View allAll Photos Tagged MYTH
Au royaume des contes... de fées
"L'Odyssée lumineuse" au Parc Floral de Paris
Festival de lanternes chinoises
“There's always someone who secretly believes in myths and legends; or at least parts of them. Those are the people who will look beyond the obvious and see things in this world that are truly wonderful... But they won't say anything, even if they do. Because the rest of us who view the world as logical and scientific wouldn't see the truth if it was posted up on a billboard. ”
― Aprilynne Pike
I believe.... I think you do, too.
Iceland is a place of rich folklore and abounds in many ancients myths and Viking tales. Most of the Viking mythology was written down in Old Norse language in Iceland to be preserved and passed onto future generations. It is hard not to feel the power of these myths when one is confronted with rugged and surreal Icelandic landscape. Stokksnes is one place that made me feel the awe of this land. I could lose myself completely in the rugged and dark beauty of Vestrahorn mountain surrounded by the black sand dunes and listening to the sound of the ocean.
Terror of Mount Erymanthos and the surrounding villages.
My entry for Bio-Cup 2022 R1. Theme: Kaijune. Sub-theme: Mythology
Based on the Fourth Labor of Hercules.
Mythe
In de Middeleeuwen waren eens een ridder en zijn geliefde langs een rivier aan het wandelen. Bij het plukken van een bosje bloemen viel hij door de zwaarte van zijn harnas in het water. Terwijl hij verdronk gooide hij het bosje bloemen naar zijn geliefde en riep "Vergeet mij niet". Deze bloem is verbonden met romantiek en tragiek en werd vaak door vrouwen gedragen als teken van trouw en oneindige liefde.
texture by skeletalmess
I was in Messina, Sicily, for a convention - Messina, the city of the Strait. The city of the two seas, the Tyrrhenian and the Ionian - not two whichever seas, but the very stuff of myths and epics. Scylla and Charybdis haunted these narrow, deep, perilous waters.
As you would expect, I had tried to leave my camera at home (it was work, after all...), but it nevertheless jumped into my backpack, along with my Samyang wide angle lens and my tripod. Unfortunately neither of them told the remote shutter, so it stayed safe and cozy within my gear bag at home. Oh my gosh! What was the use of having a tripod while lacking a remote shutter? I just hoped that enabling the Delay exposure Mode would be sufficient to compensate for my awkward finger actually pressing the shutter release button.
So I began my Sicilian days with just as many sunrise sessions. Wow.
The weather was consistently unstable - an ever changing sky enlivened by an endless turmoil of clouds (sometimes benign, sometimes threatening and ominous), sudden showers followed by warm sun, and then again. There was at first a peculiar ambiance - a stormy mood, I would say - an epic character reminiscent of remote ages, when the gods and Cyclops trod these lands and monsters haunted these waters. I could understand the sense of awe the ancient dwellers of these places felt while contemplating such views. I could feel the presence of the gods of old just before me. Just all around me.
My second Sicilian sunrise was kind of a bipolar one: gentle and serene, bathed in a soft light when looking Southeastwards, additionally sporting the elegant, graceful shape of the Amerigo Vespucci, the renowned training ship of the Italian Navy, in the distance. Photos of the nice side of that sunrise will come in due time.
However as soon as I turned my gaze directly Eastwards... Well, the rising day was dark and ominous, and the heavy clouds looming over the strait and the rugged coastline of Calabria were pierced by a fiery glow - the glaring eye of an angry Cyclops. The Cyclopes (= Circle-eyed) were giant one-eyed creatures from Greek mythology, especially associated with Sicily and the nearby Aeolian Islands.
According to Hesiod's Theogony the three primeval cyclopes were the second brood of Uranus and Gaia - after the Titans and before the monstrous Hecatoncheires (= Hundred-Handers, also called the Centimanes). Troublemakers all the way from such parents, apparently! ;-) Anyway, eventually the Titan Cronus castrated his own father Uranus - a brilliant idea, considering the deteriorating quality of his offspring - and overcame him as the ruler of the cosmos, officially solving the issue - for a while, at least, before being overthrown himself by the Olympian gods.
