eye plane strolling west. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>i repeated it to myself for 3 hours until we landed and i ran for a pen finally getting it down on the last page of a book i had, my only paper. the employees on the flight would not allow me to borrow a pen from them. :p</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span>the following is </span><span style="background-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: 21px; text-align: left; "><span>© Ashley Lebedev | Bottle Bell ™</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: 21px; text-align: left; "><span><span style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; ">please enjoy, but please don't swipe. | xo</span> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>----</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span>i watched the sun </span>rise,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>for three hours</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>bursting from the sky </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span>like </span><span>a swollen tidal wave</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>unfolding itself across my waking americana.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>a castle of mirages</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>rose up</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>3000 mile billow of</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span>lit bonfire</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>two honey eyed bobbers like</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>cathedral beacons</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>those fleeting arches</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>were traces of zion.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>i saw an avalanche there, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>in her kettle below</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>lead-bellied curves</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>rolling from the hands </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span>of </span>mineral giants, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>rousing from her clouds</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>and evergreen terrain</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>like a frozen breath of chalk dust.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>i felt the youth of virtue</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>revisiting me in her strange pace</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>as we plunged from blue</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>to the milky white,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>stirred quilt,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>concoction of fog.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>prism of patchwork</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>underbelly of rainbows.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>a soft child's hand</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>treaded my face</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>in all the weight of ghosts</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>pondering along</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span>a game of </span>remembrance,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>shaky hopscotch.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>her permanent mirror,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>chisel of</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>spooky craters</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>or course cloak, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>descendent of oceans,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>two orphans coming home.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>---</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>ash </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-55874641952451661992012-01-22T21:25:00.007-06:002012-01-23T10:17:41.362-06:00"untitled" | poem a day for 4 days.<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>i've decided to post a poem a day, through thursday. long or short. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>first one, long. ;)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>this was written in the teens of this january, one very early mornin'.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>ps. please don't swipe.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>ashtree. x</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span>------</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><div>we slept, ten days too tired</div><div>under the perfect hum of your winter hymnal</div><div>ghosts of seattle snow, </div><div>still mourning itself through your speakers</div><div>seeding the bed</div><div>and resting you.</div><div><br /></div><div>the youth of men - eternal and wounded</div><div>where every pore remembers </div><div>that thing you didn't choose.</div><div><br /></div><div>tears beaded along, the both of us </div><div>martyrs of conditioning</div><div>and brought me into the blue hour.</div><div>where the loan bird called to me</div><div>with it's diamond throat and shifty, opiate knowings.</div><div>such things.</div><div><br /></div><div>and, for a time, our eyes met - lawless.</div><div>different souls, same wings.</div><div>through your low slung, level window</div><div>to that branchy, branchy tree</div><div>a harbinger or angel</div><div>where i took in it's mutterings of utter, gutting truth</div><div>drawing me with shadows, speaking:</div><div><i>2 reflections now</i></div><div><i>1 fading...</i></div><div><br /></div><div>and the light treaded me even closer than the cradle of you - my silhouetted stranger.</div><div>who i met too late or too soon.</div><div>who i knew without knowing.</div><div>patient lover</div><div>badge of danger</div><div>flask of ginger spit water</div><div>delayed traveler.</div><div><br /></div><div>hey pretty baby</div><div>i'm catching my plane, it seems, just a little too soon.</div><div><br /></div><div>to the ghost of warmer seasons</div><div>affixing me to memories </div><div>of dresses</div><div>that gathered leaves with hemline hands</div><div>spinning little filly</div><div>pheasant feather gypsy.</div><div><br /></div><div>so, i paused in your pocket sized space</div><div>tucking in to itself, custom tailored to you.</div><div>between microphone, that condom, and a waning moon</div><div>ever present, ever fleeting.</div><div>and time stood for what it was:</div><div>it's own pinnacle</div><div>it's own culmination.</div><div>where it became, not irreverent but irrelevant.</div><div><br /></div><div>and you stirred in heavy pleasure breaths</div><div>brother bear across your toes</div><div>from that other place where we dream without rules</div><div>and don't fence our fields.</div><div><br /></div><div>i watched you, </div><div>time of pause,</div><div>for an era.</div><div>the elegant romance</div><div>nixing out</div><div>this task of absence.</div><div>learning everything and memorizing you.</div><div><br /></div><div>this what i saw, with my cat eyes:</div><div><br /></div><div>i saw your</div><div>summer lashes, light as sandy ocracoke - those beaches i wandered</div><div>the both of you.</div><div>she, with shells </div><div>and you with braille bumps </div><div>ink blots</div><div>maps for pleading dart fingers.</div><div>flitting lids like restless southern summers.</div><div><br /></div><div>thick neck, briny skin</div><div>tiny chain upon it</div><div>with the saint you trust to keep you. (and so he does)</div><div>your fuzzy blanket of late season wheat grasses</div><div>sun faded, wild and winding to your briary chest</div><div>chock full</div><div>to the root of you.</div><div>part serpent, part man </div><div>where your laughs are held</div><div>gathered in their boney bed of ivory rafters</div><div>dripping with pulse.</div><div>lone echoes and </div><div>whispers -</div><div>those stowaway stockpiles</div><div>with renegade lineage</div><div>your call of honor</div><div>prone to surrender</div><div>self perpetuating.</div><div><br /></div><div>the symphony, pretty foreground to</div><div>to the day that followed:</div><div>her timelapsed, flaking, pastry snows</div><div>my last midwestern day</div><div>beckoned me to stay </div><div>from a cinematic terminal.</div><div><br /></div><div>where the tremors hushed</div><div>silent</div><div>resigning to deaf ears</div><div>a world orchestra and snow globe</div><div>of busy mannequins</div><div><br /></div><div>toasting the morning w/ a shot glass</div><div>2 parts leaving</div><div>1 part you</div><div>heart bursting with dreams</div><div>of a far away willow grove and a</div><div>heavy mellow chaser of freedom.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-91649800046614653872011-11-29T23:09:00.003-06:002011-11-29T23:32:34.828-06:00yes | yes | ... yes.