View allAll Photos Tagged Concentration
Full concentration as they were singing and playing this song:
Throughout history
There've been many songs written about the eternal triangle
This next one tells the story of a Mr Grayson, a beautiful woman
And a condemned man named Tom Dooley...
When the sun rises tomorrow, Tom Dooley... must hang...
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
I met her on the mountain
There I took her life
Met her on the mountain
Stabbed her with my knife
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
This time tomorrow
Reckon where I'll be
Hadn't a-been for Grayson
I'd a-been in Tennessee
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
This time tomorrow
Reckon where I'll be
Down in some lonesome valley
Hangin' from a white oak tree
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die...
//Well, I don´t know if that´s the right song to welcome the summer holiday with... :-) But it´s a good song for all who wants to learn how to play the guitar...
After turning the trolley pole the driver of tram 216 puts the trolley wheel back to the overhead wire.
I remember this particular early evening was one of my best experiences of wildlife photography.
I was sat motionless on a riverbank in full camo gear waiting for this this beautiful young Kingfisher to arrive. During the few hours I was there, I saw a grass snake swim by and a fox on the opposite bank who was aware of me but not spooked.
I watched this bird fishing for 5 minutes or so about 25 metres away. I could see he was intrigued by me and being a curious bird flew straight towards me. I was looking right down the lens at him as he got closer and closer. I glanced over the camera in amazement when he actually landed on my lens for a split second. We were both startled and he flew off screeching.
You may not believe this but it actually happened.
Such a fantastic memory.
Track bed at the end of the Mansfield concentration sidings looking back towards Clipstone south junction.
From the archive.
Serena Jameka Williams (born September 26, 1981) is an American professional tennis player who is a former World No. 1 and currently ranked World No. 10 in singles and No. 20 in doubles with sister Venus Williams. The Women's Tennis Association has ranked her World No. 1 in singles on five separate occasions. She regained this ranking for the fifth time on November 2, 2009. She became the World No. 1 for the first time on July 8, 2002. She is considered to be one of the greatest women's tennis players of all-time in a career hampered by numerous injuries.
For this concentration, I wanted to focus on the negative impact of technology. This image represents how phones are addictive and keep us "tied" to them. I wanted to create a simple photo that was meaningful and make the viewer think. (For my reshoot I used feedback and changed the background. I used a more scenic environment and made it more relatable to everyday situations. This shows two people hanging out together yet there is no communication due to them being too attached to their phones and social media. The phone charger wrapping the hand symbolizes how people are prisoners to their phones and how we are stuck to them. I made the colors cold to have a more isolated and sad type of feel)
Totally still, this heron had all it's attention focused on something in the distance.
Aperture ƒ/6.3
Focal length 250.0 mm
Shutter 1/320
ISO 400
Hasselblad 500c/m. Zeiss Planar 80mm. Kodak Portra 160 @ box speed. Think this was wide open (or maybe f3.5). Beautifully scanned by AG Photo-Lab, UK
Our dog does a trick where we tell him not to eat the treat until we say, "You can have it". Here he is focusing very intently and patiently just waiting to hear these words.
And BTW, now I know how to take pictures of the dog and have him stay still!
A man makes small clay (?) Shisas in Heiwa Dori, one of Okinawa’s few left covered arcades, in Naha, Japan. Shisa is a creature from Okinawan folklore that looks like a cross between a dog and a lion, a variation of the guardian lions found in China and in many other parts of Asia, including mainland Japan where they are called Komainu. Shisa is believed to ward off evil, and are almost always seen in pairs, one with open mouth and one with a closed mouth, as seen in the foreground.
Foto protegida pelo Art. 7 da Lei de Direitos Autorais - Lei nº 9610/98 inciso VII
Proibida a cópia ou reprodução total ou parcial, salvo sob autorização por escrito.
not sure what this little chap was doing but he was totally engrossed in it!
hope everyone is having a good week!
