View allAll Photos Tagged Dissonance
explore #149
"You buy things and you keep them clean. You take care of them. Keep them in a special pocket. Away from keys and coins. Away from other things that should be kept clean and taken care of as well. Then they get scratched. And scratched again. And again. And again. And again. Soon, you don't care about them anymore. You don't keep them in a special pocket. You throw them in the bag with everything else. They've surpassed their form and become nothing but function. People are like that. You meet them and keep them clean. In a special pocket. And then you start to scratch them. Not on purpose. Sometimes you just drop them by accident or forget which pocket they're in. But after the first scratch, it's all downhill from there. You see past their form. They become function. They are a purpose. Only their essence remains."
—
— I.Dissonance
Donna's current works in progress focus on cultural aesthetics, in particular visual dissonance and its role in intercultural communication processes. Visual dissonance occurs when we are confronted with something that is unfamilar to us. The first human response is to reject it and in fact this unfamiliar image/idea may produce feelings of fear, anger and even nausea. As we become more accustomed to this unfamilar object/idea we begin to place aspects of it into our memory store and this enables us to approach it with more confidence and with less trepidation.
Donna has recently returned from a residency in Paris where she followed the life and works of French post-Impressionist artist, Paul Gauguin – his responses to cultural difference and his presentation to European society of the unfamiliar. Importantly, this ongoing research explores how the psychological processes of dissonance can be mediated by artists providing ideas-spaces that can create bridges between rejection of the unfamiliar and acceptance of new understandings. Small collaged compositions were produced during the Paris residency and these now form the starting point for the current series of paintings being produced at the studio in Brisbane. These compositions deliberately make use of famous European art to trace the journey and impacts of Paul Gauguin as a critic of French colonialism.
The series is an unashamed homage to Paul Gauguin who even as early as the late 1880’s, through his personal journals, writings, sculptures, prints and paintings, did not shirk the difficult questions about the negative consequences of colonisation on indigenous peoples caught up in French colonial expansion.
This Picture and very sweet words are posted in one of the discord groups i am in and they moved me almost to tears.
I wanted to share them with you all :))) >>
Ah, Rabbits, the whimsical soirée that whisked us away to the fantastical realm of Lynchland! My dear friends, let me regale you with tales of this extraordinary night, masterfully orchestrated by the enigmatic Myrdin Sommer, the virtuoso behind the mystical Lights FX.
Picture this: Lynchland, bathed in an ethereal glow, as if the very air was infused with magic. My senses were immediately ensnared by the spellbinding performances that unfolded before us. The maestros of the night, DJ Frank Atisso, DJ Khaos, DJ Seventh, and DJ Snowkat, wove a musical tapestry that was nothing short of electrifying. The beats pulsed through our veins, igniting a fire within that danced in perfect harmony with the luminous spectacle that surrounded us.
Now, let me address the pièce de résistance, the controversial mandatory Rabbit head. Brilliant, my dear readers, simply brilliant! This audacious choice to don a Rabbit head, forced upon us by the whims of the evening, was nothing short of genius. It transformed us into creatures of the night, mysterious and enigmatic. As we moved and swayed to the music, the Rabbit heads created a strange, almost surrealistic ambiance, a delightful dissonance that tickled the edges of reality.
In the end, Rabbits was an unmitigated success, a triumph of creativity and audacity. It was a night where eccentricity and eccentric minds came together to revel in the bizarre beauty of Lynchland. Myrdin Sommer's artistic wizardry, combined with the stellar performances of the DJs, and the mystique of the Rabbit heads, left an indelible mark on our souls. Until next time, dear friends, when we shall once again descend into the rabbit hole and lose ourselves in the wondrous world of Lynchland. - Cate Infinity
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The Rabbits Build will be in LynchLand for a longer time we decided :)) so you can still visit the venue, and get a free rabbitshead from the giver on stage and make your own Lynchian Pictures !! :)))
btw pls share your pictures in our Lynchland flickr group:
www.flickr.com/groups/14782280@N24/pool/with/53228343278/
Taxi to the RABBITS venue: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Pearl%20Coast/188/33/3053
Dissonance.
When I shot this, I was fascinated by the effect of smooth, gentle waves on the reflection of an ordered, repeating structure. The seemingly tranquil undulations wreak havoc on the rigid iron railings.
The visual interaction provides a metaphor for apparently graceful, passivity that disturbs immovable, strength.
I haven't altered this image other than to adjust contrast and levels to give some pop. The abstraction is created by a natural phenomena.
© All my images are copyright. Please respect copyright.
