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View allAll Photos Tagged Disruption
This osprey was calmly watching for a fish, but the crows kept harassing it. This was one of the flybys.
MX//: Mᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟʏ·s ﹕
MX // Dɪsʀᴜᴘᴛᴏʀ Sɴᴇᴀᴋᴇʀs
Comes in 11 colours.
Slink // Belleza // Maitreya compatible. Unrigged version also included
Item available:
﹫Tʜᴇ Gᴀʟʟᴇʀɪᴀ Mᴀʟʟ
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Galleria/192/184/21
ᵂᵉᵃʳᶤᶰᵍ: ᴺᵒᶤʳᵉ ⁽ˢˡᶤᶰᵏ⁾
A visit to the forest was very much needed to stretch my legs for an hour. I walked around just as the mist was lifting! But! Just Imagine how it could have looked if I had got there earlier ...And it was really misty!
Quote.....
You can't change anything without causing some degree of disruption. It's impossible, that is exactly what change is. Some people are uncomfortable with the disruption that change causes, but the disruption is necessary if anything is going to change.`(Afeni Shakur)
A new fighter design - perhaps influenced slightly by the the style of craft in the video game "Destiny".
Finally got some parts in to finish my large mecha but I'm deep into a home renovation/rewiring project at the moment, so here is a fighter I managed to get together over the course of the last couple weeks. When I get a break I will resume "mech"ing it up.
Nadine Ijewere is leading the way for a new generation of artists. Through her unique visual language, the 28-year-old British photographer shows that fashion is fun, and beauty multifaceted – regardless of Eurocentric norms. Everything’s possible, there are no limits. Ijewere doesn't care about old rules, she prefers to write her own. Nadine Ijewere shot numerous VOGUE covers and campaigns for brands like Nina Ricci and Stella McCartney. “Beautiful Disruption”, the photographer’s first institutional solo exhibition, is on display at C/O Berlin now.
Source Vogue
The exhibition ends on 02.09.21
ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴡɪᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ sʜᴀʀᴋs? ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ.
She leans against the side of an old, abandoned wooden boat pulled up on the pebbled shore. A cigarette dangles between her fingers, its thin smoke curling into the salt-tinged air. Her gaze is distant, fixed somewhere between the horizon and the curling waves. The air smells of salt and seaweed, and the rising sun casts a pale gold light across the water.
For weeks now, she’s sought solace in this secluded spot by the sea. The boat, half-buried in sand, has become a familiar companion - a quiet witness to her contemplations.
This morning, however, the peace she’s grown accustomed to is disrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching over the pebbles. A man appears, carrying a small toolbox, his silhouette hazy in the sea mist. His beard is thick and neatly kept, framing his face with a rugged charm. His man-bun, tied high, gleams in the soft morning light, and his light brown eyes seem to hold the glow of the rising sun, warm and searching, like they’ve seen the world and found poetry in its chaos.
He pauses when he sees her, tilting his head in mild surprise.
“You’re sitting on my project,” he says, his tone light but teasing.
She raises an eyebrow, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. “Your project? Looks more like a relic.”
He grins, the movement softening the edges of his face. “It’s both. Been fixing it up for weeks now.” He sets his toolbox down and gestures toward the boat. “Mind if I get to work?”
She hesitates but shifts to the side, still leaning against the boat. “Didn’t think anyone cared about this thing anymore.”
He shrugs as he kneels by the hull, pulling out sandpaper and tools. “Most people don’t. But I’ve got a soft spot for things that seem... forgotten.”
Their conversation is sparse at first, carried by the rhythm of the waves and the occasional scrape of his tools against the wood. She watches him work, intrigued by his quiet focus. Eventually, she flicks her cigarette into the sand and says, “Why bother? Boats like this don’t belong on the water anymore.”
He looks up, his hands pausing. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s about giving something a second chance, even if it’s just for show.”
His words linger in the air between them, carrying more weight than either of them intended. She deflects with a smirk, suddenly self-conscious. “So, you’re a poet and a carpenter?”
He laughs softly, the sound deep and unhurried. “Just a guy who likes the sea. And maybe fixing things.”
As the tide creeps closer, they keep talking. He shares stories of his childhood by the coast, of how he’s always been drawn to the water and the stories it seems to whisper. She, against her usual instincts, finds herself admitting things she rarely says aloud - about her wandering life, her habit of leaving places before they can leave her.
When he invites her to help with the boat - just to hold a plank in place or test the balance - she surprises herself by saying yes. For the first time in a long while, she feels grounded, her restless energy softened by the steady rhythm of his work and the murmuring sea.
As the morning fades into the afternoon, the boat begins to look less like a relic and more like something alive again. And as they sit together on its edge, their hands smudged with sawdust and salt, she realizes that sometimes, it’s not the destination or the grand gestures that matter - it’s the fleeting, unexpected moments where strangers meet and something intangible shifts, like the tide.
If you click on the image you will see how much electricity was in the air. Tons of little tendrils.