View allAll Photos Tagged Confront
*Explored June 18, 2009
“Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, as a reminder of your strength.”
--- August Wilson
classico... arrivano gli esami.. mano alla digitale.. e scatti idioti al chiuso..
OnAir---> Il Teatro degli orrori - Il turbamento della gelosia
Air Force Museum of New Zealand
The P-40 was the best known Curtiss-Wright aircraft of World War II. It was also one of the most controversial fighters of the war. It was vilified by many at the time as being too slow, lacking in manoeuvrability, having too low a climbing rate, and being largely obsolescent by contemporary world standards even before it was placed in production. The inadequacies of the P-40 were even the subject of a Congressional investigation and it gets regularly included on lists of the worst combat aircraft of World War 2. All of these criticisms certainly had some degree of validity, but it is also true that the P-40 served its country well during the first year of the war in the Pacific when very little else was available. Along with the P-39 Airacobra, the P-40 was the only American fighter available in quantity to confront the Japanese advance during the first year of the Pacific War. It helped stem the speed of the Japanese advance until more modern types could be made available in quantity. The P-40 had no serious vices and was a pleasant aircraft to fly, and, when flown by an experienced pilot who was fully aware of its strengths and weaknesses, was able to give a good account of itself in aerial combat. Strangely enough, the P-40 continued in production long after later and more modern types were readily available, the numbers manufactured reaching the third highest total of American World War II fighters, after the Republic P-47 and the North American P-51. In hindsight, many of the criticisms levelled at the P-40 can be attributed to the aircraft being used in roles it was not initially designed for.
I'm 18 and I just confronted and appear to have outsmart my own Dad. I don't think I have ever felt so mentally strong.
But now it's almost 2.00am and I have an exam in 7 hours, help.
rubbish picture, but I just needed to get that off my chest.
La E403-003, in testa all'ICN 1911 Torino-Salerno, si affianca all'ETR 400-02 "Frecciarossa 1000" in attesa di iniziare le prove in AV; frontali a confronto tra i più moderni mezzi del parco Trenitalia.
- carrozza pilota "Casaralta" 50 83 26-39 871-8 npB + carrozza pilota "Vivalto" 50 83 86-78 075-5 npBH dell'IMC Alessandria
Golden shower.
(WARNING ADULT THEAMES, AND CONTENT)
It was warm till it got cold.
In the period that was just past post youth, and just past, post university, I explored Melbourne. Night or day I would explore... In search of beauty, love, and or just something to break the boredom, of being in a city of 3.3 million people, but still being alone, (yes that is possible). It was not that I was an adrenaline junky. I intentionally did not put myself into overtly risky situations, but it was a measured risk. Plus, I was fit and could run, if necessary. No, I am not a coward, but I know my limits. When confronted by someone with a knife, a gun, or a mob of men, sometimes it is better to get the hell out of there. Afterall I am mortal, or at least my body is. I risked my own safety by venturing out into the CBD of Melbourne alone, looking for connection. I would do it at times, into the dark hours of the morning, sometimes till daybreak. I was not driven by lust, but the desire to say hello to people. It was not that I liked nighttime, it is just the hours I kept because of work. It was a search for women. In saying that it is probably not what you are thinking. To be honest I value the company of some women, better than most men. I am acutely aware of the reasons why. But that is another story. In general, I enjoy their company better as it surpasses the connection I have, or have had, with men. It is not about the potential of sex, although the physical bond at times has been valued by me. It is not the precipice of falling in love, which for me is the most intense type of psychological symbiosis you can get from the company of a woman, trumping, the company and companionship of a group of men. (And I use the word trumping, without the desire to trigger people, especially you Sarah B. And if you are reading this, PS. I hope you are healing well),
In my endeavour to find company in an urban wasteland of loneliness that was Melbourne, and to locate connection with the opposite sex, and in my pursuit of happiness, I would risk at times life and limb. It might come as a shock to some, but that is what most men must do to find a mate. (And in this case the use of the word mate, is both the friend and lover, by the Australian definitions). I have found that it is not just some men that are threatened by my presence, for some reason many men have been, or are. Too many to be honest. After speaking to them, men, I can kind if understand why, some of my best friends have been women and still are. This fact is for some men a foreign concept, they cannot handle the way I talk to women, or interact with them, as to some men, they, women, are just vessels to do their bidding. (Each to their own, as some women like that role, and it is not for me to judge). But I can be quite politely exclusionary in and to the company of men, as most see any interaction we have as a chance to flex, pose, or send out the signal that they are the centre of attention, or should be in their opinion. Despite the ever-present threat of the physical abuse by men, trying to be alpha males, which I am not, nor never wanted to be, I went in search of places, places that while not being in any way safe spaces, turned out to be… It is not that I could not look after myself, but by the age of twenty-three it was already old having some troubled young man, or idiot, trying to bring down your self-esteem or vibe, by physically or psychologically violating you. If someone tried it, physical or verbal abuse, to subjugate me, it turned a good night of exploring, into just a shit way to spend a night out. And this type of experience or scenario was most certainly not on my list of things to do for pleasure.
