Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Here in this place

It is quiet

I am caught frozen in time.

Even reality does not seem as tangible as this.

Let me dwell inside this existence for eternity,

let me be drunken in it's influence, dizzy while ponder its haze,  

because this place reassures me that there is good inside of everything. 

let me be still and wonder in my dreams.

Here in this place

It is quiet

I am caught frozen in time.

Even reality does not seem as tangible as this.

Let me dwell inside this existence for eternity,

let me be drunken in it's influence, dizzy while ponder its haze,  

because this place reassures me that there is good inside of everything. 

let me be still and wonder in my dreams.

Monday, March 21, 2011

I Found A White Dove

An introduction from me: Sometimes I find myself flipping through news papers, just walking down the street, or watching the evening news and I cannot help but want to weep because of the things I see. As horrible as it is to see a crisis going on somewhere such as the disasters in Japan and everywhere else around the world currently and all through history I cannot help but notice that it always brings out some gleam of goodness in people. I realized that if we all spent more of our energy on focusing on the entire picture of life, and actually learning with our morals perhaps we could do something wonderful with life. We cannot prevent natural disasters, but we can prevent conflict among each other.  One night I finally broke down and  found myself writing a short fantasy blurb related to the things I often think about. It is not written from my exact personal experiences just a collection of ideas I put into something a bit more enticing. I do not know how it will evolve into a story (if ever it will.)
This is my draft so far, I hope you can take a moment to read over it even if I do not know you personally I have made my notes available for public viewing, thank you. 

-Dawna Maria Walker



"I dedicate this to the peace keepers, the lovers, and my flowered and beaded friends, but most of all I dedicate it to those who have not yet found peace in their hearts."



I Found a White Dove


I was sitting inside a white room when something whispered to me that there would be no healing until we took the time to open our eyes to see our world for what it really was. It made me think of life and the of limbers of trees, massive oceans, and small birds. "How did these things connect? " I  thought to myself  "How do WE as humans come into play?" I understood that animals had always fought that even humans fought, but on the other side of that spectrum I thought it was foolish to be fighting over things like oil. I thought it was wasteful, and disgusting that we could kill our own kind over something like that, or that we could prosecute someone to death for killing someone themselves whether it was considered murder or not. How could we be so blind?  Would the hypocrisy stop? Had the wars ever REALLY solved anything? and even if they did I was positive there was a better way to solve those issues. There just had to be a better option than this. 

I longed to be in a place of worlds that did not kill, a place where worlds could only create things like peace. I had always imagined a place where instead of dropping bombs during war we could drop things like paintbrushes and canvases from airplanes, so that we could learn how to better use our imaginations. We could use knowledge as a means of mass change to further our society in a positive direction. We could even send down recorded images of the effects that nuclear war had on us to all the countries we had conflicts with throughout history. It all seemed so simple; letters, photographs, and books slowly drifting down from the sky so that people would remember what all the wars had really cause. Maybe then they would catch a glimpse of something better, radical pacifistic ideals that would change the world . Perhaps all the governments and citizens would be reminded of how horrible the idea of these wars really were, and how sickening the effects of them always turned out to be. What if we just we just refused to use violence a way to force our ideals on others?

 Instead of being in a place like that where everything seemed so simple, I often found myself sitting in a room I call my inner self. I had been sitting in that room for a long time. I sat in the small white room for hours sometimes, just sitting, pondering, and absorbing any small fragment of information that entered that small white room. I loved the room it was clean, well kept, and it felt so organic. I sat in there for long enough to realize that there was not enough space there for fire or hate. Upon understanding this something started to blossom, it started like a golden thread that trickled down into my heart. It was beautiful ripe fruit. All I wanted to do was to take a bite into it's sweet nectar in hopes that it could end all chaos, I wanted to show the world! I wanted to put this thing I found called peace in my pocket and give it to the first person I saw and tell them to pass it on. Before any of this came to mind I spent too much time seeking out happiness for myself, I found after years that when I sought it out for myself it never really showed up. When I sought out happiness for others, happiness and contentment always had it's way of finding me. Peace told me to stop and listen, it told me to be patient, that time could heal. Peace was restful, it was wise, it did not reject anybody or select anybody and above all it created unity. I imagined the idea of peace to be something of a white dove soaring through a vanilla flavored sky. The place I imagined would be a world where we could a be free from the harms of social hierarchy, it would be more power to love, instead of love of power. 

