The Thing About Sax "Excuse me for horning in, but I..." he started to say. "You big blow hard!!" she interrupted. Ooo, she was mad. "Okayyy, but I just wanted to note..." "Can't you REED??" she blurted, pointing furiously at the page on the stand. He tried using his most calming voice, hoping it would help. "I think you meant to say "read". And yes I can." "Don't patronize me you, you... gooseneck!!" He paused. Gooseneck? No one had called him that in years. He kind of liked it. "Name calling now, are we... Licorice Stick?" He purred her old stage name so quietly he wondered of she heard it. But apparently she did. "You remembered." she whispered. "How could I forget, Clar?" "Oh Sax!" In that moment, "Canon in D" became "their" song. You can hear this one if you'd like: http://www.karenhutton.com/2011/432/
10. Take My Hand He stood transfixed. Staring. He had thought she was a mannequin. She was so... still. Waxy. Not living. Not breathing. No warmth. In one gesture, his world turned over. Along with his stomach. "Take my hand" she whispered. Like dust. Like static. The sound of her voice made his ears itch. He couldn't take his eyes off her hand, extended so gracefully. So invitingly. So lifelessly. Every hair on his body stood up and screamed... "RUN". But he couldn't take his eyes off her hand. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Curious for a listen? I'm glad you are! Check out http://www.karenhutton.com/2011/take-my-hand/ to hear this story.
The Clock Shop of Montmarte I'm working on a story for this image, only got the bare bones so far. It has to do with converging folds in time in the final hours of dual universes (who have been in mortal combat with each other since the beginning of time), and the reality-altering decision made by ultimate Keeper of Time - all hinging upon a seemingly simple clock repair shop in Montmartre, Paris, France. Ya know, the basics.
Soloist Teasal. A simple plant that most would call a weed. But such regal beauty frozen in time. I love knowing we share the planet with an intelligence that made such gorgeous designs. It really paid attention to detail.
Steed of a Dream
The Moment After She Left On the platform she waited for the train that was coming. Her demeanor was calm. Inside was a whirlwind. Would it work, this plan she dreamed of last night? Would they come? Could they hear? Would it fly? The unknown was always a gamble. She took a deep breath as the air pressure changed. It was time and her train was approaching. It would be her last ride on this route she had known. Her last wait at this particular station. She'd miss it in ways, with it all so familiar... But her heart wouldn't let her sit still. The train glides up to the platform. She smiles. Steps onto the ride of her life. As the train disappears, the station grows quiet. Less oxygen now. Her light has moved on.
Dramatic. Glamorous Sometimes nature is so very dramatic and glamorous. She’ll just go for it. Break out her finery and sweep into that sky like the MEGA star that she is. I love it when she does that. I caught her this day in her explosionary finale of an intricately choreographed dance that took about an hour or so to create. She was deliberate. Detailed. Left no swish unswirled, yet no one could say the effect was overdone. No, it was… perfect. When the grand finale finally burst into living technicolor oranges and reds with just a touch of peachy goodness, I swore I could hear the final strains of Ravel’s Bolero. Oh my. It was dramatic. And most definitely glamorous.
Convict Lake My first visit there. I love that feeling of the first time... your heart quickens, your eyes get all sharp and darty at the new sights, even my stomach jumps around a little at the excitement of NEW. I'm big on the story too - and I love hearing them about the places I visit. Convict Lake was named after an incident in 1871, where a group 'o thugs, er, 'convicts' escaped from prison in Carson City. That's 200 miles away. So a buncha lawmen, er, a 'posse' chased those buggers all the way down here, where they had a shootout. The sheriff was killed, as was his Indian guide. They named the lake after the convicts, the mountain (Mt. Morrison) after the sheriff. Nobody named anything after the Indian guide, which strikes me as just pure ungrateful. It was a moody, weathery day... kinda fitin' with the story that goes with it. But I just went with the vibe and took this picture to share with y'all.