I used to work till 12 o’clock at night, it was a double-edged sword when it come to socialization. My workplace at the time, was filled with women. Educated, polite, friendly, and at times beautiful women, on the physical, and or platonic levels. They were seriously staunch women despite most being more than kind. If you happened to think you were going to tell one what to do and think, (which never turned out to be a problem for me), you soon learned the error of your intent. At this time, I had broken up with my best friend, it was a great loss, that took a couple of years contemplation to just move on from. It took nearly thirty years and a 20 000 + word document, a diary entry of a personal reflection, and or contemplation, for me to understand some of what had happened. After work I would go out and explore the CBD of Melbourne, it was no New York from what I have heard, as in the city that never sleeps, but it had its moments.
I was only 23 years old and despite this, I found myself at the Metro night club which was walking distance from my work. I used to go there on such a regular basis that they gave me a membership card, with all the conditions redacted : ) The club was renowned for the youthfulness of its clientele, and the sometimes brutal manner in which the security guards defended the people, or young patrons that frequented it. One night I would see a young man who must have done something very stupid, as the security guards ejected him through a door that I never knew existed. The door led to a set of iron steps one story high of them to be accurate. I am not sure what he did but they through him face first down them, it was an ouch moment, that I am sure the young man still remembers to this day. Despite witnessing this brutality, actually because of it, I felt safer. The large islander gentlemen that you never knew existed there, until they where needed, where there for your protection. Provided you were not the perpetrator of some innocent persons violation they were there for your safety. At that time the islander gentlemen of Melbourne had a reputation as fierce security guards, and under the kind advisement of one of my work colleagues, a garage musician at the time, he recommended I go to a club in Saint Kilda, he said it was great. It wasn’t. At that time, it was hosting many underground bands. He only had one piece of advice, he said don’t get involved in any trouble. He informed me that when there was trouble there, and security got involved, they, the floor staff, would instantly go to the cleaning closet to get the mop and bucket. It was not to clean up spilt drinks from an altercation, it was done to clean up the blood after the event. I went there once, but it was not my type of scene, and that is not a criticism of the guards there, it was more to do with the unfriendly patrons.
Back to the Metro, as it was home base for quite a while. Its Goo night on Thursdays, was their alternative night when it came to music. Being super fit, I would go along and pogo for hours on end. One time, I got shin splints from the height and repetition of my pogoing to the music. If you do not know what pogoing is, just think of a human with out a pogo stick doing the same thing to the time of music. As a teen I could nearly dunk a basketball, well, at least ram it into the ring, so my pogoing was quite a spectacle, if I say so myself : ) Maasai warrior I am not, but I had my moments! Regarding or discussing basketball and the Metro, a strange combo, but I once ran into a young lady, a very tall, but noticeably young lady. Please note it was an adult club ie. a legal requirement of being over 18. I am about five feet eleven inches or 178 centimetres tall, and this young woman was so tall, I was looking up to her like a child looks up to an adult. I so much wanted to talk to her because of her height, and because she was good looking, or in the least very pretty. It was a bit of a mine field to negotiate as I am sure her height had caused her many issues, and made her a centre point of attention, with nowhere to escape to. None the less I approached her and said “hi…” she was a little set a back. She most certainly was not dressed for the night; she was pretty but staid in appearance. I was dressed in all black with black jungle boots and had 13 earrings and a nose ring at the time. We chatted for a bit shouting at each other over the music. I said she was pretty, and she said “thanks” almost blushing, we talked about her height, and she seemed curious as to why I would find her attractive, I said, “…you just are…!” Or something to that effect, and that there was not much more to it other than that. She said she hated her height, I told her I did not care about it, but I did. I lied, as I thought it was hot, and asked very politely to kiss her, she blushed doubly and was a little set back by the request. She said thanks, but you are a little short for me lol Then gave the actual reason an excuse that I cannot repeat. The idea of bending down to kiss me was a little confronting for her. She was very polite in her denial of my formal request but seemed genuinely flattered. I never forgot the interaction, the polite personal conversation, and how pretty she was, nor how amazingly tall she stood.
