In Rust I Trust . . .

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People trust in all sorts of things, but I trust in rust. What other process of transformation is so faithful, so relentless, so persistent, so natural, so honest, so powerful, and so inescapable for the iron and steel creations of man ? Creations that should have lasted centuries had their creators' dreams prevailed. But such architects and mechanical engineers, along with the miners and smelters and forgers and casters and welders who work with such materials, sculptors all, are barely in their graves, or even still breathing this earth's sweet air, when their works are brutally attacked by a simple chemical reaction occurring in the presence of oxygen and H²O, whereby a marvellously colorful form of cancerous seed is planted, which once started is fairly well irreversible in most cases.
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Some humans as they age or when they haven't practiced an art for some time may say, "I'm a little bit rusty..." as in, "oh dear, I haven't spoken French in too long, I'm getting rusty". As for me, as time goes by, I've been looking more and more often at rusty subjects, and am fairly often thoroughly amazed and mesmerized by what dramatic arts are being played out on rusting surfaces. What I would give to have time lapse photos of a rusting car over a period of several decades. Like watching lichens growing on a rock, one must be very patient to appreciate the progression of rust. But few such theatre of life type shows are more spectacular. So yes, as I said : In Rust I Trust, for rust has never failed me.
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In case you might have been wondering, these colorfully oxydized surfaces were once part of a large shipping container which had washed up long ago, no doubt in a storm, on the coast of a small island off the shore of north Brittany. There is something about salt water which adds another dimension to the rusting process, as these images attest. I'd like to blow some of these pictures up and see what they look like framed under glass in one meter by one meter size, for example. Might look nice on a wall in your living room, no ? :-) Part of the container number is still legible in this next one, and in the last one the rib cage of the defunct creature is visible. 
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Hale & Hallow . . .

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This afternoon I finally got around to watching Michael Moore's movie titled "Capitalism: A Love Story". A little late getting to see that, but it is just as timely now as when it came out a couple of years ago. Perhaps more so. His references in that film to the 99% and the 1% have been in the press rather a lot these last few weeks. Are the protests in NYC and elsewhere a sign that people have finally really started to have had enough of certain bankers' and corporations' massive greed ? Despite the government bailout of the banks after the disasters of 2008, the church of greed went right back to their poisonous pilfering and pillaging practices. The bankers trading in virtual (and virtually incomprehensible) derivative products are the worst of the lot. Shame to each and every one of them. When I look at how much interest I have paid on my mortgage over the past ten years, and look at how little money I have in the bank today to fend for the uncertain future with, it makes me see red. We've been getting robbed. Enough is enough. May they all choke on their caviar crackers.
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Speaking of New York City, my oldest daughter was there on vacation last summer, and when she spotted this skeletal window display, she thought of me, and took the below photo. She knows how much I love the music and artwork associated with that legendary band, the Grateful Dead, and sent this off by e-mail to me as fast as the internet could carry it. Given that we are getting close to Halloween (hallowen ?) now, this seemed like a good time to share this with all of you good people out there. (And many thanks to you, sweetheart, for thinking of your papa when taking this photo !)
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And even more recently, my youngest daughter was walking in Paris with la Grenouille when they saw this amazing piece of street art on a sidewalk. My youngest had the same reflex as her big sister, and took a photo for papa. Am I not the luckiest father in the world then ??? And what a visionary the artist was who saw a ribcage of a skeleton when seeing that grill there in the ground ! And then to do it in pink ! (Thanks honey !)
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And with these next three images I just wanted to give you a little Fall color from France, and hopefully slip in just in time before James' Weekend Reflections shuts up shop here tonight. There is still a little beauty left around us. All around us. When I mentionned above something about seeing red, this is the kind of red I'd rather be seeing.
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There Be Dragons . . . (or angels . . . ? )

