I got up from my seat.
The bus had stopped for good.
The final destination had been reached.
Everything was deafeningly quiet.
No driver.
Just me.
Worn-out seats.
Empty seats.
Maybe there were some lost souls there.
But none that I saw.
At least I was visible.
But lost.
Should I get off?
Or remain seated?
I finally decided.
(A simple self portrait on a bus, November 16, 2008.)
A New Year's Poem
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rimes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)
New Year’s Eve. Snowy weather. Way too much coffee. Heart palpitations. Morning hair. I’ll do my best to look nice today. If that’s possible. HNY everyone.
My soul.
I wrote this text/thoughts on December 29 2022. (In both Swedish and English, scroll down to read it in English).
Swedish text:
Människor förändras. Ögonblick försvinner. Livet förändras. Det uppstår hela tiden nya ögonblick. Konstant. Från början till slutet. Från starten till målet. Från födseln till döden. Alla möten. De flyktiga och tillfälliga. Som korta snapshots. Vi vet inte om de blir solida och bestående. Tiden får visa om det växer.
Det finns en orsak till att jag ”blev” fotograf. Eller blev. Det bara var så. Alla dessa frysta ögonblick jag har. De som jag ville ha kvar. För alltid. Sen de där jag blivit av med. Och alla de jag bara har kvar i minnet. För om jag inte fryste ögonblicken med kameran så la jag de i mitt minne. Flyktiga och tillfälliga. Men betydelsefulla. För allt betyder något för mig. Ingenting är obetydligt. Bara tydligt betydelsefulla.
Försöker redigera lite bland ögonblicken. Helst vill jag göra lite mer plats. Få fler rum. Fylla alla med alla möten. Alla ögonblick. Alla jag mött. De måste få plats. Låta allt få vara intakt och helt. Det finns ju ändå en röd tråd någonstans. Den som börjar när man föds och den man följer genom livet och sen kommer själva änden på den. Slutet.
Vet faktiskt inte vad jag försöker komma fram till nu. Går det att skriva hur långt som helst? Hur länge som helst? Jag tror inte det. Men lite i taget. Ett ögonblick i sänder.
English text:
People change. Moments disappear. Life changes. There are new moments all the time. Constantly. From the beginning to the end. From start to finish. From birth to death. All encounters. The fleeting and temporary ones. Like brief snapshots. We do not know whether they will be solid and lasting or not. Time will tell if it grows.
There is a reason why I became a photographer. Well, ”became” is a strong word. I just was. All these frozen moments I have. The ones I wanted to keep. Forever. Then the ones I got rid of. And all the ones I only have in my memory. Because if I didn’t freeze the moments with my camera, I put them in my memory. Fleeting and temporary. But significant. Because everything means something to me. Nothing is insignificant. Only significantly significant.
I’m trying to clean somewhat among the moments. Ideally, I would want to make a little more space. Get more rooms. Fill them all with the encounters. All the moments. Everyone I’ve met. They must be given space. They must be intact and whole. After all, there is a common denominator somewhere. The one that starts when you are born and the one you then follow throughout life and then come to the very end of it. The end.
I actually don’t know what I’m trying to get at now. Is it possible to write at any length? As long as possible? I don’t think so. But a little at a time. One moment at a time.
Soul searcher what are you looking for?
Soul giver what will you settle for?
Soul searcher what are you looking for?
Soul giver what will you settle for?
Alone searcher is owed a lot of love
Soul searcher what will you settle for?
It was a beautiful morning and I just had to go out for some self portraits by lake Stråken. It was me, my tripod, my camera and the smell of nature. It was very peaceful.
It was a bit chilly today. All of a sudden I saw Hanna’s and my shadow in the wooden row boat. Made me think of the old song “Who can sail without the wind”.
“Vem kan segla förutan vind, vem kan ro utan åror, vem kan skiljas från vännen sin, utan att fälla tårar? Jag kan segla förutan vind, jag kan ro utan åror, men ej skiljas från vännen min utan att fälla tårar.”
“Who can sail without the wind, who can row without oars, who can leave a parting friend, without shedding tears? I can sail without the wind, I can row without oars, but I can’t leave a parting friend without shedding tears.”
The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance. (Alan Watts)
Malin Ellisdotter Photography 