Drinks at Goo where cheap, at the time $2.50 Australian for basic spirits, a god send when trying to break my social shyness and destroy any doubts about the magnificence of my pogoing, which no one else was ever seen to be doing at the time : ) The DJ even put on old punk tunes from the eighties to wind me up, like a jack in the box. The price of the drinks was not an issue, when it came to over drinking or pacing myself, I had studied biochemistry at university, and I could count. Despite my repeated fun, I would have one bar maid ask what my problem was? One night, as she saw my drinking as being a sign of self-destruction, or self-harm and not what it actual was, an utterly deliberate biochemical induced freedom, from people like her, and everyone else who had an ignorant opinion about what I was doing there, and or in my life. It all went fine till one night it went wrong; I had left my drink by the dance floor and later drinking it did not think that it could have been spiked. It did not taste like anything unusual, but when it hit me, it made my world spin. At the time, or there abouts, I would find out, people predominately males had been spiking women’s drinks to later rape them, once they were unconscious. I was not raped that night fortunately, but it turned out to be memorable for all the wrong reasons. It crept up on me like a stalker, (the effect of the drink), first it was welcome, then very much not, and would not go away. I knew I had to get home, and fast, I moved toward the entrance staggering and got to the edge of the front door. I leant against it; the people who knew of me asked if I was ok, I slurred words trying to speak but I was nearly incoherent. Infront of me was a taxi three meters away, I went to move forward and slid sideways along the wall falling into the alley, and onto the road or blue stones, I cannot remember which. I do not know how long I was there for, but it seemed like a relief to be motionless, as the world spun around me. All I can remember was a petite young woman bent over me, shaking me and asking if I was ok. She was pretty and despite my predicament I still had a sense of humour. I said I am fine, how about a kiss and laughed. She was kind, and was not offended, or upset, by my request, just concerned. Let us face it she was under no threat as I could not move. She said it was cold and I should go home. I said I was fine, despite not being able to move. The man with her though had taken offence at my request and decided to make my night memorable. He gave me a verbal spray, about being a pathetic drunk, not knowing that I had been drugged. Unable to move he called me pitiful and urinated all over me. While I lay there unable to do anything, I was cold, and it the urine was warm; I fell asleep but woke up cold and wet, as the light started to break. I went to the taxi rank and asked to go home. The taxi driver said no worries, do you have the money, I always did and said yes. The ride home was long despite being short. When I got home, I went to pay the taxi driver, I found they had stollen my wallet. It hurt me more than the indignity of getting urinated on, not being able to pay the taxi bill. I apologised profusely to the taxi driver, and he gave me his phone number so as I could pay him. A would later call him to give him the money, but he never took up the offer. And I would never forget being drugged, being urinated on, and not being able to pay a man for his hard-earned work.
Have a great day or night, where ever you find yourself, if you got this far : )
I wouldn’t classify myself as an “adrenaline junkie,” but I do like to break the rules. Admitted to a secure building for a meeting on the first floor, I boldly traveled to the 8th floor twice (once for tea and once for the bathroom). When security confronted me about my off-route movements, I simply explained myself (but secretly relished getting away with it).
Dress, Jovovich Hawk for Target. Blouse, Romeo & Juliet Couture. Belt, thrifted. Leggings, Express. Boots, Joe’s. Sunglasses, Meow Meow. Earrings, Stardust Remembered.
Next, I dodged another security force twice to snap quick pics in a parking garage. My remote was a casualty of the endorphin rush, but it was worth it.
Confronted with especially grand landscapes or other natural phenomena, people in the Alps, like most everywhere else in the world, feel a urge to worship their respective gods. This cross has been built at an altitude of 3900 meter near the top of the 'Klein Matterhorn'.
See more Holy Places here
See more from the Alps here.
Thanks for all your visits, comments, likes and favs. If you like my images, stop by at hpd-fotografy or follow me on 500px.
Castelgrande : first fortress built in the 10th and 11th centuries. Enlarged and reinforced in the 15th century. Renovated and consolidated between 1920 and 1955.
Tre geerazioni unite nella pesca....mi ha ricordato una canzone di Claudio Lolli "Albana per Togliatti" qualcuno se la ricorda?
Per me non esistono fiori in grado di reggere il confronto con la varietà dei colori che assume Lisbona alla luce del sole. F. Pessoa
Chess is a fantastic game on so many levels. I always likened it to life. We have free will and, thus, we can draw on it and use our knowledge, talents, strengths, and abilities to make choices about our life and the direction we want it to go. In making choices, we meet others who impact our choices, influence us, hinder us or help us. But, for every choice we make, there is a reaction or consequence.