There are many different traditions and myths about the Cyclopes, none of them flattering in the least: wild, solitaries, lawless, gross, rough, irascible, proud, violent, and ignorant of navigation, agriculture, and many other arts the gods had gifted the humans with. Homer's Odyssey features Polyphemus as the mightiest of the Cyclopes, and I expect that he is the best known individual among his most infamous progeny.
So, I was standing in awe before that incredible sunrise, as the glaring eye of the fierce Cyclops was inspecting the lands that were his in ages past, claiming them again. All I could do in such a situation was to make myself small and smaller and, hopefully, pass unnoticed while capturing the wild, powerful beauty of the Sunrise of the Cyclops' Eye.
Explored on 2022/11/10 nr. 45
I have processed this picture by blending an exposure bracketing [-2.0/-1.0/0/+1.0/+2.0 EV] by luminosity masks with the Gimp (EXIF data, as usual, refer to the "normal" exposure shot).
Along the journey - post-processing always is a journey of discovery to me - I tried the inverted RGB blue channel technique described by Boris Hajdukovic to give a slight tonal boost to several parts of the scene. As usual, I gave the finishing touches with Nik Color Efex Pro 4.
Raw files processed with Darktable.
And another one from the 'great' Mythen in Switzerland; the 'specs' are actually snow as it was snowing today
Sometimes myths aren’t created because the hero won, or made the right choices. No, sometimes Legends are made from the failures and losses by these heroes. Join Honey on an epic journey exploring the myths & legends awaiting everyone at May’s round of Abnormality: Mythos
{.⋅ ♫ ⋅.}Vibes {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.}
╔══════.✦ ࣪ㅤ∿·ㅤ₊⊹☽——Abnormality: Mythos——>> ══════╗
☽Abnormality Links ☆
Opens May 7th - May 28th
Fall into the myth & become a legend on May 7th,2024
☽ Items at Abnormality: Mythos ☆
Crazy Kobold Creations -
Gladius
This sword is fit for a gladiator of colosseum fame or a fallen angel. Its beautifully made, the mesh is great and the textures looks so good! Of course make sure you stick them with the pointy end!
Floro -
Spawn of Argos
This avatar mod is gorgeous! From the Horns being beautifully crafted (and unrigged! bonus!) & bom compatible eyes all over your body to the breathtaking bom tattoos and the huds to customize your avatar in so many ways. I choose the Seraphim coloring to create this look
The eyes are rigged to:
☽—— Ebody Reborn (various Reborn modifications including Flat)
☽—— Lara X (plus various Lara X modifications including Flat)
☽—— Legacy F (including V-Tech Flat Chest)
☽—— Legacy M
I must confess that I am using my Anatomy body here, and choose the Legacy M rig, with a few tweaks of hiding a couple of the eyes that didn’t quite fit through the Hud (yes! You can control what eyes show and so much more!)
[Flock]-
Ffenics Corona Halo
This beautiful Halo has several rotating parts that create a stunning effect. I loved the gold for this look of course, however each layer is fully tintable and scripts can be disabled. So the modifications are endless with this Halo. Definitely a new favorite for me!
☽Avatar Build (Not at Event) ☆
Head- LeLUTKA- Noel
Check out their inworld store!
Body- Anatomy
Check out their inworld store!
Wings- Aii & Ego- Starfire Angel Wings-Featured in size XXS
Check out their inworld store! >
╚══════ ✦ ࣪∿·₊⊹☽——Abnormality: Mythos——>> ══════╝
Where will a myth begin? I would think from an event real or dreamed up. So it is we that make the myths. Go in to a dream and find your way to your own mythical story. Enjoy
Mike
Father and son collaboration
Our photographic art is a kinetic motion study, from the results of interacting with my son A.J and his toys.
He was born severely handicapped much like a quadriplegic. On December 17,1998. Our family’s goal has always been to help A.J. use his mind, even though he has minimal use of his body.
