The Photographic Looking Glass of Seattle

The home I came to love, the life I came to live, the people I came to call family. I am Seattle, I live in Mount Vernon and Bellingham but despite this I am still Seattle. This past election I voted on Seattle issues, I voted for a Governor concerning issues in regards to Bellingham, Mount Vernon, but mostly for Seattle. I have dreams of one day graduating and moving my life to Seattle, getting my art degree in Seattle and settling down in Seattle. It's not just the big buildings and busy streets that drive my love. It's the feeling of the place the smells and the imagery, its life in life, a pulsation of culture in a city. The life I have put on hold for a lifetime.

I am a photographer, but more than that I am alive. I capture the moments of my life that exhibit the great feelings and passions, the things I find beauty in. I am an artist that paints words and writes images, I live for the mind and the heart. I paste my soul into everything I do; whenever I do, whatever I do, wherever I do it. As an artist I take a special pride in this, like a great tapestry in which I am designing a great universe of impossible things simply so as someone else can feel an iota of whatever I happen to be feeling. I suffer from a great many things that make me experience things tenfold. I am Bipolar, with manic depression, and I have suffered my entire life with ADHD where I can hardly keep my mind on a single thing at a time, I tend to be everywhere at once and nowhere at the same time. I get lost in the great tapestry of mind, the tapestry of which I construct my art, my love.

The land of Seattle is so rampant with artists it is as if she has whored herself into the night to search out the brilliance of the tinny sound, or the luster of the glistening paints caressing her landscapes and reproducing the natural breath of life that is her womb. I will unashamedly admit to having paid her with my camera and utensils of illustration. I have caressed her in the quiet respite of the night, but it was in love and in passion that I worked over the buildings with my lens and I am proud to call her my home.

Art is in my blood my life and my soul. My mother went through art school to become an art teacher. My father went through school and is an artist. My grandparents were artists before they retired and my grandfather died. The feeling I get when I lay my hands on a brush or a pencil can only be likened to the rushing of warm water over the entirety of your body, it’s as though someone has warmed the sea near the beach and the tide is coming in. The brush passing over the curvature of the canvas, the pencil picking up every contour of the paper is a whole new experience. The production of art is in its self great beyond belief, the deep understanding and discipline one must go through to create truly good works of art is something to be appreciated if not admired. There is a very eastern feeling in the relationship with the artist and their canvas and the canvas with the muse almost as if a master were conducting a student on the ways of properly performing a tea ceremony or the proper ways of honing a blade.

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Deviations by Bogenengel (me)

http://fc41.deviantart.com/fs36/f/2008/263/b/6/Buss_Legs_by_bogenengel.jpg
http://fc76.deviantart.com/fs13/f/2006/363/f/f/Morning_Lights_3_by_bogenengel.jpg
http://fc90.deviantart.com/fs15/f/2006/363/b/9/City_in_Fog_by_bogenengel.jpg
http://fc32.deviantart.com/fs15/f/2006/363/3/0/Spyre_2_by_bogenengel.jpg
http://fc97.deviantart.com/fs37/f/2008/283/f/5/Seattle_Bansy_2_by_bogenengel.jpg

The Romani People

The Romani, the word isn't even found in my computer's dictionary, the people however can be evoked anywhere you look. When you look at the culture itself it's hard to see why, they keep mostly to themselves with their historically nomadic habits and their quiet nature. The way they have lived and died would almost be sure to have been rushed over by the sands of time and snuffed out, considering they were a large target for the Nazis in World War II. A personal hatred of Adolf Hitler's the Gypsy was so far spread and immersed in their culture that perhaps he found some personal threat by a culture so rich in it's own history and ways. An event of such horrific brutality that would make any Romani of age shudder and bless themselves is the occurrence of Porajmos or “The Devouring” in the Roma language. This event in and of itself had claimed over two-hundred thousand lives, enough to drive any population of any race down a considerable amount. The tragedy that befell the Romani people has been sadly hushed up and left for forgotten in comparison with the Holocaust which took more than six million European Jewish lives. In reverence of this horrendous event there were massacres all across Europe that made many orphans, widows and widowers and the tragedy lives on in the hearts of the world.

