View allAll Photos Tagged PATHOS
Humor, pathos, slogans, girls, cartoons, nicknames, hometowns, girls, patriotism, dishing it to the enemy, warriors, girls, youthful bravado, girls...these transcended nationality as both Allies and Axis pilots went to war in their individually marked chariots. Men at war separated from home, family, loved ones and a familiar way of life sought ways to personalize and escape the very harsh business surrounding them. For the most part they thought about women, represented on the sides of aircraft in the most tender of ways to the most degrading. These men spent many hours longing for the tenderness a woman could bring to their lives...and for the sexual pleasure they could provide. Whether top level commanders ordered it off the aircraft or not, the men let their feelings flow onto their machines.
This Art on a Lockheed C-60 Lodestar:
The C-60 is a twin-engine transport based on the Lockheed Model 18 Lodestar. During World War II, the Army Air Forces used the aircraft for training and for transporting personnel and freight. First flown in 1940, the Model 18 was originally designed as a successor to the Lockheed Model 14 and the earlier Model 10 Electra. The Army began ordering military versions of the Model 18 in May 1941. Depending upon engines and interior configuration, these transports were given C-56, C-57, C-59 or C-60 basic type designations. Lockheed built more C-60As for the AAF (325) than any other version of the military Lodestar.
After the war, many military Lodestars were declared surplus and sold to private operators for use as cargo or executive transports. The C-60A on display was flown to the museum in 1981.
TECHNICAL NOTES:
Armament: None
Engines: Two Wright R-1820-87s of 1,200 hp each
Crew: Four (plus 17 passengers)
Maximum speed: 257 mph
Cruising speed: 232 mph
Range: 1,700 miles
Service ceiling: 25,000 ft.
Span: 65 ft. 6 in.
Length: 49 ft. 10 in.
Height: 11 ft. 1 in.
Weight: 18,500 lbs. maximum
Serial number: 43-16445
Fragments of an Equestrian statue of Nero
These fragments of an equestrian statue probably represent Nero. The execution tinged with a certain pathos reflects a sensibility that was different to that of the classical-style portraits of the Julio-Claudian family. It also reveals the origins of the work, which was found in Asia Minor, as well as the absolutist tendencies of the reign of Nero, who craved an imperial role like that of the Hellenistic monarchs.
Description
Fragments of an equestrian statue
The equestrian group was a mode of representation created in Greece and adopted in Rome. Equestrian statues of the emperor emphasized his role as commander-in-chief of the armies. The Louvre holds fragments of a large statue of this type.
The left arm, lost below the biceps, was cast separately and was probably fitted into some sculpted drapery. The left hand held the reins. The work is executed in a naturalistic manner; the artist paid special attention to the rendering of the muscles and veins. The head with its fleshy proportions is turned to the left. Thick hair with full, wavy locks tops a face whose eyes and parted lips impart a highly expressive appearance and a rather brutal sensuality.
A vestige of the damnatio memoriae
The identity of the figure represented in this work has been disputed. The particular arrangement of the slighly parted bangs favors the hypothesis that it is a prince of the Julio-Claudian family. There is general agreement on the name of Nero, by comparison with coin portraits, though on the coins he does not wear this hair style. Further comparison with other portraits of the sovereign would enable this probable identity to be confirmed; but Nero's excesses led the Senate, after his suicide in AD 68, to condemn his portraits to "damnatio memoriae," that is, to destruction and oblivion. Therefore, only a few remnants remain of the images of this emperor - some portraits of him as a child, and statues saved from destruction by their geographical distance (perhaps the case of these fragments found in Turkey).
Memory of the Hellenistic kings
This portrait marks a break with the classical-style treatment of Julio-Claudian works. The face remains idealized, but with a note of pathos foreign to Augustian moderation: on the contrary, the sharp movement of the head, the movement in the hair and the facial expressiveness hark back to the traditional Hellenistic royal portrait.
These stylistic elements, which reflect an enduring baroque sensibility in Asia Minor, are well suited to a representation of Nero, whose political ideology they highlight. Fascinated by Greek civilization, the prince sought to infuse the role of emperor with the absolutism of the Hellenistic monarchies.
educational use only
The Kiss by Rodin seen in Tate Modern:
www.tate.org.uk/servlet/ViewWork?workid=12718
For another depiction of the same couple (Paolo Malatesta and Francesca da Rimini of Dante's Inferno) see Ary Sceffer's great painting here.