A.J. likes to watch lights and movement. One of the few things he can do for himself is to operate a switch that sets in motion lights and various shiny, colorful streamers and toys that swirl above his bed.
One day I took a picture of A.J. with his toys flying out from the big mobile near his bed like swings on a carnival ride. I liked the way the swirling objects and colors looked in the photo.
I wanted to study the motion more and photograph the whirling objects in an artful way, I wanted my son A.J. to be a part of it. After all, he’s the one who inspires me. When A.J. and I work together on our motion artwork, A.J. starts his streamers and objects twirling, I take the photographs.
Activating a tiny switch might not seem like much to some, but it’s all A.J. can do. He controls the direction the mobile will spin, as well as when it starts and stops. The shutter speeds are long, and sometimes, I move the camera and other times I hold it still.
I begin our creation with a Nikon digital camera. Then I use my computer with Photoshop to alter the images into what I feel might be an artistic way. Working with Photoshop, I find the best parts from several images and combine them into the final composite photograph. I consider the finished work to be fine art. The computer is just the vehicle that helps my expressions grow.
I take the photographs and A.J. adds the magic. It’s something this father and son do together. After I’ve taken a few shots, I show him the photos in the back of the camera. When the images are completed, I show him from a laptop. He just looks. He can’t tell me whether or not he likes the images, but he’s always ready to work with me again.
It offers me my only glance into A.J.’s secret world. We’ve built a large collection of images and I hope the motion and color move you as much as they do me.
A.J. inspires me to work harder to understand my life in the areas of art, photography, people, spirituality, and so much more. He truly sets my mind in motion and helps me find the beauty in everyday things.
Abstract Art set:
www.flickr.com/photos/patnode-rainbowman/sets/72157602269...
AJ Patnode - A Journey of Hope (documentary):
www.youtube.com/watch?v=OR7m8QFcmRM
This shows how I do the Camera work:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmjVVGraUVw
AJ'S blog:
Rosas de pitiminí, claveles, clavellinas… flores de primavera, joyas aromáticas sencillas y tan bellas como humildes: rojo y verde, escarlata y verde, bermellón y verde, carmesí y verde, escala de cromática de calidez vital, de constante intensidad, al abrigo de senos vestidos de rojo, de recipientes que sugieren energía. Escala cromática sólo alterada por la pureza del disidente, por el tiesto blanco que tímidamente se acomoda en un rincón. Disidir es separarse, buscar nuevos caminos, sentir de forma diferente, pero la desigualdad de la carcasa no siempre tiene por qué suponer un cambio ni en la esencia ni en el aroma.
All Rights Reserved. All images on this site are © copyright Juan Pedro Gómez-51.
Please, don’t use this images in websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. Use without consent on my part of it, will report the formal complaint to the registration of intellectual property. Thanks.
Created in DDG Text 2 Dream using its new "Artistic" Ai model.
The source is my other DDG work below.
Filters: PSE21 and Topaz DeNoise Ai.
Much hand painting.
Thanks for your visit, faves, and kind comments.
For my friend NatuurfotoRien/Rien in Holland, who loves corvids.
I had this odd notion that when I retire I would carve a totem pole, and so over the years, I learned more and more about northwest coast art, culture, and carving. One of the pieces I studied was this - a huge cedar sculpture carved by the great sculptor, Bill Reid, to whom the telling of this ancient story is credited.
Bill Reid was a Haida indian (Haida is their word for “human”). The Haida tribe lives in the Queen Charlotte Islands off the coast of northern Canada (below Alaska), in a special place they call Haida Gwaii. Bill is widely credited for reviving the arts of the northwest coast - he was an amazing sculptor. I am disappointed I will never meet him.
The northwest coast tribes have many gods - all animals. Raven is the Haida equivalent of “fox”. Tricky, playful, smart, inquisitive - these are all qualities of Raven, whose play and trickery created the stars in the sky, the sun, the ocean and man.