Heavy artist watercolor paper
She Looked Away I caught her gaze for just a moment. It was unexpected. Startling, even. She looked into my eyes without flinching, without even a flicker of self consciousness. Her luminous beauty, her subtle yet undeniable strength, her utter equanimity at being both a fleeting visitor and an immutable force in the world sat lightly with her. She was transcendent. In that sudden and unexpected moment, I knew what it meant to be alive. Really. Truly. Before I had a chance to smile and nod, she looked away.
Dr. Who's Time Travelin' Time Lord Bar So, isn't this a nutty shot? I decided it's Dr. Who's traveling bar. Cause I think Dr. Who must need a snort every now and then to unwind after a long day on the Time Lord time clock. And he sure wouldn't want to run the risk of being stuck in some godforsaken dimension of No Fun At All, seeking said snortage. Hence the need for a time travelin' Time Lord Bar. See, it's time-tethered to the Tardis, thus always available. Genius. I managed to snap this just as it was taking off, about to wink out of this particular time-space continuum. Who says digital cameras aren't fast? Ha. And, um... welcome to Mental Movies by Karen. This is what a long day of recording incredibly dry narrations will do to a girl. Yep. Tall, cool one, anyone?
Tree of Thrive This is one of several photographs I was asked to shoot as potentials for a book cover. Crazy, huh? It's a book about Thriving. I think this one has become personal icon for Thrive. Every time I look at it, I'm reminded to follow my muse... the light... that 'spark of divine inspiration'- that guides my life to its inspired happiest, funnest, most fulfilled ... most THRIVING version of itself. Whatever that brings. Don't think... just leap.
Daggers and Fingers in Clouds... Oh My! Glenshire Pond, August, 2010. The clouds were just breaking up from an afternoon thunderstorm. It seemed like everyone who lives at the Pond had set up camp on their decks or in their yards for this light show. People driving by were even stopping their cars and getting out to watch. Yeah, it was that amazing. I heard cheers, gasps, laughter, "Oh my god"s and "Did you see that?"s… and for the first time, actual applause for a sunset. I guess mother nature really is the best show on earth. I kinda feel like her staff photographer.
SkyBird The little bird stood on the railing, thinking. His name was Skybird on account he lived at Skybar in Los Angeles California. "That french fry on that lady's plate looks awfully good," he thought. "Cor blimey. I bet I could drop in, nick the one top and be up in the rafters before that cow could blink an eye." The other birds lined up on the rafters to see what Skybird would do. He had quite a reputation, y'see. Not only was he blessed with gorgeous plumage… but his french fry nick rate was the envy of all the birds. He was fearless he was. So as ya see here, his concentration was unbelievable. And In the very next moment, he dropped from railing, nicked that french fry and was up in the rafters before that cow could blink an eye. They don't call 'im SkyBird for nuthin.
Red House On The Roaring River Winter 2010-11 kicked our butts. I know we weren’t alone, but up here in the Sierra Nevadas, we had match-point record snowfall. At 50-60 feet depending on where you were standing, it didn’t actually break all the records… but it was jawdropping all the same. And interminable. I mean, people tunneled down into their homes, okaayyy? I mention this because when you have record snowfall, it means record snowmelt too. This was the Yuba River near Big Bend on July 4th. Water level higher even than it was 2 weeks before… and so dangerous even the gnarliest kayakers were benched. This house had the best view… although I think if you lived there, you’d have gone deaf from the constant roar. Man, nature amazes me.
The Louvre Courtyard, Midnight Paris. The Louvre. Midnight. We had the best adventure EVER that day - that will forever define our first visit to paris. It included walking 8 miles through the streets of Paris at night, experiencing the wonder of the Louvre at midnight - with the place to ourselves and magic all around, missing the last subway at 1am, consoling ourselves with wine, cheese and the most delicious chocolate ever made at 2am on the Champs Elysees. The stuff dreams are made of, baby.