Thank you.
"Świat ma tylko dwa piętra"
(Eng. The World Is Just Two Stories Tall)
/second interpretation/
inspired by the poem "Dissonance" of H. Poświatowska
English translation by Marek Lugowski
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świat jest taki mały
świat ma tylko dwa piętra
na wyższym jesteś tylko ty
oddychasz ciężko
obok stoi wieczność
ciemna
mozolnie po schodach
idę w długiej koszuli
ocieram usta
ciepłą wilgotną ręką
zakrywam usta
za mną
idzie wieczność
obydwie
stajemy pod twoimi drzwiami
z czołem opartym
bezgłose
jak rozpięty na strunie krzyk
łapczywie chwytamy oddech
liczymy raz... dwa... trzy...
świat ma tylko dwa piętra
tyko dwa
nieduże
z krążącymi gwiazdami świat
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
dlaczego tak trudno umrzeć?
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the world is so small
the world is just two stories tall
you are on the upper one
you breathe heavily
nearby stands eternity
dark
I take the steps laboriously
walking in a long shirt
I wipe off my mouth
with a warm damp hand
I cover my mouth
behind me
walks eternity
we both
pause at your door
with foreheads leaning
voiceless
like a scream tent-pitched on a steel string
we greedily catch our breath
counting one... two... three...
the world is just two stories tall
just two
pretty tiny
a world with stars circling
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
why is dying so hard?
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My artwork may not be reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without my written permission.
My photographs do not belong to the public domain.
© All rights reserved
Or inside the poetry-machine
Through Jeanne’s beautiful images I met a poetry machine…and it was only the day before yesterday.
A poetry machine – the harmony out of dissonance, the oxymoron, the beloved irony
…agitation of our concepts…
And the joy that poetry-machine and Jeanne’s beautiful images brought.
And yesterday when I stepped into the elevator to reach Miró exhibition, I felt as if I am inside a poetry-machine. The elevator was covered by Miró’s paintings and prints inside and out, but there was something more…that I cannot name. Something more that turns the simple elevator into a poetry-machine.
I told Jeanne my wish on cities having poetry-machines and time-machines. And then I found a poetry-machine in İstanbul! Perhaps tomorrow I will also find a time-machine!:o)
On display at the Norwegian National Museum, Oslo
Property of the Museum of Cultural History of the University of Oslo.
Wood, carved and incised
This panel, carved in high relief with nested medallions, is one of the few surviving fragments from the Vegusdal stave church in Agder. It depicts scenes from the Völsung legend—specifically, the hero Sigurd killing the dwarf-smith Regin. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/V%C3%B6lsunga_saga
What We Know:
The panel dates to the early 13th century. It is one of a pair that framed the main portal of the church, greeting worshipers as they entered.
The circular medallion at the top of the panel illustrates the episode where Sigurd, having slain the dragon Fafnir, turns on Regin. In most literary versions, Sigurd beheads Regin, but the carving instead shows a violent abdominal thrust.
Below Regin’s mouth is a carved stream or ribbon-like motif, long interpreted as blood.
From a forensic standpoint, a gut wound would not typically cause blood to gush from the mouth. That symptom is more plausibly linked to trauma to the lungs or throat. If symbolic, the motif may reflect the soul’s departure or a stylized convention to mark death.
Sigurd appears to brace himself against the rim of the medallion in order to thrust his blade with more force, while Regin’s impalement causes his puppet-like feet slip from the opposite edge—making the physical frame part of the drama.
What Remains Unclear:
Why such a stark deviation from the canonical beheading narrative? Was the artist drawing on oral variants?
What did medieval viewers make of this moment? Did they interpret it as symbolic, literal, or theological? Did they perceive the narrative as a holdover from the pagan world? Was it viewed as a cautionary tale, a moral allegory, or a decorative flourish?
Did 13th-century parishioners understand this as a sacred threshold charged with meaning—or simply as narrative art?
The Question of Meaning:
Narrative Ambiguity: Even the literal storyline is unstable. The carving appears to show Sigurd stabbing Regin in the abdomen, with some material—likely blood—gushing from his mouth. This contradicts saga sources in which Sigurd decapitates Regin. Is this an error, a reinterpretation, or a local variant? The dissonance between text and image resists resolution.
Contemporary Reception:
Thirteenth-century viewers were mostly illiterate and dependent on local oral traditions, visual fluency, and possibly clerical guidance. The scene could have been interpreted as heroic, cautionary, or moral, but the lack of contemporary records leaves all such interpretations speculative.