I know its technical quality is lousy, but this has always been one of my favourite photographs ...my crème de la crème. For me it is laden with the tragic beauty of its subject and with the pathos, not so much of lost youth, but of the lost intensity of youthful experience.
By early 1968 (this narrative continues from the previous photograph) I had managed to save enough money for a trip to Manchester. I was 17 and had never ventured so far from home before. It must be borne in mind that in those days, before the motorway system had properly taken shape, communication between the various regions of England was not the casual affair it has since become. Manchester seemed impossibly distant and I imagined it would be necessary to travel overnight. Eschewing my bed, I left Bristol at 1.10am on Saturday 13th January in one of the ordinary carriages attached to the Glasgow sleeper. It had been snowing. There was a wait of nearly two hours for a connection at Birmingham and another shorter one at Stafford, where a porter reached in and shook me awake.
I continued north through snowy Cheshire on one of the rather stylish AM10 25kV emus, then only a year or two old. We began to come into Manchester. As we slowly screeched and swayed over the points we came alongside and began to overtake a slow-moving goods train. Suddenly, in the gaps between the wagons, I saw long lines of simmering black steam locomotives outside a shed ...Stockport. I involuntarily gasped and sprang up (luckily there were no other passengers in the vicinity to witness my eccentric behaviour) but, exasperatingly, there were only split-second glimpses between the trucks. As we came alongside the front of the slow-moving goods train I suddenly found myself staring at the side of a locomotive tender. There was a quick sight of the driver and fireman and the orange flames of the fire, then the long boiler slid past the window. I heard hissing and the chugs of the exhaust. I scrabbled frantically at the window latch but couldn't get my head out. Just beyond Stockport Station another line passed beneath the main line at right angles. As we passed over I looked down and saw another steam-hauled goods train. Clearly steam retained a considerable presence here.
Once arrived, I walked from Piccadilly Station to Oxford Road and caught a train to Old Trafford. I walked around the outside of Manchester United's stadium and out into an expanse of snowy wasteground where dead locomotives were lined up on sidings ready to be taken away for scrap. Beyond was the looming shape of Trafford Park shed. Between two small brick buildings I saw a simmering locomotive standing in the yard. This scene has always been etched on my memory. What made it so indelible was, I think, the lovely colouration, made more beautiful by the leaden sky, the slight fog and the eerie lightless glare of the snow. The bricks of the little buildings looked curiously pink, and the locomotive brown rather than the expected black.
I approached carefully, expecting to be thrown out as soon as I was detected. I walked between the buildings and immediately took this photograph. It might be the only one I got. But I was not hindered at all and walked around unchallenged. By this stage I think shed staff had probably given up as a bad job the attempt to prevent trespassing in steam sheds. Pictorially I like the photo for the strong natural "lead-in" lines of the sleepers, lamps and water cranes. I also like the steam creeping along the cab roof and the way the smoke is "exhaling" from the funnel. Alas, this was about the only good photograph I took all day. The light got worse and worse, and my camera wasn't up to it.
Another abiding memory of that occasion. As I walked back, I stopped halfway across the wasteground to pee (well, it was a cold day). As I stood in the thickening fog, I watched a Stanier 8F being turned on a turntable. It was a Whistlerian essay in greys and white.
Quello che vedo non è mio. Mentre quello che sento in ciò che vedo è mio: la sensazione, il sentimento, l'emozione, l'armonia, il pathos, la ragione, il racconto, l'attimo. Dunque, ciò che fotografo non è mio, mentre è mio ciò che sento in quello che fotografo. È questo "sentire" che voglio comunicare agli altri, condividere, e sarebbe assurdo rinchiuderlo in qualche stupida rivendicazione di proprietà, materiale, commerciale o intellettuale che sia. Con le mie foto non sto vendendo, lucrando, guadagnando; sto parlando, per essere ascoltato e non per essere comprato. E il mio parlare non ha copyright. Buona visione. E buon ascolto
Questi sono alcuni degli scatti realizzati al mercato nei pressi del Castello medievale di Bran, comune della storia regione della Transilvania, dimora dimora, secondo la leggenda, del sanguinario conte Dracula, personaggio ispirato alla figura del principe Vlad III che nel XV secolo fece parlare di sè per la ferocia e la crudeltà del suo animo .
