Native places in Nicole Lloyd's photo project. Poems about the motherland and native places

How often do we dream of escaping from our native places, going far away in the slips of a better life and reaching sky-high heights! And having carried out at least part of what was planned, how often then do we remember our native places, where the days of our carefree childhood passed? This is the question that Nicole Lloyd asks in her photography project “Places like home” and proposes to correct the situation - to remember where we come from and reconnect with our native places.

The Places Like Home photo project is a collection of images of suburban and rural American landscapes. Nicole began her work in northeastern Pennsylvania, her own hometown. According to the girl, it was an attempt to recreate a connection with her homeland, from where at one time she so passionately wanted to leave.

“By studying the places where we come from, we get the opportunity to reconnect with the past, try to understand its complexity and intricacies and realize its importance in who we have become now,” says Nicole Lloyd. Working on the series, as Nicole assures, forced her to constantly be in a conflict of emotions: the girl fluctuated between nostalgia and criticism, between gratitude and shame, between hope and sadness.

Exploring the landscapes of the country in the course of her work, Nicole suddenly discovered that there are many places that attract her in the same way as her home, cause the same emotional state - and this despite the fact that they are located thousands of kilometers from the places where she grew up. “I realized that home is not a specific place, but first of all it is feelings. So I started looking for landscapes that were not part of my past, but that evoked in me a sense of comfort and closeness, just like the places of my youth.”

Nicole Lloyd's work is photographs of someone's home. Houses, not in the sense of buildings, but in the sense of native places. And the girl really hopes that these photographs will be able to evoke in each viewer memories of their own childhood, of the places where we spent the first years of our lives.

Nicole Lloyd was born in 1980 in Allentown, Pennsylvania. She received her bachelor's degree from the Manhattan School of Visual Arts in 2004. She now lives in Los Angeles, California and works in an advertising agency.

I dream of the house where I grew up
Where the sun smiled boldly.
There, under the window, lilacs bloomed
And I bathed in her flowers.

Stupid, turned his head,
And in the meadow, in the fragrant herbs,
You gave me lilac then.
The lilac has grown old, withered ...

But I remember with a sigh
That bouquet is great.
And the house remained, decrepit,
Yes, that bench, where with you

We all dreamed under the moon.
Spring will come and I will come

Started new shoots
And a shadow in the window all day long.

Intoxicating, dizzy,

No more wandering together!

I want to go home, I want to go back
Where the summer is hot and light,
Where blizzards howl on winter nights,
Where I have always been so good ....
I often think about my friends
How much fun we all had...
Well, now I'm here alone, a stranger
And they were all there...
And waking up in the dark nights
Looking at the bright stars in the distance -
I understand that in a dream in vain
Together with friends and family, we...
I often see my father's house in dreams,
The village that has always been my home,
Papa's grave where he is buried -
Where have I not put flowers for a long time ...

Now I understand better
That our house is very dear to me,
Where I was born, where I lived
Remained childhood in that house.
Cherry blossoms in spring
Currant bushes bloomed
Big apple tree up to the roof
Threw white flowers.
But the years went by and everything changed
I don't live in that house.
And I often remember
How good I felt in it.
I grew up and one day
Walked along the native street
Everything is the same, but only
The ruins of the house and no yard ......
And the cherries don't bloom there anymore
The currant is no longer growing.
Broken branches of apple trees
Someone will take for the firebox.
Let them knock down the house, let them destroy it further,
But I won't forget him
Where I was born, where I lived
Where did my childhood end

And a silvery voice by the stream !!!


My relatives... lovely places!!!


And a multi-colored rainbow arc ......

Bow down to your mother's earth
And bow to the ground to the father,
We are indebted to them unpaid,
Keep this in mind for the rest of your life.

Good light burns in your windows,
Good world.

And let our childhood never end
Although we have become adults,
Because parents want
To keep us kids.

parental home
To the motive of the song "Parental House"

Wherever we are, but still
Always sure that
What will meet us with love and tenderness
Our marina is the parental home.

Parental home, the beginning of the beginning,
You are a reliable anchor in my life.
Parental home, even for many years
Good light burns in your windows.

We all leave one day
On your way, drawn by fate.
But we never forget
Where they were born and home.
Do you cut off the roots?
Everything grew there, loving you.
And you won't forget your home
Where did your life begin?