Patronal Intent:
Who chose this scene—and why? Was it a community decision, an individual patron, or the carver’s initiative? Perhaps the Völsung theme was used not for its theological coherence but for its cultural cachet, drawing on admired tales in a flexible, prestigious, and symbolic way. There is no way to know.
Why It Matters:
This carving is more than an illustration—it is a reflection on storytelling itself. Sigurd and Regin interact not just with each other, but with the frame that contains them. Sigurd leverages the circular boundary; Regin slides off it. The scene breaks the fourth wall of medieval art, making the medallion both stage and structure.
The drama is intensified by its placement at the church's entrance. Whether didactic, mnemonic, or mythic, it served to provoke thought—perhaps even when the sermon inside failed to do so.
In the panel below, a rearing horse appears to strike a human figure with its foreleg—an anatomically implausible blow, yet one rendered with comic violence. The emotional register here is complex: darkly humorous, unsettling, and immediate.
The Fate of the Church and Its Panels:
Stave churches were timber-framed Christian buildings found across medieval Norway, named for the "staves" (upright posts) that formed their structural core. Their heyday was the 12th to 14th centuries, with over a thousand built across the country. Today, fewer than thirty survive, and of those, very few retain narrative carvings like the Vegusdal panels.
The Vegusdal church, located in southern Norway, stood for centuries before it was dismantled in about 1720. Its figural panels—likely once discarded or repurposed—survived thanks to antiquarian interest in the 19th century, when a nascent preservation movement began to see value in what had once been dismissed as outmoded or papist.
The broader losses are staggering. Most stave churches were demolished or "modernized" beyond recognition after the Reformation. Lutheran reformers, Enlightenment-era renovators, and later architectural purists often showed little concern for the carved legends and monsters at their doors. Some panels were burned, others planed down or whitewashed; still others were discarded when churches were replaced with larger, plainer structures.
This wasn't always iconoclastic rage—it was often indifference. Panels rich in mythic or theological symbolism became illegible to later generations and thus expendable. As a result, what survives is not representative but exceptional: fragments like the Vegusdal portal that narrowly escaped destruction.
Each panel lost represents not just a work of art, but a worldview, a narrative gesture, a set of meanings that will never again be fully understood.
Thresholds of Meaning:
The essential paradox of medieval doorway sculpture is that its richest images are placed where people spend the least time. The Vegusdal panels—like many narrative portals in Romanesque and Gothic churches—present complex, layered iconography at a threshold rather than in a space meant for contemplation. And yet, that’s precisely the point.
The doorway as liminal space:
Crossing the threshold into the sanctuary was not a casual act—it symbolized a passage from the worldly to the sacred. The imagery at the portal condensed spiritual or moral lessons into a kind of visual incantation. You weren’t expected to study it then and there; rather, it set a tone, planted a question, or created a mnemonic impression.
Communal familiarity:
In small, closely knit communities, repeated exposure across years or decades could foster shared knowledge of these images. Local clergy or elders may have used them in catechesis or storytelling. So even brief encounters at the door might have drawn from, and contributed to, a deeper cultural reservoir.
Oral culture and storytelling:
Unlike modern viewers, medieval congregants lived in a world where visual art, spoken narrative, and communal ritual were deeply intertwined. Stories like that of Sigurd were known beyond the church; seeing them rendered in wood—at the door to God’s house—invited reflection on what they meant in a Christian moral framework.
Mental stimulation? Yes, and more: These carvings could offer visual escape or engagement—even humor or horror. But their location suggests something ritualistic: they were meant to frame the act of entering, not to be passively admired. You saw them again and again, each time perhaps noticing a new detail or feeling a new association.
Few labels in modern museums do justice to the philosophical richness of such works. To honor these carvings is to accept that their meanings resist easy resolution—that their power lies in ambiguity, embodiment, and emotional immediacy. They remain charged, even now, with a mythic force that exceeds the frame.
This text is a collaboration with Chat GPT
Dissonance
La vicinanza fra il cimitero monumentale di Ravenna e il dismesso stabilimento ANIC crea queste viste quasi illogiche
The proximity between the monumental cemetery of Ravenna and the disused ANIC plant creates these almost illogical views
"Bezgłose jak rozpięty na strunie krzyk"
(Eng. Voiceless Like a Scream Tent-Pitched On a Steel String)
self-portrait
(2016)
Lavon Lake, Texas
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inspired by the poem "Dissonance" of H. Poświatowska
English translation by Marek Lugowski
---
My artwork may not be reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without my permission.