The idea of a world filled with peace was not just intended for the free spirited flower children either, although they considered the ideas to be quite  groovy anyway. These ideas were for everyone the idea of a better place was intended for us all; the working man, the burn outs, the usual conformists, the youth, the retired, the yuppies, the veterans, the rich, the poverty stricken, the poets, the dreamers, criminals, the freaks, the immigrants, the artists, the natives, the religious, the atheists, the men, the women, the blacks, the whites, the just plain old average folks and anyone else who had ever existed or ever would exist. It was not just intended for our nation, it was about entire world! We were going to take it back. I wanted this peace movement to be the biggest damn revolution the world had ever seen. It would be an overthrow of the government in favor of a new system, better system in this case a non-violent peace uprising. I must admit that even I did not actually know if it was entirely possible at the time, but let me tell you I was wrong, wrong about the best of things.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

"There are no rules to good photographs, there are only good photographs" Ansel Adams

If they say that the camera can photograph thought then someone should always have SOMETHING to say about a good photograph. I would rather hear someone say a photo of mine makes them feel something negative then that it makes them feel nothing at all. Having said this I would also like to say I feel like an art or photography class should be a requirement in any educational program, because it  can open your eyes to SEEING a world rather than just looking at it. Most of the time you cannot see beauty until someone shows it to you or you take the time to seek it out for yourself. Take a look around you right now without even stepping away from you computer, can you see it? Take a look again until you find it, look for something in a new way. Some of the best photos that are taken are the ones taken at the edges of a situation. T


To me some of the most interesting photos are of the things we all to often forget to look at in our daily lives. Take the time to see what is really around you. You will be amazed at how life will change, you will be amazed at how your art will evolve. Once you have captured something you love and are satisfied with your efforts smile because you are taking the first steps to becoming an artist, BUT never be fully satisfied with the final product because once you do have have stopped learning to grow. You will find that some of your best artwork out there has not even been produced yet. You have got to start looking for the photos nobody has taken you have to take your tools and go even deeper! Well all have access to subjects nobody else does, seek the things around you right now wherever you are at the time. Look into a photograph and see if you can find it's soul, photograph the moment before it has the chance to run away forever. 


Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Bring Your Camera With You!

often times I feel like a camera nerd when I take my camera and equipment with me everywhere I go. Sometimes people stare at me like "why does she take that bag full of gear with her everywhere?" I realized a while ago that I really don't care anymore if people give me weird looks. I got this photo walking down the ally on my way to the farmers market this summer, and I have sold copies of it as well.

One Perk About Winter

Well other then the fact that winter here is freezing cold, it is nice to photograph sometimes.

In Need of a Road Trip

I cannot wait until the weather gets better, once spring knocks on my door I am off!
Canon Beach Oregon (2010)
So excited for my oregon/california coast trip this summer maybe I can get some photos that are even better than last years...

To An Old Friend

I do not usually write things so long but this is something I needed...

I look upon memories of a lady, a writer who lives in Seattle
who falls asleep no earlier than twelve am and rises no later than seven am. She drinks countless cups of black coffee throughout the day while she listens to Jim Croce and Don Mclean. She has fingernails polished to a deep crimson gloss that punch away at an old typewriter, because she hardly knows the definition of a computer. She has stacks of old books piled on her desk and enough dust covered  trinkets to fill six doll houses. I cannot help but remember her for all these things she once was when I was a lot younger and she did not seem as old. Her outbursts of laughter, her hilarious childhood stories, and her rather loud singing that was never on key. I remember when we used to drink shirley temples together at a smokey grey cafĂ© downtown,  and often she would bring me strange things like mexican jumping beans from the Old Curiosity Shop on the waterfront . To this very day, I still have a little idea of what exactly these strange jumping beans are, it really is a curiosity.


The past few years she is in something of a rut . As I am not around as often to come visit she has found herself a "little someone" to hang out with. An old cat that is not much of a mouser, has an aversion to being pet and is not very amused at the idea of other living things. Daily her and "That Cat" (as she calls it) sit in her cluttered living room watching the same old news broadcasters boast about  events of horror in todays society. She will talk to That Cat about how mortified she is to hear of such tales. At this point in time That Cat will stare at her like it has no idea what she is talking about. She will pet it's matted white-ish fur and grin at it bit. That Cat will sneer at her showing the gaps where it's teeth once were, and meow the most pitiful meow you have ever heard. 

I feel like right now, at this point in life I find her face hard to describe and it feels very strange to make an attempt at even speaking of her past history or her current health status. All I know is that somehow she is here, I am here, and that means her and I are here together in this place we call life, together living, breathing, and pondering. I don't know how it came to be that we ended up so far apart and at such a loss for words to speak between each other. I must say it is impossible to completely understand how her disease has taken our lives.  Once the cancer is born it slowly begins to take a person over inch by inch. Like an oil spill in a deep ocean it's thick black sludge creeping up on you and spreading itself over your entire body before making it's way into your mind and spirit until it  finally seeps into the lives of loved ones around you. 

Sometimes, I  can feel her deep mossy  eyes smirk at me while she tells me how she feels like there's nobody left for her "I have nobody, but that damn cat" She tells me. Now when I  speak to her it as if I am not speaking to her, but as if I am speaking directly to her disease. I cannot help but want to weep at the poor decision she has made, and I cannot help but want to scream every time I utter the word ill. Although, oddly enough at some point along this path a spark of insight  splashed itself upon my face. I realized that I learned something priceless, that life is nothing but a temporary gift that can be taken away at any moment. That we simply do not know when death will strike upon us and lead us to a place unknown. So why can something so simple, so realistic, so natural knock us entirely off our feet when it has not even happened yet?    

The Peach

Walking down the street, munching on a peach.
That day,
I plucked it from a tree, and put in a brown paper bag.
Sweet nectar;
Trickled down from my lips into my heart.