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By this time, only Lee and I were still here, in the company of our new friend Brian, who for avoidance of doubt among regular readers was not the same Brian who accompanied us on our previous visit to Iceland. This Brian was a human being rather than a yellow VW campervan, touring the area on a five night visit from Chicago. Somehow, and despite having a young family at home, he’d been given clearance by mission control to fly to Iceland and spend a few days alone taking photographs. When my children were the same age as his were now, I could barely make it down to the shop at the end of the road to pick up a pint of milk without company, never mind climb aboard a plane bound for somewhere across the Atlantic Ocean. And here he was, sitting alongside us on this far flung Icelandic beach. The crowds had long since departed - not that you really get crowds at Hvalnes, hidden away from the madding hordes as it is. Last time we’d been here, three years earlier on that gloomy grey morning, we hadn’t seen a single soul as the rain endlessly coated our cameras and foiled our intentions, whilst hiding the landscape in featureless clouds.
Now as autumn kicked in, things were rather different. We’d been here since the middle of the afternoon, absorbing the views, wandering over the beach and the headland by the squat, square orange lighthouse, planning compositions. The shot I’d come for three summers earlier was hopefully somewhere on the SD card, and there was a general feeling of contentment. Despite the increased number of visitors in comparison to last time, it was still very peaceful here. Eystrahorn had put right the wrongs of 2019 when moodily I’d perched on the slippery rocks, barely removing the protective plastic sandwich bag from the camera as it sat unused on the tripod. Everything was visible, from the emphatic bulk of Eystrahorn rising at our side, a symphony of bumps, crags and ridges adorned with heavy skirts of scree, to the distant Brunnhorn that sits back to back against its neighbour Vestrahorn. In between lay a hinterland of forbidding mountains that cloaked the monstrous Vatnajokull glacier, and before them, volleys of white surf danced across a narrow spit of black sand that stretched away beside the huge tidal lagoon into the distance and out of sight. Elemental joy, in whichever direction you chose to look.
There are no cities, towns, nor even villages here - you’d need to drive more than thirty miles in one direction before finding yourself at Djúpivogur, nestling among the south eastern fjords, home to five hundred hardy Icelanders. If instead you decide to head west, you’d travel pretty much the same distance to arrive at Höfn, a veritable metropolis in these parts with almost two and a half thousand inhabitants. Apart from that, there are farms, the odd shepherd’s hut, and an ever increasing number of cabins and bunkhouses to accommodate us tourists. All other compass points lead into the vast ocean or the mostly impenetrable mountains at the edge of the largest glacier in Europe. It’s a long way to go if you forgot to pick up that pint of milk, that’s for sure. You’d have to go and knock on a farmhouse door carrying an empty jug, unless you like your coffee black.
With all of that grand vista spreading away in front of us, the long lens offered possibilities beyond the capabilities of its companions in the bag, and in the golden hour it came into its own, especially in these unforgettable minutes when the pinks began to fill the sky, while the golds continued to linger. On the darkening sand, maybe half a mile away, a small group of visitors roamed the shore, taking selfies, playing beach games, gazing out towards the sea, totally oblivious to the three photographers lurking on those distant rocks. A rare moment when the colours of the golden and blue hours seemed to overlap one another and produce a sky that glowed with heavenly fire, drawing a frenzy of shutters rapidly opening and closing. These are the moments that stay with you, a timeless reminder of why you fell in love with landscape photography. A reminder of why a place like this gets inside of your senses and never leaves.
Our first full day in the southeastern corner had been a good one. We said farewell as Brian headed east to Djúpivogur, while we went the opposite way towards our rented chalet at Stafafell. And little did we know that just a few hours later we’d be out of bed, taking photographs of the Northern Lights. But that’s another story. And another unforgettable one at that too. Iceland keeps on making the stories write themselves.
The first burros to reach the Americas accompanied Christopher Columbus on his second trip across the Atlantic, landing in Hispaniola in 1495. Burros were taken to Mexico by the first bishop of Mexico in 1528 and the first burros to cross the Rio Grande were probably brought in 1598 by Juan de Oñate, conquistador and first colonial governor of the province of Santa Fe de Nuevo México. From there, burros moved north and west, first with missionaries and later with miners prospecting for gold and silver.
Burros have lived on the San Rafael Swell since the early 1800s, when the Old Spanish Trail connected Santa Fe with Los Angeles. The northernmost route passed through Green River and then over the San Rafael Swell. Early travelers lost burros or they were run off by rustlers and the hardy burros quickly established wild herds on the Swell. The Sinbad Herd was supplemented when local uranium mining collapsed in the late 1940s and miners simply abandoned their burros when they left.
I can only describe these wild burros as sweet but reticent.
As I approached them, they approached me. We were all respectful and curious. I tossed a few apples on the ground, about midway between us. They only investigated the apples as I drove away.
These burros were in Sid's Mountain Wilderness Study Area on the San Rafael Swell, Utah.
I've seen you smiling in the summer sun
I've seen your long hair flying when you run
I've rnade my mind up that it's meant to be
Someday lady you'll accomp'ny me
~ Bob Seger
"Thinking about Portreath Friday." The message was accompanied by a screenshot of a weather forecast that promised some bracing conditions for anyone who was prepared to get wet and risk a certain amount of seawater coming into contact with their camera if they didn't keep their wits about them. It took me about half a second to consider my options before replying that I would be there.