We all leave sometime
From friends and relatives.
Well, in the soul, we are experiencing,
As if we betrayed them.
But it often pulls us back.
And we are very eager to meet.
All that we lose is irretrievable.
Only for a moment give dreams.

We're all going somewhere
Find trying to converge roads.
And, only after sipping everything, we find out
How dear to us is our native threshold.
And how many places in the world
The beauties of the earth are innumerable.
But these divas will not replace
Those native places that are in the heart.

We all leave for some reason.
But who will answer this?
We dream of something ghostly
And we have been looking for happiness for many years.
The light of happiness always shines on us,
A little more, there, ahead ...
And so, again on the road! And that means-
Hope, believe and love life

I will sit on a passing train
I will run away to my native land.
where it smells like larch in May,
where my home is.
I'll walk the streets I know
I will climb our hill
and from love to the native side,
with all my heart I'll get drunk.
here in childhood we played hide and seek,
crowded mushrooms,
swam in the river, sunbathed, and had colorful dreams.
and no matter how many years have passed,
wherever fate takes
I dream of my native village,
trees, hills and river.
and though I rarely come,
worldly vanity keeps,
my side, my village,
forever in my heart.

Irina:

My blue-eyed beauty -
Voiced, birch Rus'!
Everything about you my dear like:
The roar of the sea, sunny heights.

Wind noise, endless expanses,
Golden domes of churches,
Forest, oak forests, fast-flowing rivers ...
There is nothing sweeter in the world.

The taste of fragrant rye bread,
The color of viburnum and rowan become,
Summer rains, fluffy snow ...
I love you, Russia - Mother!

I dream of a house, native places,

sunrise, sunset and the smell of the wind,

How golden wheat is in the fields

What a pity! That this is only a dream

I remember the train and the platform

My last evening with friends

And the wagon took me to the country,

Which they didn't know.

I know time can't be turned back

Now I have to settle down here

But I can't deceive my soul

What a pity! That this is just a dream.

We've been living here for a long time

Seemed like I needed to calm down.

But don't forget me anything

What a pity! That everything is just a dream.

I love my homeland, but with a strange love!
My mind won't defeat her.
Nor glory bought with blood
Nor full of proud trust peace,
No dark antiquity cherished legends
Do not stir in me a pleasurable dream.

But I love - for what, I do not know myself -
Her steppes are cold silence,
Her shoreless forests sway,
The floods of her rivers are like seas;

On a country road I like to ride in a cart
And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow of the night,
Meet around, sighing about an overnight stay,
The trembling lights of sad villages;

I love the smoke of the burnt stubble,
In the steppe, an overnight convoy,
And on a hill in the middle of a yellow field
A couple of whitening birches.

With joy, unknown to many,
I see a complete threshing floor
Thatched hut,
Carved shuttered window;

And on a holiday, dewy evening,
Ready to watch until midnight
To the dance with stomping and whistling
To the sound of drunken men.

Say good words about the Motherland, Take it all from your memories,
Let great deeds not be done there, But there are many reminders of happiness there.
There is childhood, mother, father, There are a lot of old friends you have left,
And there is beautiful nature, finally, And there it was always often and easily dreamed.
It's just hard to realize all this, You don't immediately understand all this in the distance,
At first I want to dream about another life, Well, then in the distance you just melt ...
After all, the Motherland is enclosed in you, She filled you, raised you, taught you,
Now she is in all her glory, It is in you, and, you know, this is the power.
And you will return to realize - You are attracted to a native place since childhood,
Grace will run through the body and overflow, And childhood will flash before the eyes again.
Say good words about the Motherland, About the fact that boredom is around the native,
Add a little more warmth, And easily go to your home ...

I will remember the years of my youth
When they walked with the whole crowd,
When we were friends and loved
And we didn't want to go home.

Those were golden years
It was time for youth.
And all that was sweet to the heart
Will never return.

I remember the house at the crossroads
And the old poplar at the gate,
I hear echoes in my heart
All my own.

There is no house, there is no tree.
Many years have passed since then
But still my heart ached
Since those years, everything has been traced in her.

Fate - the mistress of life drives
And my dream did not come true.
And it is clear that now it wakes up
Gryst heart sadness from afar.

