View allAll Photos Tagged Introspection

Portrait of my friend Benoit, who is a great wanderer / traveller :)

. . or just introspection.

you are bound for something great. i lost my job. the circumstances have left me. use the pain as fuel, as a reminder of your strength. survival. you are bound for something great. nobody has the right words to say. my call was unanswered. my stream of consciousness. you are bound for something great. stop comparing. stop asking what to do. just do. but what exactly. focus. what do i want to do. i love. too many things. you are bound for something great. don't turn back and go forth. march. it's getting hard to keep my head up. vulnerable to the smalls. you don't live my life. stop talking. i've walked this far already. who am i. you are bound for something great. the people. my disappointment. anger. fear. anxieties. i'm going to get back up. this is where i would say. the world is wrong. look now. happiness always comes with great consequences. not smiling for now. what more do you want. you are bound...

Starting from a draw I did 5 years ago, I realised the final look.

 

See it big to see the details!

#week4

#fabrication4

 

The lost art of Introspection.

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Among all other flaws in me the one thing that i hated most is that I get attached to people and places easily. Letting go was and have never been easy for me even though I manage to be as silent and as invisible as possible. And every single time when I think time will heal, this emotional attachment, this string keep on tightening around my lousy heart with every single tick of the clock. But every time with every squeeze that brings intense pain, inevitably opens up my heart to a newer dimension. the reason I am attached to this pain is, this is what helps me grow every single day, this is what makes me 'ME'.

So here's to the newer dimensions, to a parallel world where everything is okay,

here's to the time that was spent, together or apart.

 

Here's to the sunbeam that was lent to me too briefly.

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#52week of #selfPreservation

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Another from the series "Inside Out ... a journey through introspection" by P.T. Dante Ciullo

 

Shot on a Maxxum 7D with the 5600HS flash in Multi-Flash mode. Three bursts over a couple seconds if I remember correctly.

This AI-generated image portrays a young woman with her eyes closed, draped in an intricately patterned red robe. She is surrounded by luminous blue clouds that resemble a cosmic nebula, adding an ethereal dimension to the scene. Her calm demeanor suggests introspection, serenity, and perhaps a spiritual connection to the universe. The contrast between the vivid red and the celestial blues creates a visually compelling and contemplative mood. The artwork combines elegance and cosmic symbolism in a striking visual language.

 

You can use this image free of charge. The terms of use and the image download are available via the following link: pixabay.com/illustrations/woman-portrait-closed-eyes-face...

 

#AIart #fantasyportrait #digitalart #spiritualvibes #cosmicenergy #etherealbeauty #meditationmood #AIgenerated

Profoto ComPact 600 into a 22 inch beauty dish high camera left. ComPact 600 in a stripbox behind model and camera right for rim light and hair. Pocket Wizards.

 

Model: Janette (Model Mayhem #776424 )

'Portrait' of my younger brother Kostas

After much contemplation introspection I finally decided to Disable My You Tube

Comment box.

 

I am fed up of abusive comments and derogatory remarks on my videos ridiculing the tradition and diverse faith of the people I shoot.

 

I put my comment box to sleep and sadly it is not any community but so called Muslims with their misplaced agenda they hate Sufism.. And are vitriolic and have one common chant do the Sufis say Namaz.

 

I am not anyone's keeper nor am I their spokesperson.. Go to the appropriate forum and advise them.. Trolling me does not help I not a Sufi though I dress in similar manner.

 

So goodbye comment box no more seeing stupid dumb comments day in day out from people living in hick town with no profile picture and no videos on their You Tube channel.

 

They are simply here as subscribers to cyber bully original content producers and proliferate hate and pollute this beautiful platform.

 

Salafis Wahabis Tabliki Jamati Ala Hazrat Brailvi and other that are radically minded.. Have their agenda to attack other communities and Sufis and Shias.

  

Soon I will shut this You Tube community tab too..

I come here in peace pronote hope humanity and do not want to be made a punching back because of your parents failure to make you human and civilized.

 

I am not part of this Misplaced Islam that tramples other people's religiosity and identity.

Acrylic and casein on canvas; 236.2 x 203.2 cm.

