Still life with Poppies by Natalie Panga
Natalie Panga is a talented self-taught photographer from the city of Rivne, Ukraine. Doctor therapist by education and profession, she appreciates and understands the value of life, capturing its beautiful moments. The wonderful artist as if transmits her beautiful inner world into photography. The main subject of her inspirational work – classic still life. Among variety of photo albums I offer to look at the series ‘Still life with Poppies’.
“In the house of words was a table of colors. They offered themselves in great fountains and each poet took the color he needed: lemon yellow or sun yellow, ocean blue or smoke blue, crimson red, blood red, wine red.” Eduardo Galeano, The Book of Embraces
“Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?”
As for marigolds, poppies, hollyhocks, and valorous sunflowers, we shall never have a garden without them, both for their own sake, and for the sake of old-fashioned folks, who used to love them. Henry Ward Beecher
In Flanders Field the poppies bow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. John McCrae
Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees
If our loves remain
In an English lane,
By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies.
The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when one thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion. Oscar Wilde
On a half-reapèd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers.
As metal merges with metal, those who chant the Praises of the Lord are absorbed into the Praiseworthy Lord. Like the poppies, they are dyed in the deep crimson color of Truthfulness. Those contented souls who meditate on the Lord with single-minded love, meet the True Lord.”
Sri Guru Granth Sahib
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row.
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.”