View allAll Photos Tagged LABYRINTHIAN
The is full frame of the next image to the right.
This was a magical moment; we had just come out of the dark and labyrinthian interior of the building, only to turn around and be presented with this fabulous cloud structure which had not been there when we went in. Sometimes, it all just works.
This image was made seventeen years ago; there were some other photographers nearby (see photo to the left), but they were acting strangely. After every shot they looked at the backs of their cameras, changed something or other, and then made another shot. Confident behind my old Hasselblad, I was pretty sure they didn't know what they were doing.
Pueblo Bonito (Spanish for beautiful town) is the largest and best-known great house in Chaco Culture National Historical Park, northern New Mexico. It was built by the Ancestral Puebloans who occupied the structure between AD 828 and 1126.
Wikipedia
danish radio concert hall, copenhagen, denmark 2002-2009.
architect: jean nouvel (b.1945)
an almost non-existing facade based on scaffolding, placed in one of the most desolate corners of new copenhagen neighbourhood ørestad which in itself is largely a collection of desolate corners, there could hardly be a stranger introduction to one of the most expensive concert halls in recent times.
but nouvel's scoop is to hint at a rich inner world, to say that the true city is inside. I have aldo van eyck's essay on labyrinthian clarity from the situationist times, issue 4, here in front of me. it could be the programmatic subtext of nouvel's concert hall even if van eyck would have been stupefied to learn just how heterogenous a single building can become when based on his famous line,
for a house is a tiny city, a city a huge house.
nouvel avoids repeating a single detail from major space to major space and one of the questions posed by his house in ørestad is if such complexity can be held together simply by a perimeter of blue fabric. nouvel might have answered with one of the concluding lines from van eyck,
I have...found it expedient to define space simply as the appreciation of it, thus excluding all frozen properties attributed to it academically.
A pictorial document (Aethergraph) from Brighton UK circa 1869.
This image appears to depict experiments in problematic rehabilitation therapy - using Dr. Moon's "Moontype" on a subject who is temporarily without sense of both sight & touch.
Credit to - otisarchives1 for use of hand/figure image
picked this Ammonite (3.5 - 4" diameter) up at a fossil and mineral shop in Madrid, NM, on the old highway between Santa Fe and Albuquerque (State Hwy. 14N -- The Turquoise Trail). I love the labyrinthian nature of sacred geometry, and the fractalian properties found in the more-than-human world.
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
Are you kidding ....... he sent one Thalmor that is it to stop me ... I will give you a moment to rethink this ......just so you know I really do enjoy killing you guys!!
Chiss Tank: STOP moving around so much! this is a fight, not a dance!
Beth: Serana, some help? this guy's tough!
Serana: I'm a little busy right now dealing with this Stormcloak traitor!
Stormcloak: shutup you! Admiral Thrawn's side is the winning side!
Chiss Tank: what are you waiting for? stop her!
Chiss Archer: I can't! she keeps gliding across the ice like some kind of..
Beth: ice skater
Chiss Archer: I don't know what that means, stay still!
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
On the night of March 8th 1980, railway signalling mechanic Dieter Wendt and his family escaped from East to West Berlin. Using his intimate knowledge of the labyrinthian layout of the Waisen tunnel system, Dieter was able to evade border guards and transport police and navigate his way to a prearranged place in the tunnel where a train driver , who was a friend, stopped his train, they climbed on board and hid in the drivers compartment until reaching freedom.
Ubahn U8 was an underground ghost line, meaning it started in West Berlin, crossed into East Berlin territory between Kock Strasse and Reinickendofer Strasse, returning to West Berlin without stopping at any station.
( thanks to flow.eu for background photo, geheugen.delpher.nl for escapee photos )
Have a seat and wait for planet and satellite to reach perfect alignment. Be unbelievably happy for warm woodland and due praise be to craftily woven fibres. Set up either tripod, or find accommodating surface that will not jiggle, (around too much), during photographic exposure.
Take a minimum of 30 seconds of recovery time during aforementioned photographic exposure. Use high f-number for small aperture to generate light star and in this instance at least one labyrinthian pattern in light created through optical brilliance, sometimes unflatteringly referred to as flare and not that often noted for forming a Labyrinthian pattern, I mean an amazing Labyrinthian pattern, just once more a Labyrinthian pattern.
