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A trip with my old lady to the Poconos put me in close proximity to the Delaware-Lackawanna, and I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to shoot some Bigs... even with the cider block heritage unit leading and the high sun angle. This is PO75 entering Scranton after holding for Steamtown to clear up.
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Less is More - Damn Abuser - The Bearded Guy Backdrop
As landscapers we often use the big wide angle lenses and display our work big! But sometimes a square crop can really focus attention on things like texture and colour and thats my intention in this image. The composition is not particularly remarkable but the colours are beautiful - I was fortunate to get some really beautiful light which hit the exquiste sandstone.
Image was captured on my Nikon D810 using my trusty 16-35 brought into PSCC and fairly standard processing applied and then a square crop applied.
Brendan is a amateur photographer based in Sydney Australia who loves exploring and shooting sea/and landscapes/nightscapes, in different areas sometimes with good mates other times by himself to improve his skills. You are welcome to follow me on my photographic adventures.
Original Caption: "Sugar. 1- none on fruits, 2- none in desserts, 3- less on cereals, 4- less in coffee or tea, 5- less in preserving, 6- less cake and candy, 7- use other sweeteners. Save It.", ca. 1917 - ca. 1919
U.S. National Archives’ Local Identifier: 4-P-68
From:: Series: World War I Posters, compiled 1917 - 1919
Created By:: U.S. Food Administration. Educational Division. Advertising Section. (01/15/1918 - 01/1919)
Production Date: ca. 1917 - ca. 1919
Persistent URL: arcweb.archives.gov/arc/action/ExternalIdSearch?id=512507
Repository: Still Picture Records Section, National Archives at College Park,MD
For information about ordering reproductions of photographs held by the Still Picture Unit, visit: www.archives.gov/research/order/still-pictures.html
Reproductions may be ordered via an independent vendor. NARA maintains a list of vendors at www.archives.gov/research/order/vendors-photos-maps-dc.html
Access Restrictions: Unrestricted
Use Restrictions: Unrestricted
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I went to the tip early around 4.45 pm to look around good spots for sunset shots. I started set up on 5.30 pm and the sun was still blinding the camera. I waited for half an hour and the sun starts to turn warmer and soft, hence the camera was able to capture every detail. I was lucky enough that the waves became less strong then it was, the rocks were quite slippery. A lot of people slipped and fell, but I was not the one :P
Hope you like this photo, thank you for visiting !
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Nikon D750
Nikon 24-120 VR F4
Haida ND1000
Lee Grad ND 0.9 Hard
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The Tip Of Borneo (Tanjung Simpang Mengayau), Kudat, Sabah, Malaysia.
feel it all
let it flow
all u need is to just let the fuck go
who is this
and where u feel
all just to another spatial relativity field
the pull of fear, the tug of love
numb my soul, fear repealed
can't feel a thing
just
breathe
over
whelmed
weakness beanth
humbled scars of a past way to fucking deep
is this me
or another reality
i just can't see
any thing
past the screams of my mind's eyes
unknown
tragedies as a line of choices i should have
never
made.
And these fingertips
Will never run through your skin
And those bright blue eyes
Can only meet mine across a room
Filled with people that are
less important than you
Around Seoul Station, this is a common scene. When it comes down to it, mental illness is prevalent among the homeless population. I think this is especially the case in South Korea where mental illness is a very new concept. Yet, when it's all said and done, the poor have done much less damage to the earth than the rich have caused. I think there is still something to learn from the poor. For example, the great lesson: Less is more.
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Curiously handle-less tap with a dead weed under it against the white wall of a carpark area outside the MSY shop on Currie Street, Adelaide.
Tenerife
Monkey Park - a charming way to spend a few hours
The charming Monkey Park zoo is situated slightly north of Los Cristianos, just off junction 26 of the TF-1 motorway.
With less financial resource than other major zoos, like Loro Park, this is a touch more modest in its dimensions, but is, nonetheless, a great way to pass a few hours. Children tend to find it particularly appealing.
www.tenerife-information-centre.com/monkey-park.html
The black-tufted marmoset (Callithrix penicillata), also known as Mico-estrela in Portuguese, is a species of New World monkey that lives primarily in the Neo-tropical gallery forests of the Brazilian Central Plateau. It ranges from Bahia to Paraná,[3] and as far inland as Goiás, between 14 and 25 degrees south of the equator, and can commonly be seen in the City of Rio de Janeiro where it was introduced. This marmoset typically resides in rainforests, living an arboreal life high in the trees, but below the canopy. They are only rarely spotted near the ground.