The man-size (literally) sculpture is inside the University of British Columbia museum in Vancouver, Canada. When it was installed, Bill had the children of Haida Gwaii come to the installation - each with bottles of sand from the beach at Haida Gwaii, so Raven, could be installed in his native soil.
Here is his telling of their genesis myth - one of the most sacred stories in Haida culture:
The Story of the Raven Creating Man by Bill Reid
The great flood which had covered the earth for so long had receded, and even the thin strip of sand now called Rose Spit, stretching north from Naikun village lay dry. The Raven had flown there to gorge himself on the delicacies left by the receding water, so for once he wasn't hungry. But his other appetites - lust, curiosity and the unquenchable itch to meddle and provoke things, to play tricks on the world and its creatures - these remained unsatisfied.
He had recently stolen the light from the old man who kept it hidden in a box in his house in the middle of the darkness, and had scattered it throughout the sky. The new light spattered the night with stars and waxed and wane in the shape of the moon. And it dazzled the day with a single bright shining which lit up the long beach that curved from the spit beneath Raven's feet westward as far as Tao Hill. Pretty as it was, it looked lifeless and so to the Raven quite boring. He gave a great sigh, crossed his wings behind his back and walked along the sand, his shiny head cocked, his sharp eyes and ears alert for any unusual sight or sound. Then taking to the air, he called petulantly out to the empty sky. To his delight, he heard an answering cry - or to describe it more closely, a muffled squeak.
At first he saw nothing, but as he scanned the beach again, a white flash caught his eye, and when he landed he found at his feet, buried in the sand, a gigantic clamshell. When he looked more closely still, he saw that the shell was full of little creatures cowering in terror of his enormous shadow.
Well, here was something to break the monotony of his day. But nothing was going to happen as long as the tiny things stayed in the shell, and they certainly weren't coming out in their present terrified state. So the Raven leaned his great head close to the shell, and with the smooth trickster's tongue that had got him into and out of so many misadventures during his troubled and troublesome existence, he coaxed and cajoled and coerced the little creatures to come out and play in his wonderful, shiny new world. As you know the Raven speaks in two voices, one harsh and strident, and the other, which he used now, a seductive bell-like croon which seems to come from the depths of the sea, or out of the cave where the winds are born. It is an irresistible sound, one of the loveliest sounds in the world. So it wasn't long before one and then another of the little shell-dwellers timidly emerged. Some of them immediately scurried back when they saw the immensity of the sea and the sky, and the overwhelming blackness of the Raven. But eventually curiosity overcame caution and all of them had crept or scrambled out. Very strange creatures they were: two-legged like the Raven, but there the resemblance ended. They had no glossy feathers, no thrusting beak. Their skin was pale, and they were naked except for the long black hair on their round, flat-featured heads. Instead of strong wings, they had thin stick-like appendages that waved, and fluttered constantly. They were the original Haidas, the first humans.
For a long time the Raven amused himself with his new playthings, watching them as they explored their much expanded-world. Sometimes they helped one another in their new discoveries. Just as often, they squabbled over some novelty they found on the beach. And the Raven taught them some clever tricks, at which they proved remarkably adept. But the Raven's attention span was brief, and he grew tired of his small companions. For one thing, they were all males. He had looked up and down the beach for female creatures, hoping to make the game more interesting, but females were nowhere to be found. He was about to shove the now tired, demanding and quite annoying little creatures back into their shell and forget about them when suddenly - as happens so often with the Raven - he had an idea.
He picked up the men, and in spite of their struggles and cries of fright he put them on his broad back, where they hid themselves among his feathers. Then the Raven spread his wings and flew to North Island. the tide was low, and the rocks, as he had expected, were covered with those large but soft-lipped molluscs known as red chitons. The Raven shook himself gently, and the men slid down his back to the sand. The he flew to the rock and with his strong beak pried a chiton from its surface.