© PHH Sykes 2021
phhsykes@gmail.com
right outside Selous Game Reserve bush camps populate the river banks, some having made it through the rainy season unscathed. while i suppose each bush camp has its own set of unique characteristics, what Nje Bush Camp really does well is to build a sense of exclusivity - at the ends of seemingly labyrinthian (yet clearly marked) passageways through the thick jungle await private little clearings for you and your party’s delight.
more on Tanzanian rural life coming soon at photojourneys.co.uk/
Italien / Belluno - Cadini di Misurina
Hike around the Cadini group
Wanderung um die Cadini Gruppe
Rifugio Fonda-Savio
Fonda-Savio-Hütte
Cadini di Misurina (Ciadìs de Meśorìna in Ladin) is a group of mountains in the eastern Dolomites in the Province of Belluno, Italy. These mountains rise to the west of Auronzo di Cadore, north-east of Cortina d'Ampezzo and south of Dobbiaco, in a position overlooking Lake Misurina. They are part of the Dolomites subsection of Sesto, of Braies, and of Ampezzo, and belong to the municipality of Auronzo di Cadore. The highest peak is the Cima Cadin of San Lucano (2.839 m a.s.l.).
The term Cadini derives from the Cadorino dialect ''ciadìn'' which translates into valleys, and refers to the labyrinthian structure of the massif.
Description
The mountain range is crossed by the Alta Via n. 4 path and from the equipped Alberto Bonacossa path, which starts from the southern shore of the lake and reaches the Tre Cime di Lavaredo. The particular geomorphology that distinguishes and so deeply characterizes the Cadini di Misurina, however, allows to cross the group by various lines so that, going up and down from their forks, it becomes possible to enjoy the dolomitic paradise that surrounds them. The equipped path Giovanni Durissini allows for example to complete the complete tour of the branch of San Lucano. It is a ring route, starting at the Fonda-Savio refuge (2,367 m), which runs in sequence the Torre fork (2,400 m), the Sabbee fork (2,440 m), the Cadin Deserto fork (2,400 m), the Cristina fork, the de la Neve fork (2,471 m) and lastly the Nevaio fork (2,620 m), with a total height difference of about 1,000 m. The first climb dates back to 31 August 1896 by Giovanni Siorpaes, Pietro Siorpaes, Ilona Eötvös, Rolanda Eötvös, Johann Innerkofler, and Loránd Eötvös.
Accommodation facilities include refuge Fonda-Savio (2367 m), refuge Col da Varda (2115 m), and refuge Città di Carpi (2110 m).
Main summits
Cima Cadin di San Lucano, 2839 m
Cima Eötvös, 2825 m
Cima Cadin Nord Est, 2788 m
Cima Cadin della Neve, 2757 m
Cima Cadin Nord Ovest, 2726 m
Campanile Dülfer, 2706 m
Cima Cadin di Misurina, 2674 m
Torre del Diavolo, 2598 m
Torre Siorpaes, 2553 m
Torre Wundt, 2517 m
Cima Cadin di Rimbianco, 2404 m
Torre Leo, 2550 m
Punta Cadin de le Pere, 2550 m
Main passes
Forcella del Nevaio, 2620 m
Forcella Verzi, 2550 m
Forcella de la Neve, 2471 m
Forcella Sabbiosa, 2440 m
Forcella di Misurina, 2400 m
Forcella Cadin Deserto, 2400 m
Forcella della Torre, 2400 m
Forcella del Diavolo, 2380 m
Forcella Maraia, 2100 m
(Wikipedia)
Die Cadini di Misurina bilden als Untergruppe den südlichen Abschluss der Sextener Dolomiten und befinden sich in der Provinz Belluno in Italien. Die aufgrund zahlreicher spektakulärer Felsgipfel und Zinnen sehr eindrucksvolle Gebirgslandschaft wird im Westen vom Misurinasee, im Norden von den Drei Zinnen und im Süden und Osten vom Val d’Ansiei begrenzt und gilt als ein Paradies für Kletterer. Der höchste Berg ist die Cima Cadin di San Lucano (2839 m). Als Teil der von der UNESCO unter „Nördliche Dolomiten“ zusammengefassten Dolomitengruppen, gehört die Cadini-Gruppe mit allen Untergruppen seit dem 26. Juni 2009 zum UNESCO Welterbe Dolomiten.