(PLEASE NO AWARDS OR PICTURES OR FLASHY BADGES)
Le Cimetière du Père Lachaise, Paris, France
I had a number of reasons for coming here, not least because my Paris friends tell me that it is the most beautiful cemetery in the city, and I think they are right. It is true that you cannot be on your own wandering around here like you can at Montparnasse, but it is four times as big and its sloping site gives rise to winding little impasses that can be yours alone for the time you are in them.
If you are planning a visit yourself, it is worth noting that the best thing to do is to take the metro to Gambetta rather than to Père Lachaise. This brings you in at the top of the cemetery rather than the bottom. This is the quieter part of the cemetery, and very quickly I picked off Maria Callas, Stephane Grappelli and Gertrude Stein without being bothered too much by other visitors.
At this top end of the cemetery the visitor-magnet is the grave of Oscar Wilde. This is a fabulous sculpture by Jacob Epstein. The Irish government, which owns the grave and is responsible for maintaining it, has recently put a Perspex screen around it to stop visitors kissing it with lipstick kisses. Quite how anyone could think Wilde would want to be kissed by a girl is beyond me, though I suppose that all the lipstick kissers might not have been girls. Wilde's grave is easily found, being on a main avenue, but not all such significant figures are as accessible. I eventually found the tomb of Sarah Bernhardt after much searching, some distance from the nearest avenue. It did not appear to have been visited much at all in recent months.
In one quiet corner of the cemetery is a wall with a memorial to the Paris Commune. The communards had taken advantage of the siege of Paris during the Franco-Prussian War to declare a utopian republic, something along the lines of the one of seventy years earlier, but hopefully without the tens of thousands of opponents being guillotined this time. Incidentally, the French love to discuss and argue about politics so much that there is no chance of the country ever opting for a totalitarian regime. When the revolutionaries of the 1780s and 1790s started executing those who mildly disagreed with them, it was the start of a slippery slope at the bottom of which no one would have been left alive. Anyway, the communards hoped to avoid that. When the siege was over and the mess had been cleared up, they were brought to this wall in their hundreds and shot, their bodies dumped into conveniently adjacent mass graves.
This corner of the cemetery has become a pilgrimage site for Communists, and many of the graves around are for former leaders of the French Communist Party, in its day the largest and most powerful in Western Europe. In the 1980s, when I first started coming to Paris, they ran many of the towns and cities, especially in the industrial north.
Near here are some vast and terrifying memorials to the victims of the German occupation of France and Nazi concentration and death camps. Each camp has its own memorial, usually surmounted by an anguished sculpture, and with an inscription with frighteningly large numbers in it. There is a silence in this part of the cemetery. It is interesting to me that memorials in this part of France refer to 'the Nazi occupation and the Vichy government collaborators', while in the southern half of the country, which was under Vichy rule, the memorials usually talk about 'the German barbarity'.
I sat for a while, and then went off looking for more heroes. Marcel Proust and Frederick Chopin were easily found, Francis Poulenc less so. Wandering around I chanced by accident on the grave of the artist Théodore Géricault, which carries bronze relief versions of his Raft of the Medusa, starting point of the Musee d'Orsay, as well as other paintings. To be honest, the most interesting memorials are those to ordinary upper middle class Parisians who were raised to grandeur through art in death in a way that they cannot have known in life.
One of the saddest corners, and a rather sordid one, is to the American pop singer Jim Morrison, who died in Paris at the age of 27, burnt out and 20 stone after gorging himself on whisky, burgers and heroin. Well, so did Elvis, you might retort, but at least Elvis had some good tunes. The survival of Morrison's legend seems to rest entirely on the romance of his death and burial. Surely no one can be attracted by his music, those interminable organ solos and witless lyrics? His simple memorial (a bust was stolen in the 1980s) is cordoned off by barriers, and is the only one where a cemetery worker is permanently in attendance. I looked around at a crowd of about thirty people, all of whom were younger than me, and none of whom could have been alive when the selfish charlatan drank and drugged himself to death.
Shaking my head in incomprehension, (I didn't really, but I bet some people do) I finished off my visit by finding Colette, and bumping into Rossini on the way. Then I headed back into central Paris.
You can read my account of my travels at pariswander.blogspot.co.uk.