The Price of Admission

People

99.9% of the people one encounters in their lifetime are fake.  They put on a pretense so that the people they encounter will like them.  Many base their life’s worth on educational credentials, when to be quite honest from what little I’ve read of the holy book that all sanctimonious pricks reference when they are trying to win an argument aren’t you judged based on character and not academic credit to get admitted into those sacred pearly gates?  So many out there that make their racist comments and jokes and then pretend as if they think racism is just horrid and they really aren’t a racist themselves.  Why, they themselves listen to Beyoncé.  That proves they couldn’t be a racist, right?  It’s always other people, isn’t it?  When someone is a bit strange or eccentric we take comfort in judging them and assuming they are just drug addicts, when in reality nothing could be further from the truth.  Some base a person’s worth on holes in their socks or streaks of color in their hair instead of their actual character, and then that judgmental person wonders why karma never seems to work out for them in the end.  These same assholes contribute to a culture that always finds some way to blame the victim no matter what the circumstance.  If she’s raped and murdered and just happens to be of a lower socioeconomic class than the asshole that thought she was disposable, society will fight to the death to get his good name cleared.  If a man or child shot down in cold blood just happens to not be as white as snow, then it’s looked at as more of an oops than an actual crime.  These same people take antidepressants and whatever else they can get a doctor to ply them with to alter enough chemicals in their brain to convince them they are happy, but in reality they just make them numb and able to tolerate their miserable existence.  People choose to ply themselves with anything they can to drown out their sorrows, be it trying to forget why exactly no one loves them when they make no attempt to be any less of a blight on society than they already are, or for a reason so mundane as to try to get over the fact that they were born to shitty parents.  Sometimes you are just born into a shit life, and you can either choose to get over it or spend the rest of your life whining about it to people pretending to give a shit.  The circumstances you were born into do not have to define you for the rest of your life.  The only person you can ever truly rely on is always the reflection staring back at you in your own mirror.  

Denial only gets you so far in life.

Reality eventually finds its way back in.

Tears are a waste of time and a sign of weakness.

Sometimes God has simply chosen to leave the room.

Dominion

They come to lay dominion at my feet with admiration in their eyes.

Though acknowledgement I may give feelings I don’t have.

My heart turned to stone long ago,

The blood flowing through my veins is nothing but dark acid.

Go ahead, sing your hymns.

The lyrics fall upon deaf ears.

Why fear what the future holds when you’re already dead?

Awakening

Turmoil

Hope that a new day will bring joy passed long ago.

Dreams are simply just painful reprisals of memories best left dead.

As the nights yield a perpetual hell of unending sadness,

She arises to yet another day filled with the same apathy.

As the days grow longer her heart grows colder.

She is her own alpha and omega.

She is the darkness and the light.

My Artist Statement

The artist’s statement.  What is that exactly?  It’s where I explain to the masses a little bit about me and what feeling my work is supposed to convey to the viewer, but the reality is you are going to take away whatever feeling you want to take away from it, and knowing my educational level and such are not going to make you know the real me.   I don’t know how my work is supposed to make you feel.  Is a headless doll in a pretty dress presenting you a flower really any less beautiful than one with its head attached presenting you one?  It’s not the norm, certainly, but is it really truly less beautiful?  Is the gesture of presenting a flower not as sweet?  The one thing I do know is photography allows me to express myself in ways I cannot articulate into words.  My medium is my lens.  So look at my work and make your own interpretation.  It may impress you.  It may make you uncomfortable.  It is what it is.  So is life.  Life can be uncomfortable.  Life can be suffering.  Life can be downright cruel and ugly, and at the same time be beautiful and wondrous.  We either choose to see it or we don’t.  If someone chooses to be oblivious to the dark elements of life I don’t begrudge them.  Good for them.  The majority of people are this way and although I once thought this was a frivolous existence I see how they are just as essential to existence as anyone.  If you want to be a lemming be one.  If you want to believe everything you hear on Fox News good for you.   The life you want to see is often an illusion, but if believing that illusion makes you feel good go right ahead.  Life is much more comfortable when viewed from a bubble.  It’s much easier to not face the truth, to look in the mirror and realize that the reflection looking back at you is the only one that controls your destiny, not your upbringing, not your past, not a bad experience, just you.   At the end of the day we’re all animals.  The strong devour the weak.  We are instinctual creatures, but some choose to ignore what they feel inside to fit in with the status quo.  We hold back what we truly feel because of fear of the unknown; we don’t pursue what we want sometimes out of guilt or repression.  Our empathy towards others can make us sacrifice ourselves.  If you are one of the few people that have managed to see past the illusion, who can take in life with all its goodness and ugliness and not stick your head back in the sand, then you already know that you don’t need a statement to tell you how to feel about my work.

What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his? - Emile M. Cioran

The Moon Goddess

An old weary soul once looked upon a magical moon. Instantly drawn to it she was mesmerized. Its powers captivated her. She loved it from that very moment. The longer she gazed the more she awakened. Her human frailties and insecurities all flooded to the surface. Every memory she had buried resurfaced. Her sins fell away. Her karmic debts were repaid. As the night went on she metamorphosed, Shedding what remnants of her old soul remained. Now she would have vast wisdom for her days remaining on the Earth. The spark that had so long ago been snuffed out began to burn again. Special gifts long dormant reemerged. She aged 1000 years that night. All because she stared into the light. A death and rebirth within a simple harvest. She wished desperately that moon would stay forever. With a heavy heart she realized upon the breaking light of day it would be hers no longer. As much happiness arrived so did a cold darkness. For the path she now walked would be an isolated one. Such knowledge carries with it an eternal unfulfilled weariness. With a heavy heart she began to cry, and her tears turned into a river. This river would be her gift to the world, bearing fruit and bringing light to many, and would provide her solace for her remaining lonely days.

© Brandy Lindsey www.brandylindsey.com

Wounds

They say time heals all wounds. As I grow older I find that not to be entirely true. I think you grow from the experience that caused the wound, but the wound itself just simply scabs over, always there, lurking just below the surface, waiting for just the slightest hint of a memory to rip it back open.

I passed by this place and I was struck by the beauty of these two doors.  Upon further inspection of the property I noticed a sign that read they were about to tear it down.  I just had to catch an image before the beauty of these magnificent doors was lost to a wrecking ball.

Serenity

Vivian

The star of my new series Vivian.  I can't wait to post more!

Balloon Girl

I took this shot of one of my best friends down at the railroad tracks in Nashville.  LOVE IT!!!

Savannah Bird Girl

Just Hanging Out

Ice

Sunday I awoke to some beautiful scenery thanks to the ice storm that passed through Saturday night.

Six Silenced Strings

This was my grandfather's guitar. I found it laying amongst some discarded stuff in the old house featured in my "Deserted Dwellings" series. It's brought back a flood of memories. He was a very good man.

The Portal

Go then, there are other worlds than these. - Jack Chambers, The Gunslinger by Stephen King

Rays of sunlight peeking out from the clouds.

Passion Flower

Solitude

Eastern Tiger Swallowtail Butterfly

This lovely butterfly stopped by my garden this morning.

Mrs. Smith

The Immaculate Collection

I've released a new book that includes a few new releases along with some of my best sellers and my own personal favorites. I have released it with Blurb so you have the option of ordering paperback, hardcover, or ebook versions.

Another sunny day on the lake

Cat hiding in foliage

Two Seasons, Same Trees

The Timid Tortoise