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I know some of you were simply dying to get a better idea of where the magic lantern pictured in the previous post fit in among the dragons also depicted, hopefully this first photo will make everything perfectly clear. Life is strange sometimes ; I've visited this charming site several times over the years, as it is rather close to home and makes for a pleasant stroll in the woods around the ponds. But not once had I ever noticed the lantern hanging there between the dragons. No doubt because it is a magic lantern and only reveals itself to those whom it wishes to have see it. But now equipped with a blog with a name like this one has, it couldn't very well refuse me any longer.
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Ah, dragons. Those mythical beasts. I confess, I was raised on a diet of Tolkien and Narnia, with a pinch of the Wind in the Willows. Smaug, the dragon in The Hobbit seemed very real indeed to me when I was little. I sometimes wonder whether such a diet at an early age was a good thing or not, for the real world we live in, as opposed to the realm of imagination, can seem a drab and dreary place in comparison, at times. Until one stumbles on a magic lantern flanked by dragons, and remembers that one must create one's own magic in this day and age, and seek one's own beauty, wherever it may be found.
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I admit as well, I commented to la Grenouille as we were walking along the pond after having seen these dragons, that I would like to see them leap from their stone perches and go thundering across the lake breathing fire. But no such show was forthcoming, so we made our way quietly home. But doesn't he look like he is just yearning to take to the skies for some wreaking of havoc, pillaging and plundering, as dragons are wont to do ?
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Yesterday I was out again with the camera, for a second day in a row, and spotted another form of winged creature which only comes to life in dreams and movies. Just as the dragon represents all that is evil, the angel speaks of sweet serenity and peace. I've been paying attention to angel images of late, after visiting a place this summer named the Abbaye des Anges, or Angels Abbey, out in Brittany. The owners of that lovely property had quite a collection of angels of one sort or another. And since then I've started to realize that there are angels hiding in many places, if one cares to see them. This one seemed particularly graceful, poised to take flight with the soul of a departed child here. Forever poised for flight. Some folks believe that angels exist. Literature about near death experiences is replete with angelic references. I'm skeptical about such assertions. For me, seeing is believing. Guess I'll have to wait until my time is up to find out.
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Yes, as I said, seeing is believing. Now, I honestly did not set out take a photo of any living angels when I composed this landscape on the Brittany coast in August. But such is the power of digital photography, and multi-million pixel images, that even very small sections of an original image can become a page filling size without losing any detail or becoming grainy as such a section of a film negative would have done. This is the original full size image, from a beach on a small island off the Brittany coast, which one can walk to at low tide:
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And here are the angels I realized I'd captured when I got home and looked more closely at the photos from that afternoon. Wings of course were folded up and stowed away for sunbathing purposes.
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Wait a second ! One of them turned over when I wasn't looking ! Will wonders never cease ?
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So, isn't life strange and wonderful ? I just noticed before publishing this post that up through the last one, I have done 1,111 blog posts here at the Magic Lantern Show. This is post # 1,112. We are getting into War and Peace length. Full of dragons and angels. And with two more who checked in yesterday, there are now 499 "followers" showing in the Followers gadget. Who is going to be number 500 ? And will that change anything in the greater scheme of things ? This remains about as obscure as a blog can be. No signs of going viral yet. But who knows, we are getting into flu season, so maybe it could get contagious yet, as dragons and angels interact and mutate, who knows what magic may yet be forthcoming.
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All of an Autumn Afternoon . . .

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A quiet autumn Sunday afternoon in northern France, just starting to think about getting out and going for a walk along some ponds not far from here, when la Grenouille said, "Quick, come see, there are butterflies outside." So picking up the camera, out I went, and sure enough, the hedge along the side of the yard which had just put out some green flowers (talk about a late bloomer !) was crawling with butterflies of a variety I hadn't recalled seeing around here before. So, click, clack, Kodak, went the camera, and the following pictures are what resulted.
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Sometimes one doesn't have to go far afield to find captivating subject matter. In case you're curious, this is Vanessa atalanta, of the Nymphalinae family. It simply astounds me that such vivid colors can exist in nature. Orange on black like that; what evolutionary purpose did that serve ? Even if it is purely decorative, how on earth did these vibrant colors in such harmonious patterns come to be ? It boggles the mind. But then, my mind is easily boggled, as you might have come to conclude by now.
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Her (well, if she's named "Vanessa", it must be a "her", right?) antennae seemed to be lit up at the ends... I wonder what she does with them ?
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Vanessa wasn't the only one out there enjoying these Fall blooms... Mr. Bumblebee was out buzzing about as well, they were sharing the wealth.
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A closer look reveals subtle shadings that I would have never been able to even begin to create if I'd sat down and put pastel crayons to paper.
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And then we were off for our stroll by the ponds known as les Etangs de Commelles, where quiet paths go along the water for quite a good walking distance. Some autumn colors are starting to come out. Does the orange in the butterfly wings help it blend in against autumn leaves ?  Or was Vanessa atalanta simply afraid that no one would look at her if she didn't put on some bright colors ?
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Reflections abound in the still water of the ponds, which have been there since the 13th century when they were constructed by monks from a nearby monastery.
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At one end of the stretch of water stands the Chateau de la Reine Blanche, whose origins date from around 1300. Columbus wouldn't "discover" America until nearly 200 years later. Visible history like this is what I love about France.
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The ponds were created along a small river by monks long ago to make a place for fish to breed. Even today people are still pulling fish out of those ponds. And no small fry either !!!
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These gentlemen watch over the water night and day, day and night, though one had turned his head to speak with a pigeon.
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Just under the balcony there were four most fearsome dragons perched there. Blurred by the rippling water in the reflected image above, this gives you a better idea.
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When they start stoking up their internal fires in preparation for taking off and soaring about the countryside to wreak havoc by burning down towns and hamlets, the light around them is transformed.
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Or perhaps it was the magic lantern hanging between the dragons that transformed the light ? One never knows what magic lanterns are capable of, their powers are strange and mysterious.
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Reflecting on Paris . . .

