View allAll Photos Tagged PATHOS
another week has flown by waiting for the "weekend post" )
..So ... ''Forest hunters Wasiap, Yangim, and a third, whose name I did not know, accompanied us to a kampong on the border of their ancestral territory on the evening of Christmas Eve. At dusk, they did not return to the forest and stayed overnight at our place. " www.flickr.com/photos/zoombablog/53714364781/in/dateposted/
In the mist of the approaching Christmas morning, at the edge of the rainforest, a man whose name I did not know was shielding me with his bare chest from an aimed arrow.
Literally, not figuratively.
He defended me with his bare belly, if you want to reduce the degree of pathos in this story. As he had nothing on except a stalk of rattan around his waist and a tuft of bird-of-paradise feathers on the back of his head. There was also half a some-nut shell, which gave him an acceptable level of decency in the surrounding society, but it was unlikely to protect him from the sharp bamboo arrowhead aimed at my chest.
Everything happened so suddenly that it took me a while to realize and piece together the small details..
At that moment I saw only one thing clearly:
- a dressed, civilized man pointed at me an arrow at me from the bushes. The man who saved my life was wild and naked.
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135mm Fujicolor Reala 100 expired and broken of microbes
Nikon FM2 camera which got to know the taste of water
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some more photos from the island of Papua New Guinea in the album here : www.flickr.com/photos/zoombablog/albums/72177720296962443
Pathos sundown, Cyprus. One of two nights we had any cloud cover at all, I tried to make it last! 3-stop nd grad (h) and the Little Stopper
So great that Pathos Tale extended in 1 month the period to order LuoNa and LuoSheng! They are so limited and the price is tempting 👌✨I'm thinking of getting the other twin so my beautiful girl wont be lonely! 😍 I hope to see more of these cuties around and how people customize them.
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Btw, many changes (again) on Flickr huh? :o I'm a bit lost (again). Gonna have o stick to Recent Activity page as my start Flickr page (again). :}
Both sides of the pathos remain in relation to each other, but together they form a tilted image or a thaumatrope: set in motion, it itself becomes its own background and context.
This raises the question of the public perception of positions:
The German word "Mitleid" gives us a nice way of understanding that a suffering is shared by several people. However, the Greek retranslation as sympathy in no way describes what is meant by eleos: A pain that is caused when we see suffering that befalls someone who "does not deserve it" and which we can expect to affect ourselves or our peers. This suffering must therefore be close to us without affecting us. This eleotic perception is like the perception of a newspaper reader: undisturbed by any form of sympathy.
As pain about pain, eleos is directed at the perceived suffering of another. This means that the pain observed is precisely not the pain suffered. The possible compassion of the observer remains merely a virtual scenario of a (global) community of fate. And yet this virtual space claim to being the actual reality. This Virtuality (virtual reality) is regulated by public order through the proportionality of an orthos logos. This order is arrogantly self-sufficient, it denies any kind of actualization and attempts to control its forms canonically as a repertoire of emotions. But: it is always threatened by the "reality of the reality".
It is not a matter of accepting the "issue" with equanimity, but of meeting it with quick-wittedness, not with detachment. The triumph of "changing" (growth) is the triumph of not being changed.
Are we always able to perceive the other as a thaumatrope? Or is the social construct and recognition precisely an expression of "social aspect blindness", while thaumatropic perception is reserved only for who we call "friend"? Then it would not be a part of "sociality", but its interruption.
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Is it possible to see two sides of the One at once? You are my other side of our One. S'agapo, Kostaki.
There’s no cage for this bird with four wings.
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Another photo from the street. I took this photo on Independence Day, but it is far from the holiday pathos as the prose of life is far from idealized ideas about it.
Skunk Cabbage flower and part of spathe. It was a sunny day, the flower and spathe against the reflection of blue sky on the mud made an image pleasing to my eye.
I will be mostly off for a couple of weeks due to accumulated :( domestic work!
Many thanks to all those who view, fav or comment my pictures. It is much appreciated.