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">::this moved me, oh it did...::</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"But you children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped or tamed. Your house shall not be an anchor but a mast. It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye. You shall not fold your wings that you may pass through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down. You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living. And though of magnificence and splendor, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing. For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and silences of the night." </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">~ Kahlil Gibran</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">this image felt like a nice pairing. it's a very close-up of a drawer in my kitchen. the drawer is an old bread drawer in a large, primitive, cabinet & holds the dried petals of every flower ever given to me, within it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBJzgwB38u-eVFyTo1oJ6KshmJAesLTVW5udEKWmNo62pUxHcpeXTb7nVs8kBQ76z5hJUUtPGti4GuVh1D45wiMPrvMxokgUrCPeo6I9v-xlugUmIIDGbcP0OiJ3a-yFia16mPahqTUw/s1600/a+drawer+that+has+every+flower+ever+given+to+me+inside+of+it.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBJzgwB38u-eVFyTo1oJ6KshmJAesLTVW5udEKWmNo62pUxHcpeXTb7nVs8kBQ76z5hJUUtPGti4GuVh1D45wiMPrvMxokgUrCPeo6I9v-xlugUmIIDGbcP0OiJ3a-yFia16mPahqTUw/s400/a+drawer+that+has+every+flower+ever+given+to+me+inside+of+it.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680653380811071602" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">feel free to click and make it just a bit bigger. i think that's a sunflower i got a bit earlier in autumn (and therefore on the top of the very deep drawer ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ash x</div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-23962800737662061082011-11-01T10:46:00.005-05:002011-11-01T10:50:33.406-05:0011.1.11<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">happy november 1st. :)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">snapped this, this am, during breakfast. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5xq7bq3ZTpWcRWYeqq4aNRURbchhE4ijXJCEquiwW-xoxFLjy69ewudh1EvDqkC1RGpxIdoK-mUp39a5N46UcgWSbPqBAZAWNZXAKBD5m7AfnZSDGB5rGiQpzI3aOL7h2DAm8uY97utE/s1600/GoodMorningNovember12011.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5xq7bq3ZTpWcRWYeqq4aNRURbchhE4ijXJCEquiwW-xoxFLjy69ewudh1EvDqkC1RGpxIdoK-mUp39a5N46UcgWSbPqBAZAWNZXAKBD5m7AfnZSDGB5rGiQpzI3aOL7h2DAm8uY97utE/s400/GoodMorningNovember12011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670054687681592770" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i hope you all are very well. i have a lot of writing coming your way, very soon.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ashtree, x</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-76735739335815690312011-08-28T19:54:00.019-05:002011-09-18T00:09:12.880-05:00Medieval Villages & The Day of the Windstorm.<div style="text-align: center;">(**imagery, high resolution, on <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thebottlebellphotography/6094753867/in/photostream">flickr</a>)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">july 2011 - ceyreste, france | a journal.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">it started with a walk that began to pick up speed until i was running down a 1 car road. i ran down the hill and towards to the village. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i knew something had gone wrong when i found myself silently crying deep in a village alleyway alone in southern provence, my fingers trembling,</div><div style="text-align: center;">barefoot.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">a dreamer's tears cascaded down my freckled cheeks, melting themselves to my speckled shoulders and watering the dusty road, a trembling chin trying to maintain its stillness, half failing. i sat in my mother's striped vintage jumper, the one she wore when she was pregnant with me; at least that's the story that her pictures seem to tell. she was always touching her stomach when she wore that jumper. it's amazing what you think of when you think, sometimes.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">there i was - 28 years later, and so happy i was wearing it; a bit ironic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">an hour passed as i sat tucking into my knees, on ancient cobblestone, looking up at the village's medieval watchtower, silhouetting itself so perfectly in front of a dry and waning Mediterranean sun. i traced old engravings that lay beneath my feet, lovers professing their love in stone. <i>in stone. </i>when had it been written?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">if it was in stone <i>they must have meant it.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">i pictured starcrossed lovers using miniature wooden chisels; i pictured them running away and laughing into the night, despite their parents. but, perhaps, that was too archaic or too romantic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">still... i hope.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i remember shutting my eyes over and over again, just to savor the smallest, most beautiful luxury: watching the entire spectrum crushing itself into my lashes, with every blink.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i told the sun, ''please renew me. you are the only one i know here.''</div><div style="text-align: center;">i said it aloud, maybe a whisper, maybe not.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i told myself to sit there however long it took, until i was strong enough to know i was strong enough, even if i became another statue on someone's historical tour. their tourist book would read: "to your right is a woman that sat so long in contemplation that she became a statue."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">my breaths were so short, and offered only shallow exhalations, all trying to grow wings. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i could smell the wind bringing the sea air to me, so wildly untamed that they'd closed the mountain passes. it seemed invincible. i could taste the croissants i'd eaten for breakfast: one filled with chocolate, the other with apples. the bread was so cakey that half of every bite would float to the ground. i could hear a wild symphony of cicadas, hitting me like percussion. i remembered the little brother i'd played swords with, with broken sticks. he'd win every time, mustache painted on with big sister's eyeliner, chanting his victory in a foreign squeal. what a charming little Zorro. i thought about his father who was a mime, eating his morning baguettes, each drenched in bowls of coffee. i thought of his wife, who ate pie with her fingers, making motherhood and cooking look so elegant. i was all ears when she told me that she learned english during her time in ireland.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i picked every thought i had and replanted it, and began to see beauty in all of the un-sung cracks. i remembered just days before - the night of French Independence Day - watching a drunk woman dancing (flailing) to 'YMCA' in the village square. she was going <i>all.out.</i> i remember so wholeheartedly laughing as i meandered down old streets, meeting new people and never knowing, upon introductions, how many times i was supposed to kiss their cheeks. sometimes it was 2, sometimes three, and once it was even four. that night, a man gave us the entire oral history of his village, albeit in French, without us asking. i think i know a lot about that village, considering i didn't understand a word. he was just so passionate. the memory of that night has engraved itself into me. so much fervor. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>it must have meant it</i>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">as i continued to sit, i pulled lavender fronds from my pocket (a recent gift) and rubbed the flowers to my temples, to my wrists, below my nose. it was a faithful meditation, that rolled through my joints like a wave.</div><div style="text-align: center;">sometime shortly after, a lizard ran across my foot and i jumped just enough to be half funny, and so i let out a half laugh. i wondered if the sky saw any of this. the sky sees so much. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i was somewhere lost in the middle of 'figuring it all out' when a child came up to me and handed me a disheveled wildflower. he said a sentence i'll never know, but the message carried. in that moment, just for a moment, i felt as if i knew and understood everything there ever was to know about life. the past, present, future were in the eyes of a smiling child, his beautiful eyes reflecting the sun. the same sun that warms me, wherever i am.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i touched his cheek, hoping i wasn't breaking any sort of local custom, and smiled in relief. i said 'merci beaucoup' (sighing into my words and blushing) and touched my heart with both of my palms. i couldn't relay what a moment he'd broken up.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">he giggled and bounced away with that vibrant, youthful zest i adore in humanity.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i said thank you to the sun, and promised myself that when i returned stateside i would take a photo recording the feeling of that day, that village, that particular moment.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">the entire moment, that hour, was so completely existential.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">when i returned home i put on a medieval nightdress (my personal homage to the starcrossed engraving i'd found) and pretended i was<i> still</i> looking up into the provencial sun or into the eyes of that little boy. i like to think, in some alternate reality, i still am.