The Photographic World Of Tom Wasilewski

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Images Of Light

grey ghosts move through empty, dark streets

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The Siege

A new post on my blog: The Siege

They were taken captive by surprise It was an unseen enemy They had to stay inside It was everywhere Unseen Siege … At night we sit with our fearsAfraid to sleep Not sure what the morning will bring Siege Barbara R Maxwell

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Focus on The infinity of The sky

Focus on The infinity of The sky

I like this misty look carved out of a drop of rain in the morning fog. Silver plated on curbs and ship’s ropes around. Covers with a white satin curtain a summer that never came. Summer. Summer. Summer. It doesn’t sink into my shoes. It doesn’t wet my pants’ bottoms. It doesn’t collect the dust of the road into the tight knitting of the t-shirt fabric. Everything is different than previously,…

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Alicja

Alicja-an extremely talented Artist and Her personal website.

My Beautiful Alicja – an extremely talented Artist and Her personal website.

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Tom Wasilewski Shop | Redbubble

Tom Wasilewski is an independent artist creating amazing designs for great products such as t-shirts, stickers, posters, and phone cases.

This is just the beginning. The Official Shop The Photographic World of Tom Wasilewski is open! 

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Aberdeen Christmas Lights Switch-on Parade 2017

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Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Macbeth

walking shadow Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

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pressure | a man goes to sea for many reasons. perhaps to sense it's beauty and stare at the infinite horizon that offers no questions, and seeks no answers. but there are also those who go to sea ultimately because they are lost, and never want to be found |

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A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life’s battles. The vastness of the sky, the mobile architecture of the clouds, the changing coloration of the sea, the twinkling of the lights, are a prism marvelously fit to amuse the eyes without ever tiring them. The slender shapes of the ships with their complicated rigging, to which the surge lends harmonious oscillations, serve to sustain within the soul the taste for rhythm and beauty. Also, and above all, for the man who no longer possesses either curiosity or ambition, there is a kind of mysterious and aristocratic pleasure in contemplating, while lying on the belvedere or resting his elbows on the jetty-head, all these movements of men who are leaving and men who are returning, of those who still have the strength to will, the desire to travel or to enrich themselves.

“The Port” by Charles Baudelaire

Crónicas Portuarias II A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life’s battles. The vastness of the sky, the mobile architecture of the clouds, the changing coloration of the sea, the twinkling of the lights, are a prism marvelously fit to amuse the eyes without ever tiring them.

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…When sleep deserted me I crawled out of my bed unseen To delve into the crevices of the dark With the curiosity of an explorer And the near comatose of a somnambulist I walked up and down the steep slopes of the night Like a night watchman Without a lantern in his hand

Sitting there, I listened to the song of night birds, The rustle of leaves, The howl of wolves, And the night wind’s rave

Valsa George

      Night birds song ...When sleep deserted me I crawled out of my bed unseen To delve into the crevices of the dark…

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O nieba płynnych pogód, o ptaki, o natchnienia. Nie wydeptana ziemia, nie wyśpiewane Bogu te drzewa, te kaskady iskier, ten oddech nieba, w ramionach jak w kolebach zamknięty. Jak cokoły drzewa z szumem na poły; serca jak dzbany łaski, takie serca jak gwiazdki, takie oczu obłoki, taki lot – za wysoki. Słońce, słońce w ramionach czy twego ciała kryształ pełen owoców białych, gdzie zdrój zielony tryska, gdzie oczy miękkie w mroku tak pół mnie, a pół Bogu. Twych kroków korowody w urojonych alejach, twe odbicia u wody jak w pragnieniach, w nadziejach. Twoje usta u źródeł to syte, to znów głodne, i twój śmiech, i płakanie nie odpłynie, zostanie. Uniosę je, przeniosę jak ramionami – głosem, w czas daleki, wysoko, w obcowanie obłokom.

K.K. Baczyński 8 IX 42 r.

Miłość O nieba płynnych pogód, o ptaki, o natchnienia. Nie wydeptana ziemia, nie wyśpiewane Bogu te drzewa, te kaskady…

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These wet rocks where the tide has been, Barnacled white and weeded brown And slimed beneath to a beautiful green, These wet rocks where the tide went down Will show again when the tide is high Faint and perilous, far from shore, No place to dream, but a place to die,— The bottom of the sea once more. There was a child that wandered through A giant’s empty house all day,— House full of wonderful things and new, But no fit place for a child to play.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

    Low tide These wet rocks where the tide has been, Barnacled white and weeded brown And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,

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A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life’s battles. The vastness of the sky, the mobile architecture of the clouds, the changing coloration of the sea, the twinkling of the lights, are a prism marvelously fit to amuse the eyes without ever tiring them. The slender shapes of the ships with their complicated rigging, to which the surge lends harmonious oscillations, serve to sustain within the soul the taste for rhythm and beauty. Also, and above all, for the man who no longer possesses either curiosity or ambition, there is a kind of mysterious and aristocratic pleasure in contemplating, while lying on the belvedere or resting his elbows on the jetty-head, all these movements of men who are leaving and men who are returning, of those who still have the strength to will, the desire to travel or to enrich themselves.

“The Port” by Charles Baudelaire

Crónicas portuarias I A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life's battles. The vastness of the sky, the mobile architecture of the clouds, the changing coloration of the sea, the twinkling of the lights, are a prism marvelously fit to amuse the eyes without ever tiring them.

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Our common days. Last days are many changes. This is a new home with my beloved Alicja. This is the hope and fresh wind in the sails. It was a quietly sleepy night, wide open arms and her lovely green eyes. Last days. Together.

Last days Our common days. Last days are many changes. This is a new home with my beloved Alicja.

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A lot of steps around Aberdeen harbour. I love the smell of the sea. I love the stories of silent ships. Rustle rusting rust from rusty anchors.

Tom Wasilewski

Pentax K-1 Voigtländer Ultron 40mm f/2 SL II Aspherical Voigtländer Color-Skopar 20mm f/3.5 SL II Aspherical SMC Pentax-DA* 60-250mm F4 ED [IF] SDM (FF mod) Tamron Adaptall 2 135mm f/2.5

I Love the Smell of the Sea A lot of steps around Aberdeen harbour. I love the smell of the sea. I love the stories of silent ships.

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wednesday

i a  m positive that   you are  made  of s  t   a  r   d  u  s  t and  water  balloons, oil  pastels  and  the collecti­on          of settled     sugar at             the b o t  t o m of      my c u p s o     f t e a Megan Grace Pentax K-1+ Tamron Adaptall 2 135mm f/2.5

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The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg

  Fog I

Fog II

Fog III

Fog IV

Fog V

Fog VI

Fog VII

Fog VIII

Pentax K-1+ Voigtländer Ultron 40mm f/2 SL II Aspherical

Fog The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. Carl Sandburg Pentax K-1+ Voigtländer Ultron 40mm f/2 SL II Aspherical