Once again The Curious Man was lost in thought. His thoughts were still not of a deep nature, but rather superficial and self centered. But, they were his thoughts, nonetheless. When in thought, The Curious Man tended to wander, paying absolutely no attention to where he was going, where he would end up or the sites or people around him or who he passed. But, he really doesn’t care.
Fate, sadly, kept trying to stimulate some sort of interest and emotion in The Curious Man by guiding him to unusual places and things. But, alas, fate always failed. Instead of feeling wonderment, surprise, fear, excitement, joy or any other emotion at all, The Curious Man felt…well… I guess his usual comment rather sums it up. He would always say, “Hmmm.”
The Curious Man is not truly a curious person, but one that finds himself in curious, unusual or spectacular places and situations. But, when in them, he does not appreciate what is before him. He finds it all dull and boring.
Also, as part of his self absorbed nature, The Curious Man does not make life choices. He just hums along; self-absorbed, letting things come as they may. When confronted with a situation that requires a decision, instead of making one, he puts his hand to his chin, tries to look curious and interested, but, in reality, is not, and simply says, “Hmm!”, and walks away.
Well, this time, Fate decided to take a firmer stand with this man and placed him in a situation, a game of sorts, in which he is forced to make a choice.
His absorption in his empty thoughts, this time, has led him to wander into an unsavory alley. He has no idea where he is.
Plus, he is facing huge chess pieces. Naturally, he is at his usual loss of what to do. He has no idea what Fate has in mind for him. He tries to move past each of the chess pieces, but cannot pass them. He tries to retreat and cannot. Fate has boxed him in.
The Curious Man must decide which of the chess pieces to move to find his way home. If he chooses correctly, he will take the path that eventually will return him home. If not, he will remain in this back alley until he chooses again. But, the second round of choices have a stipulation… he must understand why he chose that particular chess piece.
Now, The Curious Man considers himself curious and feels this makes him highly knowledgeable and superior to others, when, in truth, it does not. Lack of investigation and appreciation makes him less. And, the fact that he makes no decisions whatsoever coupled with his lack of control over his own life, makes him even lesser.
So, Fate stepped in again and this time, he will be exactly where he is until he chooses correctly and understands his choice.
For my Flickr groups…
Au-dessus des étangs, au-dessus des vallées,
Des montagnes, des bois, des nuages, des mers,
Par delà le soleil, par delà les éthers,
Par delà les confins des sphères étoilées,
Mon esprit, tu te meus avec agilité,
Et, comme un bon nageur qui se pâme dans l'onde,
Tu sillonnes gaiement l'immensité profonde
Avec une indicible et mâle volupté.
Envole-toi bien loin de ces miasmes morbides ;
Va te purifier dans l'air supérieur,
Et bois, comme une pure et divine liqueur,
Le feu clair qui remplit les espaces limpides.
Derrière les ennuis et les vastes chagrins
Qui chargent de leur poids l'existence brumeuse,
Heureux celui qui peut d'une aile vigoureuse
S'élancer vers les champs lumineux et sereins ;
Celui dont les pensers, comme des alouettes,
Vers les cieux le matin prennent un libre essor,
- Qui plane sur la vie, et comprend sans effort
Le langage des fleurs et des choses muettes !
**
Les Fleurs du mal : Elévation
C.Baudelaire
As I return to confront Standler I find him trying to chew his way out of the handcuffs I placed on him. What an idiot. It's a first though. Never seen someone try to bite their way out a pair of handcuffs. You truly are a remarkable specimen Standler. But that doesn't get you out of this.
It doesn't take long for him to spot me and as you'd imagine, he panics. Desperately trying to scramble to his feet and run he ends up tripping over himself planting his face into the concrete. You really couldn't make this stuff up if you tried. He briefly manages to lift his face up off the ground to look straight at me only to beg that I leave him alone.
"Please! Not again!"
"That all depends on what you say next Standler."
With that I grab hold of his outfit and lift him up above my head. Displays of physical strength often scare people, especially when people know they stand no chance of matching that strength. Probably explains why Clark lets Diana do the questioning. Then again he does love his boy scout image and nothing is quite as scary as angry Amazon.
"What were you doing here?!"
"I needed a way to get your attention!"
"My attention?"
"That sword swinging psycho of yours strapped a flaming bomb on me! I didn't have any idea how to defuse it so I needed someone who could!"
"Why not simply hand yourself into the GCPD? They have a bomb disposal unit for goodness sake."
"The bomb has a tracker! If I went inside the GCPD he said he'd trigger it!"