La fortezza tuttavia, non è il vero maniero appartenuto all'imperatore Vlad ma era utilizzato dal sovrano come residenza di caccia. Curioso è l'aver appreso che i rumeni sono venuti a conoscenza di Dracula e di tutta la leggenda ad esso annessa ai primi anni '90, dopo che l'ex dittatore comunista Ceacescu è stato destituito dei suoi poteri.
Sapere questo ha suscitato curiosità prima e riflessione poi: mi trovavo li, in mezzo alla popolazione locale portatrice di tradizioni in parte costruite e piegate al consumismo frenetico, recitando la mia parte da turista occidentale, inconsciamente privo del reale contatto con quel mondo di genti diverse . Ero in Transilvania per vedere il castello di un vampiro? Ero in Transilvania per poi raccontare di esserci stato?
Come il pezzo di una carovana di passanti ciechi e sordi che si autocompiace perchè viaggia e conosce, che prende tutto per oro colato, che non si pone un perchè, un percome. Ecco come mi son sentito. Volutamente cieco.
La Romania non è una leggenda. Non è un vampiro.
Sono persone.
Che non conoscevo e non conosco.
(pm.nb.!.) Waiting .. :.
:: - WAITING.!!. - ::
:: Monochromatic Study ::
{ * : * Ascension Sunday * : * }
(( subtle,sombre,solitude,solitary,season,white,light,dark,brown,black,through,between,surface,textural,sculptural,B&W,brown&white,white&brown,cream,white,shade.s,crossing,touching,pathos,wabi-sabi.wildlife-garden-wildlife.plant.s.'Japonnaise'. .. . ))
The Tombs of the Kings is a large necropolis lying about two kilometres north of Paphos harbour in Cyprus. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The underground tombs, many of which date back to the 4th century BC, are carved out of solid rock, and are thought to have been the burial sites of Paphitic aristocrats and high officials up to the third century AD (the name comes from the magnificence of the tombs; no kings were in fact buried here). Some of the tombs feature Doric columns and frescoed walls. Archaeological excavations are still being carried out at the site. The tombs are cut into the native rock, and at times imitated the houses of the living.
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Everywhere I seem to travel, there is the Buddha. Maybe because I tend to travel in Asia a bunch, but that is besides the point. A few years ago, one of my co-workers gave me a tiny Buddha travel companion which I took everywhere. About a year ago my one year old daughter found it among my travel gear. She picked it out, looked at it, and then gave it a gentle kiss. =) Interesting ...
Street Photography Now Project Instruction # 46
"Make a picture that is funny and sad at the same time. A photograph that simultaneously evokes pathos, irony and humour." - Jeff Mermelstein
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Rodin, Rodin, you were a very talented and creepy man. I wonder if we would have been friends had we lived in the same time? But, I heard you were a bit harsh with Camille Claudel because you were jealous of her talents ... that was not cool. Either way, you made some great pieces of art, and my particular favorite is La Porte de l'Enfer also know as The Gates of Hell. I found this particular depiction of Dante's "Inferno" at Stanford's Cantor Arts Center.
When you see it from a distance it looks intriguing, and as you get closer and you start to make out more of the details and you get a deep gripping sense that something profound is being conveyed and before you know it you are caught in the sheer gravity of the scene. At first you are horrified at the wretched bronze portrayals of the human state, but there is something appealing that keeps you staring. It takes a few moments of quiet contemplation, but there is a bit of an inflection point when it ceases to frighten you and then becomes a thing of beauty. It is hard to explain unless you have stood in front of it, but that is why I chose to process the picture in a way that would make it look like some sort of discarded relic that you would find in a forgotten corner of heaven.
Caution: Do not listen to "Summer Overture" by Clint Mansell & Kronos Quartet while looking at this photo ... way too eerie.
