February 1, 2015 - 20:45
I chose my scape as the bench on the Morris Woods walk. The image I chose to represent my scape does not show the depth and diversity of the forest, nor the point of view from where I sit. The bench is not in the picture I chose. I am looking around, below, and above, but from the ground, where as the picture is taken from above. The picture does not show the interlocking, interweaving, roots or crunchy, white snow blanketing the ground. The picture does not depict the bitter, ruthless cold.
The image of my scape does not include the crusty, thin, delicate, yellow and red, rusty leaves, or the rocks in the forest. The layers of the woods are missing in the map of my spot. The height and strength of the trees is not understood in the image. The designs the interweaving, fragile branches make in the sky of hearts, birds, candles, shoes, and other objects is not shown in the image.
The image of my scape does not have a particular focus. The image of my scape seems to be taken during a sunnier, greener time of the year, where the forest seems more alive and vibrant. The image gives a more sweeping
and simple outline of the shape and design of the forest. The picture does not show the path I took to Morris Woods nor the footprints of those before me.
There is no movement in the picture, where as everything around my spot seems to be advancing, progressing, and evolving. The picture shows limits of the expansion of the trees, where as from my spot, looking backward, I cannot see the edge of the forest or where the snow ends.
There is no intrigue in the map of my scape. There is no sense of exploration.
Terra incognita here is what lies between those big, thick trees.