"Where's the Crimson Knight?"
"The Crimson what?"
Before he has a chance to process what he just said he receives a punch straight to his right side of his face.
"Wrong answer. Now I'm going to ask again. Where's the Crimson Knight!?"
"He's.....collecting something....."
"Collecting what?"
He pauses. I can't be certain if it's an attempt to avoid answering my question or he's trying to remember whatever he was told by the Knight. Either way he's giving me the answers one way or another.
"WHERE!"
"He....he said something.....about the docks!"
"Which docks?
"I.....I don't know....."
"What was he collecting?"
"I don't know he said something about....reinforcements or something."
Reinforcements? If that's what I fear it is then I need to find where he is immediately. I throw Standler aside and activate the remote link to the bat computer signalling it to reposition Wayne Enterprise's satellites to so I can inspect every dock in Gotham.
It all makes sense now. The Crimson Knight didn't have any need for Standler beyond acting as a scapegoat, all to draw my attention away from the docks. The bomb was just insurance to stop Standler from handing himself in to the authorities and stopping him from being a distraction. The fact that Standler ended up at the refinery has nothing to do with the Knight's plans, it was Standler's attempt to grab my attention and he deliberately placed himself next to the main pipeline to ensure I'd disarm the bomb and thus save his life.
Perhaps he's not as foolish as I believed. It only takes a minute for the bat computer to give a hit on the Crimson Knight at one of Gotham's docks. He's at the docks that used to belong to Cobblepot's family before they went bankrupt. Poor Oswald, but that's what happens when the global fish price collapses due to over saturation. From the satellite feed I see the Crimson Knight letting people out of a shipping container and they're armed to the teeth. Worryingly though he starts to move on to other containers clearly signalling he has more to come. Fortunately though this means it's still possible for me to intervene.
I drag Standler out of the refinery and leave him handcuffed to a rail at the entrance to the refinery. As I dispatch the bat mobile to make it's way to the old Cobblepot docks the batwing lands in front of me. The batwing will get me there in under three minutes but if the Knight has more men as I fear I'm going to need the added firepower of the bat mobile. Either way he's not getting away this time.
With that the batwing launches into the air as I race towards the docks. You're gonna pay for what you did to Jim and for targeting my son.....
When confronted with scenes such as this one in a recreated Kitchen at the Black Country Museum it's hard to resist feeling like a kid in a sweet shop. Everywhere you look you see potential, the challenge is to make a good composition from it, something I think I've done here.
Confront the two-headed Skolek with the Ardun Dragonslayer!
The soldiers of Ardun have a new secret weapon: a huge, repeating spear launcher called the Dragonslayer. But as the Dragonslayer is drawn through a mountainous pass illuminated by the Legendary Torch, Vorash and his two-headed dragon Skolek ambush its convoy! The Dragonslayer is powerful, but will it be able to pierce Skolek’s special iron armor? Includes Vorash, an Ardun Knight and an Ardun Soldier.
•Includes 3 minifigures with assorted weapons and accessories: Vorash, an Ardun Knight and an Ardun Soldier
•Also comes with two horses
•The Dragonslayer features a cool, semi-automatic rotating reload system
•Disconnect the Dragonslayer from the cart horse, and flick-fire its six harpoons
•Skolek is fully poseable, with 37 points of articulation including folding wings, moving toes, and an opening jaw
•Skolek features flexible cloth membranes on his wings
•Seat Vorash on Skolek’s back
•Skolek includes 11 pieces of removable metallic armor
•Weapons include 2 swords, 2 lances, a pike, an axe, and the Legendary Torch
•Also includes a pedestal for the Legendary Torch and a mountain brazier more than 4” (10cm) tall
•Dragonslayer and cart measure over 4” (10cm) tall, 10” (27cm) long and 2” (7cm) wide
•Skolek measures over 13” (32cm) long, with a wingspan of over 18” (48cm) and a shoulder height of 3” (8cm)
I drove back from the prison in the Batmobile. While I was at the prison, I checked on Superman, and made sure he put Joker behind bars, while also bringing in Harley. I confronted the Joker, and asked him where to find Harvey. He told me he was on 22 Daburu ave. I drove there... This war was almost over. I could just feel it. And soon, Gotham will be restored. I suddenly got a message from Jim Gordon on my earpiece...
Gordon, on earpiece: Hello, detective. Close to tracking down Dent?
Batman: Soon, Commissioner. Are you putting the criminals from Blüdhaven back into their proper prisons yet?
Gordon, on earpiece: Yes, we did. We're far from being done, but we've gotten roughly 25 of the criminals back to Gotham, we'll likely get the rest by tomorrow.