Pathos in Cyprus, but a distant memory now. I actually got told off for swimming with the little princess in this pool, needless to say I had words. C'est la vie. No grads on this one, used a tripod though
Humor, pathos, slogans, girls, cartoons, nicknames, hometowns, girls, patriotism, dishing it to the enemy, warriors, girls, youthful bravado, girls...these transcended nationality as both Allies and Axis pilots went to war in their individually marked chariots. Men at war separated from home, family, loved ones and a familiar way of life sought ways to personalize and escape the very harsh business surrounding them. For the most part they thought about women, represented on the sides of aircraft in the most tender of ways to the most degrading. These men spent many hours longing for the tenderness a woman could bring to their lives...and for the sexual pleasure they could provide. Whether top level commanders ordered it off the aircraft or not, the men let their feelings flow onto their machines.
This Art on a Lockheed C-60 Lodestar:
The C-60 is a twin-engine transport based on the Lockheed Model 18 Lodestar. During World War II, the Army Air Forces used the aircraft for training and for transporting personnel and freight. First flown in 1940, the Model 18 was originally designed as a successor to the Lockheed Model 14 and the earlier Model 10 Electra. The Army began ordering military versions of the Model 18 in May 1941. Depending upon engines and interior configuration, these transports were given C-56, C-57, C-59 or C-60 basic type designations. Lockheed built more C-60As for the AAF (325) than any other version of the military Lodestar.
After the war, many military Lodestars were declared surplus and sold to private operators for use as cargo or executive transports. The C-60A on display was flown to the museum in 1981.
TECHNICAL NOTES:
Armament: None
Engines: Two Wright R-1820-87s of 1,200 hp each
Crew: Four (plus 17 passengers)
Maximum speed: 257 mph
Cruising speed: 232 mph
Range: 1,700 miles
Service ceiling: 25,000 ft.
Span: 65 ft. 6 in.
Length: 49 ft. 10 in.
Height: 11 ft. 1 in.
Weight: 18,500 lbs. maximum
Serial number: 43-16445
" Our spent time flutters and tumbles imperceptibly towards our feet where it gathers like the fallen blossoms of a pear tree. We bear this invisible umbra at all times, occasionally kicking up a discarded petal, a memory, through which we can precisely experience the ‘mono no aware’ of our lives."
From a little book of words and pictures I made a while back. You can download a free pdf at:
www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/194385
... that is, only if you want to!
Yashica Mat 124G | Fuji Neopan 400 | Rodinal (1+25)
( Day's Break*ing . . Chasing(the)Light/Night . . Day*Break .. . )
Un*Latch the Light . * * . . (**).
La politica scritta con la velocità di un sms, la trovi oggi su Facebook, il moltiplicatore delle nostre ansie, il rivelatore dei processi locali e degli sforzi prodotti per influenzarli, compiuti da quanti sono convinti d’averla inventata loro, la politica, mica Demostene, Churchill, De Gasperi o Andreotti. Non v’è più traccia del pathos sublime, quello che rispecchiava le tensioni dell’assemblea e rimandava alla retorica assoluta. Ve li ricordate Pannella e Almirante nelle piazze d’Italia? Oggi i politici affidano alle pagine elettroniche, con scarso risultato pratico, teorie di basso livello intellettuale, coscienti che un post indesiderato si possa sempre eliminare con un click, mentre il confronto diretto lascia cicatrici indelebili. Anch’io mi sono fatto un profilo su Facebook, sebbene non vada in cerca di consensi. Anzi, ho una certa predisposizione per i dissensi, come quelli che provocherà quest’articolo, ma non sono uno sciocco sobillatore e non scrivo: “Vota Alì Babà, almeno sei sicuro che i ladroni sono solo 40” o “Io non commemoro un corrotto, corruttore, pluripregiudicato e latitante”, né do spazio sul mio profilo alla “Lettera di un cittadino qualunque a Silvio Berlusconi”. Meglio quelli che rispondono ai quiz: “Che verdura sei? A quale città somigli? Quanto ti piace la gnocca? Quale è la tua reale origine geografica?”