 

Mark Rothko, original name Marcus Rothkovitch, American painter whose works introduced contemplative introspection into the melodramatic post-World War II Abstract Expressionist school; his use of colour as the sole means of expression led to the development of Colour Field Painting.

 

In 1913 Rothko’s family emigrated from Russia to the U.S., where they settled in Portland, Ore. During his youth he was preoccupied with politics and social issues. He entered Yale University in 1921, intending to become a labour leader, but dropped out after two years and wandered about the U.S. In 1925 he settled in New York City and took up painting. Although he studied briefly under the painter Max Weber, he was essentially self-taught.

 

Rothko first worked in a realistic style that culminated in his Subway series of the late 1930s, showing the loneliness of persons in drab urban environments. This gave way in the early 1940s to the semi-abstract biomorphic forms of the ritualistic Baptismal Scene (1945). By 1948, however, he had arrived at a highly personal form of Abstract Expressionism. Unlike many of his fellow Abstract Expressionists, Rothko never relied on such dramatic techniques as violent brushstrokes or the dripping and splattering of paint. Instead, his virtually gestureless paintings achieved their effects by juxtaposing large areas of melting colours that seemingly float parallel to the picture plane in an indeterminate, atmospheric space.

 

Rothko spent the rest of his life refining this basic style through continuous simplification. He restricted his designs to two or three “soft-edged” rectangles that nearly filled the wall-sized vertical formats like monumental abstract icons. Despite their large size, however, his paintings derived a remarkable sense of intimacy from the play of nuances within local colour.

 

From 1958 to 1966 Rothko worked intermittently on a series of 14 immense canvases (the largest was about 11 × 15 feet [3 × 5 metres]) eventually placed in a nondenominational chapel in Houston, Texas, called, after his death, the Rothko Chapel. These paintings were virtual monochromes of darkly glowing browns, maroons, reds, and blacks. Their sombre intensity reveals the deep mysticism of Rothko’s later years. Plagued by ill health and the conviction that he had been forgotten by those artists who had learned most from his painting, he committed suicide.

 

After his death, the execution of Rothko’s will provoked one of the most spectacular and complex court cases in the history of modern art, lasting for 11 years (1972–82). The misanthropic Rothko had hoarded his works, numbering 798 paintings, as well as many sketches and drawings. His daughter, Kate Rothko, accused the executors of the estate (Bernard J. Reis, Theodoros Stamos, and Morton Levine) and Frank Lloyd, owner of Marlborough Galleries in New York City, of conspiracy and conflict of interest in selling the works—in effect, of enriching themselves. The courts decided against the executors and Lloyd, who were heavily fined. Lloyd was tried separately and convicted on criminal charges of tampering with evidence. In 1979 a new board of the Mark Rothko Foundation was established, and all the works in the estate were divided between the artist’s two children and the Foundation. In 1984 the Foundation’s share of works was distributed to 19 museums in the United States, Great Britain, the Netherlands, Denmark, and Israel; the best and the largest proportion went to the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

 

 

post sunset, pre twilight

a selfie

 

photo date/id: 20140214_5243henBb

 

80*80cm

acrylique sur toile

Ogni giorno, ogni minuto, mi osservo, mi ascolto, cerco di cambiare.

Tu sei però cieco dei miei piccoli bisogni.

Ti abbraccio.

 

Music of the moment: Spleen: Peter Pan

 

© All my images are copyrighted.

Please, if you want to use any of my pictures, for any usage, you must contact me before you use. Thank you ©

 

Once upon a time, it involved deep questions: Is this right? Is this wrong? Should I give in to my desires, or fight against them? Should I keep this a dark secret, or open myself up to a select few? Should I ever "expose" myself in public, or stay home in the "closet?"

 

Well, I have put all those well behind me. Now the questions involve: Do I look good in this dress? Is my wig suitable, or totally inappropriate? Too much makeup? Too little? Do my clothes take up too much closet space?

 

So, you see, times have changed :)

I keep telling myself my experience of life is normal, but I have this feeling that lurks around the edges of my consciousness telling me I don't fit in. I skirt around connections and engagements that others seem to value. Isolation. Maybe it's better this way.