Auf die Cima Cadin Nord Est (2796 m) führt ein sehr ausgesetzter Klettersteig, die Via Ferrata Merlone. Der Bonacossaweg (Sentiero Bonacossa) durchquert, teils ausgesetzt und versichert, unter Ausnützung von Felsbändern und alten Pfaden aus dem Gebirgskrieg, über mehrere Scharten die gesamte Berggruppe. Als lohnende Tour gilt auch die hochalpine Umrundung der zentralen Cadini-Gruppe (Giro di Cadini) auf dem Sentiero Durissini. Im Winter gilt dieser Weg als sehr anspruchsvolle Skitour.
Vom Misurinasee führt ein Sessellift zum Rifugio Col de Varda.
Weitere markante Gipfel
Cima Cadin di Rimbianco (2404 m)
Cima Eötvös (2837 m), benannt nach Roland von Eötvös
Berghütten in der Cadini-Gruppe
Fonda-Savio-Hütte (2359 m, CAI)
Rifugio Città di Carpi (2110 m, CAI)
Rifugio Col de Varda (2106 m, privat)
(Wikipedia)
Die Fonda-Savio-Hütte (italienisch: Rifugio Fonda-Savio) ist eine Schutzhütte des Club Alpino Italiano in der Cadini-Gruppe der Sextner Dolomiten.
Die Hütte ist per Tagesausflug gut erreichbar, dient als Stützpunkt für zahlreiche Klettertouren und kann als Etappenziel bei Wanderungen durch die Sextener Dolomiten genutzt werden.
Benannt ist die Hütte nach den drei im Zweiten Weltkrieg gefallenen Brüdern Piero, Paolo und Sergio Fonda-Savio. Die drei Brüder waren die Kinder des Partisanenkämpfers Antonio Fonda-Savio und seiner Frau Letizia Svevo, der Tochter von Italo Svevo.
Zustieg und Übergänge
Vom Wanderparkplatz oberhalb von Misurina auf Wanderweg Nr. 115 (ca. 500 Höhenmeter, 1 2⁄3 Stunden)
Von der Auronzohütte (2320 m s.l.m.) über den Bonacossaweg (2 Stunden)
Zum Rifugio Città di Carpi (2110 m s.l.m.) über den Durissini-Weg (3 Stunden)
Touren
Via Ferrata Merlone auf die nordöstliche Cadinspitze (4 Stunden)
Torre Wundt (2100 m s.l.m.), klassische Kletterei unweit der Hütte Schwierigkeit IV
Giro dei Cadini (Forcella Nevaio – Forcella Verzi – Forcella Maria – Forcella Cadin Deserto – Forcella Sabbiosa – Forcella della Torre Grande) (= Sentiero Durissini): sehr lohnende, anstrengende Höhenroute, 4–5 Stunden.
(Wikipedia)
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
View Large on Black at www.thewindypixel.com!
Today's photograph was collected one spring afternoon from the second floor landing of the Chicago Theological Seminary. I used to have to come here quarterly as an undergraduate to visit the labyrinthian Seminary Coop Bookstore in the basement. It took a decade for me to drag a camera into this place and climb those steps to collect a photograph. Perhaps that is an allegory for all the things that it takes us so long to do or those places it takes us so long to revisit.
I spent nearly 45 minutes hopping from place to place in here to get a good shot - you've seen a few, but I really love this one because you get such a great appreciation for the space, the detail and all that wonderful light bouncing around and off slick stone.
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
Another beautiful sight only those who venture underground will ever see. This crystal pool is a familiar landmark in the labyrinthian cave system that is OFD 2 in South Wales.
the knustelwinkel is a shop in potsdam where you can paint your own ceramics stuff. they want to re-decorate a bit and asked people to paint some tiles for them.
of course I was happy to comply and made these two today in "my own style" (if you will).
the left one was painted yellow. then a labyrinthian kirigami was put upon it and all paint dark petrol/green. the result is easily beyond my expectations.
for the right one I separated some areas by tape and then painted them in flame coloured tones. the tape left the borders white.
these should look great when burnt... :-)))
Wednesday, 30 July 2008
In Shattered Dreams
I decided to not post for a couple of days (this is like a week ago now) as I had the house to myself, so naturally I rewatched loads of David Lynch (wanted to see them again with new eyes) and some other movies; I was only going to write a quick comment on them, but this post has morphed into something bigger as I attempt to show that many of the people portrayed in these films were, in "reality" mind controlled themselves and that the themes within them hint at this. In David Lynch's Blue Velvet the main programming/trigger song is not Blue Velvet, but rather Roy Orbison's In Dreams, or as the psychopath (obviously traumatized) 'Frank' (in the movie) calls it (because he has been programmed with it, known as this name): "Candy Colored Clown" [back to Lynch later]. Roy Orbison is an interesting character, the obvious synch here is his "patteé cross" (pre-christian solar cross) he wears showing either where his allegiances lie or who controls him, for those aware of mind control and the symbolism contained within this vast [mind]field it is somewhat blatantly portrayed (hidden in plain site) on his album covers and suggestible titles, some of which are pictured below.