© All rights reserved
Muriel Hepner Nature Park in Denville Township, New Jersey
Good photography of any sort involves a bit of geometry. In this frame the pond exists within a diamond-link shape while the treeline forms a natural arch. When composing such a geometrical shot, it is important to set the camera with symmetry in mind. On the contrary poorly executed balance within the frame may leave a viewer with visual dissonance.
What shapes do you see in this frame?
Canon 5DsR + EF 40mm STM
Sydney’s reaction to this photo was “I don’t look like that!” The dissonance between how we perceive ourselves and what others see is mind blowing, and very funny. I get a kick out of the constant need to remind people who are modeling for me that I can see them, like, with my eyes. Sure, my vision sucks, but through scientific innovation, I’ve got glasses. Fixes that disparity right up. All assessments= 100% accurate. Which, you would think a photograph, would also do. Technology that can get an outside view of you, put it down permanently in front of you, and give you some perspective. But somehow it’s still hard to believe, and I’m deep in the belief game. Gonna keep shooting with Sydney as much as I can, see if we can’t bridge the gap between how she sees herself, and the beauty we see.
Camille Norment’s Rapture, a strange, tense installation that takes the piercing, resonant tones of the glass harmonica as a starting point to explore the duality of violence and peace, action and repose at the Nordic Pavilion. Featuring the otherworldly space of the pavilion prominently, the architecture is adorned with speakers playing a churning, high-pitched composition, in contrast with broken glass and debris littered across the rooms of the show.
the Oslo-based artist works with the glass armonica – an 18th-century instrument invented by Benjamin franklin that creates ethereal music from the touch of fingers on glass and water – and a chorus of 12 female voices. weaving these elements together within the pavilion itself, Norment creates an immersive, multi-sensory space, which reflects upon the history of sound, contemporary concepts of consonance and dissonance, and the water, glass and light of Venice.
‘rapture’ reflects on how the body can be defined and potentiated by sound, with the pavilion speaking of the tensions between harmony and dissonance. if, as the Norwegian experimental composer Arne Nordheim said, ‘music lives in the span between poetry and catastrophe’, the visitor to the Nordic pavilion walks into a sculptural and sonic installation torn between these two ideas, a space between a body in trauma and a body in rapture.
You may recall my previous upload, discussing the so-called "basement" of Chicago. Downtown Chicago is a nice enough, but turn your head the other way and get a dark sea of nothing. The nothingness can be unsettling, by unsettling is usually an enjoyable feeling for me, a door of opportunity for shooting.
In this case, thinking I'm alone at Van Buren Street, and coming across a stray commuter, no one else but us would likely stand on the Van Buren the rest of the night. But he's waiting for a northbound into the city - we're already in the "city" and the final stop is less than a half mile in the same direction. Weird. But like I said, weird is good - it gives you a lot of food for thought, and makes you appreciate the comfort of your home a lot more than usual.
Dissonance.
for ThE vEnTs "senses"
Had the idea weeks ago,but instead it was me standing in a hallway of
glass,it shattering all around me in a sharp waterfall.
So ... yeah,i made changes,and i like how it makes me feel.
Title #
Mail.
( iPhone 13 Pro shot )
Motosuka Beach. Kujukuri Beach. Sanmu City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. 2024. … 1 / 1
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images:
The Weeknd … Niagara Fall 【和訳】
youtu.be/hz-GZub_9rw?si=5yimkNvIoidXGPlA
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 15 😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
The summer light of Manhattan afternoons flared against the glass facades of the high-rises, and each time the heat of the asphalt wavered through the alleys, the massive building of the FBI’s New York Field Office seemed to draw in the clamor of the city, holding a grave and immovable stillness, while within its walls a taut tension and vigilance seeped forth. Beyond the thick iron doors set into its corner, the countless eyes of surveillance cameras interlaced with the motions of guards, proclaiming an order unshaken by the heat waves or the murmur of the crowd outside.
Special Agent Veronica Reeves, carrying the weight of long years of experience yet with a gaze still honed to an unerring edge, sat at the long desk by the window, quietly deciphering the thick bundle of reports spread before her—accounts of what had unfolded thus far. The shafts of heat-laden sunlight pressed through the glass, warping the air, and against that trembling her thoughts held fast, focusing upon the minutiae, drawing out, in three dimensions, the possibilities of the case and the breadth of its consequences.
The figures and map symbols inscribed upon the documents she reassembled in her mind, as though enfolding the arteries of the overheated city itself—the courses of traffic, the currents of people, the compression of the skyline—ordering the incident’s first movements with a hand imbued with a quiet, frigid certainty. The sterile white light of the ceiling LEDs cast swaying shadows upon the papers, and even those faint tremors at the edges of her sight seemed to enter her calculus, like unknown variables absorbed into the mesh of her analysis.
