General

Why watch the picture so much and life so little? Why see the high definition and not the nuance of emotion, the way people open themselves to you every day, that subtle invitation to join their world? I love a photograph, I love oil brushed upon canvas, but I am in love with nature, with people, with life.

General

The picture was a time machine. One glance and he was back in his teen years with his life stretched before him, all the decisions that lay between his present self and his past self were unmapped, anything was possible. How impossible it seemed that all those day-to-day decisions would take him across these thirty years to where he now sat, broken and miserable. If he'd just missed the train that day they would never had met, then where would he be now? Surely not here.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, December 13, 2013.
General

The picture was her final treasure waiting to be packed for the journey. In whatever room she had called her own since childhood, there it had also lived and looked at her, not quite familiar, not quite smiling, but in its prim colonial hues delicate as some pressed flower. Its pale oval, of color blue and rose flazen, in a battered, pretty gold frame, unconquerably pervaded any surroundings with a something like last year's lavender.

By james, May 2, 2012.

Found in The Virginian, authored by Owen Wister.