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">this is that photo:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0JA8a1cDZH0x5B4iVbaaVPCAUHkqf4YKJUtmn6C1iEzjjFZrkTNX3egIOa9wTI4Qmm300uYS6_mGN47re4HH_ZuheKDoYaK287BtmDG_SDqfhhFPgoo2ihz8H6DoLqzkuf-GlxTZcIU/s1600/TheDayOfTheWindstorm2-ForBlog.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0JA8a1cDZH0x5B4iVbaaVPCAUHkqf4YKJUtmn6C1iEzjjFZrkTNX3egIOa9wTI4Qmm300uYS6_mGN47re4HH_ZuheKDoYaK287BtmDG_SDqfhhFPgoo2ihz8H6DoLqzkuf-GlxTZcIU/s400/TheDayOfTheWindstorm2-ForBlog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646076394586630578" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">and some others:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmzvBPxSJF_lO1rfjR_bh-3eQHUVbkkXzxPyHZ-c_Z9B4YYPWFxcjVeWgap_k6hiQLwRflKzPKgs5Lp0EhxiouWvVjcOh23VbHW7u5knzGkfr06pIq20cNct2tA9X0wODShKKE00hKIY/s1600/TheDayOfTheWindstorm3-ForBlog.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmzvBPxSJF_lO1rfjR_bh-3eQHUVbkkXzxPyHZ-c_Z9B4YYPWFxcjVeWgap_k6hiQLwRflKzPKgs5Lp0EhxiouWvVjcOh23VbHW7u5knzGkfr06pIq20cNct2tA9X0wODShKKE00hKIY/s400/TheDayOfTheWindstorm3-ForBlog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646076717537928354" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcaO9UkQS3KUiRLX-HAzWnn4x7f7oPbSyM5-Lajzopn5abFTkXmKWAt65jNLmNBBA2bvg2LZEQzrQyhsF9wGPC4LnOd3w3UCrCN5nql9jmF0lYT-IApHf4Ox_3nqrA4lNUOYyOAdLVsvQ/s1600/TheDayOfTheWindstorm1-ForBlog.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcaO9UkQS3KUiRLX-HAzWnn4x7f7oPbSyM5-Lajzopn5abFTkXmKWAt65jNLmNBBA2bvg2LZEQzrQyhsF9wGPC4LnOd3w3UCrCN5nql9jmF0lYT-IApHf4Ox_3nqrA4lNUOYyOAdLVsvQ/s400/TheDayOfTheWindstorm1-ForBlog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646076712196275602" /></a></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">living out of a suitcase and pleased as punch, </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://bottlebellphotography.blogspot.com/">ashes x</a></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-45492878533675257622011-05-09T18:59:00.004-05:002011-05-09T19:08:38.334-05:00"Faerieland" | The Brownie Sequence<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">please enjoy this new character (and a few not posted anywhere else) and for behind the scenes, <a href="http://bottlebellphotography.blogspot.com/">click here.</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">there are something like 6 new characters on the horizon & high res. will be on my <a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/">website</a> & <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/thebottlebellphotography">flickr</a>, within the hour, because blogspot just breaks. my. heart. w/ it's quality. ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFks-Eeix6PfipCSb6hXzeOAtoSgk6Sc9L6qI50V89KnqCG8FXgaX6inKRPOJYaOJcZvwkDm2Fwd-2rsIfAuUlELmBKBTUWWY54kqy5BBVNRvPfbP9t0jtSTFwKHX_d1BY82oucbmfVbo/s1600/brownie-sequence-FINAL-for-reference-Ashley-Lebedev---Bottle-Bell---Rae-Weisz---Faerieland3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFks-Eeix6PfipCSb6hXzeOAtoSgk6Sc9L6qI50V89KnqCG8FXgaX6inKRPOJYaOJcZvwkDm2Fwd-2rsIfAuUlELmBKBTUWWY54kqy5BBVNRvPfbP9t0jtSTFwKHX_d1BY82oucbmfVbo/s400/brownie-sequence-FINAL-for-reference-Ashley-Lebedev---Bottle-Bell---Rae-Weisz---Faerieland3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604871722007487922" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuBx7k9ntbgLItLT5JNcYEE8odyGhg6cbFup2MHOpxy_YCEnupH6BWtaYmsz-0FruROQWsOyOzQDa-BRX2OzkMS3C5mn1JQNyNaXs_HdwwUQcalYbLKO_-guFVHSxU-PyxJxreu-0FW4/s1600/BrownieSequenceAshleyLebedev-FaerielandStoryboard2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuBx7k9ntbgLItLT5JNcYEE8odyGhg6cbFup2MHOpxy_YCEnupH6BWtaYmsz-0FruROQWsOyOzQDa-BRX2OzkMS3C5mn1JQNyNaXs_HdwwUQcalYbLKO_-guFVHSxU-PyxJxreu-0FW4/s400/BrownieSequenceAshleyLebedev-FaerielandStoryboard2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604871715518766162" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMZYc01Fjk90_tG2oDXywjGK4cONjq0X3Z_Hw5OsRkAmArNY3Nf4ETH9nbuIEqeNHjlarr_p0o8SZfjWNnZtK1nIMIwwQn6TVj0ZBAMR5dEFc-BzHOX5wpJ1k6rPYchkRs3C560F54F8/s1600/BrownieSequenceAshleyLebedev-FaerielandStoryboard4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMZYc01Fjk90_tG2oDXywjGK4cONjq0X3Z_Hw5OsRkAmArNY3Nf4ETH9nbuIEqeNHjlarr_p0o8SZfjWNnZtK1nIMIwwQn6TVj0ZBAMR5dEFc-BzHOX5wpJ1k6rPYchkRs3C560F54F8/s400/BrownieSequenceAshleyLebedev-FaerielandStoryboard4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604871711316193058" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4QbRXTU6FDQvrU7BixhQQ3tyikRU4qB-E4lY-21uFIzz_p5a3L_vUgPl4sEoRD-_uSG6IiFA7uTGE0xAPtIDcHznyAt-Kn63p3_5H3k-LFdREwBsBHGKLqpD3Pytti_F71tA8QlhLC8/s1600/BrownieSequenceAshleyLebedev-FaerielandStoryboard1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4QbRXTU6FDQvrU7BixhQQ3tyikRU4qB-E4lY-21uFIzz_p5a3L_vUgPl4sEoRD-_uSG6IiFA7uTGE0xAPtIDcHznyAt-Kn63p3_5H3k-LFdREwBsBHGKLqpD3Pytti_F71tA8QlhLC8/s400/BrownieSequenceAshleyLebedev-FaerielandStoryboard1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604871707226820818" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">ash x</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-70131272641422167882011-05-04T22:37:00.008-05:002011-05-04T23:57:45.418-05:00journal 2 - day ? - chicago<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"you're accustomed to sorrow. it's part of your makeup. you speak the language of hunger. so do i..." -A.P.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">---</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">back home on the farmstead, the fields sweep like a thousand acre ballrooms. i stand at the windbreak and can watch a storm approaching for hours. it's a kind of perfection; the reverent silence that i call home.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">but in this - also a waiting game. a waiting and waiting game - always hoping for things to come.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">the road is different. it's a leaving game, and leading.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">and, it rinses me out.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">i drove from minneapolis to madison with one hand out the window and canon ball feet. we stopped in madison for a spell and watched the sunlight literally bleeding itself across the ugliness and undeniable pulse of so much industry, leaving us to night. it was all sort of a dirty excitement that gathered us for the next 72 hours. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">hails and i arrived in chicago at 1 or 2 am, and within 10 minutes of arriving at Palmer House, i was reminded that city is not my first language, with my sister being nearly pickpocketed in the elevator to our room and both of us being chased around an endless city block by a man that didn't know more than the smell of liquor and need. we ran from him both laughing and terrified. i remember thinking upon seeing him giving up his chase and returning to the shadowy corner of a silent and sleeping city, that being homeless outweighed my fear enough to where i almost wanted to wander back out into the night and hear his story. this was the case over and over again, during my stay, no matter where i was - watching lovers tucked into the tiniest moments or while i sipped tea in millennium park, soaking up my first rays of sun in nearly 8 months or some such.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">the hotel was one of the most beautiful i've ever been in if you don't count the clientele and the $6 bananas. but the life in our room was incredible and the days since have been the same.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">the rest of the weekend was a whirlwind of everything i yearn for:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">love</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">art</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">energy</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">life</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">freedom</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">food</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">shopping</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">&</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">friendship</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">as i wandered into cafes and people watched; </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; ">always filled with a desire to wander with a sort of vibrant energy that stayed with me into the nights when i sat at the hotel room window, looking out over a cityscape of lives and lights that lead the way. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; ">but, you know the thing with me is that lights tend to lead me away, further and further away. one of these days i'll be 'leaving to stay' like the song said that dad use to play.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">photo taken in my hotel room in just about pitch black lighting. i'm sorry for the low blogspot quality that pulls just about everything apart. ;)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJQegCwErD9CJIQwerJBg6jpyqLJHRhO595SK3csY08yp2PaNTQ1o9rf21ncOmOMJvmUqcUf9jpvPZJZDuRyuwS4eq-GDkKsbBxEIAZ6H2DgmuPEdOd4GLBSPLU7s0OoHDGJzJTuXSRo/s1600/palmerhousehotel--ashleylebedev--may2011.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLJQegCwErD9CJIQwerJBg6jpyqLJHRhO595SK3csY08yp2PaNTQ1o9rf21ncOmOMJvmUqcUf9jpvPZJZDuRyuwS4eq-GDkKsbBxEIAZ6H2DgmuPEdOd4GLBSPLU7s0OoHDGJzJTuXSRo/s400/palmerhousehotel--ashleylebedev--may2011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603079835584866146" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">a design studio across the street so quaint & cool, seeing all of the clothing being made by art students...