Her fingertip traced a single point upon the map, and in that gesture she drew together the city’s flows, the density of its crowds, the thicket of its structures, conjuring within her mind a three-dimensional rendering of the ground. The clash of red and blue signals at intersections, the exhaust drifting at corners, the tempo of footsteps, the shadows of cars idling at the curb—all converged upon the figures and symbols of the page, lifting before her the living geometry of New York.
Fragments of reports crackled from radios and telephones, slipping into her net of thought and fixed into the coordinates of time and place. At what moment, in what place, had the current of the crowd shifted? Who might have slipped within which building? The jam of traffic, the swell of onlookers, the frameworks of the structures—these she aligned, reducing error to its smallest margin, until the hidden contours of the scene emerged.
Her eyes remained calm, but the faint tightening of the muscles around them betrayed the sense of danger running beneath. With her finger pressing upon a point on the map, she drew upon the memory of old cases, of the city’s blueprints, calculating risk along each imagined path. The city’s shape, the crowd’s density, the placing of exits—all she set upon a grid of logic, hypothesizing every possible turn the future might take.
Her gaze halted upon a photograph in the file, parsing the expressions of the crowd, the disposition of guards, the position of obstacles. Cold though her eyes remained, they missed no dissonance, no trace of the unnatural, intent upon catching every variable within the net of reason, undistracted by the fever of the summer city.
In the office, where the cool of the air conditioning crossed with the heat outside, her thoughts gathered speed—silent, assured, relentless. What would unfold next? Which routes were safe, which led into peril? Each decision, measured in the span of a heartbeat, bore upon the safety of the crowd, upon the life of the candidate. Her logic did not waver, its threads weaving together in her hand like cords unraveling the complexity of the city.
Before her stood not only the files, but also the glow of monitors, the static of radios. Each was but a source of fragments, meaningless until passed through the filter of her thought. To bind data to the streets, images to reality, was the task at hand, advancing cold and quiet even as the heat of summer pressed against the glass.
The sweltering air outside rattled the windows; the distant sirens and the rumble of the city did not shatter her focus, but rather deepened her mental simulation, lending depth to the field she constructed within. Figures on the page fused with the living breath of the streets, reason drawing them together into clarity, and she readied herself to strike upon the next move.
Each sweep of her fingertip across the map made the city’s avenues rise in relief within her mind: the density of buildings, the movement of passersby, the gaze of cameras, the stations of guards. All chained together, cold and inexorable, suggesting the next action. Veronica drew a long breath, and with her exhale, wove the scattered variables into a single fabric, fixing her gaze upon the heart of the incident. In that moment, the distant sirens, the horns, the shuffling of feet at a crosswalk—all dissolved into her reasoning, each sound settling into place like a piece of a puzzle within the flow of logic. The city shimmered in heat, light and shadow in feverish scatter, but her mind cut through the glare, quietly tracing the full outline of the unfolding event.
At last, Veronica lifted the receiver of the internal line, feeling the cold resin beneath her fingers, and summoned Deputy Special Agent Elliot.
“Put me through to Jack Vance, Secret Service.”
“Understood.”
The black Ford SUV cut through the summer heat, racing down the streets. At the wheel, Jack’s profile was set with strain, while in the backseat Ana leaned forward, arms stretched protectively over the children, shouting in desperation.
“Keep your eyes ahead, Jack!”
The children, jolted by the car’s violent tremors, cried out with voices that wavered between cheers and screams, unable to discern the line between fear and thrill. Beside them, Mika bit her lip, struck dumb, staring in mute shock.
Behind them, the pursuing car roared, bullets sparking off the asphalt and leaving the acrid tang of gunpowder in the air. Jack twisted the wheel, his Ford scraping sparks along a wall of concrete, gunfire rattling through the city’s very skin. Ignoring lights and crowds alike, he veered the SUV up onto the sidewalk, plunging forward as screams scattered into the air, driving on as if to outpace the terror that pursued them.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
Mail.