The previous conversation on Whatsapp with my daughter Nicky had centred on the relative merits of varying brands of vegetarian chorizo style sausages, so this was a bit of a departure. Probably a good thing because seascape photography is surely a broader subject with a more enduring conversation potential than meat substitute products.
I hadn't been to Portreath recently, even though it's so close to home, passing the summer crowds and heading along the coast in favour of the wilder and more open Gwithian and the increased opportunities for solitude that it brings. But when there's weather like this, Portreath Monkey Hut at high tide becomes a magnet to me. As the nights close in it's also one of only two places I can really get to after work now. Another week or two and I'll be limited to weekends unless I want to try some more astro-photography on a freezing cold night.
Surprisingly, and to our relief in this era of social distancing we had the place to ourselves, hiding behind the big wall that protects us from the elements here, occasionally popping up like meerkats to scan the horizon and hastily steal a shot from the driving elements that were coming straight at us. At one point a man stood on the quay below us, and before we could say anything a huge roller dumped its contents all over him, chasing him back along the yards to the relative safety of the inner harbour area. Every so often a substantial plume of spray and foam would rise into the air, giving us a split second to turn our backs and guard our precious camera equipment as it landed all over us. At least we were in a safe place, despite what misgivings the scene might be offering you.
And so for a while we watched the light fade as Storm Alex, the first of the season and named by our friends from across the Channel in France, battered the coast. As ever I couldn't resist trying a slightly longer exposure despite the rain and seaspray coming straight at us on the back of a fierce wind. With the trusty shower cap resting on top of the camera I dialled in my settings and tried my best to compose the image. Choosing the moment to expose the camera to the world and take a shot before quickly replacing the shower cap was one of pure chance, although I did manage to grab a small collection of images that I could barely see on my screen. Processing the RAW files also proved difficult and this is one of many versions of the same shot that I'm still struggling with.
But what I love is the drama, with the ever photographed monkey hut almost disappearing into the white water around it. I can't think of a better way to spend a Friday evening than trying to capture an image of the elemental fury around me. This is the Cornwall I love. Wild, brooding and ever changing in its moods where every outing brings challenges and my waterproofs are always in the car. The winter months are often seemingly endless, but if they bring out a passion you can completely lose yourself in, then what's not to love about them?
He trudged ahead, the grass massaging his tired paws. The breeze giving his fur a few ruffles and the flowers gently granting his scent sweetness he longed for. It has been ages since he decided to take an aimless walk.
It was preached that an idle mind is the devil's workshop, however, his mind wasn't idle despite the lack of planning or destination. He was constantly imagining scenarios, some good and some bad. He felt that roleplaying in his mind could have him take decisions when it happened in reality.
One of the wisteria's purple petals fell over his nose that made him sniff and sneeze unintentionally. Okay, that didn't go as he imagined, then again he thought a bee or a butterfly would try to sit on his nose, not a petal!
My son, Daniel, accompanied me on my first visit to the Mjällådalen nature reserve, not very far from the town of Härnösand.
While the weather was a bit on the cold side and the mosquitoes were abundant, it still turned out to be a great afternoon.
At one point, while we were navingating through the undergrowth from the path and out to the river, we scared up a couple of male blue demoiselles (Calopteryx virgo) and with a little sneaking, I managed this shot with the 100 mm when one of them had landed somewhat nearby.
I showed the processed shot to Daniel (who is fourteen) and his reaction was "Ooooh, vibrant boi!" so that is how I think of it now.
Continuing on the theme of ducks, I bring you this stunning Wood Duck in eclipse plumage. I have seen them before in eclipse, but never quite at this stage. Compare with the mature plumage seen in a drake on the accompanying post. Admired at the Pool, Central Park, New York.
photo rights reserved by B℮n
on February 7, 2021, blizzard Darcy raged across Western Europe, a strong wind accompanied by drifting snow. The last heavy snowstorm in Amsterdam dates from 1985. In the evening the storm had died down. Wind, cold, dark? It's minus eight degrees celcius. All reasons to go outside. Scarf on, walking shoes on and into the city centre. Do you see those lights, do you see the smoke coming out of the chimney and do you hear the fire crackling? The snow reflects the light in the evening, giving you a beautiful view. I enjoy the sound of crunching snow under my shoes and the beautiful view of the Amsterdam canal houses. Walking in winter is not only a guarantee for red cheeks and a breath of fresh air, but is also good for body and soul. There is something very beautiful about Amsterdam in winter. The Jordaan is covered with thick snow as above on the Bloemgracht. There is a tranquil beauty of snow and cozy light inside the cancal houses. A white blanket does indeed make Amsterdam slightly different from those other 360 days of the year: different views, different sounds, different light. A winter party sprinkled with white confetti. And it is quite simply a welcome break in the covid-19 lockdown. A period when the days start to look more and more alike and string together in a uniform slurry, with only the longing for the future as a ray of light in the darkness of the curfew. The snow remains at this temperature. More than 10 centimeters of snow has fallen. This is a welcome change. The snow also provides a lot of fun for children here in Amsterdam. Snowball fight, make snowmen, go sledding and adults go cross-country skiing. All fun activities that people do in this beautiful snowy world.