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What better way to celebrate than a huge Christmas tree? Even our Chinese brethren are into it ... I found this tree in the lobby of the Peace Hotel in Shanghai. I wish everyone safe travels and good company during these holidays.
A journalist in America once asked Rachmaninoff whom he regarded as the best pianist of his time. It was of course a naive question for it was not a 100 or 400 metre race to begin with. But it was really interesting to know what Rachmaninoff's answer would be.
It wasn't Cortot for sure, because his fingers were "so weak" according to Rachmaninoff and neither could that be Horowitz as the latter was just his protegee at the time, and Rachmaninoff had more than once bode him not to play "so fast and so loud"... It's was sure how he regarded Ignaz Friedman whom Horowitz called "maestro". But then, Friedman's teacher Leschetizky was still around at that time, so was Anna Yesipova the latter's ex-wife. Arthur Rubinstein ? He was "a clown" ( Heifetz refers ) at least he was before he shut himself up practicing hard for years in his middle years...
Rachmaninoff might at the time have Hofmann in mind, or even Lhevinne-- the latter graduated with him at the top of the class, winning the Gold Medal for piano in 1892. In 1895 he won the Second International Anton Rubinstein Competition held in Berlin. His public debut came at the age of 14 with Ludwig van Beethoven's Emperor Concerto in a performance conducted by his musical hero Anton Rubinstein... Godowsky, the pianist of pianists? For sure ranked rather high in Rachmaninoff's and likewise in Hofmann's mind. Yet, Godowsky could only played out his wonderful tone when encircled by his friends in private and not before any public or recording machine !
And let's not forget that Rachmaninoff's cousin Siloti, once his teacher, a favoured student of Liszt, editior of Tsaichovsky's 1st and 2nd Piano Concertos, was also in America at the time albeit he was not too well known in the American due to the influence of the media and we now know how powerful they are.
Siloti graduated with a gold medal in 1881 from Moscow Conservatory who could really sing with a percussive instrument-- not even Schnabel or even Lamond could do that so well. Rachmaninoff could do that too but not quite so eloquently and then there were a whole bunch of top pianists in Russia -- i.e. Goldenweiser was a student of Siloti- - and it was Siloti who presented Leopold Auer, Pablo Casals, Feodor Chaliapin, George Enescu, Josef Hofmann, Wanda Landowska, Willem Mengelberg, Felix Mottl, Arthur Nikisch, Arnold Schoenberg and Felix Weingartner, and premiered Debussy, Elgar, Glazunov, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff, Rimsky-Korsakov, Scriabin, Sibelius, Stravinsky and others... And then, one day the Americans were, justifiably or not, literally shocked by Richter and Gilels !
Siloti Plays Fragments from Liszt,Rachmaninoff Rec.1930's
www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQi3jE5qsSk
Needless to say, there was also Sauer still active mainly in Europe though. He was widely regarded as the legitimate heir of Liszt and then there was also Busoni, Eugen d'albert, Raoul Koczalski , Moriz Rosenthal, a pupil of both Chopin and Lizst, and the list goes on and on.
Emil von Sauer : Liszt - Consolation no.3 in Db
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdt04xPdm8g&list=RD1YNg99UuIF...
Last but not the least, there was Erno Von Dohnanyi or even Annie Fischer whom few Americans have really listened to:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=esK1dY4y540
Annie Fischer
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tx06rIRgbqE&t=1499s
PS
As a conductor Siloti gave the world premiere of Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 with the composer as soloist in 1901. From 1901-1903, he led the Moscow Philharmonic; from 1903-1917, he organized, financed, and conducted the influential Siloti Concerts in St Petersburg, collaborating with the critic and musicologist Alexander Ossovsky.
Siloti presented Leopold Auer, Pablo Casals, Feodor Chaliapin, George Enescu, Josef Hofmann, Wanda Landowska, Willem Mengelberg, Felix Mottl, Arthur Nikisch, Arnold Schoenberg and Felix Weingartner, and local and world premieres by Debussy, Elgar, Glazunov, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff, Rimsky-Korsakov, Scriabin, Sibelius, Stravinsky and others.