( iPhone 13 pro shot )
本須賀海岸。九十九里浜。山武市。千葉県。日本。2024. … 1 / 1
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
The Weeknd … Niagara Fall 【和訳】
youtu.be/hz-GZub_9rw?si=5yimkNvIoidXGPlA
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第15弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
マンハッタンの夏の午後の光が高層ビル群のガラスにぎらつき、アスファルトの熱気が路地を揺らすたびに、FBIニューヨーク支局の巨大な建物は都市の喧騒を吸い込み、どっしりと静けさを保ちながらも、その内部に張り詰めた警戒と緊張をにじませていた。その角に設えられた厚い鉄の扉の向こうでは、監視カメラの無数の視線と警備員の動きが絡み合い、外界の熱波や人々のざわめきにも揺るがぬ秩序を守っていることを告げていた。
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス特別捜査官は、豊富な経験を背負いながらもなお研ぎ澄まされた眼差しで、窓際の長机に広げられた、これまでに起こった報告がまとめられた資料の束を静かに読み解いていた。差し込んだ外光の熱の束が窓ガラスを透かし、空気を歪ませ、彼女の思考はそれに抗うように細部まで集中され、事件の可能性や影響範囲を論理の中に立体的に描き出していった。
書類に記された数字や地図の記号を、熱せられた街の動線や人々の流れ、ビルの密集度までを含めるかのように頭の中で再構築し、事件の初動を論理的に整理していく手つきには、冷たくも静かな確信が宿っていた。
天井のLEDの白い光が、紙面に落ちる影を揺らし、視界の隅で振れるその影さえも、未知の変数として分析に取り込まれているかのようであった。
ヴェロニカは指先で地図上の一点をなぞり、都市の動線、人の密度、建築の密集度を瞬時に組み合わせ、頭の中で現場の立体的な状況を描き出していた。信号の赤や青が交錯する交差点、街角に漂う排気ガスの匂い、通行人の歩行速度、路上に停められた車の影――それらすべてが、紙面の数字や地図上の印と結びつき、ニューヨークという巨大な都市の立体的な動線を彼女の思考に浮かび上がらせた。
無線や電話からの断片的な報告も、彼女の分析の網に吸い込まれ、時間と空間に配置される。どの瞬間に、どの場所で、人々の流れが変化したか。誰がどの建物に潜入した可能性があるか。交通の混雑状況と、観衆の動き、建築物の構造を組み合わせ、最小の推測誤差で現場の全貌を描く。
彼女の瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし微細な筋肉の緊張が、その奥に潜む危機意識を示していた。手元の地図の一点を指でなぞり、過去の事件や都市計画のデータを呼び出しながら、シナリオごとにリスクを計算する。都市の構造、観衆の密度、出口の配置――あらゆる要素を論理のグリッドに沿って並べ、想像されるすべての事態を仮定する。
ヴェロニカは資料の中の写真に目を留め、観衆の表情や警備員の配置、障害物の位置を詳細に分析した。その視線は冷徹でありながらも、微細な違和感や不自然さを見逃さず、都市の熱気に流されることなく、論理の網の中に全ての変数を捕らえようとしていた。
冷房の空気と夏の熱気が交錯するオフィス内で、彼女の思考は静かに、しかし確実に速度を上げていく。次に何が起こりうるか、どのルートが安全で、どのルートが危険か。瞬間ごとの判断が、観衆の安全と候補者の命を左右する。論理は揺るぎなく、都市の複雑さを紐解く糸のように彼女の手の中で絡まり合った。
彼女の前には資料だけでなく、コンピュータの画面や無線のディスプレイも並ぶ。それらは断片的な情報の源にすぎず、ヴェロニカの思考というフィルターを通すことで初めて意味を持つ。データと現実の光景を繋ぎ、事件の全体像を構築する作業は、夏の街の熱気の中でも冷たく静かに進行した。
外の熱気は窓ガラスを揺らし、街のざわめきや遠くで響くサイレンは、彼女の集中をかき乱すどころか、逆に現場の臨場感を補強し、頭の中のシミュレーションに奥行きを与えた。紙面の数字と街の実像が、冷たい理性の中で重なり合い、彼女は次の一手を論理的に導き出す準備を整えていった。
彼女の指先が地図をなぞるたび、都市の街路が脳内で立体的に浮かび上がり、建物の密度、通行人の流れ、監視カメラの視野、警備員の位置が、冷徹な論理の中で連鎖し、次の行動を示唆する。ヴェロニカは深く息を吸い、吐き出すと同時に、無言のうちに全ての変数を繋ぎ合わせ、事件の核心へと視線を固定した。その瞬間、遠くの街路から聞こえるサイレンの音や車のクラクション、交差点で立ち止まる人々の足音が、彼女の頭の中ではパズルのピースとなり、論理的な流れの中に溶け込んでいった。都市は暑さに揺れ、光と影が乱反射するが、ヴェロニカの思考は静かに、その熱気を透過して事件の全体像を描き出していった。
ヴェロニカは、静かに内線電話の受話器を手に取り、その冷たい樹脂の感触を指先で確かめながら、エリオット副特別捜査官を呼び出し、いった。
「シークレットサービスのジャックバンスにつないで」
「了解」
ーーーーーー
黒のSUVフォードは、夏の熱気を押し裂くように街路を駆け抜けた。ハンドルを握るジャックの横顔には焦燥が張りつき、後部座席に身を寄せたアナは、子供たちを庇うように腕を伸ばしながら、それでも必死に声を張り上げた。
「前を見て、ジャック！」
車体の振動に身を揺らしながら、子供たちは歓声とも悲鳴ともつかぬ声をあげ、恐怖と興奮の境を知らぬままに叫んでいる。その隣でミカは唇を噛み、言葉を失ったまま呆然としている。
背後では追撃の車が唸りを上げ、硝煙の匂いを残して弾丸がアスファルトを跳ねた。ハンドルを切ったジャックの車体がコンクリート壁面に火花が散らせた。都市の皮膚を削るようにして銃声が響く。ジャックのフォードは信号も人波も無視し、歩道へと飛び込み、群衆の悲鳴を振り払うように疾走した。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
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「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
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2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
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Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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I imagine the story of a lonely woman fleeing in the middle of an urban kaleidoscope. Maybe she is being chased by someone coming from far away, climbing stairs. Citizen of a lonely city that isolates people. Maybe she is just a passenger of her own loneliness immersed in dreams of a better world. Around her, the reflections of colored glass converge on her silhouette as if materializing the colors of the dreams she carries within.