Storm Darcy was a storm that hit parts of Western Europe from February 7, 2021. In the Netherlands, Belgium, the east of the United Kingdom and parts of the north and west of Germany, strong winds were accompanied by drifting snow, creating snow dunes. The last heavy snowstorm in Amsterdam dates from 1985. The snow is during the lock-down days an uninhibited winter fun in the streets of Amsterdam. Adults even go cross-country skiing. The next days it will keep on snowing. Expected more than 17 cm snow in Amsterdam. It's a joy to walk around the canals in my neighborhood. Photo taken here at the Bloemgracht. The Dutch painter Rembrandt van Rijn had a studio on the Bloemgracht in the 1660s.
op 7 februari 2021 raasde sneeuwstorm Darcy over West- Europa deze hard wind ging gepaard met stuifsneeuw. De laatste zware sneeuwstorm in Amsterdam dateert van 1985. In de avond was de storm gaan liggen. Wind, kou, donker? Het is min acht graden. Allemaal redenen om juist wel naar buiten te gaan. Sjaal om, wandelschoenen aan en de Jordaan in. Zie je die lichtjes, zie je het rook uit de schoorsteen en hoor je de openhaard knetteren? De sneeuw reflecteert het licht in de avond, waardoor je een prachtig zicht hebt. Ik geniet van het geluid van knarsende sneeuw onder mijn schoenen en het prachtige gezicht op de Amsterdamse grachtenpanden. 's Winters wandelen is niet alleen een garantie voor rode wangen en een frisse neus, maar is ook goed voor lichaam en geest. Er is iets heel moois over Amsterdam in de winter. Amsterdam centrum is bedolven onder dik pak sneeuw zoals hierboven op de Brouwersgracht. Er is een verstilde schoonheid van sneeuw en kou. Een witte deken maakt Amsterdam inderdaad net even anders dan die andere 360 dagen in het jaar: andere uitzichten, andere geluiden, andere lichtval. Een winterfeest besprenkeld met witte confetti. En het is simpelweg ook een welkome onderbreking in de coronalockdown. Een periode waarin de dagen steeds meer op elkaar gaan lijken en zich aaneenrijgen in een uniforme brij, met alleen het verlangen naar de toekomst als een lichtpuntje in het duister van de avondklok. Bij deze temperatuur blijft de sneeuw liggen. Er is meer dan 10 centimeters sneeuw gevallen. Foto van de grachtenpanden op de Bloemgracht. Rembrandt van Rijn had een studio op de Bloemgracht in de jaren 1660.
Blue Hour shot to accompany my previous Golden Hour capture which can be found by ~ here~.
The Ponte Vecchio translates as Old Bridge and old it is: the current one dates to 1345, but there has been a bridge here in the most narrow section of the Arno river since Roman times. The city has preserved the original cultural feature of keeping shops along the sides of the bridge which still sell jewelery, art and souvenirs.
One of the most iconic sights in all of Florence, the bridge has a lively atmosphere with lots of people shopping, sight-seeing and traversing the Arno.
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Excerpt from Wikipedia:
The Skeppsholmen Church (Swedish: Skeppsholmskyrkan) is a former church on the islet of Skeppsholmen in central Stockholm, Sweden.
Named after its location, the church was built 1823-1849 to replace a minor wooden church on Blasieholmen destroyed in the devastating fire of 1822. Inaugurated by King Charles XIV John on 24 July 1842 and still officially carrying his name,[2] it was designed by the architect Fredrik Blom as a neoclassical octahedral temple inspired by the Pantheon in Rome, borrowing the coffered ceiling while substituting the oculus for the temple-shaped lantern light. On all sides, the plain white walls restored in 1998 are pierced by portals whose four pillars support semi-circular lunettes. Inside the cruciform exterior, the interior sheet of the wooden double cupola is supported by paired doric columns and rounded arches. Accompanying the painted altarpiece are niches with statues of the apostles and two plaster groups.
The Skeppsholmen parish was discontinued in 1969 when the Navy moved to the Muskö naval base, and the church was secularized in 2002. Since May 2009, the building has been a concert hall called Eric Ericsonhallen. It was named after the Swedish conductor and choral conductor Eric Ericson (1918–2013).
Shutter and Sprocket are no strangers to cozying up to each other (for lifelong littermates, that's a reasonable expectation), but it usually happens in a confined area. Lately, they have been doing it in a more open space with Shutter, normally a skittish cat, becoming a little more relaxed than usual.
Explored January 29, 2022.
Well, it had to happen, because to complete the proper Victorian aesthetic look in my downstairs office and reading room I had to change the Angle-Poise light I had on my desk, which was a spare from my attic office, up in the roof space.
So I found this lamp instead, which is in the classic Accountants/Banker style, but the shade is in white, instead of green or blue. I loved those colours, but felt that they would be too dominant on the desk itself. [Not that I am fussy or anything]. Also, you can’t see it in this photo, but there is a rather nice white glass ‘tulip-shaped’ lamp to the side, behind the sofa, which has a sort of elegance that I thought this light had on my Victorian desk and would echo in style to match.
