Mistress of the Mountain

As a child, I grew up on Bazhov's fairy tales from the Ural region of Russia, such as the Mistress of the Copper Mountain. As an adult, I've become convinced, as have those before me, that people of the West had lost their links to the archaic, by and large, pushing their myths deep into the subconscious, only to manifest in dreams or during the creative process.  And even when we see patterns that resemble mythic beings, we focus on the scientific, not the symbolic. 

So I imagined that the local mountain here has to have a Mistress, too, and I willed her into existence.  (Admittedly, there likely are authentic Native American legends associated with this part of the Northwest with which I'm not yet familiar.)

Her base is rock on rock, as she is of the mountains, after all. I've deliberately used only local plants and tried to incorporate as many attributes from different seasons as were available.

The Mistress' dress at the neckline, for instance, is made of old, fragile leaves that survived the winter. They reminded me of intricate chocolate-tinted lace, as the closeup demonstrates. In contrast, her pink earrings are fresh flowers. Closed eyes: indifferent, asleep, or deep in thought? And, of course, the Mistress is not always amicable: hence the tiara made of prickly bur. 

P.S. Music sets the mood, the tone, the pace. I've created this while listening to Creature Creature's Phantoms (and a bit of Light & Lust). Consider it an inspiration as well.

The Trees Have Eyes

Channeling myth, Tolkien used the term ents to refer to trees endowed with human-like qualities, whereas contemporary scientists simply cite pattern recognition, anthropomorphism, and a slew of other categories, which explain the phenomena, but undermine the archaic. 

When I lived in large cities, meeting spots comprised a certain exist at a train station or a particular coffee shop. Now that I'm in Twin Peaks, my favorite hike has a number of markers, too. I refer to them as the "Dragon," "Cthulhu," and "Krampus."  This kind of nomenclature came naturally, as the trees and tree stumps in question bear strong resemblance to these mythic and literary creatures. 

While the structure of my consciousness obviously reflects Modernity and Postmodernity, as is the case with contemporary man in the West and its derivatives, I am now beginning to understand our ancestors. 

So, next time I'll meet you by the Dragon! 

P.S. I photographed these ents (and friends!) in the American part of the Rocky Mountains, the Canadian prairies, along with Kanazawa and Mount Takao in Japan. 

​Grubby little ents have grabby little hands!

Corvus: the Definitive Collection

To be more precise, I should've called this blog "Pretty Decent Photos of Ravens and Crows I've Taken so Far in the Rocky Mountains and throughout Japan." But the latter lacks a certain literary quality as well as an inflated sense of self-importance so typical of the blogosphere. Peer pressure!

I've always considered crows and ravens to be quite mysterious. Of course, mythic systems from around the world are filled with references to these creatures: from the Scandinavian Huginn and Muninn to the Japanese Yatagarasu, not to mention Russian fairy tales about Voron Voronovich (that's Raven Ravenson to you!), on which I grew up. But to me, this is also about the uncomfortable tension between their noble, majestic appearance and their somewhat morbid, scavenging function, which I occasionally get to observe whenever a local deer turns into roadkill.  

Every time I accidentally get too close with my camera, little robins flutter their wings and fly off, whereas mallards simply walk away, awkwardly swaying from side to side. Crows, however, don't leave: unfazed by my presence, they slowly examine me. In fact, sometimes I can't help but feel that they're reluctantly humoring me with an iota of their condescending attention because I'm a nosy avian paparazzi.  

How can you not take these birds seriously?