View allAll Photos Tagged Introspection
This is Wednesday but those with acute clarity of vision will quickly spot that this is no Umbellifer.
Lets just call this a dark phase..........
light spills into the hallway, soft and weightless. the man walks, his steps blurred, barely touching the ground. the woman kneels, lost in something unseen. reflections stretch across the glass, bending reality. everything feels distant, like a memory slipping away.
therese-giese-halle, munich.
Detail at Tamala Park Conservation Area. Such a peaceful quiet place of solitude and introspection. One of my favourite places to visit
Autumn, you transport us to loneliness, to cold, to introspection, to reflection, to balance, to peace
a gaze without urgency, poised between presence and introspection. the light is soft, but the statement is clear—unflinching, quiet, and complete. her elegance isn't in adornment but in the way she holds space, as if time has no pull here.
"contemplation", as for Renato Pedrosa's challenge on "the global camel committee".
but as well for:
- 100x project - #13 of 100 bw shots in 2015
- 115 pictures in 2015 - #48 a backdrop of sky
Revisiting Cesky Krumlov Photofest. Lots of talented puppeteers and street performers at the festival.
captured aboard the staten island ferry in new york city, this monochrome photo encapsulates a moment of quiet introspection amid the bustling journey. a man sits in silhouette, deep in thought, or perhaps in conversation, as a child stands by the railing, gazing out at the distant cityscape. the stark contrast between light and shadow, the reflective floor, and the framed view of the skyline create a timeless, almost cinematic feel. itâs a scene that speaks to the juxtaposition of motion and stillness, a fleeting pause in the rhythm of the city.
haiku by my dear friend [https://www.flickr.com/photos/canonmao/]
a view of expansive NYC
a ride passing statue of liberty
a NYC ferry state of mind -
copyright: © FSUBF. All rights reserved. Please do not use this image, or any images from my photostream, without my permission.
You might be forgiven for wondering what the title’s about, although at the same time you may also be used to seeing rambling yarns in this feed that bear little relation to the accompanying photo. Suffice to say that yesterday’s events delivered a degree of concerned introspection as I puzzled over why my entire Flickr stream had vanished and I’d been renamed “Striped Tank.” I’m not a tiger or a zebra and I don’t drive a tank. I do drive a car that’s built like a tank but I’m yet to discover where the rear machine gun has been mounted. What was important was that for almost an entire day, more than seven years of building a collection of stories had apparently vanished forever. More than seven years of building virtual friendships with so many of you was hanging in the balance. “Had I been hacked?” I wondered, as urgently I checked my online bank accounts to check that the two pound coins were still safely stored in their secret chamber under the floorboard in the attic. No, it seemed I wouldn’t need to return to working for a living after nearly six weeks of lounging around not doing anything important.
It was one of you who’d alerted me to the fact that I now only existed in the shadows with the bracketed word “deleted” as a banner of shame next to my name. You also persuaded me not to give up in desperation and start considering alternative platforms. Thank you Lisa for all of your very supportive messages and advice during my brief flirtation with creative oblivion. Thank you to the rest of you who spotted the news on other social media, which I hastily contrived to alert you to the fact that the next time you heard from me here, that it would actually be me and not an online doppelganger. While all of this was going on I’d contacted the people who operate this magical world in which we exist together to try and find out what I’d done wrong, or whether I’d been the hapless victim of a gremlin in the system. I’m still none the wiser, but by the evening it seemed that I existed again, albeit with no followers or followees (my spellchecker doesn’t like this word) at all. By bedtime this too had been resolved, and I had a hundred more followers than I did on Monday. I was following five more people as well. Perhaps you’re one of them, wondering why I’ve reappeared in your feed after you’d decided you’d had enough of me hanging around. If you don’t mind just giving me a stay of execution, I’ll do my best to up my game and share more compelling images with you. More interestingly, I’ve posted an extra photograph somewhere. I only know this because the one on Monday was number 500. I can’t wait to see whether the mystery 501st shot made it onto the Explore page, or whether in fact it was me that took it. It’s going to be like playing a game of “Where’s Wally?” Meanwhile, I’m busy saving all of those stories, so that when the gremlins decide the time has come to excommunicate me again, at least I still have them archived. So many stories; so many great memories I didn’t want to forget.