My old and less than pristine Collapsible Summicron 50mm f2.0 was overhauled and the front element coating removed. It has some interesting flare now - but sharpness is not bad at all. Contrast is low though.
R761 running 8698 is seen making the climb out of Traralgon after stopping for a Traralgon bound Vlocity and now continuing on with its journey to Melbourne with Steamrail’s The Gippslander. 13/10/24
What is less? Colors
What is more? Everything besides colors.
If you give yourself a few more seconds on this photo, you will know what I mean, maybe.
...as they say, and on Flickr at least less clothing usually means more views! Shot with shallow DOF to blur the feet and focus on the eyes whilst modesty is protected with elbows and such.
The inspired hill of Vézelay
The Burgundy hill of Vézelay, which French writer Paul Claudel named “eternal”, has been drawing hundreds of thousands of pilgrims (nowadays more likely tourists) since time immemorial. It has also drawn strife, battles and pillage: the big monastery was no less than six times destroyed by fire, and always rebuilt. Here, the Second Crusade was preached on Easter Day of 1146 by Bernard, abbot of Clairvaux, whom King Louis VII of France had summoned to be lectured on the sort of penance his royal person should submit to to atone for his many sins: Bernard chose the Crusade. Crusaders congregated here as well for the Third one, in 1190.
The history of Vézelay began around 850, when Count Girard de Roussillon founded a nunnery at the foot of the hill, in the locale now occupied by the village of Saint-Père-sous-Vézelay. Fifteen years later, the nuns had been replaced by monks for reasons that never reached us. What we know is that further to a Viking raid on Burgundy in 887, the monks took refuge at the top of the hill, in the remnants of a Roman oppidum, and never went down again.
Originally dedicated to the Virgin Mary, the monastery they built on the hilltop was placed in 1050 under the patronage of Mary Magdalene, further to the claimed transport of her bones from the Holy Land by a monk named Badillon. This so-called “transposition” was validated by the Pope, but the people of Provence rebelled fiercely against that ruling: it had indeed always been well known that the saint, who had been the very first, even before the apostles, to see Christ resuscitated, had left the Holy Land and come to France where she finished her life in the mountains of the Sainte- Baume, which were named after her. Her bones had been kept in the basilica of Saint-Maximin, the largest church in the whole of Provence.
Thus sanctioned by the Pope, and confirmed yet again by Pascal II in 1103, the claim of the Vézelay monks drew immense crowds (and brought enormous riches). The fact that they also claimed to have the bones of Martha and Lazarus were not for nothing in the considerable attraction the abbey had on a pilgrimage-hungry Christendom. However, the Provençal people were victorious in the end, when they revealed that the bones of the Magdalene, which had been hidden during the 900s as the Saracens drew nearer, were opportunely re-discovered in 1279. This time, Pope Boniface VIII found in their favor and that ruling was never overturned: the pilgrimage to Vézelay was dead, even though the big church kept its dedication.
The rest of the history of Vézelay is a long downhill walk. In 1537, the Benedictine monks are replaced by canons. In 1568, the Protestants seize the church and burn it again. Finally, in 1819, lightning strikes and sets the church aflame for the last time. When architect Viollet-le-Duc, mandated by Minister Prosper Mérimée, arrives on-site in 1840, the abbey church of Vézelay is but a gutted carcass, ready to collapse. That same year, the church was put on the first list of French Historic Landmarks (“Monuments historiques”) and restoration works were undertaken urgently; they were to last until 1861, and many other such works have been undertaken since.
The church was granted basilica status in 1920, and in 1979 it was listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site, as it is the starting point of one of the major Paths to Compostela, the Via Lemovicensis, so-named because it runs through the large city of Limoges.
On that day of June 2024 I went to Vézelay as a side trip during a photographic expedition for the Fondation pour la Sauvegarde de l’Art Français, one of the non-profit heritage organizations I work for as a pro bono photographer, it was raining. Therefore, I took no photo of the outside, but instead concentrated on the inside. Furthermore, a lot of what can be seen on the outside, including the façade and the tympanum, are re-creations of the 19th century by Viollet-le-Duc, and thus much less interesting for our purpose.
Just as the southern portal in te narthex depicts scenes from the early life of Jesus (even events that took place before He was born), the northern portal, shown here, depicts scenes of His later life (and even after His death).
The top scene is the Ascension, while the lower register shows the story of the Disciples of Emmaüs through three different scenes: from left to right, the apparition of Jesus to the two disciples; Jesus breaking the bread; and the disciples returning to Jerusalem.
This portal is not quite as spectacular, artistically speaking, as the southern one, but it is still of great value.
