This morning, I woke hoping to find the purple, diaphanous dress of my dreams (where is that sewing machine?) in the closet to match these Janus-like water hyacinths that bloom in the ponds around the magic cottage in April and August.

Last year, I compared these to a data visualization using the Many Eyes tool; this year, upon closer examination, even the stems seem to sparkle—stunning the closer you lean in (see the larger version here).

From one stem, the petals face in many directions (Janus was the god of doors and beginnings) like the stance scholar Kwame Anthony Appiah takes in the film and his work that the cosmopolitan citizen understands multiple ideologies and ways of sorting the world as equally valid.

And in our continuing coverage of spider web season, here’s a new web for your Saturday—

Related posts:

1. the fastening points
2. after the morning rain
3. of leaves and light

The sun lit the strands stretching to anchor the webs—I have begun looking for the fastening points, the fancy work at the edges,

the taut lines apart from a web proper.

Against the deep blue, the whole web starts to shimmer and tries on one color after another,

and small, new points dot the inner, the outer, and above on this day celebrating the Earth…

Related posts:

1. b is for bokeh
2. examining life
3. silvery spinnings

Related posts:

1. of leaves and light
2. transformative light in Miami
3. sun light, Ms. Albright, first spider I see tonight

As though woven by chlorophyll artists, I noticed the slight tears and small holes in many of the leaves the other day. Perhaps part of the tropical storm weather, perhaps an inevitable consequence of their longevity.

They seem to tell stories–this one bruised by an old memory, that one letting parts be eaten away.

And then, I started to look through the gaps, thinking about the leaves as the negative space surrounded by the light.

It is the tears of these native leaves, then, that I’ll lean in closer to see, that beckon me into the end of the week…or is it the beginning?

Related posts:

1. very certain slants of light
2. transformative light in Miami
3. painting with light in dolores park

I wiped the sleep out of my eyes, blinked until the bright spots focused

into lace–the moisture highlighting the web’s edgework.

And straight above me, I watched a snail wend its way on a path edged in light.

With similar determination, here we all go on lighted paths into our weeks…

Related posts:

1. caterpillar flowers, dancing shoes, and tiny, bubbling ideas
2. the fastening points
3. b is for bokeh

I bought a camera on eBay, I told her, opened the box, attached the lens, and went outside. The first thing I saw was a spider’s web, and I developed that first image of the first roll in a dark room later that week as part of a photography workshop.

Soon after, kthread was born, in May of 2004 (I started blogging later, so we celebrate those anniversaries in January). That first spider image became the background of the first kthread, a conceptual Flash site where a spider figures heavily in the navigation. More details on kthread design and cyberfeminism in the colophon.

Another spider hovers in the current header image of this blog, and the universe continues to place webs in my path.

With so much still to learn about photography, I’ve found webs difficult to capture (perhaps it’s the challenge I enjoy so)—the strands are too slender for the camera’s viewfinder, and it all dissolves into a beautiful blur.

(Read the rest after the jump.)

Late afternoon sun often throws webs into focus, though, and Ziggy-zaggy (yes, that should explain my profile image and Halloween costume) patterns dazzle while the spider continues her work, climbing up to patch a section,

back down to command the center of her strung architecture.

Behind and beyond the web, I now attempt to make the background into colored bokeh circles (swimming to the right in the image below).

Even from the side, as I stealthily draw closer to a still and silent web,

it begins to dance, gifting light,

industriously sending vibrating lines of work down, up, and out—

Related posts:

1. b is for bokeh
2. the fastening points
3. silvery spinnings

There is a severe sense of fabulous in some Miami areas, where women dress entirely in white, there is always a rooftop beckoning with undulating conversation in many languages, a highlighted liquor in the drinks being passed (last night, rum), and the sense that the heat rising from streets can somehow be contained, shaped, repurposed.

But I’ll let video tell this short story—if you live in Miami, the exhibit runs this Saturday through August 12th (51 NW 36th Street, Facebook event page) and is worth a visit, if only for my favorite Tetris piece—

(see the rest of the story after the jump)

wait for the fanciful object seemingly left by Edward Scissorhands (Jenne and her friend (and happily, my new acquaintance) Stefanie are in the beginning),

my favorite, a Tetris game by Max Gomez Canle of cities and skylines, as if buildings were scraped from the sky (the ongoing construction in Miami does transform light patterns as you discover when walking the city):

burnt pages next to plastic ties affixed to a pole light:

Sebastien Laboureau explained why the rooftop is liberating:

and we enjoyed beautiful burrata at Michael’s Genuine afterwards:

I’m lucky to work with the lovely Jenne and beginning to piece together what Miami—this strange amalgamation of culture, beauty, danger, and fascinating people—holds for those of us who have, like the buildings in the citified Tetris, dropped from the sky to fit into this game logic…

Related posts:

1. first Miami food exploration of the new year
2. of leaves and light
3. sun light, Ms. Albright, first spider I see tonight