Batman: Wonderful. Bye.
I hung up my earpiece... I pulled up beside the building Joker claimed Harvey was in. I got out of the car, and kicked down the door. A man wearing a two-toned suit was standing there, his back facing me... It was Harvey. He was surrounded by 4 goons.
Batman: Two-Face.
Two-Face: Indeed it is, Bats... I've waited for this moment.
He turned to me, flipping his coin multiple times in one hand, putting the other behind his back.
Two-Face: This battle is far from over... This is merely the beginning... As long as I'm lucky, you're gonna get shot. Dead. Then the chaos will spring on, forever... Or, there's option 2. The coin lands on tails... I help you fend of my goons, and you go free, and I'll go to prison, no questions asked.
Batman: I don't like those odds.
Two-Face: Well, I sure do.
He flipped it... It landed on heads.
Two-Face: Heh heh heh... My lucky day.
He pulled a gun out of his pocket, and pointed it at me.
Two-Face: Bye bye, Bats..!
He pulled the trigger... The gun was empty. He kept pulling it, over and over... But nothing came out.
Two-Face: Huh? N-no... No no no! But the coin... The coin said you'd die! I have to kill you!!!
Batman: Sorry, Harv. Looks like you and your goons are going to Arkham.
Two-Face: N-no!!!
He ran to one of his goons, who was holding a machine gun... He pulled it out of his hand...
Two-Face: Give me that!
He aimed it at me... He was about to pull the trigger...
Batman: Wait.
Two-Face: H-...Huh?
Batman: How would Grace feel if she found out about this?
Two-Face: Y-You didn't hear?!
Batman: ...Hear about what?
Two-Face: Grace died. Some disease killed her...
Batman: Oh... I-I'm so sorry, I...
Two-Face: Sure you are.
He pulled the trigger, but I leaped out of the way. His goon who used to be holding the gun Harvey was using ran at me, and grabbed me by the throat. I jumped back, and threw a batarang at his stomach, stabbing him, and knocking him out, through shock. Another goon shot at me, but I dodged it. I used my grappling hook to pull him over to me by the collar, before punching him to the ground. Another goon ran at me with a knife, so I bent their arm back, and hit them onto the ground, and stomped on their head, knocking them out. The last goon ran at me with a pistol, which I hit out of their hand with a batarang, and slammed my forehead against their's, finishing him off. I turned to Harvey...
Two-Face: Agh! You can't win!
He flipped his coin again, and it landed on heads, again. He shot it, again. I threw a batarang at the gun, and it fell out of his hand. He reached for it, so I used my grappling hook to bring it towards me. I threw it on the ground, and stomped on it, breaking the gun.
Two-Face: Damn it!!!
Batman: You're finished, Dent. Just except it.
I walked towards him, and held him by the collar.
Batman: Superman brought Joker to prison, I brought Riddler and Cobblepot. And all the rest of Gotham's underworld is locked up. You're the last one. So just plead guilty.
Two-Face: Ugh...
He shoved me back, slightly. He looked out the window...
Two-Face: ...After Grace died, I was trying to deny that I was sad. Hide my feelings, and my disorder... I have a split personality. I tried so hard to keep calm, keep him out.
He pointed at the injured side of his face...
Two-Face: But when that Nygma guy took my coin, I couldn't take it anymore. I was so close to ending his life...
He turned back to me...
Two-Face: ...I didn't want any of this. He did. I just couldn't hold him back...
He walked towards me, slowly...
Two-Face: He made me dye my hair, get this stupid suit... Made me form a gang. He got me kicked out from being the DA.
He grabbed me by the collar...
Two-Face: I didn't want this, I didn't want any of this. I'm not guilty of anything.
Batman: You're going to prison, Harvey.
Two-Face: No... No! It's not fair! I can't, I-I...
Batman: It's not your choice, it's not his.
Two-Face: Wait, I-...
He flipped the coin again... It landed on tails.
Two-Face: ...Fine.
~Madam Web
Confront a child, a puppy, and a kitten with sudden danger; the child will turn instinctively for assistance, the puppy will grovel in abject submission, the kitten will brace its tiny body for a frantic resistance.
- Saki
2011 is on it's way... Maybe you are looking for a nice kitty calendar
Huile sur toile (détail), 195 x 276 cm, 1773-1775, musée des Beaux-Arts, Rouen.