Now I sound like some house interior magazine waffling on about design. But, I will be spending a lot of time in here, so I might as well get it right, and that’s my excuse and I am sticking to it!
So here I was working in the evening on the MacBook and using my written notes and reference books in my usual way.
This is for a part of a series that I am going to show on my website and Flickr, depending how it all goes, and as to what goes where, I will sort it out as it goes along. Actually there has been quite a lot of work that I have been organising over the past few months. I have had one of those patches where the writing flowed and I just wanted to keep going. A lot of it has ended up in a series, well, four of them so far, rather than just singles because the photographs were either taken on the same day in roughly the same location yet each seems has something to say, or they go together as a group because the weather was similar over a period of time. But seeing them as a series together just gives them more power. Whether this will work on Flickr I am not sure, as the format is a bit restricting, but on my website I can place them all up on a page of their own. On Flickr I might just choose a few examples to tempt you to go and look at it on my website, designed with the poem to go with it. The important thing for me is that they appear together somewhere. But then I will also be printing them out as well…
I know that on Flickr many just scroll through…perhaps not even reading the text that goes with it, or the poem, but lately I have been thinking about this and have decided that I am not going to concern myself with this behaviour anymore. It is there if people wish to engage with it more fully. Because I used to produce creative work for a living you got used to keeping a copy for yourself. And by that I mean a physical, printed copy. Nothing beats it, because you feel as though you have actually done something, and for me that is important to show that you have a body of work. Social media, and even websites can lose information, shut down, or be sold off to the highest bidder…and your work might be lost if you haven’t backed it up, not to mention the subscription fees..which keep going up.
I think that if you are serious about your work, you need to treat it seriously, and lately I am thinking that perhaps the body of work I leave might be of use in the future. I have been encouraged by the reaction to it on Flickr and elsewhere, and that has really helped me to continue producing it. But I have also been thinking about my own well-being and what I enjoy doing. And that is going out with my camera and being inspired to write poetry to go with it. In this way, the joy of producing that work will continue to shine through the work itself as long as I get the balance right.
And for those of you who are itching to know what those piles of books are in the image..don’t worry, there is going to be more about that later. Books should be shared and collections loved, and I have been collecting all my life…
The time seems to be going by faster. A lot has happened since my last upload, both on the world stage and personally, because of various power-cuts, another water-leak in my home, and other matters I am behind in my own schedule for about a month. This winter has been tough. I have had to also block some people on here, as I did not like their controlling behaviour; that is just not acceptable. If you do not like my work then just move on, but also perversely, those that do like it but want to invade my life and use either my work or my empathetic nature for their own benefit can also remove themselves from my presence. You have missed the point entirely of my work.
I am here to share my own journey of the soul, and to help you with yours if you want me to, through art and conversation. Perhaps as creative people we can all find an equilibrium in this, as it is something we can do, that we can rely on to help us through the turbulent years in our lives. I know for myself that this is true, as my work has helped me to remain relatively sane in difficult times. It is also good to share, not just in challenging times, but also in the good times.
The creative arts have always had a place in shaping history too, it can be very powerful. And it can also be quietly consoling.
As well as producing work for my own portfolio it has always been my intention to provide a gallery on Flickr and a website that shows my work in such a way that it can be a constructive help. I wanted both of them to be a calm space, a place you can go to when you need to think, or settle your mind. I wanted these works to provide an understanding of the human condition, of the difficulties of keeping your faith, whatever God you follow, and also the joy that spiritual faith can provide.
And most of all, I wanted my work to offer hope in any dark times you might be going through.
Thank you all for your support and I hope to keep sharing my work and enjoying the wonderful images that you all share on Flickr. In our own way, perhaps we can make the world a better place. It is a privilege to be in the Flickr community and those who care not only about their own work, but also each other.
And If you would like to see more of my work, have a look at my website at:
Update..
Thank you to all those who have responded to this Explored image...and a special thank you to those who read the accompanying text...as that was what this image was for, just to keep people in the loop as to what I am up to. But maybe the algorithm fancied a read today, who knows? At least, for the moment, it is more benign than Kubrick's "Hal"...
"Open the door Hal...open the door Hal..."
Love to all, Shell xx
The alarm today went off at 5am, over two hours before sunrise. The reason for the early alarm was the drive to Canyonlands National Park and the ensuing walk to Mesa Arch would take nearly an hour and I wanted to be able to plant my tripod before everyone else arrived. Driving out of Moab the streets were void of traffic and after turning onto the road leading to Canyonlands there weren’t any headlights in the rearview mirror or were there taillights visible ahead. I was confident that I had departed at an appropriately early enough time.
After entering the National Park I noticed a few taillights ahead of me in the distance. “OK, I guess there may be a few early risers there,” I thought. How wrong I was, for as I crested the rise in the dark with my headlamp guiding my way along the path to Mesa Arch I could hear many voices coming from ahead. I wasn’t alone and it wasn’t just a couple of early risers either. There were already 15 to 20 tripods with accompanying cameras and photographers set up waiting for sunrise! Fortunately, the location I had scouted out the day prior was still available, so I joined the masses and added my tripod and camera to the mix. Note to self: rethink the starting time for my next visit!
