Originally from Northern England, Alan Norsworthy has been a photographer since the late 1960's.

He moved to Canada in 1973 and has made Guelph Ontario his home for the last 24 years.

" I remember visiting the CN Tower in the early 70's and the guide said that as far as you could see in any direction is the best farmland in Canada. That comment echoes down the years as I watch subdivisions eat up the landscape."

The area around Guelph offers up a plethora of rural images which Alan captures with his artistic vision. His work covers everything from macro photographs of flowers, sweeping landscapes, historic buildings and old abandoned farms in both colour and Black and White.

"This is where I find my inspiration, I have a need to show people the beauty I see as I walk the woods and fields of Southern Ontario"


Sunday, December 1, 2013

cockspur hawthorn - Arkell


cockspur hawthorn - Arkell
Originally uploaded by Alan Norsworthy

“In this twentieth century, to stop rushing around, to sit quietly on the grass, to switch off the world and come back to the earth, to allow the eyes to see a willow, a bush, a cloud, a leaf, is ‘ an unforgettable experience’ “
~ Frederick Franck,The Zen of Seeing

This week the quote is at the beginning ...

Thinking of Franck’s words, of this statement, made me realise why I cling to my Saturday mornings.
Modern life takes us away from what is important or maybe it is we who allow ourselves to be lured away, responding to the siren song of the times.

I know that I while I am part of the concrete, the noise, the hustle and bustle of modern life ... I am not whole.
Monday to Friday I pay the piper, the pound of flesh is demanded and grudgingly paid.

The anticipation begins around mid week and builds until Saturday morning when things change,

I walk the trails and the modern day world slowly melts into insignificance.

Out there surrounded by the sounds of the forest the sirens sing a different song, one that I give myself too gladly and in the giving I am freed once more
Out there, amongst the tree’s, feeling the wind and snow chill my face and fingers I am at my happiest.

Simple pleasures, the tree’s, whispering tales of what is coming, birdsong from the chickadee’s, the sound of something moving through the brush up ahead and finally catching a glimpse of a deer at the edge of a meadow.
We watch him as he watches us...

We spy a Northern Shrike that quietly sits on a branch, an elusive ghost visiting from the northern woods brings delight and answers the question 'what's wrong with the chickadees this morning?' as they call out a warning...

All this becomes important and it is why I cling to my Saturday mornings

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