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtF3FiHMJouYUliTxU7jXjCt9fxj1ooXJFmyRwEtUudrcWI8nHTJvkN_WUoCRaxyLbQc9WYw9yse-65lKh5ebbaTRTlMAqGGPoicC53SqhdoCSm2L6Wqyx3vaRQx5YMdgNekl3LWM9AJE/s1600/palmerhousehotel--ashleylebedev--may2011--clothing-design-studio.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtF3FiHMJouYUliTxU7jXjCt9fxj1ooXJFmyRwEtUudrcWI8nHTJvkN_WUoCRaxyLbQc9WYw9yse-65lKh5ebbaTRTlMAqGGPoicC53SqhdoCSm2L6Wqyx3vaRQx5YMdgNekl3LWM9AJE/s400/palmerhousehotel--ashleylebedev--may2011--clothing-design-studio.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603083910511870498" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">a quick snapshot of state street from my room...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVib-8BACTwISgr1hqqRC6pQ5mClyFMjKgT-ZPdQhUIjPmySBYIp1vWDx20ifCOXKp3WmNO-26S356CTmml-jlHZHeq_Or6K3Sx4JSD0T2JBI-lN6qrEz756cGHnO6xIMMt_njq89eofY/s1600/chicago-snapshot-night---ashley-lebedev---may-2011-journal.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVib-8BACTwISgr1hqqRC6pQ5mClyFMjKgT-ZPdQhUIjPmySBYIp1vWDx20ifCOXKp3WmNO-26S356CTmml-jlHZHeq_Or6K3Sx4JSD0T2JBI-lN6qrEz756cGHnO6xIMMt_njq89eofY/s400/chicago-snapshot-night---ashley-lebedev---may-2011-journal.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603084582308873314" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">i have a ton of polaroids accumulating as well and a behind the scenes from my first shoot of the season over on the <a href="http://bottlebellphotography.blogspot.com/">business blog</a>. i will continue shooting and try to journal as well as scanning in new snaps that aren't digital. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">for now i can see the clock is 20 minutes away from my 28th birthday and all i can do is smile.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">ash</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-23412509916680965402011-04-27T21:07:00.009-05:002011-04-27T22:15:45.522-05:004.27.2011 -- 8:00 pm. | Journal 1 - "gypsy woes"<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"gypsy woes"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">in the last 20 minutes of ambient light - the heart of dusk, i sunk into the bath; melting myself to the scalding water and gentle push. it took me on like a champion. I, the weary warrior and fragile beacon; like the last leaf of november.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">it's here i swear i could hear ghosts whisper & the earth talking in every bellow and resounding crack. it murmurs:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"ash, you have no patience anymore and winter was too hard on you; too long for the girl in dresses..."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">the light is only silhouetting the window and the tips of my limbs. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">i pull on this morning's washcloth with my toes, and move my legs</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">my hands</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">my mind </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">around,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">and to.that.point. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">where it</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">drops off;</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">where i can </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">pretend that i'm a mermaid or a leaf and can float as free as either, though my body remains rooted and resolute - 8 days from it's 28th birthday.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">and it's becoming quite apparent that i'm torn between almost everything, except the desire to break free with the simplicity of tomorrow's offering: heading east and onward on the dirty open road.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">these letters will comprise the rambling & imagery of the next 30-some days. they either mean nothing or everything, and i've got my pen & polaroid folded like treasures into my backpack. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">so, we'll see...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">see you in chicago.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">ash x</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">ps. to my retreat attendees: today i got each of you something over 100 years old. can't wait to give them to all of you. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-28968981493728526002011-03-08T02:03:00.010-06:002011-03-08T02:50:57.728-06:00.:: m y . s e c r e t . l i f e ::.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"The spirit</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">likes to dress up like this:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">ten fingers, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">ten toes.</span></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PNoWkXjcEu5S_zbqnhEwg3jOePFkBqxj3BouQ4YpFLSrQ9NLtiuZ_XPqyeDmyH8rwDyf6YmmGZ6NSDfBvdw469KkoLCHh9RllqMrPWJjkd7BK4AbwUoisPq75ZSk0BXSoX7RW1Tdug0/s1600/My-Secret-Life-2-for-Blog----Copyright-Ashley-Lebedev---Bottle-Bell.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PNoWkXjcEu5S_zbqnhEwg3jOePFkBqxj3BouQ4YpFLSrQ9NLtiuZ_XPqyeDmyH8rwDyf6YmmGZ6NSDfBvdw469KkoLCHh9RllqMrPWJjkd7BK4AbwUoisPq75ZSk0BXSoX7RW1Tdug0/s400/My-Secret-Life-2-for-Blog----Copyright-Ashley-Lebedev---Bottle-Bell.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581617374356372578" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">plum rough matter.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Airy and shapeless thing,</div><div style="text-align: center;">it needs</div><div style="text-align: center;">the metaphor of the body..."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">- Mary Oliver</div><div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEsmbzkF0JdTJ136affaHMl1FIzqL1QFRKA6M3NdMzCCmDKMLjAec6mnxkVIEVTbTa3IWmxmTcAXGqL6m6c-dgHdq3aSC2Ml6WABvw0a74JvJC0ax8Xe_JnIxq-kmG3dnN9Ka1fgvmIk/s1600/My-Secret-Life-111-for-Blog----Copyright-Ashley-Lebedev---Bottle-Bell.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEsmbzkF0JdTJ136affaHMl1FIzqL1QFRKA6M3NdMzCCmDKMLjAec6mnxkVIEVTbTa3IWmxmTcAXGqL6m6c-dgHdq3aSC2Ml6WABvw0a74JvJC0ax8Xe_JnIxq-kmG3dnN9Ka1fgvmIk/s400/My-Secret-Life-111-for-Blog----Copyright-Ashley-Lebedev---Bottle-Bell.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581628616800473746" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">3.7.2011</div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">----</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">{**blogspot mangles quality, especially of the low light imagery... so I will post to my <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/thebottlebellphotography">flickr</a> and other venues, later today. and if you venture over there, remember to turn your safe filter <i>off</i> to see the latest 'faerieland' piece, in my stream.} | ash | <a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/">x</a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-56813263791265399302011-02-16T00:12:00.009-06:002011-02-16T01:08:52.458-06:00the boundary waters.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(128, 128, 128); font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px; "><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I remember the first time I visited the northern most stretch of Minnesota, when I was a young girl...</span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The deep forests were stark – full of pine & birch; a land full of canyon lined rivers and rugged boulders, covered in wet mosses and polished agate; deep green marshes knee deep in moose and loon, who called out by dawn and twilight; valleys full of gliding eagles whose shadows would linger in my wild, youthful eyes; fresh wolf and bear tracks lined the gravel back roads, each leading further into the wilderness - hinting that its first inhabitants were still abound if I wandered off the path; sometimes, even in midsummer there was a crispness in the air that I couldn’t shake no matter warm or cold; so rich it would permeate my skin; so thick & palpable, I could actually draw sustenance from it.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The shores of the great Lake Superior were rugged - born of rock & driftwoods; The horizon line, a gorgeous sweep of heavy blues that lulled my eyes further and further into its cold and ship wrecked waters; air tasting of minerals across my tongue. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span">And then came the night, with the warmth of a radiating campfire; popping like fireflies in and out of existence; the scent of evergreen and ash woods, burning away, and built from our own hands - cut only a stone’s throw from the woods that sheltered us. I would wrap in my sweaters as the night began to cool, and laugh with everyone who would also be wrapping themselves in their own sweaters; taking in the earned smiles on aging faces, whose aging hands would sometimes be wrapping the little crests and resting breaths of a sleeping child; everything in harmony with the night; living whole where we were. We’d all seemingly glance up at the same time, somewhere late into the hours - as we would endlessly talk in a thousand trailing conversations, that would weave in and out of each other, forming others; And our words would cease as the cosmos took the stage, like shimmering diamonds, every one of them visible against the darkest backdrop that only exists in the middle of nowhere; the sound in those nights – a pure silence, beyond the cascading waters and the wind that hummed from trembling branch to branch; a profound silence; the kind that offers up the deepest breaths and truest healing; and once every few years, when we’d wander the muddy trails to a nearby road – only as bits of echoes & laughter gathered by the night… the lot of us would lay down on the dirt road & look up to find the aurora borealis forming, for which (at 27 years of age, and many many <i>many</i> visits later) I’ve still no words to describe what it means to see it; To have been witness to the moment the earth reminded me that i was alive. None. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span">As morning would commence in its buttery, irrepeatable light, we’d peel ourselves from our warm beds, as the weather would suddenly turn from sun to fog to rain to sun to rain to fog in a matter of minutes, over the sweeping, unapologetic valley views and endless lakes the north woods are renowned for; everything so full of an irreverent and uninhibited beauty; repeating itself day after day, and forever. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">[this is all i wanted to post over here | you may read the full - <a href="http://bottlebellphotography.blogspot.com/2011/02/women-photographers-only-photography.html">related article here</a> - for which this was written]</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">- ash</div></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-78646826782344069922011-02-02T02:02:00.012-06:002011-02-09T18:01:34.405-06:00things to come. | recording - 2.1.2011<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Update: 2.9.2011 -- (see original post below)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">my time in studio was amazingly fun & we wrote some prrrrty muse-ic. i'm planning on going back over there a few times in the coming week(s) to polish up what we wrote. it was a blast & we hope to share it here & a few other places by months end. i went to bed after recording into the earliest of morning's hours, totally immersed in new ideas. the only image i took from my weekend is this very low quality cell phone snap (since the big cam. is still in the shop). leave it to me to drive out of state, in -15 degree weather with ballerina flats & no socks... and the studio was very cold, so i had to borrow someone elses. ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEARh9aLf3BXweQN_arx7xgkhixksMrHeGtaopE5DptwJ6tdEbc3y8oPi6w2RAKusUV61YNioPthwJ4DWAdE-zmaJ1htaQ8vyMkaPZMR3naRVj2TjDLAtb-wfr2hP8lezmfMYTkeX0QLY/s1600/IMG895.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEARh9aLf3BXweQN_arx7xgkhixksMrHeGtaopE5DptwJ6tdEbc3y8oPi6w2RAKusUV61YNioPthwJ4DWAdE-zmaJ1htaQ8vyMkaPZMR3naRVj2TjDLAtb-wfr2hP8lezmfMYTkeX0QLY/s320/IMG895.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571836258459712514" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">in the meantime i'm writing like mad & awaiting the moment spring comes & wakes me from this slumber. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">new words & imagery blog(s) here in the coming days. -ash</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">****</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">2.1.2011</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">an old friend of mine is a musician & has a studio in the basement of his st. croix falls (wi) home; a pretty little home i use to live in that sits nearly on the banks of a giant, gorgeous river & backs up to a giant, gorgeous park. there is a giant dam that crashes now where the falls use to be & i use to be able to hear it in the mornings from my bedroom, with my window cracked.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">he sings & plays every single instrument these days, it seems. and i thought, since i also sing quite a bit (and <i>barely</i> play guitar & piano, but own both) that we'd get together & record somethin' pretty, since we've been chatting about that idea for a spell, and since it's a good excuse to get out while my camera is in for repairs. not to mention, what girl doesn't feel amazing with a pick between her lips or fingertips. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">so this weekend, we are giving that a go if the weather holds. it'll be a nice excuse to get out into the fresh air of a new place & into a small little artist town.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>in the meantime</i>, thought i'd post something beautiful in the style that i love just so much & probably along the route that i'll be recording in. you can be sure if we come up with anything pretty and get it down, i'll post it.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">this is a cover of a dylan song that i adore. i love how these two collaborate, and this song is so sensual & moving & heavy & beautiful. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">lyrics below the vid, with two of the most potent lines, ever. i'll let you find them.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">ash | <a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/">x</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YXHfzm06o1M" frameborder="0"></iframe></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"boots of spanish leather"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh I'm sailin' away my own true love<br />I'm sailin' away in the morning<br />Is there something I can send you from across the sea<br />From the place that I'll be landing ?<br /><br />No, there's nothin' you can send me, my own true love<br />There's nothin' I wish to be ownin'<br />Just carry yourself back to me unspoiled<br />From across that lonesome ocean.<br /><br />Oh, but I just thought you might want something fine<br />Made of silver or of golden<br />Either from the mountains of Madrid<br />Or from the coast of Barcelona ?<br /><br />Oh, but if I had the stars from the darkest night<br />And the diamonds from the deepest ocean<br />I'd forsake them all for your sweet kiss<br />For that's all I'm wishin' to be ownin'.<br /><br />That I might be gone a long time<br />And it's only that I'm askin'<br />Is there something I can send you to remember me by<br />To make your time more easy passin' ?<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh, how can, how can you ask me again<br />It only brings me sorrow<br />The same thing I want from you today<br />I would want again tomorrow.</span><br /><br />I got a letter on a lonesome day<br />It was from her ship a-sailin'<br />Saying I don't know when I'll be comin' back again<br />It depends on how I'm a-feelin'.<br /><br />Well, if you, my love, must think that-a-way<br />I'm sure your mind is roamin'<br />I'm sure your thoughts are not with me<br />But with the country to where you're goin'.<br /><br />So take heed, take heed of the western wind<br />Take heed of the stormy weather<br />And yes, there's something you can send back to me<br />Spanish boots of Spanish leather.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-41585652580670813252011-01-27T04:29:00.012-06:002011-01-29T04:28:45.820-06:00dreams upon dreams.<br><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjllgnTTYput8XUnjWzUsVg-igAbrO6Wuda7_aFfAqsALqtZHoDlF3xiYV7mmHrzn7k7-hr7mjIu1hIhZ_L-fYYC8nAcE3x6Dwyghm6CZNCDikgp0jgHsqDmcOf4OYmFVHo5cJYK1BmJKQ/s1600/angelic+4+FINAL+resized+original+color+FORFACEBOOKFLICKRBLOG.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjllgnTTYput8XUnjWzUsVg-igAbrO6Wuda7_aFfAqsALqtZHoDlF3xiYV7mmHrzn7k7-hr7mjIu1hIhZ_L-fYYC8nAcE3x6Dwyghm6CZNCDikgp0jgHsqDmcOf4OYmFVHo5cJYK1BmJKQ/s320/angelic+4+FINAL+resized+original+color+FORFACEBOOKFLICKRBLOG.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567552155961282226" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">self portraits taken yesterday, during a small break from building sets.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">new writing & imagery coming within the next few days on here as well. promise. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">------</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">for now, i must say:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">if i had long hair...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_46JNlk2XGtzcKjl6TA19ZvDvprkvNw0dyWhvMLKVQOJ0wt6fFniW3lZ_wv_7xEL5v5tFkws9WQdGAS852AQ0MVRxS0qHi7fzBdAUcH7wwj5zXFiQI7FK5wRNW_6eO1zqdEk6rykNjU/s1600/ashleyselfshootshot3forMyspaceFacebookFlickrBlog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_46JNlk2XGtzcKjl6TA19ZvDvprkvNw0dyWhvMLKVQOJ0wt6fFniW3lZ_wv_7xEL5v5tFkws9WQdGAS852AQ0MVRxS0qHi7fzBdAUcH7wwj5zXFiQI7FK5wRNW_6eO1zqdEk6rykNjU/s320/ashleyselfshootshot3forMyspaceFacebookFlickrBlog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566811605933103074" /></a><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">i'd wear it blowing in the wind...</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvxMgwQbeaBWDJAyhQ66FT9crIekemNwW_NgUbTyOVSfSttJU-6g_BxijZotopq1Mvn8r74KSqIDQO6iTGLFzwpya_xiSHo8VJ_Cd4Oirs3mY1wT4Q790YMfQcgsnGUMqgkFt5H_2tqWA/s1600/ashleyselfshootshot2forMyspaceFacebookFlickrBlog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvxMgwQbeaBWDJAyhQ66FT9crIekemNwW_NgUbTyOVSfSttJU-6g_BxijZotopq1Mvn8r74KSqIDQO6iTGLFzwpya_xiSHo8VJ_Cd4Oirs3mY1wT4Q790YMfQcgsnGUMqgkFt5H_2tqWA/s320/ashleyselfshootshot2forMyspaceFacebookFlickrBlog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566811604794504754" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">like a willow tree.