The beauty of the sunrise here is something one truly needs to witness in person. As the sun broke the horizon the first sunburst occurred, but the best was yet to come. Initially there is the lack of reflected light on the underside of Mesa Arch. But as the sun continued to rise and began to cross the underside of the arch a 2nd sunburst occurred while the reflected light illuminated the underbelly of the arch turning the sandstone a glowing red. While some photographers had already started packing up, the patience of ‘waiting for the light’ was rewarded with this image.
Highlighted by the rising sun is the Washer Woman (derived from its resemblance of a tall and slender woman reaching her hands into a tub) and to its right is the taller Monster Tower. Washer Woman and Monster Tower are each over 600 feet tall. Behind the Washer Woman is the Sandcastle.
This is the second image I’ve posted from that wonderful morning, but this one was taken moments earlier than the previous one. The sunburst is larger in this image as the sun has yet to rise high enough to be partially hidden by the arch.
From the earlier image, Kathleen had commented . . . “I can see an Indian lying in repose, hand in his lap and his legs crossed........lying in the opening, do you see him?” Yes, I could! Can you?
Best viewed large (L)
White accompanied by yellow, red or blue, dominates the external decoration of buildings in Alentejo.
It is comforting to see the usual correct maintenance of the facades in the local buildings, thus giving a feeling of cleanliness and freshness, very necessary in the seasons in which the sun is dominant.
...accompanies hikers in Vallée du Lys, a small valley in the French Pyrenees.
A nice circular walk takes you past several waterfalls.
My Grandfather is behind the wheel and he is accompanied by his brothers and friends. I don’t think they have been in America for very long, they came from Sicily to Ellis Island, NYC. My Grandfather’s name was Peter and when he was a young man, he was getting into trouble and was hanging around troublemakers. His mother sent him to America with his older brother some time in the 1920’s. I have to say he looks pretty thuggish to me 😂. Look at the Italian suits they’re wearing to go to Coney Island! I really enjoy this photograph and I hope you do too. In advance I must say thank you for your visit, faves and comments. We’re leaving Saturday morning for Florida to pick up my friend. I’m so overwhelmed right now that I walk into a room and forget what I’m supposed do in there. 😵💫. I think all of the dust I stirred up ended up clogging my mind. I know I will be very busy with my work through Friday, if I can make it that is. I’m literally limping now as I have hurt my ankle somehow.
The Bishop's Palace and accompanying Bishops House at Wells in the English county of Somerset, is adjacent to Wells Cathedral and has been the home of the Bishops of the Diocese of Bath and Wells for 800 years. It has been designated by English Heritage as a Grade I listed building.
Building of the palace started around 1210 by Bishops Jocelin of Wells and Reginald Fitz Jocelin. The chapel and great hall were added by Bishop Robert Burnell between 1275 and 1292. The walls, gatehouse and moat were added in the 14th century by Bishop Ralph of Shrewsbury. The Bishops House was added in the 15th century by Bishop Thomas Beckington. The great hall later fell into disrepair and was partially demolished around 1830.
The palace was originally surrounded by a medieval deer park. When the walls were built, streams were diverted to form the moat as a reservoir. In the 1820s, the grounds within the walls were planted and laid out as pleasure grounds by Bishop George Henry Law, who created a reflecting pond near the springs. Parts of the buildings are still used as a residence by the current bishop, however much of the palace is now used for public functions and as a tourist attraction.
At last came March and the new moon. With a perfect clear sky, it offers a unique moment when two beauties can be catch together. Sagittarius is now visible in the sky, accompany by the always impressive galactic core, and trees are still naked, waiting for their first leaves, and showing their beautiful bone-like branches. What a distance between the tree rooted in the ground and the stars above. Photography can make remote things closer ...
… so can poetry. Julos Beaucarne, probably my favorite living poet, sang : “Mon terroir c'est les galaxies”. Terroir is a quite untranslatable word. It stands for soil, ground, homeland, region you come from. It's an idea very related with the ground, the earth. And Julos is genius enough to make this connection between the earth and the stars.
Our Terroir is not only where we come from, it can eventually be where our body lies when our spirit is gone. The ideas of Life and Death bring us back to these two so remote and so close places : the earth and the sky.
In this beautiful night of March, not far from the house I was born in, I have my feet on the ground and my eyes are staring at the milkyway. The only thing to say : Mon terroire c'est les galaxies ...
Mon terroir c'est les galaxies
La vie est courte, compagnon
L'ici-bas n'est pas notre vraie maison
Notre corps est outil et véhicule
Sitôt qu'il sera à la ferraille, ne restera vivant que notre esprit
En attendant, mortel mon frère, soigne ton corps
Afin qu'il te conduise au plus loin qu'il est impossible
Au bout de cette galaxie que tu es sans le savoir
Ô ignare, mortellement ignorant du sens du courant de ton fleuve intérieur.
Julos Beaucarne, 1978.
To accompany the shot of the bridge from underneath, here is the view of the Ironbridge from the south bank, looking across to the village of Ironbridge.