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Whenever possible I do enjoy participating in James Weekend Reflections, simply because it is an enjoyable gathering of bloggers all focused on reflections the world over, and one never knows what one may find there. It is also enjoyable as I had the pleasure of meeting James nearly a year ago in Paris, and we were able to stroll in Père Lachaise Cemetery whilst getting acquainted. Still have many photos from that afternoon yet to post. But for today, just one photo from a more recent promenade in Paris, where the entire wall of a building was reflecting sharply in the late afternoon sun. Almost too easy. Well, maybe if one day James wins the lottery or something, he will invite us all to go visit the reflecting pool at the Taj Mahal. Now that would be a reflections outing to die for, or at least dream of just a little.
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Doors to Other Worlds . . .

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Life is often composed as much by things that might have been, but were not, as by things that were. As each day slips into the irretrievable past, memories take on dream like qualities. Was I really there ? Do these photographs tell the truth, these stolen moments in time ?
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I often see doors I want to open, doors beyond which lie worlds to discover, the vast, infinite worlds of the other, he or she who we will never know. So many of those doors are locked, and no one is home. No key can be found. Rare is the door that opens into the warm kitchen of another, where a bowl of soup stands steaming on a rough hewn table. Where a story awaits the traveller.
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These virtual doors we call blogs, sometimes they open into the rich new universe of a perfect stranger. Sometimes doors that seemed to open swing shut again without warning. Some blogs just disappear, leaving no forwarding address. A light goes out. A voice goes silent. A door is shut and locked. A key is lost. I guess that's life, and trying to make sense of it may not always bring any satisfaction. My warmest wishes to the open doors out there, may your candles burn brightly in the night.
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I cannot help but wonder though sometimes, what treasures lie beyond these closed doors.
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A Most Beautiful Place . . .

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I'm not sure that I will be able to find any words to express what I felt when I stumbled on this magical place. I had sought it out, it is true, having seen symbols on a map which suggested there might be something worth seeing there. Symbols of the slightest, vaguest sort, which simply indicated a handful of ruins. But oh, the distance between maps and reality can be infinite. No map could have prepared me for the sight of these ruins as we came over a crest of ground and beheld them there, where they stand in majestic silence, near the edge of a high cliff, overlooking a deep valley beyond.
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Hundreds of years ago men from the valley below climbed those cliffs, found a path to the plateau above, and built these rudimentary, rustic shelters where they could pass the summers peacefully alone with their small herds of sheep and goats, in an idyllic, remote, thoroughly secret place. Their women from the village in the valley would have made the hike up there as well to keep the men company, bringing food and other supplies. Who could imagine the summer nights under star filled skies there, a fire burning, the smell of sheep, their wool, milk for cheese-making. Who were these people ? Of what did they die, where are they buried ? And how did they live ? No electricity, no computers, no phones, just survival at hand. Work or starve.
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And yet they built with beauty and grace; arches that still stand when all the stones around have fallen, conquered by gravity. The sense of wonder I felt there, almost overwhelming, is unlike anything I've ever felt, anywhere. This was real. This was alive. Though no one lives there today, the place never died. It will haunt me for a long time to come, maybe forever. Already I want to go back there. To just sit quietly among those stones.
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An ancient iron hinge piece to hold up a shutter, long ago disintegrated.
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A butterfly on an acanthus bloom, looking as though he'd flown through a storm.
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