Justin poses in his Spider-Man costume during Comic Con in San Deigo.

 

Spider-Man, Spider-Man... you know the rest. Created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko (not Jack Kirby, as so many assume), the face of Marvel Comics started life as a true original: a teenage boy with money problems, girl problems and family problems, who's imbued with extraordinary powers that make things more rather than less difficult for him. Peter Parker was very different from the Supermen, Batmen and Fantastic Fours running around the comics world at that point. Since then, of course, Spidey has matured, learning that with great wotsit comes great something-or-other, and becoming a husband to Mary-Jane. He's died and come back with enhanced powers, he's been cloned (that was a popular arc), he's been attacked by alien symbiotes and irate newspaper editors, he's even revealed his secret identity in the recent Civil War crossover series, and yet Spidey retains his sense of humour at all times, firing off often genuinely witty wisecracks in the heat of battle (a trait the movies have finally learnt to capture), while striking iconic poses that must be many a top artist's dream (Todd McFarlane and Erik Larsen, to name but two, became superstar artists thanks to their work on Spidey). The character and comics have often ventured to dark places, but soul-searching and brooding introspection doesn't really suit your friendly neighbourhood webslinger. This is one spider that thrives in the bright light.

 

Trademarks: Red-and-blue costume (usually), daubed with webbing and large white eyepatches. Spider-Man has the proportionate strength and agility of a spider, a fully functional spider-sense which warns him of danger. He also manufactures his own webbing. Smart kid. *

 

* Empire Staff. 2016. "The 50 greatest comic-book characters" Empire. MEDIA WEB SITE 2018-07-22. www.empireonline.com/movies/features/50greatestcomicchara...

 

MCB_0962_rot-1_cr

and through the rise and falling apart

we discover who we are

~ lifehouse

From the autumn 2016 trip to Vietnam:

 

If ever there were a good way to finish up a trip, this particular Sunday in October would be it. Before arriving in Hanoi, I honestly had exceptionally low expectations. A bit like Saigon, if you are to go online and try to look up a list of places to visit – basically a tourist’s stock photography checklist, as it may be – you don’t find much that’s appealing. Well…I didn’t, anyway, and as a result, I had pretty low expectations for Hanoi.

 

The charm and beauty of Hanoi, however, isn’t in any one particular place. It’s in the experience of the entire city. (I’d say the same for Saigon, but multiply that a few times for Hanoi.) On this day in the Old Quarter in particular, I kept finding myself thinking, “Oh, my God, I shouldn’t be this lucky as a photographer…” Today ended up being mostly about people, with a little food and historical locations mixed in.

 

As I mentioned in the last set of posting, today would start off a bit sad with Junebug leaving for China a day before I would. So, we were checked out of our room by 6:00 in the morning or so. The breakfast at the Art Trendy was wonderful. Buffet with a mix of made-to-order omelets mixed in. Strong work, Art Trendy, strong work…

 

When June left, I really had nothing to do since it was still six in the morning and I was temporarily homeless as I had to switch hotels. So…I sat around the lobby for about two hours (possibly slightly awkward for the poor girls working there, but oh, well; I had to sit somewhere).

 

Around 8:00, I finally dragged my old bones out of the hotel and walked the five to ten minutes down the street to the Aquarius, where I politely asked them to hold my non-camera bag until I come back around 1:00 in the afternoon to check in.

 

After that, I was finally off with my cameras to enjoy an early Sunday morning in the bustling Old Quarter. On the street where the hotel is situated are a number of restaurants where locals were jammed in to enjoy noodles, steamed buns, and the like. It was wonderful to be among that crowd (though someone tried to scold me ever so slightly for taking pictures of people eating).

 

Since this was right next to St. Joseph’s Cathedral – and it was Sunday morning – I found my way back into the church where we crashed the wedding the afternoon before and realized that I almost got locked into Sunday mass while walking around taking pictures. So…I stayed. I prayed. And my prayer was answered when I realized the side doors and even the back door were open. (Ok…I didn’t really think I was locked in a church, but it did feel like it a little bit.)