Accompanied by my golf buddy, we golfed this morning but it was absolutely freezing cold! Surprisingly, our golf course was open despite the cold, cold weather!!
After six holes we were both frozen to the bone and decided enough was enough!!
365/2022 - Into The Light ~ 365/347
Stay Safe And Healthy Everyone!
Thanks to everyone who views this photo, adds a note, leaves a comment and of course BIG thanks to anyone who chooses to favourite my photo …. Thanks to you all!
A wide angle landscape taken from the rocks at Portencross with the setting sun above the Isle of Little Cumbrae, located off the West Coast of Scotland.
I was accompanied by my son on this evening, it is his lone silhouette standing on the rocks.
Sigma 10-20, Cokin grad filters.
Manual settings using a small aperture to create the sunburst.
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A must to be seen Large on black - Press L
A small thought accompanies this image. More information in my blog.
Licensed under CC Attribution-No Derivatives. All use without explicit authorization is allowed under the terms of the license. Higher resolution with no signature version is available.
Licenciada bajo CC Atribución-Sin Obras Derivadas. Se permite todo uso sin autorización explicita bajo las condiciones de dicha licencia- Disponible versión en mayor resolución sin firma.
Yesterday I accompanied a friend to a concert by a Ukrainian rock band (Okean Elzy). The band sang in Ukrainian and as I don't speak the language, I was able to concentrate on the instrumental part and on pictures :-). I'm guessing that it's a Miles Davis tattoo on the bass player's left upper arm, any other suggestions? I think it's the cover photo of his 1986 Tutu album.
The concert was great, the atmosphere indescribable and there were also some moving moments.
Okean Elzy live in Berlin, 2023
NECR 4049 accompanied by Bay Line 3018 and 2078 switch cars in the CSX interchange.
A recent derailment at the interchange set things back for the Bay Line so today was the day they had to make up for lost time. Unfortunately, making up for lost time in Dothan meant that the Hilton turn wouldn't run which was the main reason my friends and I were out here. Although we didn't get exactly what we had hoped for, I am glad we at least had the opportunity to see something operate out here.
This image accompanies a previously posted shot in this album of the same train only "going away". I feel I should be able
to identify the location but I cannot.
Also, this shot is a little distant so there is a better shot of the train closer to the photographer floating around out there. There are two as a matter of fact. This is slide 4, the "going away" is slide 7, and 8 is a caboose shot that I will scan soon.
This marks the end of my walk around Stanley Park. I hope you enjoyed accompanying us around the shoreline?
After accompanying 97 303 on engineering work on the Cambrian line over the weekend, 37 418 'An Comunn Gaidhealach' returns light engine through Wellington on 0D01, the 0904 Coleham ISU - Derby RTC on Monday 14th February 2022.
The rufous-naped lark (Mirafra africana) or rufous-naped bush lark is a widespread and conspicuous species of lark in the lightly wooded grasslands, open savannas and farmlands of the Afrotropics. Males attract attention to themselves by their bold and repeated wing-fluttering displays from prominent perches, which is accompanied by a melodious and far-carrying whistled phrase.[2] This rudimentary display has been proposed as the precursor to the wing-clapping displays of other bush lark species.[3] They have consistently rufous outer wings and a short erectile crest,[2] but the remaining plumage hues and markings are individually and geographically variable. It has a straight lower, and longish, curved upper mandible.
early sundaymorning. It is very quiet, the sounds from a classic tune floats through the streets. It lures us to a shop, where a player sits only accompanied by his music
Accompanied by long shadows, people travel the silent road that follows the flow of the river.
There is no voice in this scene, only a deafening silence.
...
Take a moment to read the story behind this shot and if you like my work, please share it.
Ciclabile del Tevere
Accompagnate dalle ombre lunghe, le persone percorrono la silenziosa strada che segue lo scorrere del fiume.
Non c'è voce in questa scena, soltanto un silenzio assordante.
...
Prenditi un momento per leggere la storia dietro questo scatto e se ti piace il mio lavoro, per favore condividilo.
Just a Dream
My Interplanetary Memories
Interplanetary Travel
Today, I had a dream while I was traveling with my spaceship towards the planet I will arrive at in the deep and dark space. In my dream, I was living on planet earth. It was as if I had never been to space. I had a simple, ordinary life. I had a house with a garden and a few cats. I was happy. At least I looked happy. As I was walking down the street, there were people who saw me and greeted me with a smile. I could smell the flowers that had just bloomed in the gardens of people's homes. I was taking a pleasant walk on the road surrounded by trees, accompanied by a gentle breeze, listening to the chirping of the birds. This beautiful walk was accompanied by calm music in my mind. And then I find myself on the main street of the small town I live in. The weather is clear. The sun is coming in through the shop windows. There is a peaceful air. I'm walking slowly on the sidewalk. And then, as I pass in front of a shop, I see the waitress serving the customers inside the shop with her unique smile. She is a young and very beautiful girl. The sunlight hitting her white skin makes her look gorgeous. I can't take my eyes off her for a second. She is so beautiful that when I see her, a smile forms on my face. My heart starts beating faster. A sense of peace begins to fill me. Everything goes quiet all of a sudden. After the young girl leaves the food in her tray on the table of the customers she serves, she takes the tray under her seat and moves towards the kitchen counter. After placing the plates full of food on the counter on her empty tray, she moves towards the tables again. We make eye contact after serving customers their meals. She looks at me and greets me after making that cute smile. I can tell you that at that moment my excitement was at its peak.