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDMiCZLaC1gMeh2M5Y9z2bRLetxoFaZAObg7o88erBPPY4jmTIcm3Iw9Owq5qX7__jZ4POxpn8XlIsRpXRFicKrdHzSoNpkBU3YaM2_zOQ2SYxRDxC_BtLQ9vuJvYKhPEKx5MdxcsFlM/s1600/ashleyselfshootshot1forMyspaceFacebookFlickrBlog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDMiCZLaC1gMeh2M5Y9z2bRLetxoFaZAObg7o88erBPPY4jmTIcm3Iw9Owq5qX7__jZ4POxpn8XlIsRpXRFicKrdHzSoNpkBU3YaM2_zOQ2SYxRDxC_BtLQ9vuJvYKhPEKx5MdxcsFlM/s320/ashleyselfshootshot1forMyspaceFacebookFlickrBlog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566811601593652290" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><href="http:><a>ash | </a><a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/">x</a></href="http:></div><br /></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-89574894051870182952011-01-11T09:52:00.007-06:002011-01-11T10:16:06.209-06:00the novelty candle & the field.<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"Letter 3" | 1.11.2011</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"the novelty candle"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span>Mom swivels her chair w/ the stack of heaping christmas cards, peeling them open like promises, and reads aloud a solstice quote:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>“The darkness can show us the light’ and it comes with a candle that someone far away had spun and sent in novelty. It’s the kind you can’t blow out.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>The collective sentiment drips from everyone’s wagging, holiday tongues and then washes away with the sherry. Maybe that’s it, though. It’s been falling to dark so early these days; getting harder to see whats gone sleeping ---<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>And that’s when I knew what had happened.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>The jolt hit me hard – dragging me back again - no mistaking the weight of that heavy heart of yours; melding me to the memories with mortar for its grooves… <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Back to when I reeled in bed from the heartbreak that Winter; three whole months in the same vacant expression; chapping lips & sleepwalking about a mission bed; a whole season when I only awoke to the toll of those dreams, where all things shook tremendously, in a world crumbling; as I would teeter and dip amidst the burning ruins, deep in the trenches we found; where I held your pretty little forest fingers – vines for limbs, even bolder than mine; and the shifty hearth still churning the ashes of the aftermath; and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" >catching my dress in that torrid wind that sentenced me to <i>forever chase the last few fleeting, burning words, forever - never catching.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>And the thought of it leads me to other questions now, like: ‘why do the fireplaces stay standing like that?’ If it was all just meant to burn as it did, why didn’t the whole place just go? Why do the pots still hang from their nothings? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>I want flowers in those plots, cuz I could grow them to the moon, but I’ve got those old foundations and their fires just consume.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Are they a novelty candle?... cuz I’ve been sifting so long now and it’s all I can figure.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>---<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>It reminds me of the old man I see when I drive that old backroad; stitched to his chair as he peers from rise to set, span to span, against that massive, lone tree in the oceans of wheat - commanding the winds like a beacon. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Father time wanders so close to his eyes that I bet that old man hears him breathing sometimes, and it always makes me wonder, with intensely heavy sighs as I bite my little lip... Had it happened to him too? Because I know he’d be there now. That man never moves. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>If I shut my eyes long enough and revisited that place – where the beams still smolder; where your eyes still reside [and not a day older]… and if I took a trail or two I never had wandered, back when I wandered – would I meet him in a clearing - chasing his own last fleeting, burning words, forever, never catching?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Did he spend his life reeling in bed? Is he sleepwalking now, and brave enough to do it outside? Are these fields his ruins? And were they ever his heyday? Is this the aftermath or a holy consolation?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>And my mind begins thinking of abstract things: Is HE a novelty candle? If I ever stopped my car, cracked the door and wandered over, would he be a man or a mannequin? Would he be another trail to the fever? If I stepped from that road and down that ditch, onto that giant heap of blowing wheat where time doesn’t move when the rest passes by it, would he melt into the wind and scream for me to follow? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><i>Would HE be the last few fleeting, burning words, forever, never catching?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span">******</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>"The Field"</b></span></p></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7sy0k6rWgj5fYobX_9ouqnahi6EKiO4ZdvaicwWKj8P4vb7Zdda03MfuJq3ath_gUhAXhOBODNEgLoTDUNtBm11Xpg4nQlj9TCj25Ht0jpLcO7DIQX4oCXIJjLv4eRn6BEuj94Sr0AY/s1600/thefieldFORFACEBOOKBLOGFLICKR2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7sy0k6rWgj5fYobX_9ouqnahi6EKiO4ZdvaicwWKj8P4vb7Zdda03MfuJq3ath_gUhAXhOBODNEgLoTDUNtBm11Xpg4nQlj9TCj25Ht0jpLcO7DIQX4oCXIJjLv4eRn6BEuj94Sr0AY/s400/thefieldFORFACEBOOKBLOGFLICKR2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560960913103457170" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">******</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I hope you have been enjoying these letters.</div><div style="text-align: center;">plenty more to come. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">- <a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/">ash</a> </div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-24552718319056475532010-12-23T09:55:00.008-06:002010-12-23T10:05:08.801-06:00the twelfth dream & the canyon.<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >~ Letter 2 | 12.5.2010 ~</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >"the canyon"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I want to say to him that I’m tired tonight in this far away land that he’s come to know so little of;</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >ask if he remembers the day in the canyon where I didn’t need to talk when I was tired; because I know he’d remember the canyon - all the muddy splendor that ruined his boots, or the way it sounded when he screamed until he woke the ancient grotto, stirring the oldest beasts; how he scaled a mountain without looking back and took less water than he needed; that he was bold in the face of nature and that nobody could ever really tame the eyes of caged lions. He might remember (might) that he married me that day and that I wore a wreath of webs and a simple dress of clay; and that I filled up an entire interval without labels.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I want him to ask if I remember the day in the canyon, so that I could reminisce in the deep end of my heart; those foreign shapes that we wrote on balmy rivers when it was all we could find to write on, and that nobody but the fireflies knew; Full fledged in the echo of 100 foot drips that reached down down down like honey; and that we drank from them all with the invincibility of youthful hearts; two orphaned seeds, we. I’d remember it because the earth never posed visiting hours & because I loved a giant; in that murky place where he grew me an oak that would stay an endless summer through all the winter months – just for me; and that I could keep it in my pocket for days that I needed to sleep beneath my hundred acre woods.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I want to say to him that that was all there really ever was, in any day, and that I walked that trail too; holding his hand as he conquered a land that couldn’t be conquered; that I heard a murmuring symphony played by ghosts & sirens; that we sipped on a tap root that grew us together, as we lingered deep into the dark hours, that committed us there far beyond our bodies; beyond those hours that would lead his feet on and lead me home.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >back home.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >back home.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >------</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >"<a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/gallery.aspx">The Twelfth Dream</a>"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYK8DDEgauQLcPObs4zpu6g5TQSBkrn7-niAMgOJ7O0ahyphenhypheneu7r85Su5Yeh7iZ8Tl0sg1hBLHFKJUFXB3P9MK9jD9SBE1wHveYnQl0rr2qnLSZoiTvkTQPuo1jspObYl1HbgltAfbjj3Gg/s1600/AshleyLebedev--TheTwelfthDream-FORFLICKRFACEBOOKBLOG.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 281px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYK8DDEgauQLcPObs4zpu6g5TQSBkrn7-niAMgOJ7O0ahyphenhypheneu7r85Su5Yeh7iZ8Tl0sg1hBLHFKJUFXB3P9MK9jD9SBE1wHveYnQl0rr2qnLSZoiTvkTQPuo1jspObYl1HbgltAfbjj3Gg/s320/AshleyLebedev--TheTwelfthDream-FORFLICKRFACEBOOKBLOG.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553907503787767474" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >------</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >happy holidays everyone. be warm. be safe.