 

Upon exiting the church, a handful of frames under my belt, I walked along the lovely streets photographing shops and people. At Caphe, I piggybacked on someone else’s photo shoot – it looked like they were doing a promo for the place, or possibly just a personal shoot for five women, though I have a feeling it was the former. At any rate, I was quite pleased with that little set and am presenting quite a few of those here, even if they’re a little redundant.

 

My ultimate goal with this wandering was to find my way to the Hanoi Hilton. Now, I’m not taking about the hotel chain, of course, but rather the prison that U.S. prisoners of war sarcastically called the Hanoi Hilton during the Vietnam War. (This is the prison where Senator John McCain was interred while a POW, and there are one or two pictures to that effect here.)

 

This prison has a particularly interesting history (and morbid since…well…it’s a prison). It’s about a hundred years old and was founded by the French colonialists around the turn of the 20th century. During the first 50 years of its history, the French imprisoned Vietnamese insurgents and those who wanted independence. In the eyes of the French…renegades (hence the imprisonment). In the eyes of the Vietnamese – especially the current government – patriots and national heroes. If they were truly freedom fighters, then I would probably side with the current government on that one.

 

The French even had a guillotine installed here and overcrowding was a major problem. There were plenty of escape attempts, and more were successful than you may think, which is a little peculiar.

 

After the battle of Bien Dien Phu and the ejection of the French from the north (and before the U.S. got involved in the south), the prison changed hands and was under control of Ho Chi Minh. During the Vietnam War, it became one of the main prisons for U.S. POWs, as I alluded to above.

 

The propaganda claims that the Vietcong were absolutely humane and decent with U.S. prisoners, allowing them to observe their religious rites (Christmas celebrations, etc.), allowed prisoners to smoke and enjoy leisure (board games, basketball, etc.), and claimed they were well-fed.

 

This is certainly how it’s presented in the prison/museum currently. If you were to go online, though, and try to find a contrary report, you would find that this was all coerced and staged to make it appear as if things were on the up and up. (For anyone curious, per my Vietnamese friends, the general education in Vietnam today is how terrible the French and U.S. were for colonizing and torturing the country and keeping it from its independence.)

 

So, what’s the truth of what really happened? Who knows? Outside of firsthand accounts, it’s impossible to know for certain and even then, memory can be a tricky thing. I tend to like to say the truth is always somewhere between two opposing viewpoints, no matter what the topic may be.

 

From an impartial and purely photographic point of view, the prison, currently a museum/memorial, is an interesting place to spend an hour or two. Some of the exhibits seem a bit cheesy, but some are quite tasteful and well done. There’s also an informational video. You’ll have to see this with a bit of imagination (the prison, that is), as at least half of it has been leveled for high rise buildings. At least there’s some tangible piece of it left to visit, including the main gate (Maison Centrale).

 

After about two hours here at the Hanoi Hilton, I walked over towards the Opera House to get a few daytime shots but, really, to get lunch at El Gaucho. I was looking forward to a proper steak. The prices were astronomical (though justifiable based on what I ate), though I just opted for a steak salad. It was so good I contemplated going back for dinner, but had other plans.

 

With a happy stomach, I went back to finally check in at the Aquarius Hotel and got my workout huffing up six flights of stairs each time I went out. I relaxed here for a few hours until 4:00 when a dear friend of mine came to town to see me.

 

Ngan and I had an ice cream at Baskin Robbins right in front of St. Joe’s before heading over to the Temple of Literature. This is a temple dedicated to education and, bless my soul, it’s a place where university graduates come for graduation pictures.

 

On this particular day – a warm, sunny, late Sunday afternoon – it was packed with college students. And it was beautiful to see that many people happy, full of hopes and dreams, and dressed in either cap and gown or traditional Vietnamese clothes. In short…I had a field day shooting for an hour here.

 

Around 5:00, Ngan had to head back to school, and I went back to my hotel. I had one more meeting. Hoa, who traveled around Thailand & Cambodia with me in May, flew back to see me this evening. She picked me up at 6:00 on her scooter and rode me all around Hanoi by evening.