Who said: "Russia is dead?"
I don't believe this slander.
Holy Rus', you stand like a wall,
On the way to the bandit expanse.
No matter how much I tried, I couldn't
Defeat you evil evil spirits.
Holy Rus' endured everything.
Time inevitably heals wounds.
And stands with the passage of centuries,
Determining the path for all peoples.
Who said: "Russia is dead?"
She's just gaining strength.

26.07.06 Vladimir Semyonov

Mother Russia!
I love the most
Your forests, fields, open spaces,
Your children's cheerful, sonorous laughter,
Winter sorceress flickering time.
I love how red spring will come!
Everything awakens to a better, new life,
From winter shimmering sleep
From the winter wonderful cover.
But now summer is coming for her:
Summer noise, noise, noise
Birches, dressed in bright greenery;
Noisy and summer village garden ...
And after the summer - autumn with leaf fall
Running slows down life for a while:
It will rain, it will pour out in hail,
Putting snow on the fields.
And now - winter!
Christmas trees -
Expanse for fun kids!
But spring drops are pouring again
On the streets, and temples, and courtyards.
And again they sing the praise of words and colors,
Easter ringing - in the blue dome!
This is how you live: from Easter to Easter
Mother Russia!
And we live - you!

Gleb VLADIMIROV, 10 years old.

I believe in a better Russia!
After all, I am not a slave of my country.
Your might and strength
We are endowed from birth.

I hear thunder under the sky
Your formidable Kremlin bell.
Live covered in snow
Blessed land!

I see the light of the coming faith
In you, as in our grace.
On the whole planet will be the first
Your parenthood.

I will sing to you forever
Only glorious psalms.
And there is no happier person
Whose homeland will you be?

I believe in a better Russia!
That day is coming like a snowball
When power and strength
Spilled starry milk

What is my homeland called?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?

Is that autumn birch over there?
Or spring drops?
Maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a cold winter day?

Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without mother's care dear,
And I'm not the same without friends.

That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be by your side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!

In native places, the wind smells like chamomile ...

And to the blade of grass the whole earth is its own !!!

In native places and the sun shines brighter ...

Let them tell me that there are other lands,

That there is another beauty in the world...

And I love my places... native...

My relatives... lovely places!!!

In native places - the color of the sky is blue,

In native places - spacious meadows ...

Birch trunks are straighter and slimmer...

And a colorful rainbow arc...

I dream of the house where I grew up
Where the sun smiled boldly.
There, under the window, lilacs bloomed
And I bathed in her flowers.
Lilac, lilac, forgotten smell!
Stupid, turned his head,
And in the meadow, in the fragrant herbs,
You gave me lilac then.
The lilac has grown old, withered ...
Many years have passed since then!
But I remember with a sigh
That bouquet is great.
And the house remained, decrepit,
Yes, that bench, where with you
To the roosters, to the third, singing,
We all dreamed under the moon.
Spring will come and I will come
In my house, where there is a lilac under the window
Started new shoots
And a shadow in the window all day long.
Lilac, lilac, forgotten smell,
Intoxicating, dizzy,
But you and I in fragrant herbs,
No more wandering together!

°☼° ° ° °☼°

Everything has changed with this life abroad.

And I want to go home, get drunk from the fast river.
But, the trouble is, I can’t find the way ...
Go through Europe. Is it a lot or a little?
Walk barefoot, without stopping, without longing!
Yes, I want to go home, to where my mother is ...
There, where the native home, where the nightingales whisper ...
Everything has changed with this life abroad!
Everything here is not to your liking, but only to your mind!
Yes, only I dream: to go out into a clean field,
And shout about how much I love the Motherland!

Never go back to places where you felt bad. Never ask from those who refused once. And no longer let those who once hurt you close.

We don't know where happiness comes from. But there are places where it lies, filled with a slide.

No need to look for the guilty where you should admit your mistakes.

Everything changes: strangers become relatives, relatives become strangers. Friends turn into passers-by, loved ones into acquaintances.

Stop looking for the perfect people. Looking for kindred spirits!

Unfortunate is the person who has a favorite restaurant and no favorite author. He found a favorite place to feed his body, but he didn't find a favorite place to feed his mind.

There is no point in looking for a place where you will feel good. It makes sense to learn how to create this "good" in any place.

Marriage becomes happy not because spouses get along so well with each other, but because they persevere through those places where they do not get along.

You are where your thoughts are. Make sure your thoughts are where you want to be.