Note yellow/green, break my mind, and just to 100% complete and confirm the MK picture we have a dissociative/hypnotic spiral positioned next to him and a door in the frame.
The Big (Octagonal) O
Mask programming
Attractive girl's split mind (symbolised by the half-face, in case you haven't realised yet). The movie "Pretty Woman" (which has made this song famous in part) helps in programming as the MPD prostitute (or "hooker", hooks are violent the candyman has a hook, equating sex/violence) would be made to think their only hope of escape is from some Richard Gere type prince-charming to ride in and save them, look out how many minutes the theatrical release lasted (119).
On Orbison's life, he seems to have been programmed as a child; as in 1946 they moved to a town called Wink, in Winkler Country (the "illuminati"AKA"insane assholes" love using this kind of symbolism in people's lives as it makes them appear in total control of them, wink=one eye/all seeing eye, 64/46 chess squares). He was born 23 April 1936 and died 6 December 1988, he died of (maybe) one of those CIA caused heart attacks (like Kubrick) to again show that they are in total control over all aspects of him and his life including his death (they gave him a scare in 1977 when he had open heart surgery), he was reported dead at 11:54 (so 11:9) according to wiki. He died in 1988, Elvis Presley (also probably mind controlled) died in 1977 (same year as Orbison's first heart scare) so we have number repetition/mirrored (88 77) involved in both death rituals of these entertainment monarch pentagrams ("stars"), Elvis Presley was pronounced dead at 3:30... and guess what he died of, a massive heart attack! [admittedly he was fat as f**k, heart attacks probably also play into Oz programming] According to wiki, Orbison's last performance was in 1988 at Highland Heights, Ohio (he was the "Big O"), so that also clearly plays into the ritual ('O HIGH O', playing at HIGH-Land HeIGHts, perhaps pyramid capstone symbolism as it doesn't get much higher).
Click image for another symbolic poster for it, the (probably) terrible film is about a guy sleeping with his student, note the bee, bluebird, suggestiveness.
Orbison mirrored.
Man of many faces.
His wife was killed in a typical "road 'accident' ritual" (like Diana)[continues at the *, after Sharon Tate tangent] which resonates (in terms of sacrificial wives) with (potential) programmer/Mind Controlled Model abuser Roman Polanski, (BBC article note the year + age of model for Vogue [or so she thought, this adds weight to what I've been saying about the fashion industry in my opinion] + former Joker Jack Nicholson's involvement: found in this TTLG post) whose wife (Sharon Tate, below) was ritualistically killed at 8 months pregnant by Charles Manson's mind controlled clan on August (8) 9th 1969 (6/9 thing I've been going on about), by the way "satanic"/occult ritual abuse and sacrifice is laid out somewhat in Rosemary's Baby (quickly, on the Charles Mason murders, I mean Manson... [WARNING: Actual crime scene images follow, do not click if that sort of thing bothers you.] this website has images of said crime scenes, including the word WAR scrawled into one of the victims' stomach's with the W as a Masonic compass and square shapeish, also note the Zebra pattern (black/white) on one side of Sharon Tate, and the American flag ((positioned with inverted pentagrams)) to the other in this image). The Daily Mail are always helpful in contributing to my articles, as in this one from last year illustrating how Sharon would say MK-esque things (both the author of the below words, and Sharon were likely MK'd) randomly such as:
Sharon 'doing the Egyptian' in large checker pattern dress thing.