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >thank you, each, for the endless support in helping me continue to cultivate, create, and realize <a href="http://www.digitalphotopro.com/4th-annual-emerging-pro/fine-art/finalists/110801-qthe-tattooed-ladyq--carnivale-series.html">my dreams</a>...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >ash | x</span></div></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-88003136537495749412010-12-06T01:23:00.015-06:002010-12-06T10:25:19.281-06:00summer's last rain & the blizzard.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">friends,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">please find below three simple things i wanted to pair & share with you...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b>*thunderstorm</b>. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- recorded from my porch on the 12 acre farmstead upon which i reside, during the last days of summer. i've listened to this cut about 1000 times from then until now to meditate or fall asleep at night, especially while i'm on the road. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b>*scribblings</b>. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- some of you who've been kind enough to follow my work over the years may have seen here or there: 'photographer <i>and</i> writer' behind my name in certain features or bios. and while this isn't typically what I compose (i'm a poetry girl - think 'keats' or 'neruda' ;) i really wanted <i>this</i> piece to be a part of <i>this</i> post -- a selection nabbed from a recent journal. i plan to make this a very regular part of the rendering well, if you guys dig it. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; font-size: medium; ">'the well' is all about opening up behind the lens, so to speak, and i really hope you enjoy getting to know me a bit better through my life beyond the camera, and through these writings and rambles. while my imagery is something that might be considered works of fiction, drawing upon a memory, ideal, or fantasies, my writing definitely isn't -- at least not the journals, of which this is a part. x</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b>*imagery</b>.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> - from late summer - of a spiderweb i photographed in the boundary waters, near the canadian border (1 of so many giant webs I sat within to grab this panorama) in the very early morning hours when the light was just exquisite and dripped all over us.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">thank you, each, for stopping in and i hope you enjoy. if you love it, link it. that's what i've tried to do with this storm by sharing it with you, and </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; font-size: medium; ">that's what i will continue to do in future posts. the rendering well is meant to be a place for simple inspiration through words, sounds and imagery. :)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">please stay as long as you'd like. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/">ashtree</a>. </span></span></div><br /><br /><center><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" src="http://www.google.com/reader/ui/3523697345-audio-player.swf?audioUrl=http://stephennewport.com/temp/Rain.mp3" height="27" width="320"></embed></center><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>12.3.2010 -- "The Blizzard -- Letter 1</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro","serif"">Sometimes early in the morning, just upon waking, I catch my thoughts saying things to me like:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“I’m thankful for the wind today. Be sure to be thankful for the wind, Ash… “<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro","serif"">In the moments that follow, the possibility of so much more arises. As my eyes adjust to the wakefulness, I find great comfort in knowing the first things I get to look at are sites of my dogs anticipatory faces, hinting in their expressions that I’m the creator of their next great adventure; or at the great snowscapes that will inevitably blanket this little farmstead without anyone’s permission for the next 3-5 months - no matter which window I glance beyond; The forgotten little farm that only the trees remember. Here I am inside of today. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro","serif"">The yard beyond my bedroom window holds a sleeping apple tree & I remember softer months - like April with its momentous greens in waves of nostalgia that stick like pits in my stomach, churning memories of when she bore bright red blooms that have long since blown away. Many other things have blown away, but this symbolizes all of them. I’ve got all of their pits in my stomach; big apples and little apples; And that’s just the red bloom tree. I haven’t even seen the white bloom tree. I’m not at that window.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro","serif"">I find slow breaths from deep inside that linger within these moments as I wake, warm beneath a netted canopy, under temples of antique quilts in this giant room painted in palettes of ivory white and eggplant- colors I painted years ago when the fashion in my heart was to be very sad. I am quieter now, but that eggplant is hard to wash off.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro","serif"">I stand from my bed in the ambient winter light and notice the radiating warmth my skin carries with it in the morning hours. Everything on me is spun of heated silk. Nothing bears marks of the season. I’ve always called this ‘the side of effect of dreaming’. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro","serif"">I’m three days home from 30 days on the road, again. All my clothes reside on chairs as reminders that this is temporary; this whole thing. They seep from suitcases whose origin will never be remembered. “Where did you get that old suitcase, ash?” “The closet gave it to me, and before that, the barn” “and before that, I wasn’t born”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro","serif"">I grab from the top pile, the first thing that looks beautiful: solid antique white; a combed cotton shirt that billows so freely when I walk and falls so sheer and tattered across my frame that I feel inspired and intent and alive when I wear it. I only wear things that could mean nothing anymore; things that don’t wear me. Simple linens & sun bleached colors that could mean here or there.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My eyes can tell the rest and they usually do. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro","serif"">I know a storm is coming. The leaves are clapping their warnings – from as far out as the aspen grove; this plot of land invisibly stitched to greater fields and a stretch of country that leads on to forever. Fields that blew 100 acres of sun-spun golden wheat; I remember the site of it at sunset from my oak tree– my god; Or the faithful plots of green soybeans that blew beyond the red cedars that somebody planted before this time; And over there, fields of endless corn cathedrals led me in with soils so soft I didn’t wear shoes that whole season.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro","serif"">I wait for the snow to come, heavy like December, from the big bay window as I trace my toes with one of the stray eagle feathers that hide about this house. I prop the window open to hear the sound of nothing with its intermittent crackle. It gasps across me eating my skin of warm silks until I quake, and then nothing. I live for this moment; the storms that sound like nothing. I might just do this always.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> -----</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">"summer spun"</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdtoftTRw8nhP64696KdWDSD2sQJcwLNl8Kp5J16U-Aj1PNkCljq-uLj1WHYpzCwfOnIllgYay-ru9fgXkB2NIFSGZVyapwV7SOJ9Cq4b19WXFflfe7XDId1SJW0IhKuhF13vFSOYLac/s1600/Morning-Web----FINAL---FOR-BLOG-%2526-FLICKR.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 201px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdtoftTRw8nhP64696KdWDSD2sQJcwLNl8Kp5J16U-Aj1PNkCljq-uLj1WHYpzCwfOnIllgYay-ru9fgXkB2NIFSGZVyapwV7SOJ9Cq4b19WXFflfe7XDId1SJW0IhKuhF13vFSOYLac/s400/Morning-Web----FINAL---FOR-BLOG-%2526-FLICKR.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547605491306163394" /></a></p><div><br /></div><p></p></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-90067618120615316242010-10-19T22:54:00.014-05:002010-10-19T23:37:51.028-05:00Darkling.<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyIN0M8ew84TmIxgN9Xurvj_OtezCq3Om-Cf1ON__FH3I_cywz4pqGTVCq0MIBMzTEMD_SVbel7xqVe5wrRPbqrVUjgYUiN1Lu05z1_hP3K1nh0NcbB0vZ17wAgeYBhS3gis1zezrA5I/s1600/For_HAYLEY-RESIZED-FORWEBUSAGE2--LAKE-MICHIGAN-STORYBOARD.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 384px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyIN0M8ew84TmIxgN9Xurvj_OtezCq3Om-Cf1ON__FH3I_cywz4pqGTVCq0MIBMzTEMD_SVbel7xqVe5wrRPbqrVUjgYUiN1Lu05z1_hP3K1nh0NcbB0vZ17wAgeYBhS3gis1zezrA5I/s320/For_HAYLEY-RESIZED-FORWEBUSAGE2--LAKE-MICHIGAN-STORYBOARD.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529980152891452402" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6U1f-0OWzFZSaOijf8rGa7nnmbFyrxjAdYxAUt26rss6C2LSefapwAan_gXhZyRrWFQleUFwxWzZ60wlkveHsrAfyAObGWghniZsnwo4RsHHRt1OKFTbz_RRHz2MchulMqqex0JAK5Bc/s1600/For_HAYLEY-RESIZED-FORWEBUSAGE1--LAKE-MICHIGAN-STORYBOARD.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 384px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6U1f-0OWzFZSaOijf8rGa7nnmbFyrxjAdYxAUt26rss6C2LSefapwAan_gXhZyRrWFQleUFwxWzZ60wlkveHsrAfyAObGWghniZsnwo4RsHHRt1OKFTbz_RRHz2MchulMqqex0JAK5Bc/s320/For_HAYLEY-RESIZED-FORWEBUSAGE1--LAKE-MICHIGAN-STORYBOARD.