Longtemps connu des seuls spécialistes du XVIIIème siècle, alors qu’on trouve au moins une de ses vues de ruines dans quasi chaque musée de Beaux-Arts de France, l'activité de paysagiste de H Robert est un prolongement naturel de sa pratique de plasticien, l'artiste étant souvent venu en hôte privilégié du château de La Roche-Guyon pour y réaliser le jardin anglais. Si son rôle exact comme intervenant demeure assez flou, parfois par manque d’archives du fait sans doute de l’oralité des échanges, il en a cependant été l’inspirateur, le conseiller, le concepteur, le superviseur, tout en partageant généralement sa création avec d’autres architectes, artistes, jardiniers et ingénieurs, sans qu’on connaisse bien la hiérarchisation des rôles, pas aussi nette qu’aujourd’hui.
Au milieu des cercles éclairés du XVIIIème siècle, sa figure est cependant incontournable, sa culture lui permettant de semer partout des références historiques, antiques et littéraires, le plaçant à égalité avec sa clientèle de collectionneurs. Ceux-ci étaient également ses élèves au sein de cours privés de dessin de paysage, sujet plus accessible pour des amateurs. Les puissantes familles La Rochefoucauld et Rohan-Chabot ont été les mécènes du peintre dès la première heure, dès son retour de longues années de formation passées en Italie. Il en ramena un stock de dessins qu’il exploita toute sa vie, parmi lesquels de nombreuses vues de paysages ponctuées de monuments en ruine mi-réalistes et mi-rêvés, sa marque de fabrique, inspiration pour de futurs jardins.
Typique du XVIIIème siècle, le château de La Roche-Guyon est, à cette époque, le foyer d’une vie intellectuelle et culturelle intense. Ses propriétaires s’y adonnent à la botanique, installent un observatoire astronomique, construisent un petit théâtre pour y jouer la comédie, reçoivent des hôtes de marque comme l’économiste Turgot, le mathématicien Condorcet ou l’agronome anglais A Young. En hiver, les cours de dessin se déroulent à Paris, dans l’hôtel particulier familial rue de Seine pour un cercle choisi réuni autour de la duchesse de Chabot. Malin, Hubert Robert propose comme modèle ses propres dessins, ce qui montre sa grande capacité d’influence visuelle. Un rare témoignage direct existe d'ailleurs de ces séances. Dans une lettre de mai 1778, je jeune Mozart rapporte en effet non sans humour : [la duchesse] s’assit et commença de dessiner, toute une heure durant, en compagnie d’autres Messieurs, qui étaient tous assis, en cercle autour d’une grande table [...]. Pour abréger, je me mis enfin à jouer, sur ce misérable et détestable pianoforte. Mais le plus vexant c’est que Madame et tous ces Messieurs n’interrompaient pas un instant leur dessin, mais le poursuivirent tout le temps, en sorte que c'est pour les sièges, les tables et les murs que je dus jouer".
A la belle saison, on dessine à l’extérieur, sur le motif, ce qui est un phénomène nouveau, comme au château de La Roche-Guyon. Sur une grande peinture du musée des Beaux-Arts de Rouen, H Robert s’est représenté lui-même comme souvent se tenant debout derrière la duchesse, assise et protégée par un parasol rose, en train de dessiner le château depuis la rive opposée de la Seine. Le principal apport d’H Robert comme compositeur de paysages est d’y avoir introduit une signification beaucoup plus profonde qu’auparavant, une gravité subtile qui a joué un rôle essentiel dans la transformation du jardin paysager des années 1780, où le jardin a cessé d’être un lieu de divertissement et d’amusement pour devenir le lieu de manifestations d’émotions, mais aussi de rites, le lieu d’une communion avec les morts et le monde souterrain, d’une confrontation avec sa propre mort. Mais son regard n’est jamais morbide, comme du reste sa peinture, la ruine végétalisée et investie par l’activité humaine étant l'image d’un patrimoine en perpétuelle régénération, annonce en phase avec les années pré-révolutionnaires, avec la disparition d’un monde pour la renaissance d’un nouveau (cf. louvrepour tous, G Wick : Un paysage des lumières).
Pour voir la totalité du tableau :
www.flickr.com/photos/7208148@N02/30799924016/in/album-72...
"Electronic Superhighway: Continental U.S., Alaska, Hawaii" by Nam June Paik, 1995. At the Smithsonian American Art Museum.
From the Smithsonian's website:
When Nam June Paik came to the United States in 1964, the interstate highway system was only nine years old, and superhighways offered everyone the freedom to "see the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet." Walking along the entire length of this installation suggests the enormous scale of the nation that confronted the young Korean artist when he arrived. Neon outlines the monitors, recalling the multicolored maps and glowing enticements of motels and restaurants that beckoned Americans to the open road. The different colors remind us that individual states still have distinct identities and cultures, even in today's information age.