Are we already living in a dystopic world? My picture tends to depict (or suggest) alienation, solitude, identity and social dissonance. Shadows and reflections as I feel paradoxically they convey a richer impression of 'reality.
Lisbon, Portugal.
"Dans l’art, tout y est harmonie, même la dissonance." de Victor Hugo
Thank you very much for your comments and for your faves.
(Please do not use without my written permission.)
Qui tacit consentire videtur
I find it interesting that some people use their position of power and privilege to silence others. Whilst at the same time allowing others to say whatever they please and maybe even use their afore-mentioned position to amplify certain voices with a specific narrative, even beyond the point when any thinking person would have seen that narrative has been debunked.
I suppose this points to natural human tendency to hypocrisy and the willingness of many to only hear what their 'team' has to say.
At a time when some people deem words to be violence many of the same people hold the mutually exclusive stance that 'silence is violence'. Trying to hold two mutually exclusive positions will result in cognitive dissonance. It is something that marketing communications experts have known about for several decades and has been taught in universities for almost as long.
It feels like politicians have been cottoning on to this recently too.
Of course cognitive dissonance does not lead to clear thinking, people feel confused and end up often holding onto positions they do not believe in. When your thoughts are not your own and you do not sufficiently own them, your actions often become inexplicable and unjustifiable though many will try do just that.
A sad result of cognitive dissonance is that those experiencing often will either follow those with shallow charisma, swallow empty words, believe in nonsense, or worse descend into confusion and apathy, allowing less scrupulous people free reign to do as they please.
In short, let people speak so they can resolve differences with words rather than any other method.
Hello there. Relevant comments welcome but please do NOT post any link(s). All my images are my own original work, under my copyright, with all rights reserved. You need my permission to use any image for ANY purpose.
Copyright infringement is theft.
Fracture State by Dominic Nahr
BORN 1983, SWITZERLAND. LIVES AND WORKS IN NAIROBI, KENYA
By gaining independence on July 9, 2011, the youngest nation of the world was born: The General Assembly of the United Nations welcomed South Sudan as 193rd member, praising it as a model for security, peace, prosperity, friendship and cooperation between peoples. Five years after independence the UN reported on the desperate situation in South Sudan: War, violence, famine, and disease have driven the East African nation into a humanitarian catastrophe. By tracing the paths of families as they crisscrossed the country in search of safety, and by spending time with men inflicting this suffering, Nahr points at the dissonance between the original concept of a peaceful, united country and the reality its people are facing.
2010
Acrylic on unstretched, cut canvas
54 1/2 inches square
I came up with this drawing by first drawing a Grateful Dead bear in blackface. The synthesis of oppressive cultural imagery with an icon of an ostensibly harmonious, peaceful cultural movement was amusing in a twisted way, so I started brainstorming of what other kinds of symbols to pervert the bear with. The end product ends up resembling Buer, and I'm okay with that. It's an extra layer of hilarity.