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529980150756196530" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-size: 16.6667px; "><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I wanted to post 2 of the 5 images from my lake michigan shoot w/ the beautiful hayley. i will post the other half of this storyboard in the coming days in another post, as well as much higher res. on my </span></span><a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">website</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> and </span></span><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/thebottlebellphotography"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">flickr</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">please enjoy.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">ash x</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">*</span></span><a href="http://bottlebellphotography.blogspot.com/2010/09/lake-michigan-shoot-sneak-peaksbehind.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span">behind the scenes</span></span></a></div></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-36727438718576940312010-09-20T11:59:00.010-05:002010-10-16T18:24:53.822-05:00words & imagery.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">painting w/ my camera and a wet filter...</span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"the task of absence"</span></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj6XgHg1M9TuBappxYesRpXxwRc-WjLVd9PDgvKDoOb8IqJNZPMjss5zdVULUWBHMa8GIK2GGByEYTCM0plZr31Az-PxIRdrFJ3yrOiNkKMiKlKs0iP6rvJLl2GWJww433Cx8L_SNO8IA/s1600/thetaskofabsence-sharpened-for-web-ashley-lebedev.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 480px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj6XgHg1M9TuBappxYesRpXxwRc-WjLVd9PDgvKDoOb8IqJNZPMjss5zdVULUWBHMa8GIK2GGByEYTCM0plZr31Az-PxIRdrFJ3yrOiNkKMiKlKs0iP6rvJLl2GWJww433Cx8L_SNO8IA/s400/thetaskofabsence-sharpened-for-web-ashley-lebedev.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519096443419322386" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.6667px; ">"...on a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see him walking now<br />away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow,<br />that I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -<br />when the angel woos the clay she'll lose her wings at the dawn of day..." </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.6667px; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.6667px; ">-----</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.6667px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">-excerpt from my favorite poem: "on raglan road" - by one of my favorite poets, Patrick Kavanagh</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">(much higher res. on my <a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/">website</a>.)</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">ash | <a href="http://bottlebellphotography.blogspot.com/">x</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-88125122612425686492010-09-09T01:44:00.001-05:002010-10-16T18:25:25.903-05:00"Summer Hymnal"<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">friends,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">'summer hymnal' (below) is a storyboard i shot over a 4 day period, and a concept that took several months to compose. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">this is my bittersweet tribute to summer and to what it represents, metaphorically - as another season comes to a close.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">please enjoy.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">details below the imagery.</span></span></div><br /><center><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgvIpRD6-uRMlTNY08pxeFXGHoQr2gttiTfH7mfttq5NiE01uJWT_KEyQOOgK1pDf4CopZLkNvATg9LqQpv7u9jefCUQ1UXwBqF1cwoslROHmusIZkJSDC6C5ZuQTRmU8aw-7OSl2WxU/s1600/ashleylebedev-summerhymnal-1of2-therenderingwell.jpg"><img style="border:none;" 0px="" auto="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgvIpRD6-uRMlTNY08pxeFXGHoQr2gttiTfH7mfttq5NiE01uJWT_KEyQOOgK1pDf4CopZLkNvATg9LqQpv7u9jefCUQ1UXwBqF1cwoslROHmusIZkJSDC6C5ZuQTRmU8aw-7OSl2WxU/s400/ashleylebedev-summerhymnal-1of2-therenderingwell.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516320449750690722" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVHOI_Aw-Mz5FNc-QvXPXrDbDjQLfw5pN2JAhubNRG-L9w2jFlmArGzkaj6mmLNvjNWractWtHJT2lj-66_y05rjh50gOkngPPrEfsG4xAFogD-x_muEmn3hyjfltE__tk1NYmLPIKfs/s1600/ashleylebedev-summerhymnal-2of2-therenderingwell.jpg"><img style="border:none;" 0px="" auto="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVHOI_Aw-Mz5FNc-QvXPXrDbDjQLfw5pN2JAhubNRG-L9w2jFlmArGzkaj6mmLNvjNWractWtHJT2lj-66_y05rjh50gOkngPPrEfsG4xAFogD-x_muEmn3hyjfltE__tk1NYmLPIKfs/s400/ashleylebedev-summerhymnal-2of2-therenderingwell.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516320445023177906" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "></span></span></div></center><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">the pieces, above, are intended to be accompanied by a poem i wrote of the same name, which further narrates the storyboard. i plan to release both the words & imagery, together, in a book slated for 2011.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">please feel free to click larger, but please be mindful of copyrights. x</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">***</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">behind the scenes of this piece:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">to create this storyboard, i found a summer kitchen built in 1912. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">The woman whos property it sits upon (she was so amazing) allowed me to completely clear out the space and re-stage it with authentic props from the time period i was trying to convey. it took 5 & 1/2 hours of prep to get this tiny kitchen set for the bottom segment.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">these pieces are very special to me, not only because of the concept & poem, but also because i was able to work with my sister in creating them. the woman within the storyboard is suppose to be one character, throughout. however, i thought it might be fun to try and see if i could make my sister and myself (two people who couldn't look more different in real life) look like the same person for the shoot. the top piece is a self portrait, while the bottom (summer kitchen) shot is of my sister. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">a very heartfelt thank you to:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "> Sandra for the use of her beautiful space </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">& to</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "> Hailey for allowing me to require her at sunrise, cover her in mud & flour and sit her on a hard, cold floor, while we froze to our bones. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">high res & larger will soon be on my <a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/">website</a> & <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/thebottlebellphotography">flickr</a>.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">best always.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">ash <a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/">x</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296889870163947520.post-42982009583436861352010-09-09T00:07:00.001-05:002010-10-16T18:25:54.885-05:00Welcome to The Rendering Well...<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">friends.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">welcome to the pause.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">welcome to</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> the rendering well</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">the idea to create this blog has been in the works for about two years, and i've finally decided to give it a go & move in.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">this little space will be representative, only, of the non business side of my beloved </span></span><a href="http://www.bottlebellphotography.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">bottle bell</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">the soul purpose here, is to provide an escape...</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">from everything.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">through </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">simplicity. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">words.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> imagery. music.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">this is my journal.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">this is off the beaten path.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">please be inspired.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">please be respectful.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">please stay as long as you'd like.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">this blog, these images, these words - are from the heart.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">ash | </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://bottlebellphotography.blogspot.com/">bottle bell</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div>Ashley Lebedev | The Rendering Wellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05778810975400978793noreply@blogger.com