. All’impegno fisico e intellettuale del politico (ma anche alle sezioni di partito, alle case del popolo, alle parrocchie e ai circoli ACLI) si è sostituito Facebook, che campa di stupidità come Di Pietro campa di Berlusconi. Dobbiamo rassegnarci: il dibattito politico è stato rimpiazzato dagli spot. Oggi, sinistra e destra non sono più categorie assolute ma gemelle metafisiche (direi, digitali), che hanno perso di vista la realtà del Paese. FB, la macchina celestiale con cui impicciarsi dei fatti altrui, oggi è un boschetto ameno, dove passeri solitari in cerca di un nido, si mescolano ad arrivisti della politica camuffati da precettori. Sulla pagina inneggiante alla Lorenzetti, apprendo di un “effetto svendola”, su quella di Daniele Mantucci, che “tra due mesi si voterà per il rinnovo del Consiglio Regionale, mentre la sinistra è allo sbando”. Ma va? Zaffini si scaglia contro Khamenei, perché in Iran un giovane matematico, che ha osato sfidarlo, è stato rapito. Il consigliere regionale di Spoleto è ancora in attesa della replica dell'Ayatollah. Intanto un’elettrice perugina spiega che ha votato Sbrenna, benché fosse di sinistra, perché anni prima la destra le aveva fatto pavimentare un marciapiede davanti a casa, in via Tuderte. Visto quanto ci vuole poco a strappare un voto? A Giovanni Carnevali, ex assessore alla cultura di Foligno, piace lo “stato” di Guendalina Pace. Bello sforzo. A me – che sono sensibile al fascino delle donne in preda alle passioni rivoluzionarie - piacciono (cercatele su FB) Guendalina Pace, Betty Rouge ed Elisabetta Piccolotti (quest’ultima, pupilla di Niki Vendola) che scrive: “ Vieni a ballare in Puglia, Puglia, Puglia!”. Mica in Umbria, Umbria, Umbria. Sergio Fortini, voce libera e imbarazzante della valle, “troppo impegnato a farsi gli affari degli altri per occuparsi seriamente dei propri”, si chiede se per politica dei due forni s’intenda “magnare il doppio”. Maurizio Ronconi, connettendosi da Spello, precisamente da Borgo, inneggia alla metropolitana di superficie, senza accorgersi che a Perugia c’è chi vorrebbe tirare su una muraglia cinese alle porte di Ponte San Giovanni. Catiuscia Marini ha “imparato a rispettare le idee altrui” ad arrestarsi “davanti al segreto di ogni coscienza, a capire prima di discutere, a discutere prima di condannare". E’ brava Catiuscia, specialmente quando duetta con Rita Zampolini, convinta che la speranza vada alimentata “continuando a crederci, coltivando desideri, senza smettere di sognare”. Il sindaco di Spello, Sandro Vitali, ha compreso l’inutilità del medium e non accende il computer dal dicembre scorso. A proposito. Volevo avvertirvi che Giuliano Nalli, il dinamico primo cittadino di Trevi, non è quello effigiato da un cane doberman con la scritta: “Non fare nulla è la cosa più difficile al mondo”. Trattasi di un suo omonimo. Valentino Valentini – mentre il suo successore, Donatella Tesei, studia da sommelier per rilanciare il Sagrantino - si è dato al calcio. Da juventino provo un certo fastidio nel leggere sul suo profilo: “ Godo! Ciao, ciao Juve”. Poi, come d’incanto, compare sul sito della Lorenzetti, tale Alessia Dorillo, che scrive commossa: “Grazie Presidente per quello che hai fatto. Ora ti chiedo di svolgere il ruolo più importante e decisivo per un dirigente politico. Far crescere la nuova classe dirigente, favorire il futuro”. Della serie, non è mai troppo tardi. Potrei continuare, ma mi limito a una considerazione conclusiva di Paolo Morbidoni, sindaco di Giano: “Le debolezze sono umane, ma i comportamenti sono politici. Anche nella vicenda Del Bono a Bologna, così come nei casi di Marrazzo e Del Turco, gli interessati si sono dimessi appena indagati. In tempi bui, un briciolo di etica resiste nel centrosinistra”. E allora ripartiamo dalle briciole, da che altro, se no? Beata umbritudine, umbra beatitudine.
abcabc@cline.it
Giovanni Picuti
(dal Corriere dell'Umbria del 30.1.2010)
Progetto Giovedì per i Giovani con Liceo Michelangelo, in occasione della mostra Bronzi ellenistici. Firenze, primavera 2015
Progetto Giovedì per i giovani realizzato in collaborazione con il Liceo Michelangelo di Firenze, in occasione della mostra Potere e pathos. Bornzi del mondo ellenistico (14 marzo-21 giugno 2015).
foto: Martino Margheri
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Ok, one more horsie picture then I am done … I took these at the new Palladio shopping center in Folsom, CA.