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I was in Shanghai this past December and I tried to get out every evening to see if I could find some cool places to photograph. It was mostly a bust though. One day I took a taxi to the abandoned apocalyptic mess that was once the World Expo and I ended up walking for a couple of hours in the cold, dark and rainy streets before I called it a day and went back to my hotel to lick my wounds. On my last night in Shanghai, I went back to the popular side of town where all the super trendy people go shopping and I saw this Apple store.
As I was looking for a good angle I noticed the security guy at the entrance to the store mad dogging me. I gave him a goofy wave and smile and just kept taking pictures until he started to come over. I waited until he was half way between me and the entrance to his lair before I picked up my tripod and pretend to walk away. As soon as he tuned back, I set my tripod back down and waited for him to realized he had been bamboozled. He made it all the way back to his post before he noticed me! He had a look of shock as he saw me wave at him in naked defiance. I leisurely finished taking my pictures and then walked into the same store he was guarding. Hehe.
The top end of Ebrington Street where commerce starts to fizzle out and the life of the street takes on a different meaning, from standing in a vacant shop doorway waiting for a bus or the pathos of an unanswered plea spelled out in the window frames of a run down building.
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This is another photograph from my very fruitful trip to the Longsheng rice terraces in China. I had many adventures here including: a stubborn donkey, a mad tofu scientist, the mischievous and lovable little kid that seemed to track me everywhere I went, a chance meeting with a wise old man and a clandestine bootleg rice-wine party with some of the local farmers. Ahh, the memories and adventures that came out of this simple little fog-covered town could fill up a room with warmth and happiness.
I sometimes think about going back, but I know that such experiences are not likely to present themselves again so I simply integrate them into the fabric of my being, and look forward with anticipation for the next fun adventure.
Let's hang out!
My first Anime avatar (´,,•ω•,,｀)
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“I wish I could throw off the thoughts which poison my happiness, and yet I take a kind of pleasure in indulging them.”
― Frédéric Chopin
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9n40aTbwfk&feature=youtu.be
KISS THE RAIN – YIRUMA
DANCING IN THE RAIN
My heart is shrink-wrapped to protect it
protect it from the damage that love brings
one moment I am dancing in the rain
bare feet splashing; dancing with you;
next thing precious memories are driving me insane
stick out my tongue and catch those sweet drops
trickling down my face and chin
laughing out loud with such joyful abandonment
giggling when trickles are tickling my skin
just now though I'm rolling with the punches
because I can't stand the strain
of losing myself so deep in you
that it causes such exquisite pain
so in my head I'm outside still dancing
kissing you in the rain
with the bubble wrapped around me
and the sweetest dreams contained
but in reality I'm writhing
broken up and bound
wound so tight like a steel drum
loud clanging in my head; cacophony of sound
reverberating around and around
spinning my head 'til my feet can't touch the ground
love lifted me so high; to be better than I am
it's a long way to fall down my love
I'm scared I won't survive the fall
you were always there to catch me
like the rain on open hands
so delicate and fragile
you saved me from my broken bones
you released my heart from it's plastic prison
where sweetest hopes and dreams were left to die
and now I'm hopeless and bereft without you
laying on my bed, as I begin to cry
I need you now; without you I'm just an empty shell
please don't give up on life; on love
I couldn't bear for us to die
I am a fighter, but even I feel bleak
and all I ask is for you to fight the night
that descended and left you so very weak
together we can fight most everything
together we stand brave and strong
putting heads together
and making right the wrong.
- AP – Copyright remains with and is the intellectual property of the author
Copyright © protected image please do not reproduce without permission'
My artwork is a compilation of 3 of my photographs
“There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won't remember and that she can't even let herself think about because that's when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it's always raining a slow and endless drizzle.
You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.
Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again.
Whenever it rains you will think of her. ”
― Neil Gaiman
I was taking photos as the ship was moving along the arch with one hand and with the other holding my son who was taking pathos with his tablet as well.
Stiched 8 vertical photos and fixed vertial distorsion at PS6.
