timing is everything.

A collection of current work and work-in-progress | jillensley.com

Seen Sunday, Uptown.
Thinking of starting “Flowers of New Orleans” rather than humans.  They tend to not protest or question so much. View high resolution

Seen Sunday, Uptown.

Thinking of starting “Flowers of New Orleans” rather than humans.  They tend to not protest or question so much.

Sunrise over cemetery. 
Mid-City, New Orleans.
March, 2014. View high resolution

Sunrise over cemetery.
Mid-City, New Orleans.
March, 2014.

I randomly thought of my time in Florence, Italy today, this image in particular.  Something about her heaven-cast gaze, frozen in stone, looking out from a secret room, inside, looking out smiling in wonder.

"Noir #3"
Re-editing some images from a few years ago.
New Orleans, LA.
May, 2010. View high resolution

"Noir #3"

Re-editing some images from a few years ago.

New Orleans, LA.

May, 2010.

Re-editing some photos from three years ago.

Part of “Noir” series.

New Orleans, LA

May, 2010.

Ingredients 8.1 - 8.5  |  “I looked down and saw the moon, frozen and still, sending us messages in bubbles.  Some small wishes, wants, hopes and fears, coming to the surface.”

Produced: tubs of water to pack the freezer for Hurricane/Tropical Storm Karen

Ingredients 7.1  |  “We brought her up, up, up to live amongst giants.  Our hearts broken and flying.”
Produced: beet juice & lemonade
(as a sidenote: pleasantly, I cannot help but think of Philip Guston when I look at this.) View high resolution

Ingredients 7.1  |  “We brought her up, up, up to live amongst giants.  Our hearts broken and flying.”

Produced: beet juice & lemonade

(as a sidenote: pleasantly, I cannot help but think of Philip Guston when I look at this.)

"Pinyin Magritte"
Yes, I think I’m pretty clever with my pinyin, rudimentary Mandarin.  Hey man, use it or lose it. View high resolution

"Pinyin Magritte"

Yes, I think I’m pretty clever with my pinyin, rudimentary Mandarin.  Hey man, use it or lose it.

Only words.

New Orleans, you slay me. Sitting on the porch, quiet listening. November sunlight. 70 degrees, a breeze. Birds, dogs, children. A neighbor walks up and down the next block playing, practicing the trumpet, hidden. These moments are not rare, yet they always hit me right in the gut, up to my heart, and yes, I nearly cry.

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