"She kept talking about off-the-wall spiritual things - she talked about reincarnation and how in a previous life she had died in a fire aged nine... The second she said that, the doors to the restaurant blew open even though there wasn't any wind, and she looked really shocked... One night we went to visit the Trevi Fountain, and I looked at her and had the strongest feeling she was going to die... Another time I was looking over at her and asking her what she was thinking about, and she suddenly came out with: 'The Devil is beautiful. Most people think he's ugly, but he's not.'" (see movie described further down for added significance)
Sharon wearing the Eye of the Devil (Horus, on the occult $) "Occult thriller starring Deborah Kerr and David Niven [and "Introducing: Sharon Tate"] as the wealthy owners of a French vineyard who become obsessed with pagan sacrifice." [it mimics mind control cults like Charles Manson's somewhat; with Sharon speaking in hypnotic terms ((hypnosis/suggestion features heavily)), and even has its own symbolic Crowley as the bald-headed head priest/occultist], the film features all the symbolism you would expect (checkerboard floor near the beginning, aforementioned eye of Horus, doves, spirals, shattered glass etc.). I caught the film on TCM on the 21st (7+7+7) July (7); synchronicity hits me with another "gift" (only recorded it because of the title). Before this movie aired, an old favourite of mine was shown, the 1973 film "Westworld" (blatant robot programming). The eye (of the devil) is specifically focused on (zoomed in it is like a Labyrinthian glass sphere) during Sharon's hypnosis scene where she makes an easily suggestible child see a frog transform into a dove. In the UK, the film was released in (TCM airing it on 21/7 is obviously significant bearing this in mind) July (7th month) 1966 according to imdb (wiki has it as 1967, probably its US release). 'The New York Times wrote of Tate's "chillingly beautiful but expressionless" performance.' The VERY FINAL shot of the movie shows Sharon Tate (the camera zooms right in on her face, she is a "witch" in the movie with an Aryan looking brother btw), then it focuses on a pond with water lillies [Rewatched and edited for accuracing, originally thought there was a body under there, but still obviously highly symbolic ((regular lilies are the flower of death, originally placed on the graves of "young innocents"))] then, "The End". 1-2 years after this movie came out she married Polanski, and 3-4 years after this occult movie came out she was brutally murdered by mind controlled occultists.
Sharon Tate, (Catherine Tate plays multiple personalities and was also in the Doctor Who mindf**k, by the way another "comedian" Al Murray has a sketch show coming out called "Multiple Personality Disorders"...) she appeared in the movie Valley of the Dolls, which is also the name of a recent fashion event thing called "Fashion in the Mirror: The Valley of the Dolls". More on her from her wiki page: "Sharon Tate was born in Dallas, Texas, the first of three daughters, to Paul Tate, a United States Army officer and his wife, Doris. At six months of age, Sharon Tate won the "Miss Tiny Tot of Dallas Pageant"," Weird synch, her film Eye of the Devil (AKA thirteen or 13) I just recorded (a week ago now) on my Sky Plus (TiVo) box the other night, and now I find she is in it, it was released in 1966, it is 96 minutes long as you'd expect (6|9 sex, mirror/spin reversal). Note in the below poster we see it was made by MGM, Roy Orbison's contract with MGM (13|7|13) ended in 1973.
"The Devil is beautiful. Most people think he's ugly, but he's not."
The above movie was AKA 13, the below one was AKA "13 chairs" and it's regular title is "12+1"=13 anyway. (note one eye covered too) This (12+1) was her final movie, released posthumously, just like MK ritual sacrifice Heath Ledger's Dark Knight. In The Eye of the Devil it is described that there are 12 "dancers" (pre-christian Dionysiac worshippers, apostles) + 13th is christ: "long before christianity... a living god" (line from EOTD, referring to; Horus, Dionysus and others), hence why it is AKA "13", Occultism under the guise of "Christianity"; which is what ALL (and I can't stress that enough) ALL Christianity is and always has been (a creation of occultists for the purposes of control). "The Earth has to have sacrifice. There has to be blood." - Line from The Eye of the Devil [Edit: rewatched the movie, edited the quote to be 100% accurate], which summarizes their thinking and why (among other
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
A pictorial document (Aethergraph) from Brighton UK circa 1892.
This image depicts the revolutionary Smithlight Portable Light Engine or "Porta-Portal" which has detected a future tele-visual signal.
It appears to be the "Snowgirl Show" from a New Years Eve broadcast in Dec 1959 -
featuring the splendid "Barbettes" - a new, all girl singing trio, supported by a popular beat combo.
( Hmmm nice ! )
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
Check out a new post on thegoldensieve.com
The mission and a word about post content.