Navarasams are the main facial expressions of a Kathakali artist. While I was able to capture 5 of them, there are totally 9. They depict:
• Sringaram (Amour)
• Haasyam (Ridicule / Humour)
• Bhayam (Fear)
• Karunam (Pathos)
• Rowdram (Anger / Wrath)
• Veeram (Valour)
• Beebhatsam (Disgust)
• Adbhutham (Wonder/Amazement)
• Saantham (Tranquility / Peace)
Tried this old Leeke wig on Nait and absolutely love the colour on her, I think she might keep it for now.
Quello che vedo non è mio. Mentre quello che sento in ciò che vedo è mio: la sensazione, il sentimento, l'emozione, l'armonia, il pathos, la ragione, il racconto, l'attimo. Dunque, ciò che fotografo non è mio, mentre è mio ciò che sento in quello che fotografo. È questo "sentire" che voglio comunicare agli altri, condividere, e sarebbe assurdo rinchiuderlo in qualche stupida rivendicazione di proprietà, materiale, commerciale o intellettuale che sia. Con le mie foto non sto vendendo, lucrando, guadagnando; sto parlando, per essere ascoltato e non per essere comprato. E il mio parlare non ha copyright. Buona visione. E buon ascolto
Questi sono alcuni degli scatti realizzati al mercato nei pressi del Castello medievale di Bran, comune della storia regione della Transilvania, dimora dimora, secondo la leggenda, del sanguinario conte Dracula, personaggio ispirato alla figura del principe Vlad III che nel XV secolo fece parlare di sè per la ferocia e la crudeltà del suo animo .
La fortezza tuttavia, non è il vero maniero appartenuto all'imperatore Vlad ma era utilizzato dal sovrano come residenza di caccia. Curioso è l'aver appreso che i rumeni sono venuti a conoscenza di Dracula e di tutta la leggenda ad esso annessa ai primi anni '90, dopo che l'ex dittatore comunista Ceacescu è stato destituito dei suoi poteri.
Sapere questo ha suscitato curiosità prima e riflessione poi: mi trovavo li, in mezzo alla popolazione locale portatrice di tradizioni in parte costruite e piegate al consumismo frenetico, recitando la mia parte da turista occidentale, inconsciamente privo del reale contatto con quel mondo di genti diverse . Ero in Transilvania per vedere il castello di un vampiro? Ero in Transilvania per poi raccontare di esserci stato?
Come il pezzo di una carovana di passanti ciechi e sordi che si autocompiace perchè viaggia e conosce, che prende tutto per oro colato, che non si pone un perchè, un percome. Ecco come mi son sentito. Volutamente cieco.
La Romania non è una leggenda. Non è un vampiro.
Sono persone.
Che non conoscevo e non conosco.
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It was my second day in the mountain village of Dazhai and I had very quickly gotten used to randomly walking into houses with none of the usual pesky repercussions (such as being thrown in jail or chased away with a cleaver). This particular house was owned by the Tofu Man. When my guide, Bart, and I walked in we just made our way through the massive three-story wooden house into one of the smaller rooms where Tofu Man was already hard at work cooking the tofu.
He had been expecting us, and when we entered the steam-filled room, he beckoned us to sit down on the tiny wooden stools next to the little fire pit. I sat down and he looked at me with all seriousness and suddenly burst out a mad cackle before going back to work. The light from the fire danced on his face as he intently stirred the pot, looking like a mad scientist working on his Franken-fu. When he was done cooking, he took the pot into another room and poured the content into a large white mesh and hand-strained the water out of the tofu until it was a solid white mass. When it was all done, he produced a bowl out of one of his pockets, looked at it inquisitively and decided it was clean enough for this interloper and served me up some yummy tofu. Mmmm.