The restoration of my feed also meant that I didn’t have to spend any more time wondering which of my images to repost first – I was leaning towards the black and white shot at Skogafoss in Iceland and the story of the sandwich bags. But now I can share a new image from the windswept ridge above Hay on Wye. What was especially lovely about this was that I was already here, sitting behind my tripod when my friend grazed its way into the frame and stole the limelight. With the telephoto lens I was able to zoom in to exclude the sky completely and use a shallow depth of field to defocus the distant backdrop of the valley below. It almost sounds like I know what I’m doing doesn’t it?
So thanks again to you all for being here and being so supportive, and thanks especially to my friend in Pennsylvania who persuaded me to cling on and grit my teeth during those angst filled moments of yesterday.
Oh - and you may have missed Tuesday's post, which disappeared not long after I'd uploaded it. Do feel free to browse..........
Entre ombre et lumière, un instant suspendu où le corps se tait et l’âme écoute.
Il arrive que tout s’arrête.
Que le corps soit là, mais plus vraiment habité.
Alors, on attend sans savoir quoi,
jusqu’à sentir à nouveau le monde.
———
Between shadow and light, a suspended moment where the body falls silent and the soul begins to listen.
There are times when everything stops.
The body remains, yet no longer feels alive within.
So we wait, not knowing what for,
until we can feel the world once more.
__________________
Tous droits réservés. Merci de ne pas copier, utiliser ou reproduire mes images sans mon autorisation préalable.
All rights reserved. Please do not use, copy or reproduce my images without prior written permission.
We escape reality not to reject it, but to breathe within it. In the rush of obligations and noise, we seek refuge—whether in art, music, nature, or quiet moments that slow time. These escapes offer clarity, untangling thoughts and easing burdens, reminding us that life is more than demands.
Stepping away renews us, giving perspective and space to dream. Reality Escape is the bridge between exhaustion and restoration, where the weight of the world dissolves, if only for a moment. In that pause, we rediscover who we truly are.
It has taken me an age it seems to buck up from a dose of bad stuff in life that hit me all in one go a few weeks ago. Sorry for not being around.
I know you can’t appreciate the good without knowing the bad, and I always feel there’s even more to life after a nudging reminder of its scope... but I'm happy to be out on the brighter side now.
…this morning and this evening I visited Flickr Fani’s b/w instantanέ Made me go out with my head torch on, after cooking a curry — with all that roasting and grinding of spices, tasting, and making it different from the last — to take a pic from outside into my home.
This is my washing up — always a good thing to do :-))
you lot here… you’re great! ®
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captured during a site visit to our townhouse el mar in portixol, mallorca, this photo tells a quiet story of a rare rainy day on the island. the reflection of the figure on the rain-streaked glass creates a haunting double, while the monochrome tones and overcast sky add a sense of calm and introspection. with the mediterranean sea in the background, the scene blends the modern structure of the building with the natural setting, finding beauty in the rare texture of raindrops on glass—a detail not often seen here. it’s a reflective moment, both literally and figuratively, where the unusual mallorcan rain brings a unique depth to the shot.
MILES DAVIS --- So What
arhitect Tiberiu Niga, 1936
built in 1936, architect Tiberiu Niga
arhitectura-1906.ro/2012/01/itinerar-de-arhitect-tiberiu-...
Ese momento en el que todos hemos vivido o reconocido que lo hemos hecho, ese estado en el que reflexionas y piensas desde el interior siendo verdaderamente sincero contigo mismo…
captured through the café window in berlin mitte, this image reveals a young man immersed in his own thoughts, separated from the bustling world outside. the warm reflections and soft colors of the café atmosphere evoke a sense of calm and introspection, as if he’s momentarily detached from his surroundings. the glass creates a quiet barrier between observer and observed, between outside and inside, while the light gently highlights the contours of his face and hand. this moment of silent reflection tells a small, personal story amidst the big city, as if the world around him has paused for just a second.
That’s me as an author-mid-thought, mid-mug, mid-muddle. Feet up like I’ve conquered something, but really I’m just trying to outstare the desk until it gives up a good idea.
The books are judging me. The decorations are nostalgic but unhelpful. The plant’s thriving, which feels like a personal attack. I’ve got a speaker humming low in the corner, hoping a bassline will shake loose a metaphor. Nothing yet.
This is my ritual: sit, sip, stare. Let the shadows stretch across the wall like half-written sentences. I pretend I’m relaxed, but I’m actually negotiating with silence. I ask it nicely to hand over a spark. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it just watches me squirm.
But here’s the thing-I believe in this moment. The not-yet. The almost. The ache before the idea. Because when inspiration finally arrives, it never knocks. It just slips in quietly, sits beside me, and says, “You ready?”