Basic color and contrast adjustment.
used Polarized and GND 2stops for the sky.
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Yes, thespians … the dying breed of theater geeks that entertain the masses. We make fun of them during high school, but then we gladly accept them as idols when they pretend to be vampires on the big screen. I just wanted to let you guys know that some skaters took over you little stage over at Golden Gate park … in case you want to go down there and try to take it back by breaking into song or something.
The beautiful Brec de Chambeyron (3.389 m) observed from its most representative face.
Obviously the best side of a mountain has its own importance, but, just like in a scenic representation, it is important to photograph it during the best, most scenic and rich in pathos, moment.
This photo, taken during the blue hour that gives way to the night, with clouds generating that mystical "I see, I don't see” atmosphere, is a possibility.
Instagram @roberto.bertero
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©Roberto Bertero, All Rights Reserved. This image is not available for use on websites, blogs or other media without the explicit written permission of the photographer.
After I finished shooting the Hijras at Andheri Versova Link Road I saw this enormously far lady unable to fit in a rickshah , there was another person in the ricksha too..she saw me with my camera ..wondered who the fuck I was...
So I thought
I would introduce myself to her poetically..
a pedestrian poet
a pain a passion
on the broken wings
of an angel in flight
painting pictures
of pain and pathos
in spectral light
a black ass
stamped
immigration
check not required
fragmented genius
a pain in the butt
of racists white
fighting for the hijras survival
hijras human rights
their endless struggle
their dreamless nights
their fucked existence
no social fire ignites
buried standing
tears on the
soul of humanity
their last salutations
their last rites
my hijra pictures since this year are not for public viewi
www1.wdr.de/mediathek/audio/zeitzeichen/audio-rem-koolhaa...
Ich mag Rem Koohlhaas
Rem Koolhaas baut am Rand von Mailand eine kleine Stadt. Für die Fondazione Prada sprengt der Architekt die Grenzen zwischen Vergangenheit und Gegenwart. Und er denkt dabei auch an die Bauarbeiter.
Ein Turm aus Gold mitten im Industriegebiet – Mailand ist die einzige Stadt in Europa, wo einen dieser Anblick nicht wirklich überrascht. Vielleicht wird ja hier von der Modebranche gerade tonnenweise Goldschmuck geschmiedet oder Brokat gewebt oder Mobiliar aus Edelmetall entworfen. So ähnlich ist es dann auch, aber zugleich ganz anders: Rem Koolhaas baut für die Fondazione Prada in der ganz unluxuriösen Peripherie der Luxusmetropole ein Kulturzentrum mit Bibliothek, mit Kino, mit Café, mit gleich diversen Museen. Man könnte auch sagen: Koolhaas, der in der ganzen Welt aus Einzelbauten urbanistische Projekte gemacht hat, baut in Mailand eine kleine Stadt in der großen Stadt. Und eine Stadt braucht nun mal einen Turm, zur Not aus Gold.
„Ich liebe Mailand!“ Solch ein romantisches Statement vom personifizierten Unromantiker Rem Koolhaas ist zugeschnitten auf den Aussichtsbalkon seiner neuen Pradasiedlung: Rundum Industriebrachen, mit frischem Birkengrün zugewucherte Eisenbahngleise, Wohnblocks, Parkplätze und erst ganz in der Ferne die mittelgroßen Hochhäuser der Banken und der Macht hinterm Mailänder Dom. Klar, dass ein Idyllenverächter wie Koolhaas dieses ungeordnete, stilistisch unsaubere Ambiente förmlich umarmt. Doch dann die Überraschung: Aus seinen Patchworkbauten in einer aufgegebenen Schnapsdestillerie von 1907 ist fast so etwas geworden wie ein städtisches Idyll.
