|
A Study in Scarlet
These photos were taken in Edinburgh, Scotland in January 2001.
The series is named "A Study in Scarlet" from the famous story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who was born and educated in this city.
Edinburgh may seem at first glance an old and grey city, but when you get to know it, it has a glowing center, which for me is symbolised by the many instances of the color red one finds in it.
(This series was published in summer 2002 by Amateur Photograher, Britain's largest photographic magazine.)
Yours, Eolake Stobblehouse
... A poet was inspired inspired by this series and wrote the following!
Red In Edinburgh
by Foye Lowe
The apples are red, in Edinburgh.
Like the glow of my rosy cheeks
When I was there.
The bus groans and grunts in Edinburgh.
At least it did when I was there.
Aboard the bus, beneath white hair,
A neck scarf here, a back coat there,
Will splash bright red on colors dead,
In Edinburgh.
The ash of death surrounds the red,
In Edinburgh.
One red portends a distant death,
And warns "no smoking" here
Aboard the bus, in Edinburgh.
A storefront boldly walls the street.
Enameled red, it gapes to tempt
A lusty tryst, in Edinburgh;
While, in the street, as tersely said,
The aft-borne lamps of cars and vans
Demand one "Stop!", in Edinburgh.
On moves the bus, in Edinburgh.
Once off the bus, if you should stroll
In search of Scots Museum,
With hopes a lass in mini-kilt
Will guide your tour, and flirt,
You'll see your stark, bipedal form,
Portrayed in red, forbidding you to cross:
"Nae, stay", it'll say, without a word,
On the bare slick streets of Edinburgh.
And strangely there, where danger's robed in red,
The booth which guards the public telephone -
The very means of seeking succor,
Of gasping, grasping, for the line of life -
Is . . . not at all in irony, not at all,
In red, all red, likewise dressed.
The color hot, to warn, alarm,
Will bid you "Come,
Oh, do come here!", in Edinburgh.
And there, where skin is monochrome,
A demolition chute, merry red, be-wary red,
Descends its scaffold camouflage
As though to mate the red sedan
Beside the wall parked tight, in Edinburgh.
At last you'll reach the place
Where go has gone, and go will go no more,
Embalmed at Scots Museum,
Where runs the metal chart
Of chronic hypertensive life,
Magenta-red, along the alley-way:
You'll find the heirloom whisky's
Locked away, in Edinburgh.
Then when you've walked until you're tired,
And you seek rest in Edinburgh,
You'll pass a place where food is sold,
And through the glass you must behold
The beckoning red of shaded lamps,
Hanging warm, to bid, not warn.
But you'll go on, to some café
So strong adorned with shades of red,
Like embers, glowing subtle fires of life.
And there infuse the vital sera in
The veins of your world-weary soul.
Oh, yes, there's red in Edinburgh.
|
|