The title was somewhat determined by the [America] theme of the show I made this piece for. Given the context of the show, the piece's reference to nazism(an oft-quoted quality of our political system according to some), nazism's concept of the Übermensch, and a shared last name, I got the random idea to reference Laurie Anderson's "United States". Specifically, I borrowed the titles from two songs from Anderson's work, "O Superman" and "Language is a Virus (from Outer Space)".
No real intended meaning aside from the humor that results from combining two extremes and then kinda cherrypicking references as they occur to me to add more layers to the initial gag. This was for art-nerd fun.
©Ashley Anderson
A little sneak preview of a brand new painting that's going up at Tasty next week for the "Fairytales & Fables" show.
I tricked my sister Roxie into modeling for me again! ♥
Consonance and Dissonance. © Copyright 2023 G Dan Mitchell.
Structural elements along the High Line Park, Manhattan
Taking a cue from the music-related title of this photograph, perhaps you have noticed that my photographs cover a wide range of subjects. When people ask me “what I photograph,” probably expecting a short answer like “landscapes” or “portraits” or street,” there is an awkward moment while I consider how to respond. I don’t photograph just one thing… any more than a composer would choose to write only, say, impromptus. There is more than one thing to express, so more than one approach is necessary. If anything, my photographs are about… how I see the world photographically.
I won’t try to explain the entire “consonance and dissonance” connection here, except to point out that these terms have multiple meanings. One very basic idea is that something is consonant in music if if “sounds nice” and “dissonant” if it doesn’t. But a more interesting idea relates to something that seems static and “settled” (consonance) versus something that seems restless and striving (dissonance). Taken one step further, the tension created by dissonance often propels us toward consonance… and consonance can resolve that tension.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books, Amazon, and directly from G Dan Mitchell.
Camille Norment’s Rapture, a strange, tense installation that takes the piercing, resonant tones of the glass harmonica as a starting point to explore the duality of violence and peace, action and repose at the Nordic Pavilion. Featuring the otherworldly space of the pavilion prominently, the architecture is adorned with speakers playing a churning, high-pitched composition, in contrast with broken glass and debris littered across the rooms of the show.
the Oslo-based artist works with the glass armonica – an 18th-century instrument invented by Benjamin franklin that creates ethereal music from the touch of fingers on glass and water – and a chorus of 12 female voices. weaving these elements together within the pavilion itself, Norment creates an immersive, multi-sensory space, which reflects upon the history of sound, contemporary concepts of consonance and dissonance, and the water, glass and light of Venice.
‘rapture’ reflects on how the body can be defined and potentiated by sound, with the pavilion speaking of the tensions between harmony and dissonance. if, as the Norwegian experimental composer Arne Nordheim said, ‘music lives in the span between poetry and catastrophe’, the visitor to the Nordic pavilion walks into a sculptural and sonic installation torn between these two ideas, a space between a body in trauma and a body in rapture.
Dissonance: A tension or clash resulting from the combination of two disharmonious or unsuitable elements.
I was struck by the disharmony between the beautiful flower boxes, the shutters, the old-style lamp post and the graffiti on the roof.
I should clarify that while I admire and appreciate a good wall mural / urban art (and, recognizing that “good” is a subjective term) - this isn’t that! 😊
Taken in Montmartre, Paris.
New Albany, IN
I thought the dissonance of the criss-crossing cables obstructing the view of a mural advocating for mental health was curious, and worth recording.
My good friend of mine was raising funds for Hospice organisation by participating in an amateur boxing game.
Before starting the game, in all the emotion and enthusiasm, this lovely girl was painting calmly in strong dissonance with the atmosphere.
I shot this one with a Tamron 28-200mm F3.8-5.6 Di A031S adapted mechanically from Minolta MAF to Sony E. That's why there is no info about focal distance and aperture. (btw, lovely lens for 20 years old)
If you like my photos, consider following on Instagram too:
instagram.com/alinconstantin_tanasa
I know the pieces fit cuz I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering. Fundamental differing.
Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion
Disintegrating as it goes testing our communication
The light that fueled our fire then has burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end crippling our communication.
I know the pieces fit cuz I watched them tumble down
No fault, none to blame it doesn't mean I don't desire to
Point the finger, blame the other, watch the temple topple over.
To bring the pieces back together, rediscover communication
The poetry that comes from the squaring off between,
And the circling is worth it.
Finding beauty in the dissonance.
There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away.
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting
I've done the math enough to know the dangers of our second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication.
Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any
Sense of compassion
Between supposed lovers/brothers