(Spoiler warning for the film's ending)
I've found, as I get older, that it takes increasingly less to make me cry at movies – my theory being that the accumulation of real life experience correlates to an empathy for fictionalised narratives to which we couldn’t previously relate. Having said that, there are still only a handful of films I’d describe as truly devastating, and those that fit the description generally share one of two themes. The first is animals – my love thereof being no great secret. (A friend once asked if I wanted to rent Hachi, and I responded by saying that I wasn’t in the mood: the truth being that a) films where the animal protagonists don’t survive past the end credits utterly destroy me and b) I’d teared up just watching the trailer two days earlier.) The second – more human – theme is that of mothers.
As the product of a single-parent household, there are few things that offend me more than the notion that a child needs two parents (of either gender) for healthy development, and, once I’d reached an age where the option became available to me, I ceased contact with my father altogether. In consequence of having been raised by mum alone, however, we have a closeness for which I am unendingly grateful; and trading an additional parent for the woman who remains one of my favourite people in the world is an exchange I would make time and time again. (Indeed, half the arguments we had growing up were, upon reflection, a consequence of us being more or less the same person: my strong-mindedness (read: stubbornness) and self-assurance (/inability to admit when I’m wrong) being among the more charming traits I’ve inherited.)
Now, going into Still Alice last week, I had high expectations. I’m a long-time fan of Julianne Moore, and knew she’d secured the Oscar for Best Actress before the film had even premiered here in the UK (an accolade I chose to have faith in despite Patricia Arquette winning Best Supporting for Boyhood, which I consider a feat of technical filmmaking vs. acting or storytelling). I was not, however, prepared for the degree to which the film moved me, and as people slowly filed out of the cinema around us, it was all I could to do stay seated throughout the end credits until I could recover enough to stop crying.
The film’s theme is, of course, grave – the subject of early-onset Alzheimer’s is hardly the makings of a light-hearted comedy. Dr. Alice Howland (played to devastating effect by Moore) is a linguistics professor who, she tells us, has “always been so defined by my intellect, my language, my articulation, and now sometimes I can see the words hanging in front of me and I can’t reach them and I don’t know who I am and I don’t know what I’m going to lose next.” It’s a disease that strips Alice of the traits that form the very basis of her self-identity. This loss of her sense of self – and the bitter irony that the accelerated decline in Alice’s condition owes, in part, to her erstwhile superior intellect – is difficult to watch: scenes of Alice pre-emptively visiting a nursing home and seeing the fate that awaits her reflected in people vastly beyond her age; of the shame she feels after failing to find the bathroom in her own home; the emotional breakdown when she finally reveals her condition to her husband, and sobs that “it feels like my brain is fucking dying. And everything I’ve worked for in my entire life is going. It’s all going.” It’s heartbreaking.
But the true heart of the movie lies, for me, in Alice’s relationship with her youngest daughter, Lydia (played by Kristen Stewart in a role for which the internet at large probably owes her a collective apology after the Twilight series). Though their relationship is, at times, strained (foremost by Alice’s misgivings over Lydia’s choice of an acting career without a solid basis in education) the bond they ultimately develop over the course of the movie is a beautiful one; the child she least understands becoming the one who understands her most. The film’s final scene is, at face value, devastating – Lydia reads to Alice from a play they had discussed months earlier while her mother was still in command of her faculties, and Alice – finally in the full grip of her condition – responds seemingly incomprehensibly. But it contains within it an echo of the speech the once-brilliant Alice gave in the film’s opening moments, where she noted that, “Most children speak and understand their mother tongue before they turn four, without lessons, homework, or much in the way of feedback. How do they accomplish this remarkable feat? Well this is a question that has interested scientists at least since Charles Darwin kept a diary of the early language of his infant son. He observed, ‘Man has an instinctive tendency to speak, as we see in the babble of our young children.’”
After Lydia has finished reading, she asks her mother, “Hey, did you like that? What I just read, did you like it? Wh-what…what was it about?”
“Love,” Alice answers.
And though her mother has been reduced to a state where she can only communicate through childlike babble, we feel that Alice can still comprehend – on some level – Lydia’s devotion to her. “Yeah, mom,” she responds. “It was about love.”
In the hands of a lesser filmmaker, Still Alice could easily have been a schmaltzy, Lifetime Movie affair like My Sister’s Keeper or The Notebook – reliant on musical cues and manipulative sentimentality to tell the viewer where and when to feel. Still Alice favours a quiet dignity, like that of its protagonist, and of the film’s co-writer and director, Richard Glatzer, who made this movie – ultimately to be his last – whilst battling motor neuron disease. The film’s lasting message is of endurance, even in the face of inevitability — and of love.
(Dundee, 2014)