I have long had my eye on the weathered facade of Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo, popularly known as the Carmel Mission. I have family that lives nearby and have heard about it's historical and aesthetic value in the past. I had a few days in Monterey for work recently and sneaked away to get a few images, stopping for nearly an hour at the mission. In the past, I've posted a single image per day. For a while this was fun, but then I found out that an image per day had a number of unintended consequences. Whenever I was taking photographs, knowing that I was going to post a one per day, I began to think about how many times I needed to come up with something worthy of the blog. Sometimes this meant posting a series of photographs that were very similar or separating photographs that belonged together. Though grabbing 365 interesting images per year isn't very difficult - this accounting exercise is extremely stifling to one's creativity - yet it is impossible to understand how limiting it is until you free yourself from this constraint. Some of my readers undoubtedly shoot for a blog or project that requires one image per day. I wonder, do you ever head out with your camera and in the midst of naturally reacting to what you see - say to yourself, "I need a few more," even when you've grabbed your best images? Do you photograph things you don't value or love, just to get images? Maybe I'm alone here, but I doubt it. Today's post features many images, as will most future posts, so I hope you enjoy (and can wait out posts that are spaced more liberally)!
Ancient history by our standards.
The Mission proper, that is a Christian congregation run by its founder, Father Junípero Serra was first established in Monterey in 1770. Serra, with permission of the Viceroy of New Spain, Carlos Francisco de Croix, marqués de Croix, then moved the Mission to what is now the city of Carmel-by-the-Sea in 1771 because of a power struggle with the military enclave. Depending on the source (either the official Mission website or the various historical brevia available online) this struggle is framed either as a desire to control the direction of New Spanish colonialism or as a battle over the mistreatment of the natives by the governor and his soldiers. The mission Serra founded in Monterey eventually became the Cathedral of San Carlos Borromeo, a.k.a. the Royal Presidio Chapel and still stands as a National Historical Landmark in Monterey. The edifice you see in the photographs below was built by later mission leaders in what is now Carmel-by-the-Sea, the neophytes being served from a smaller, make-shift structure during the first decades of its existence. Typically, I take one or two record shots of information that is available at the site while photographing so that I can retain the information on dates and places that I sometimes have trouble remembering properly. This time I found precious little information in the Basilica and instead had to find as much out online as I could. Interestingly, there is no readily available information online about the interesting statues, curios and relics that are located throughout this beautifully restored mission. Much of what I learned after the fact was about the history of what some call the most beautifully preserved of the California mission chain.
Here is a link to the Wikipedia article on the mission, which contains some information about Father Junípero Serra and his efforts related to this mission, but is woefully short on a number of accounts. I am not a religious person by any stretch of imagination. In fact, I find myself securely camped in the opposite extreme, but this is not the place or the time for a discussion about God or faith, etc. Instead, I am interested in the mission as it relates to human history and the early history of California. Furthermore, I have an interest in how we connect to the narrative thread of historical places like the mission and how I can use my camera to capture moments of beauty within these places.
The story of the Camel Mission is but one fascinating chapter in the story of the Spanish colonization of Mexico and the Americas. At the time, these missions and the nearby Presidios (military outposts) represented the first formal European establishments focused on colonizing the west coast. The Viceroys sent explorers, soldiers and members of the Franciscan Order to bring "civilization" (and it's attendant religious trappings) to the native Americans. Within this post I will refrain from considering what benefits, if any, were brought to the native peoples by the introduction of the mission chain into Alta California. New Spain was an empire whose lifespan is still longer than the American timeline, with aristocratic titles originating in the 16th century. The trail of European devastation through native populations begins at about the same time and includes names of these original dignitaries - Cortés and Pizarro. Although Christians may feel differently, it isn't clear to me that Serra and the mission movement brought anything to the Indians besides an acceleration of destructive European influence. Yet, some readers will note that waves of devastation had damaged native populations throughout the Americas both before and after the arrival of Europeans, and that by all accounts the Father Serra was a truly dedicated missionary and cared deeply about fulfilling his oaths and tending his flock. The magnitude of devastation both natural, domestically made and of European origin are topics I do not pretend to fully comprehend. How the mission system fits into the tragic backdrop of these events is something I think is best left to the historians. Serra, true to his word, worked until death building the mission and died with nothing more than a cot, his habit and a few other daily trappings - having worked continually to do what he thought was best for the native members of his congregation. There was, and still is, a chain of 21 missions extending from San Diego to Sonoma, north of San Francisco, and the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo is widely accepted as one of the most faithfully restored/preserved.