I hesitate to go inside the shop. Was this a casual greeting to every customer? Or was it a greeting to someone familiar? I guess I'd have to go inside the shop to find out. I slowly push the wood-framed glass door of the shop and enter without trying to attract too much attention. As I open the door, I hear the doorbell, indicating that a customer has entered. I guess it's impossible to enter this shop without attracting attention. When I enter the shop, a small table for one person, right in front of the shop window, catches my eye. The wooden and aged chair looks as if it is waiting for me. I slowly make my way towards this inviting table. When I arrived at the table, a voice from behind me called out to me in a sweet tone, "Welcome". When I turned around, he was standing right in front of me with his lovely smile. “How are you?” he asked me without hesitation. At that moment, I realized that we had met before. But when and where we met was not in my mind. I was stunned to see him in front of me. I paused for a moment. Then I answered his question by saying "I'm fine" "how are you". "I'm fine. Breakfast?" she replied to me. “Yes,” I said, shaking my head. "Okay, like always right? I'll get it right away." He left me saying. I watched him walk away from me for a while. Then I turned to my desk and sat down in my old wooden chair. I started to talk to myself, "We're getting to know you". "But when and where did we meet?" I asked myself. I could never remember. On the one hand, I was very happy with this situation. We were meeting him. Maybe we were close friends. Maybe we were lovers. Maybe I was one of the customers who came to the shop where he worked every day. A lot of sentences starting with maybe had formed in my head. I would have preferred the waitress to be my girlfriend.
While I wait for her to bring my food, I take a look at the shop. A nice town restaurant with a quiet atmosphere. A song from the nineties is playing inside. More than half of the tables are full of customers. I think this little restaurant must have good food. After a while, I realize that the waitress is coming towards me. I guess the food in your tray must be mine. Just as I anticipated. When she comes to my table, she asks, “Did I make you wait too long? You brought me my breakfast before I could even observe the whole shop," I replied. She started putting the food in her tray on my table. An omelet, some quince jam, a piece of egg bread, cheese and a few olives. And a piece of hot tea.
While I was having my breakfast, she continued to serve other customers with her beautiful smile. I still couldn't take my eyes off her. She was a very beautiful girl. I think I was in love with her. When I was halfway through my breakfast, she suddenly appeared next to me. "What are you doing tonight?" she asked me. This was an unexpected question. “Nothing,” I replied to the girl. "What do you want to do? Where do you want to go in the evening?" I ask him. "Maybe we can take some things with us and drive up the hill and watch the stars? What do you say?" she asks me. "Sure, it does. Great idea." I answer. I really think it's a great idea. I wake up as the girl walks away from my desk. I was all alone in my spaceship. I started to feel bored and the urge to cry started to form inside me. I wanted to close my eyes again and go back to that town where I was happy. I was having a hard time keeping myself from crying. Those beautiful moments of my life were suddenly gone. I did not expect a dream to affect me so much. I was very curious about the continuation of the dream that I had seen. What did I do while waiting for nightfall? What did we do with that pretty girl when we got to the hill? Will I ever see her again in my dreams?
Would I be able to live the life on earth only in my dreams?
Camera: Canon EOS Kiss X7i
Photograph by Yusuf Alioglu
Location: Outer space (space)
Green leaf providing shade for bluebell to grow. Image captured with 70-200mm telephoto lens with aperture F/4 to create bokeh background. post vignetting in Efex.
- have seen this postcard was a 1908 postmark...features a cheerful greeting from Santa Claus, accompanied by a charming collection of toys. The number "1166" at the bottom right might be a series number related to their collections.
This is a vintage Christmas postcard featuring Father Christmas. The card depicts Father Christmas in traditional red robes, carrying a horse-on-wheels and other toys in his side pocket. The text at the bottom simply reads "A MERRY CHRISTMAS."
Theme: The card depicts an old-world Father Christmas figure in a long red robe and hat adorned with holly. He carries a toy horse on wheels and has dolls tucked into his pocket, illustrating the traditional benevolent gift-bringer role.
"Old World Father Christmas" refers to the diverse traditional European depictions of the gift-giver that existed before the standardized, jolly, portly American Santa Claus popularized by Coca-Cola advertising in the 1930s. The image in the postcard above is a good example of this older style. Key characteristics of Old World Santa imagery include: Varied Appearance: Unlike the single modern image, Old World Santas varied widely in appearance depending on the region and period. They were depicted as everything from a "tall gaunt man" to an "elflike figure" or a pious, strict figure. Diverse Attire: Robes and clothing colors were not always the now-standard red fur-trimmed suit. They might wear bishop's robes (reflecting the original St. Nicholas), fur-lined robes in green, blue, or brown, and different hats, often a tall mitre or hooded hat instead of a soft cap. The Santa in the image above is wearing a hooded red robe, not a full suit. Accessories: They were often depicted with a walking stick or staff, and sometimes a simple rope or cord belt instead of a modern leather belt. Origin in St. Nicholas: These figures are generally based on the historical Saint Nicholas, a 4th-century Greek bishop known for his generosity and gift-giving to the poor, who is the original inspiration for the legend. Focus on Tradition: The term is now used commercially to describe decorations and art that evoke this vintage, Victorian or European style, emphasizing historical or regional traditions and a sense of nostalgia.
