Solo by Chipka
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No AI - This artwork was created entirely by hand or with traditional digital tools.
Description
In the waft of smoke, shade, and moisture, you whisper the names of familiar streets. You do this for the beauty of their taste, and the way they slide over the muscles of your tongue. The simplest words in a language unlike your own are a pleasure you've come to savor.
You recognize the meanings behind each of these names, and laugh at their simple, descriptive logic.
Věžni Ulitsa...Dlouha...Horni...Rybářská
They are named for their dominant features, or for those who once lived along their flanks: Tower Street...Long...High...Fisherman Street....
It is not the streets that you remember, however: not at this moment. Instead, your thoughts are drawn to the King's apple trees. They stand beyond the outermost castle walls, on a sliver of land marked as Jeleni zahrada on all of the local maps. It is here that the narrow meander of the Polečnice river makes it way past the old gate tower and empties into the Vltava. It is here that you smell smoke and leaves, and the faint tinge of apples and fermentation. The ground is littered with them and they touch your eye with the colors of sunset and lipstick. Some are as green as spring: next year's promise.
You are careful with your steps.
The fallen apples are both home and food for the scores of insects that amble over them like rogue marks of strange punctuation. You have come with a friend: he speaks Portuguese and finds the climate here unusually cold. He blows into cupped hands to keep them warm, and you stoop to examine apples that are brown with the succulent kiss of infant rot. You know that soon, they will yield to the voracious half-visible worms: vinegar eels. You can smell their promise in the air, and your mind's eye conjures the recall of their elegant, transparent bodies as seen on the slide of a childhood microscope. You love the worms—like strands of glass—as much as you love this town and its inhabitants. You stuff your pockets with apples: dark, gnarled and corrupted ones. They are art you hope to capture. You do so, with a borrowed camera.
Later...
...At night, when even the castle bears are locked in somnolence, you wander along the banks of the Polečnice, returning the fruit you've collected.
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As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting. Hopefully you're all having a great week.
Comments (26)
I love your work and writing
Yes AWESOME writing
Ah, one of the King's apples I presume. Very nice still life capture to illustrate your words. Lighting and colors match the fact that this is a nightime image and just right for the somewhat gnarled piece of fruit. Well done. Bill
Excellent work!
Finely featured. The ambiant render is pleasant. Original.
Wonderful capture and light.
"rogue marks of strange punctuation" "the succulent kiss of infant rot" You describe things with such amazing depth, the simplest apple becomes a most elegant, stunning beautiful piece of art. Just WOW-not nearly enough, but all I can come up with!! This is a favorite for sure.
I agree with beachzz comment. Really fascinating.
Love the story and I love this Chip !!! like Wow dude :o) *** H u g s ***
excellent !
GREAT story for a WONDERFUL picture !!! EXCELLENT !
love the photo and you do have a way with words.10+
Your work tends to be solitary and this is no exception. The dramatic understated lighting and subject create a field of mystery.
Splendid composition and colors my friend
Love the low key effect in this excellent still life!
Gorgeous quality to this photo, like an old masters' painting; and partly through your description of its source it becomes the golden apple of legend.
Good work... both photo and words :)
Awesome words
Gorgeous work, my friend, in word and deed.
'Like wow, dude'. That sums it up.:o) CC
Beautiful work and writing, dear Chip. Have the best day. Hugs. Di. xx
Great writing, great image. As always. Dave
The warm colours of the shot dovetail perfectly with your narrative. And of coarse, it has a very seasonal feel for those of use in the upper Northern Hemisphere.
This looks like a painting, a real "nature morte" as we say in french... Your comment took me to the King's apple trees and made me travel to that country... Zolâsté Amyryn Flôtlaa :)...
I really love your work and writing, dear Chip !!!!! 5********** Excellent !!!!
I love the comments on this & how Mrs.Ratbag speaks of the apples of legend (in your hands) and beachzz quotes phrases of your quiet & beautiful prose. This is the second apple-piece I've seen of yours (the third—just posted—I'll be getting to it soon), and it's one of those pieces where you're quietly strolling with us & sharing your offhanded personal reflections which come from deep down inside. The recitation of street names is beautiful: Many can relate, if they've thought about street names. (My childhood street name was an unusual form of my last name, which was most unusual since my last name is quite rare!) And your quiet reflections on the course of fruit to its decay and surrender to the earth & creatures is very gentle & reflective. One can imagine a whole book of these; not so much memoirs as personal journeys through memory and reflection. And as for the picture, it's like an earlier one I saw (mottled, I believe it was called), which gives continuity to your gallery. Both are surrounded by a rich red-brown undertone like the underpaintings of the Northern Europe's 1600s, Rembrandt coming to mind...very rich & autumnal. (And you've chosen a nice 'solo' apple—your title—w/ few blemishes with one lone leaf.) These reflections on an image are precious, Chip, and they show yet another side of your inner voice. It makes us want to be there & take in the sights & smells & sense of quiet memory mixed with history in a far-away place...