 

She started by taking me to Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum (which I consider a lot more photogenic in its setting than the Great Gangster’s Mausoleum on Tiananmen Square). This one, at least, was in a parklike setting. At evening, it’s well-lit and you can find people relaxing in the grass in front of it. During the day, you can visit and there are quite a few buildings behind the mausoleum that you can also see.

 

After a few minutes here, Hoa took me by West Lake – the largest lake in Hanoi, as I mentioned yesterday – and just drove me around for over an hour, it seemed. My impressions that Hanoi (even out of the Old Quarter) seemed to be a good place to live – though I’d be concerned about the air pollution – and people here seemed to be happy. Also…Vietnamese really love their coffee.

 

We finally returned to the Old Quarter for dinner at one of the famous restaurants she recommended and she treated me to a wonderful dinner. I can’t recall what we ate (the Vietnamese names of it, anyway), but it was nice.

 

After dinner, she drove me over towards the Opera House and then, finally, we stopped by Hoan Kiem Lake in the heart of the Quarter and walked around the lake. It was getting close to 10:00 by this time, and I wanted to get back to the hotel to get a few hours sleep before waking up for my early flight in the morning. Hoa came to the airport with me to see me off.

 

If ever there were a great way to finish a great trip, this was it. I absolutely loved Vietnam – honestly, a lot more than I imagined I would, even with every single person I know who’d ever come here saying what a fantastic country this is – and would gladly come back. This seems to be one of the kinds of countries that you would never get tired of or, if you did, it would sure take a long time. With that, I’ll bid goodbye to Vietnam for now with the hopes that I’ll someday return to this land of amazing food, landscapes, and people.

 

As always, thanks for dropping by and viewing these pictures. Please feel free to leave any questions or comments and I’ll answer as I have time.

... of AMC's Mad Men is in the introspection of human relations within a closed group. It reminds me of the fourteenth century breakthorugh made by Machiiavelli, "The Prince" which for centuries has been the guide to organization leaders. Here's a link to "The Prince."

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Prince

 

... I think the reason Mad Men is such a favorite of so many people is due to the depth of understanding of human relationships brought out in the dramatizations.

 

... in season four, episode seven, Peggy goes to Don, her boss, and asks him to fire one of her workers, who is extremely hateful to women, even to his boss, Peggy. Don tells her to go fire him yourself,. " If I fire him you will have established yourself as a "tattle-tale" but if you fire him, they will respect you. You want people to respect you, so go back and earn that respect."

 

Maybe Don is a reincarnation of Machiavelli. Hmmmmm.

So many things I wish to say.....

so many lyrics to quote, to sing even....

so many changes had happened.....

 

Life has obtained me different directions that I fully enjoy.

I've been part of Flickr world for two years now, met many wonderful people, seen various paradises of this beautiful planet, learned tremendously.... Flickr pages even brought a love of my life my way.

 

On that very note, I have to reveal the news... I have said the most important Yes (I do) just recently..... As a newlywed do I need to say that happiness is my middle name??? :D

  

Thank you for visiting my photostream all this time of my absence. I am slowly getting back, give me some more time!

Thanks again!

 

Oil on canvas, 28 1/16 x 36 1/4 in.

 

Mark Rothko, original name Marcus Rothkovitch, American painter whose works introduced contemplative introspection into the melodramatic post-World War II Abstract Expressionist school; his use of colour as the sole means of expression led to the development of Colour Field Painting.

 

In 1913 Rothko’s family emigrated from Russia to the U.S., where they settled in Portland, Ore. During his youth he was preoccupied with politics and social issues. He entered Yale University in 1921, intending to become a labour leader, but dropped out after two years and wandered about the U.S. In 1925 he settled in New York City and took up painting. Although he studied briefly under the painter Max Weber, he was essentially self-taught.

 

Rothko first worked in a realistic style that culminated in his Subway series of the late 1930s, showing the loneliness of persons in drab urban environments. This gave way in the early 1940s to the semi-abstract biomorphic forms of the ritualistic Baptismal Scene (1945). By 1948, however, he had arrived at a highly personal form of Abstract Expressionism. Unlike many of his fellow Abstract Expressionists, Rothko never relied on such dramatic techniques as violent brushstrokes or the dripping and splattering of paint. Instead, his virtually gestureless paintings achieved their effects by juxtaposing large areas of melting colours that seemingly float parallel to the picture plane in an indeterminate, atmospheric space.