The gypsy is often seen as a whimsical creature of fantasy, thieves and rogues, historically speaking this is partly correct. Generally speaking however this is propaganda mostly started in World War II along with the rat-nosed illustrations of Jewish people like any other tasteless portrayal of bigoted hatred there was little to no truth in the pictations of race when the Nazi regime was concerned. The Roma people unfortunately have forever been thrown to the dogs yet still strive to exist, strive to forever remain who they are and their honor and pride is such that this wish has carried them for more than a thousand years. Their strength is such to be admired and respected from small caravans of migrants to large camps of Roma their past is as mysterious as the people, it is known however that they split into several directions when migrating around Europe. Originating from around South Asia; they migrated between England, Finland, France, Hungary, Turkey, Portugal, Russia, Scotland, Spain, and Sweden ultimately migrating into the Americas and onward.

In the images accompanied is shown the progression of the Gypsy people, from a people of migratory nature to a people of prideful exhibition. Their history is one of intrigue for members of historical reenactment guilds, their dress and colorful spectrum of lives allow volumes to be spoken for them. Improvisational actors portray the lives and spirit of the Roma people, a very beautiful people intricate in every detail of their being, telling stories of what was once a great nation that was divided and spread into the very corners of the earth to be consumed by civilization. Like the Native American tribes their custom was a unique one that summons forth more fantastical imagery than realistic fact. The Gypsy is a creature of wondrous intent their mystery and solitude drives our imaginations to places of incredible fascination. Philosophically speaking the Roma are like Atlantians, spread out and populated the earth with their culture and stories but eventually enveloped by the general populous becoming nothing more than myth. So, the question is brought forth, if we are to glorify the image of the fantastical Gypsy does it become a creature of wonderment, or will it help preserve the image of the Roma people? The Romani? I suppose the best answer for this question is what is love? Truly why do we love, through this we realize that the Roma are a people of love. As long as the culture is loved and the culture loves back the Roma will never die.


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Images can be found at these sites.

southfloridadaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/gypsy.jpg
www.sacred-texts.com/neu/roma/img/roma.jpg
www.mlahanas.de/greece/history/images/romaaetolia.jpg
media-2.web.britannica.com/eb-media/15/90015-004-bf7ca0aa.jpg
www.serpukhov.su/museum/yarosh_gypsy.jpg

March, 28 2007

"Lillianna is now den mother...
everyone knows she is pregnant.
Some people know it's with a metis.
Sadly we also know there is a chance she may die..."

There are many things I have found out about the caern and garou society...
firstly, I am indeed werewolf I have come to terms with this, and have found that
my past means nothing now. Now that I have learned the basics of shifting I have
been confronted and asked to help the newer cubs... I have doubts about them.

I was asked by Lillianna to provide a challenge, for Grace's rite of passage, and
after talking with Grace about how she is always being betrayed. I am glad this was
a non-personal attack, to prove her worth.

The objective I was given was to test Grace to see if she was ready to become
Cleioth, the rank after cub (Rank 1) her challenge was to guard a pregnant fostern
from attack.

My first plan was to draw away Grace and leave her cub unguarded then to have
my pack close in and take out the cub. Using a sneak attack from the Umbra.

The first attack was prevented due to Elona's interference, and to the confirmation
of my fears that the cubs were not trained well in combat, they are strong, but they
are afraid of attack.

I dropped out of the Umbra in a surprise attack, and had but two seconds before
being hit. Grace hit me across the face with her boken, I heard it connect with one
of the other cubs. Then I heard something that almost made me lose control, the
thump of running feet. This is the first change I will make if I become cub alpha, I
will lead their training regiments. I understand that they are new... but to abandon
a fight this early and easily...

I found myself out-manned and overpowered, there was no choice for me to take
but regroup and lead another attack.

With this development in the course of things I have come to realize, the task ahead
of me will not be a simple one.

It is odd though last night I told Grace that I wouldn't challenge her position as
alpha. And yet that is what I have ended up doing. I have basically evicted Grace
from her position as alpha via means of advancement. Perhaps peoples views of me
as a Shadow Lord were correct. I want to be honest but something tells me I have
a future in this caern for something special.

The next challenge I presented was to bring in force. At this point I should comment
that it is agreed upon that there should be no lethal force and no gifts are to be used. I
was joined by a guhral who suggested that a garous strength is in numbers. Which led
me to the idea that I should try and recruit a stronger force, Therin was his name, I
will use his help in the future. However at this point I recruited Flash Gordan, a Bone
Gnawer of Silent Strider aspect, and a female garou, whom I have spoken little to,
I must remember to speak with her.