Paik augmented the flashing images "seen as though from a passing car" with audio clips from The Wizard of Oz, Oklahoma, and other screen gems, suggesting that our picture of America has always been influenced by film and television. Today, the Internet and twenty-four-hour broadcasting tend to homogenize the customs and accents of what was once a more diverse nation. Paik was the first to use the phrase "electronic superhighway," and this installation proposes that electronic media provide us with what we used to leave home to discover. But Electronic Superhighway is real. It is an enormous physical object that occupies a middle ground between the virtual reality of the media and the sprawling country beyond our doors.
Un confronto tra due ''Miti'' delle FS: Vediamo la E444.103 partire con il suo IC 606 per Bologna e la E652.035, ferma al binario 1 per precedenza a vari convogli, con un MRS Fossacesia T\S - Verona.
... confronted with so much dignity, power and beauty ... could you ...?
The Triumphal Quadriga or Horses of Saint Mark is a set of Roman or Greek bronze statues of four horses, originally part of a monument depicting a quadriga (a four-horse carriage used for chariot racing).
The sculptures date from late classical antiquity and have been attributed to the
4th century BC Greek sculptor Lysippos,
although this has not been widely accepted. Although called bronze, analysis suggests that as they are at least 96.67% copper, they should be seen as an impure copper rather than bronze. The high copper content increased the casting temperature to 12-1300oC. The high purity copper was chosen to give a more satisfactory mercury gilding. Given current knowledge of ancient technology, this method of manufacture suggests a Roman rather than a Hellenistic origin.
Although their exact origin remains unknown, it is certain that the horses, along with the quadriga they were depicted with were long displayed at the Hippodrome of Constantinople. They were still there in 1204, when they were looted by Venetian forces as part of the sack of the capital of the Byzantine Empire in the Fourth Crusade.
What happened the quadriga after the Fourth Crusade is unknown.
Doge Enrico Dandolo sent the horses to Venice, where they were installed on the terrace of the façade of St Mark's Basilica in 1254.
In 1797, Napoleon had the horses forcibly removed from the basilica and carried off to Paris, where they were used in the design of the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel together with a quadriga, although in 1815 the horses were returned. They remained in place over the basilica until the early 1980s, when the ongoing damage from growing air pollution forced their replacement with an exact replica.
Since then, the original quadriga has been on display just inside the basilica.
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À l’occasion de Cathédrale de Lumière, la Métropole Rouen Normandie et le festival Normandie Impressionniste confient au plasticien, dramaturge et metteur en scène américain Robert Wilson, la création de la nouvelle œuvre audiovisuelle projetée sur la façade du monument immortalisé par Monet. Une œuvre onirique, abstraite, qui met en perspective les textes de la poétesse africaine américaine Maya Angelou accompagnés des sublimes études pour piano de Philipp Glass.
Avec sa création rouennaise, il confronte son univers abstrait à un édifice solide et s’empare de l’histoire d’une ville qui a souffert, créant des images fortes d’où émergent la vulnérabilité et la beauté de l’existence humaine. Ce spectacle unique est une déclaration d’amour à l’histoire humaine, dans son sens le plus émouvant et complexe. Un rendez-vous artistique monumental à ne pas manquer.
Les poèmes sont lus en anglais par l’autrice et Bob Wilson lui-même, et en français par Isabelle Huppert qui prête sa voix au spectacle rouennais. Des élèves du collège Fontenelle et des lycées Corneille et Flaubert ont également enregistré des lectures des poèmes, en anglais et en français, dans le studio d’enregistrement du BTS audiovisuel du Lycée Corneille.
On the occasion of Cathédrale de Lumière, the Métropole Rouen Normandie and the Normandie Impressionniste festival have entrusted the American visual artist, playwright and director Robert Wilson with the creation of the new audiovisual work projected on the façade of the monument immortalized by Monet. A dreamlike, abstract work that puts into perspective the texts of the African American poet Maya Angelou accompanied by the sublime piano studies of Philipp Glass.
With his Rouen creation, he confronts his abstract universe with a solid building and seizes the history of a city that has suffered, creating powerful images from which emerge the vulnerability and beauty of human existence. This unique show is a declaration of love to human history, in its most moving and complex sense. A monumental artistic event not to be missed.
The poems are read in English by the author and Bob Wilson himself, and in French by Isabelle Huppert who lends her voice to the Rouen show. Students from Fontenelle College and Corneille and Flaubert High Schools also recorded readings of the poems, in English and French, in the BTS audiovisual recording studio at Corneille High School.