A large step backward in time.
I love visiting places like the mission because they represent such a strong counterpoint to much of the tourist-trap culture in which an out-of-towner like myself might normally find himself. There is a reason you'll never see a photograph of Disneyworld on this blog. Some places, though commercially successful and valuable for one reason (or person) or another, for me possess no aesthetic or cultural value and will simply not see the business end of my camera. I think all people make this mental calculation when photographing and each person's calculation will be different from his peers. Here at the mission, outside of the labyrinthian giftshop, I find myself standing in a square flanked by a museum and the stately, aging facade of the capilla of the Mission San Carlos Borroméo del río Carmelo. The rose window, Moorish bell-tower dome and roughly hewn door are your first clues that stepping inside is stepping back over 200 years in time.
The chapel is no stranger to a camera, but whenever I am in a place like this I am very careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the place or my fellow visitors. I extend my tripod legs outside the building and, if I am taking bracketed images for HDR, wait between taking images so that I don't create a continual noise of my shutter clacking open and closed.
Just inside the wooden doors the soft white light of Monterey marine-layer-noon drops to zero and the chapel is lit by a single hanging lamp, votive candles and a few recessed windows. A large stoup of holy water is held within an ancient iron basin atop a carved wooden pedestal placed upon an ornate and plush rug. A long center aisle extends beyond the stoup, through the pews to the apse.
The walls are adorned with various oil paintings of religious and historical personages and events. Just past the first set of pews is the entrance to the burial chapel to the left and an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to the right. The air is cool and calm and I was nearly alone here in the nave.
The burial chapel has no external light and is instead lit by a single set of votives and the hanging lamp. I could not find any information on the figure of Our Lady of Bethlehem within glass frame above the altar, but did discover that the previous Pope, John Paul II had visited the mission in September of 1987 and designated it a Minor Basilica. As I took these images, I waited for many other visitors to percolate through the burial chamber. Many of these folks would stop and take a photograph of the plaque you see on the floor commemorating the papal visit. I found this to be a particularly interesting vignette of the sieving capacity of memory. Within the hallowed grounds of this mission there are layers of memory and narrative history to which we connect in different ways. Perhaps more than any other pope I can name, the previous Catholic leader was truly an example of a fascinating individual who used his political influence for good, yet I do not connect to his story as strongly as I do to the historical thread of the California missions. Then again, I'm not a Catholic.
Through the central aisle, up to the altar and then to the left is a claustrophobic and darkened alcove with a small altar and votive. I found this corner of the mission the most interesting to photograph. Here the room is lit by a small gas lamp and a round votive stand, the light flickering and revealing the carefully painted walls and ceilings. The air is richly perfumed by the hanging thurible above the votives. A mirror and door provide all the frames a photographer could possibly need and I played a bit with my position relative to the door to frame both the door to the sacristy and the relic containing the fragments of the Fray Serra's original coffin. Here we go beyond the literal narratives within the mission and invent our own stories. A penitent or devout missionary shuffles through these halls, observing his duties and escaping the damp cold of a coastal winter. A modern pilgrim stops to say a prayer and light a votive, sharing the same footsteps as his invisible predecessor. Recreating the mood and memory of places like this little alcove by an act as simple as taking a photograph is my favorite pastime.
The beautified Serra is interred just before the altar along with several other figures who feature prominently within the history of the Carmel Mission.
I have never gotten all the masks and seen what happens.... can not wait to get them all this game and finally see the end of that.
One of my exclusives for the opening round of The Labyrinth! Come check it out everyone, it's beautiful!
Location: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Nymphai/126/109/3200
Heliopolis, 2004
Woodcut engraving
Paper size: 12" x 10"
Image size: 5" x 4"
Edition of 60
Print at Johnson Gallery, Cornell University by James Siena. Photo by Wayne Stratz(2015).
museum.cornell.edu/exhibitions/james-siena-labyrinthian-s...
M.A.S.A. is a theoretical museum which holds artefacts & images of uncertain provenance.
These have mostly been acquired via an unfinished & malfunctioning Aether Imaging Intensifier / Light Engine.
This was a gift bestowed upon the museum by professor Rachel S. Darwin,
the twin sister of the eminent explorer & theorist Charles Darwin.