Janis Joplin, 1969
Francesco Scavullo, photographer




..how about that…

Joanna Sierko Filipowska, artist
[click on image for original…]

More on the artist here with link to full portfolio

…you will get there…

Bold eagle © Klaus Nigge, Germany.
Finalist 2017, Animal Portraits. From Wildlife Photographer of the Year.
[click on image for more…]

The back story from Lens Culture:

After several days of constant rain, the bald eagle was soaked to the skin. Named after its conspicuous but fully-feathered white head (bald derives from an old word for white), it is an opportunist, eating various prey—captured, scavenged or stolen—with a preference for fish. At Dutch Harbor on Amaknak Island in Alaska, USA, bald eagles gather to take advantage of the fishing industry’s leftovers. Used to people, the birds are bold. “I lay on my belly on the beach surrounded by eagles,” says Klaus. “I got to know individuals, and they got to trust me.”

The back story:

Born in 1946 in Aurora, Illinois, Hettinger began drawing around the age of 8. His subjects were T.V. and movie cowboys. At age 13, he was given a set of oil paints by Mike Spencer, a local artist who ran the barber shop across from St. Joe’s School where Hettinger was a student. Formal art training began at the American Academy of Art in Chicago under Joseph Van Den Brouck.

Every painting for Hettinger is a present experience in which he is reliving a past experience. Even his still-life’s hold personal memories for him. His mother was a gardener who loved to save plants from the summer by bringing them into the house over the winter. Window sills were filled with potted plants. Now his paintings are of those potted plants sitting on the window sill with a landscape out the window.


…ready or not…

Garfield, 9/10/17
by Jim Davis


Oscar Alvarez, artist
[click on image for more…]


…and coming in for a smooth landing…

Bret Charman, photographer
[click on image for more…]

Photo from PetaPixel’s Bird Photographer of the Year 2017 – above was the Gold Award winner for best Birds in Flight photo…

by Seamus Haney

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.

Photo credit: Giovanni Giovannetti

{Poem excerpted from Death of a Naturalist…]

© Bill Israel

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