Wearing holly in his cap or as a crown was a very common element of traditional "Old World" Father Christmas depictions, especially in England.
Here is more detail on the tradition: Pagan Origins: The tradition has roots in pre-Christian Celtic and Roman winter solstice festivals, where people (including priests and chieftains) wore holly wreaths or crowns to symbolize eternal life, ward off evil spirits, and celebrate the return of spring. The "Holly King" in Celtic legend, a precursor to Santa, was depicted wearing a crown of holly.
Traditional English Father Christmas: In medieval and early modern England, Father Christmas embodied the spirit of midwinter merriment and nature. He was frequently illustrated with a green hooded cloak and a wreath or sprigs of holly, ivy, or mistletoe on his head, linking him to the evergreen nature of the season.
Christian Symbolism: As Christianity merged with older traditions, the holly's sharp leaves came to symbolize Christ's crown of thorns, and the red berries his blood, making it a prominent religious symbol.
Transition to Modern Santa: Even as the American-influenced Santa Claus image grew in popularity during the Victorian era and early 20th century, many depictions of Father Christmas still included holly, though the full crown became less common and was often replaced with a simple sprig or hood, as seen in your postcard. This incorporation of holly made it a classic visual identifier for the traditional European gift-giver and festive figure.
Symbolism of the Toy Horse - Childhood Joy and Play: The primary symbolism is that of childhood innocence, happiness, and the simple pleasure of receiving a gift at Christmas. The toy horse was a classic children's item across centuries.
Aspiration and Imagination: Horses have long been symbols of strength, freedom, nobility, and adventure. For a child, a toy horse was a means to engage in imaginative play, allowing them to envision themselves on journeys, emulating adults, and exploring their own bravery.
Family Status and Affluence: During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a well-crafted wooden rocking horse or pull-toy, often with detailed carvings, real horsehair tails, and leather saddles, was considered a luxury item. Its presence in the image suggests a family of means that valued traditional, quality toys, reflecting the family's prosperity and good taste.
The Act of Giving: In the context of Santa Claus holding it, the toy horse represents Santa as the benevolent gift-giver, carrying the dreams and material wishes of children, and ensuring that children have the opportunity for play and recreation.
In essence, the toy horse in this vintage image is more than just a toy; it is a powerful nostalgic symbol of an idealized childhood and the enduring values of hope and connection during the holiday season.
Symbolism Explained:
Sack of Toys: The sack (or basket) is a universal symbol of the gift-giver's generosity. In older, European traditions (such as those involving figures like Krampus or Belsnickel), the sack sometimes served a dual purpose: carrying toys for good children, but also threatening to carry off or punish the naughty ones, embodying a "carrot-and-stick" approach to child discipline.
Doll: Dolls were a very popular and desirable Christmas gift for girls in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, designed to teach them about motherhood and domesticity, reflecting the societal values of the time. Its presence signifies a gift for a good girl and highlights the innocence of childhood.
Horn (Trumpet): The toy horn, or trumpet, was another common and simple toy that was popular with children of that era. It represents simple joy, play, and often announced the arrival of Santa or the general festivity of the season.
Thick Rope Belt (Cincture): The rope belt, often called a cincture, has significant religious symbolism, linking the secular Santa figure back to his origins as the historical Saint Nicholas. It is directly inspired by the simple rope belts worn by Catholic religious orders, particularly the Franciscans. This choice of simple attire over a fine leather belt was a symbol of the vow of poverty and humility taken by these holy figures, a clear example of their precepts. It grounds the magical figure in a tradition of pious giving and selflessness. These elements work together to paint a picture of a traditional, humble, and generous figure rooted deeply in both Christian and folk traditions, before the modern standardized image took hold.
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Postcard publisher: The postcard publisher in 1908 was primarily known as Robbins Brothers (or Robbins Bros. or The Robbins Bros. Co.), based in Boston, Massachusetts. Some sources also mention the name as H.I. Robbins or M.I. Robbins, suggesting a potential individual name behind the business or different branches/divisions.
Key details about the publisher: Location: Boston, Massachusetts. Active Period: The company was active during the "Divided Back" era of postcards (c. 1907–1915), with many postcards postmarked or published around 1907-1908.
Printing Location: Many of their postcards, particularly the view cards, were "Printed in Germany," which was common for high-quality lithograph postcards of that time.
Products: They published a wide variety of postcards, including:
US State & Town views.
Holiday greetings (e.g., Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter).
Embossed and gilt postcards.
Artistic and romantic themed cards.
Notable Works: They are known for their "Quality Line" postcards and published numerous view cards of towns, cities, and specific landmarks, such as railroad depots and local streets. Many of their postcards were manufactured in Germany, a common practice at the time for high-quality printing.