Now, if any of you have ever examined the underside of a chiton, you may begin to understand what the Raven had in his libidinous, devious mind. He threw back his head and flung the chiton at the nearest of the men. His aim was as unerring as only a great magician's can be, and the chiton found its mark in the delicate groin of the startled, shell-born creature. There the chiton attached itself firmly. Then as sudden as spray hitting the rocks from a breaking wave, a shower of chitons broke over the wide-eyed humans, as each of the open-mouthed shellfish flew inexorably to its target.
Nothing quite like this had ever happened to the men. They had never dreamed of such a thing during their long stay in the clamshell. They were astounded, embarrassed, confused by a rush of new emotions and sensations. They shuffled and squirmed, uncertain whether it was pleasure or pain they were experiencing. They threw themselves down on the beach, where a great storm seemed to break over them, followed just as suddenly by a profound calm. One by one the chitons dropped off. The men staggered to their feet and headed slowly down the beach, followed by the raucous laughter of the Raven, echoing all the way to the great island to the north which we now call Prince of Wales.
That first troop of male humans soon disappeared behind the nearest headland, passing out of the games of the Raven and the story of humankind. Whether they found their way back to the shell, or lived out their lives elsewhere, or perished in the strange environment in which they found themselves, nobody remembers, and perhaps nobody cares. They had played their roles and gone their way.
Meanwhile the chitons had made their way back to the rock, where they attached themselves as before. But they too had been changed. As high tide followed low and the great storms of winter gave way to the softer rains and warm sun of spring, the chitons grew and grew, many times larger than their kind had ever been before. Their jointed shells seemed about to fly apart from the enormous pressure within them. And one day a huge wave swept over the rock, tore them from their footholds and carried them back to the beach. As the water receded and the warm sun dried the sand, a great stirring began among the chitons. From each emerged a brown skinned, black-haired human. This time there were both males and females among them, and the Raven could begin his greatest game: the one that still goes on.
They were no timid shell-dwellers these, but children of the wild coast, born between the sea and land, challenging the strength of the stormy North Pacific and wresting from it rich livelihood. Their descendants built on its beaches the strong, beautiful homes of the Haidas and embellished them with the powerful heraldic carvings that told of the legendary beginnings of great families, all the heros and heroines and the gallant beasts and monsters who shaped their world and their destinies. For many generations they grew and flourished, built and created, fought and destroyed, living according to the changing seasons and the unchanging rituals of their rich and complex lives.
It's nearly over now. Most of the villages are abandoned, and those which have not entirely vanished lie in ruins. The people who remain are changed. The sea has lost much of its richness, and great areas of land itself lie in waste. Perhaps it's time the Raven started looking for another clamshell.
Owls have been associated with wisdom, knowledge, and prophecy for thousands of years. However, they are also associated with bad luck, death, and other negative omens. Here are some old lore myths about owls:
Bad luck
Some say that hearing an owl hoot three times will bring bad luck.
Death
In the Middle East, owls are associated with destruction, ruin, and death, and are believed to represent the souls of people who have died unavenged.
And it goes on and on about how bad the owls are WELL! I call BS! That old Owl who licked that tootsie pop and failed to get to the center was not evil just lacking self-control.
The male peafowl, or peacock, has long been known for and valued for its brilliant tail feathers. The bright spots on it are known as "eyes", and inspired the Greek myth that Hera placed the hundred eyes of her slain giant Argus on the tail of her favorite bird.
Many of the brilliant colours of the peacock plumage are due to an optical interference phenomenon (Bragg reflection) based on (nearly) periodic nanostructures found in the barbules (fiber-like components) of the feathers.
The sand which cast the termites out
Marked the drag of a scaly myth,
Trailing into thick, low tangle
'A pangolin! A pangolin!'
We cried,
Jolting at its heels!
Plated like a Legion Soldier
It rolled up tight into a ball.
While spearing eyes poke the armour
For face, for nose, or eye!
But special secrets will keep low
When lingering shadows cast their teeth
So dropping
down as if to lie
Breathing...
Ceasing...
Laying low to softly pry,
I draw a little telling eye.