 

Rothko spent the rest of his life refining this basic style through continuous simplification. He restricted his designs to two or three “soft-edged” rectangles that nearly filled the wall-sized vertical formats like monumental abstract icons. Despite their large size, however, his paintings derived a remarkable sense of intimacy from the play of nuances within local colour.

 

From 1958 to 1966 Rothko worked intermittently on a series of 14 immense canvases (the largest was about 11 × 15 feet [3 × 5 metres]) eventually placed in a nondenominational chapel in Houston, Texas, called, after his death, the Rothko Chapel. These paintings were virtual monochromes of darkly glowing browns, maroons, reds, and blacks. Their sombre intensity reveals the deep mysticism of Rothko’s later years. Plagued by ill health and the conviction that he had been forgotten by those artists who had learned most from his painting, he committed suicide.

 

After his death, the execution of Rothko’s will provoked one of the most spectacular and complex court cases in the history of modern art, lasting for 11 years (1972–82). The misanthropic Rothko had hoarded his works, numbering 798 paintings, as well as many sketches and drawings. His daughter, Kate Rothko, accused the executors of the estate (Bernard J. Reis, Theodoros Stamos, and Morton Levine) and Frank Lloyd, owner of Marlborough Galleries in New York City, of conspiracy and conflict of interest in selling the works—in effect, of enriching themselves. The courts decided against the executors and Lloyd, who were heavily fined. Lloyd was tried separately and convicted on criminal charges of tampering with evidence. In 1979 a new board of the Mark Rothko Foundation was established, and all the works in the estate were divided between the artist’s two children and the Foundation. In 1984 the Foundation’s share of works was distributed to 19 museums in the United States, Great Britain, the Netherlands, Denmark, and Israel; the best and the largest proportion went to the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

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En juin dernier, lors de notre séjour sur l'île de Ré et une balade sur les magnifiques plages de Bois-plage en Ré, j'ai aperçu cette dame. Elle me semblait en pleine introspection face à cette mer d'une beauté magistrale en cette fin d'après-midi ensoleillé.

 

Nikon D5200; Nikon 18.0-300.0 f/3.5-5.6; Focale: 220 mm ; Ouverture: f/5.6 ; Vitesse: 1/500 s ; Sensibilité: 100 Iso ; Développement LR5;

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© Didier Hannot - #DH470 04.12.2013

sb600 above off right shoulder fong diffuser. 18mm 1/5sec f4 200iso - triggered via Nikon CLS - backlight lamplight

That beautiful Traby from Romania. :-)

 

Happy Monday!

 

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A woman's electric bike tire, crushed by a car in a bike lane. She was okay, and glad that she wore a helmet.

Pyi Ne Kyat Thayay Monastery, Yangon, Myanmar. Monks in meditation with burning sticks of incense.

I observed this young woman while visiting Greenwich observatory; she appears to be in a moment of introspection or contemplation. Ignoring the rule of thirds, I decided to place the subject centrally in the frame. The vertical lines of the gate and the horizontal lines of the bench create a balanced structure that guides the eye naturally across the image.

 

Taken using a Panasonic Leica 42.5mm f/1.2 prime mounted on my LUMIX G9II. RAW development has been performed using DxO PhotoLab 7, with stylisation edits (including black and white conversion) performed using Luminar NEO. Light edits to remove the distracting artefacts were performed using Affinity Photo 2.

 

Copyright © Dave Sexton. All Rights Reserved.

 

This image is protected under international copyright laws and agreements. No part of the image or the Flickr Photostream to which is belongs may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Copyright owner’s prior permission.

 

This was for "get messy" art journal challenge. Here was the challenge: ART PROMPT: Introspection is about turning your attention inward. When you look inside yourself, what do you see? Represent yourself in silhouette, then fill the shape with colours, textures, and objects that represent you.

 

Super Takumar 105 mm F2.8

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