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Quote by Waswo X. Waswo

“I am a firm believer that digital imaging has already rivaled the chemical process in its ability to make fine prints. An exceptional digital print, on a fine quality paper, can take on all the delicacy of a masterful photogravure. Each is, after all, ink on paper. The unfortunate thing is that skillful digital fine art photography is being created by so few, and today’s artworld is brimming with hastily made, conceptually oriented, digital bric-a-brac.”

Quote by Waswo X. Waswo

Book:India Poems: The Photographs
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India Poems: The Photographs

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Waswo X. Waswo

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“There is so much beauty in this world. I wish people would stop and see it. If we all would see this beauty, there would be no violence and no hurting each other. Because when our hearts are filled with love and care, we would only help and love each other. There would be no war, abuse, poisoning nature, and so much pain. Through my photos, I wish to inspire people to be their full potential, to live their lives to the fullest, to stop and admire the beauty right in front of them or under their feet, to feel, to live, to love. Through my photos, I wish to bring people back to nature. When they feel sand under their feet, feel sunshine on their skin, smell a lovely flower, see a stunning sunset, watch or take care of animals, they will stop poisoning the earth, and destroy what is part of them. Why destroy our own home?” – Ineta Love Wonder, I Love Wonder”

WonderFine Art Photography
Book:I Love Wonder
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“It is tempting to draw a connection between Ansel Adams’ Moonrise, Hernandez and the tools he held in his hands—the Ansco 8x10 camera, the Taylor Hobson Cooke convertible lens. Yes, they made the image possible, but does the camera truly matter? Could it not have been a Deardorff or a Kodak Master View? What I’m trying to say, perhaps imperfectly, is this: It is never the machine that creates the image, but the soul behind it. The lens does not see; the photographer does. The camera is a vessel. The vision—the light, the shadow, the breath of the land—that belongs to the one who dares to witness.”

PhotographyCameraFine Art Photography
Book:Landscape Dreams, A New Mexico Portrait
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“But what is the use of the humanities as such? Admittedly they are not practical, and admittedly they concern themselves with the past. Why, it may be asked, should we engage in impractical investigations, and why should we be interested in the past? The answer to the first question is: because we are interested in reality. Both the humanities and the natural sciences, as well as mathematics and philosophy, have the impractical outlook of what the ancients called vita contemplativa as opposed to vita activa. But is the contemplative life less real or, to be more precise, is its contribution to what we call reality less important, than that of the active life? The man who takes a paper dollar in exchange for twenty-five apples commits an act of faith, and subjects himself to a theoretical doctrine, as did the mediaeval man who paid for indulgence. The man who is run over by an automobile is run over by mathematics, physics and chemistry. For he who leads the contemplative life cannot help influencing the active, just as he cannot prevent the active life from influencing his thought. Philosophical and psychological theories, historical doctrines and all sorts of speculations and discoveries, have changed, and keep changing, the lives of countless millions. Even he who merely transmits knowledge or learning participates, in his modest way, in the process of shaping reality - of which fact the enemies of humanism are perhaps more keenly aware than its friends. It is impossible to conceive of our world in terms of action alone. Only in God is there a "Coincidence of Act and Thought" as the scholastics put it. Our reality can only be understood as an interpenetration of these two.”

ArtHistoryCommunicationMeaningContentArt HistorySymbolSignIconographyHumanitiesVisual ArtsVisual CommunicationIconology
Book:Meaning in the Visual Arts
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“Her mother was peaceful. She was calm. The sight filled Alice with the kind of green hope she found at the bottom of rock pools at low tide but never managed to cup in her hands. The more time she spent with her mother in the garden, the more deeply Alice understood- from the tilt of Agnes's wrist when she inspected a new bud, to the light that reached her eyes when she lifted her chin, and the thin rings of dirt that encircled her fingers as she coaxed new fern fronds from the soil- the truest parts of her mother bloomed among her plants. Especially when she talked to the flowers. Her eyes glazed over and she mumbled in a secret language, a word here, a phrase there as she snapped flowers off their stems and tucked into her pockets. Sorrowful remembrance, she'd say as she plucked a bindweed flower from its vine. Love, returned. The citrusy scent of lemon myrtle would fill the air as she tore it from a branch. Pleasures of memory. Her mother pocketed a scarlet palm of kangaroo paw.”

GardeningMother And DaughterSecret Language
Book:The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart
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“El amor se trunca a veces como un miembro amputado, pero el vacío sigue haciendo sus gestos, que tal vez alguien reciba. Aunque el amor se vaya, el hábito de amar se alarga siempre. Por eso no es extraño que si el amor retorna sus gestos se entremezclen con los gestos anteriores. Y aparezcan amores que vagan por el mundo con gestos duplicados, amores que parecen dos amores. No es raro, por lo tanto, que confundamos un amor con otro y hasta amemos aquel que ya no está en lugar del que está.”

LoveAmorConfusiónTrunca
Book:Poesía vertical: Antología
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