With my new force we set out in an honorable fashion to fight with Grace, we found
her not far from the den. After reacquainting ourselves with the challenge we prepared
to fight. Elona, the wise girl she is, threw a challenge to make me either drop my boken
or to run away, I am a warrior at heart. I dropped my weapon, but she was persistent
she used intimidation, which would have worked had Therin not stepped in. Therin
held a challenge against Elona to make her either stand down or run away, she is a
warrior as well... she stood down.

I dodged Graces boken, grabbed it broke her leg and beat her with her boken. In
essence I would have won had the battle not gone in a completely opposite turn
there was a grand fight, but unfortunately things took a turn for the worse. The cubs
know nothing of the heat of battle, in this battle they chose to watch and stand out
of harms way. It is odd that I ended up fighting off two opponents, and they, the
stronger fighters stood away and fought no one. Unfortunately after a while Flash
decided that honor was no longer important and he used a gift. Falling touch, on Elona
she was doing nothing and he used falling touch on her, a humiliation to a great warrior.

I close saying only that next week I will be cub alpha... I have proven my skill.

Stephens Story

Running down the trail Stephen felt the sweat of his brow fall to the ground, his shirt soaked with blood and matted fur. He turned the corner to find a cave entrance, and a man.

"What is your name?" The stranger asked, blocking Stephen from entering the cave.
"Whats going on? I need help!" Stephen spoke speedily.
"What happened?" The man interrupted.
"Last night I passed out... well I guess it was a bit before that. I started drinking and got relatively smashed. At the time my friends Karen and Michel were acting up and started having a fight. I walked in to see what was going on... and passed out."

Stephen recollected looking at the man in front of him with some curious regard. He and his garb looked Asian, he was draped in what looked like priests clothing and had two swords at his belt.

"When I woke up I was covered in blood and had fur matted to my skin, my shirt was torn and my friends were nowhere to be seen. I ran for fear and that brings me here." At this the man took Stephen by the arm and brought him inside. The entrance was crowded with people.

"Who is this?" A woman asked looking at Stephen in his tattered clothes and ragged appearance.
"A new cub." The man told the woman. Leaving out the door he had just entered.
"Another one?" The woman muttered, she was dark skinned and her garb was fit for a priestess.

Just then a man in a Russian trench coat entered the cave accompanied by the man in priests clothing. Everyone stopped and bowed, Stephen sat down and watched the procession. The Russian
was taken into the next catacomb and Stephen got up to gather more information.

"Stop! Your filthy!" A strong broad Scottish man stopped him from entering the next room.
"Just cleanse him." The man spoke in a growling demanding tone.
"A cub? I'm not an animal!" Stephen spoke but shut up instantly and looked at his clothes.
What if... no

outside he was asked to stand a ways away from the enterance and wait to be cleansed. The woman raised her hands, and suddenly a slight drizzle of water was poured down upon his skin. He started scrubbing off the blood and hair matted to his clothes. The Scotsman stepped in and cast another spell, causing the water to downpour.

"You clean?" The Scotsman asked rhetorically.
"Who are you people" Stephen spoke but got no answer.

Inside he found the enterance even more packed with people, he waited for someone to notice him. Soon the man in priests garbs showed up again.

"Who are you?" Stephen asked the man.
"My name is Kensai, I am the pack protector." Kensai stated walking towards another man.
"This is the new cub."

Kensai gave Stephen to the new man, this one was dressed in green and looked rather less regal than the others Stephen had talked with. The man analyzed Stephen and said to follow him. They walked through the passageway and into a grand hall. A huge cave of mammoth
proportions. The hall had been packed, this room was crushing with twice as many people. They were of all different types, creeds, races, sexes, and some even looked to be mixed bags of all of it. Stephen looked around and noticed something that made him stop in his footsteps, there were not just humans here, there were wolves, in multitudes of sizes, what looked like cave men, and Werewolves.

"Oh f**k, thank god. I must still be dreaming, that would explain the rain." Stephen thought following the man in green.

Stephen followed him out the other side of the cave, into a smaller canal of passages. Into a cave that was filled with boxes and furniture.

"Sit I have much to tell you. My name is Gregory" The man said, in a polite suggestive manner.

Stephen sat and listened to a story of what had most likely happened to him his friends and why he was covered in fur. It had already been a long day, and he could still tell it was merely dawn. There was a noise at the catacomb door.

"Hey Greag how's it going? Oh a new cub great!" Gregory welcomed him into the room and continued on.

"So we are connected to Gaia. More so than humans, for we are wolf kin, Werewolf, Garou."

At this Stephen stood back and realized something important, something odd, something dire, and he only hoped he was dreaming.