Dass in neun Monaten das Mailänder Projekt abgeschlossen ist, findet er fast schade. Man kann, so sagt er, die Seitengebäude aber jederzeit als Module nutzen und umwidmen: Von der Bibliothek zum Kindergarten, von Büros zu Wohneinheiten. „Permeables Bauen“ nennt er seine neue Sanftheit, die keineswegs auf Denkmalschutzauflagen zurückzuführen ist, sondern eher auf Altersmilde. Sein Büro OMA habe hier nach Belieben abreißen und bauen können, nur die neuen Erdbebenvorgaben schrieben Fundamente bis in vier Meter Tiefe vor, damit im statistisch unwahrscheinlichen Fall des „terremoto“ die Betondecken nicht über der Prada-Kunstsammlung zusammenbrechen.
Es ist, als hätte das historische Geflecht von Baustilen, als hätten die archäologischen Schichten im allzeit überbauten Römerland den einstigen Tabula-rasa-Theoretiker Koolhaas postmodern infiziert: Außer dem güldenen Turm gibt es in der Fondazione Prada unzählige Anspielungen und Verweise: Renaissancehafte Fensterbögen in den Aluminiumskeletten. Venezianisch spiegelnde Stahlplatten aus dem Schiffbau, mit welchen die Außenwände des Auditoriums sich mal eben keck aufklappen lassen.
Salvatore Settis postiert auf die Travertinpodeste von Koolhaas eine Auswahl von Götter- und Athletenstatuen
Salvatore Settis postiert auf die Travertinpodeste von Koolhaas eine Auswahl von Götter- und Athletenstatuen
Quelle: Photo Attilio Maranzano Courtesy Fondazione Prada
Klassizistische Edelböden aus iranischem Travertin, die prima mit dem starren Aluminiumschaum der Decken und Außenwände koexistieren. Und trotzdem gibt es ein paar Schritte neben der Begrünung viereckige Betonsäle und klotzige Auditorien von bestechend brutaler Eleganz. Der einst für seine historistischen Spielchen so bitter angefeindete James Stirling hätte am Mailänder Komplex, den Koolhaas gerne „Campus“ nennt, wohl seine helle Freude gehabt.
Vielleicht aber war der alte Gegensatz zwischen Postmoderne und Moderne ja auch nur ein Missverständnis. Ob eine Altstadt nun gerettet wird, indem man sie wie bei Koolhaas’ Masterplan in Den Haag mit hohen Monoliten umbaut? Oder indem man die Baulücken mit ziseliertem Beton füllt? Am Ende geht wohl beides, und beides – Neubau im Geist moderner Radikalität wie zärtliches Restaurieren – führt der Meister in Mailand vor. Vielleicht hat diese Besinnung auch damit zu tun, dass zuletzt gleich mehrere urbane Masterpläne in den Niederlanden nach Bürgerbefragungen nicht zur Ausführung kamen. Nun zeigt der Meister, dass er auch kleinteilig und sensibel kann. Statt des Baggers rücken die Vergolder an.
Immun gegen Gentrifizierung
Passend zur doppelten Aufgabenstellung zwischen Industrie und Kunst ist die Eröffnungsschau eine historisierende. Der große Antikenkenner Salvatore Settis postiert auf die Travertinpodeste von Koolhaas eine exquisite Auswahl von Götter- und Athletenstatuen, wobei es bewusst verwirrend bleibt, welche griechischen Originale in welcher römischen Epoche wie zitiert und kopiert wurden. Es ist auf diesem Gelände wie bei einer russischen Puppe: Renaissance in der Renaissance in der Renaissance.
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Am Ende holt in Italien die Historie alle ein und ummantelt sie gnädig. Diesem Gesetz hat sich auch Rem Koolhaas listig und lustvoll gefügt, hat klassische Treppenhäuser mit Neonlichtgeländern ausgestattet, hat Eingänge mit hergebrachtem Industrietrampelbohlen ausgelegt und die Zwischenräume seiner sozialen Architektur sanft bepflanzt und bis in die Nacht für die Anwohner geöffnet. „Und das Schönste ist“, sagt er auf der Dachterrasse versonnen, „dieses Viertel ist viel zu hart, zu disparat und zu einfach. Das ist gegen Gentrifizierung immun.“
Grand Budapest in Koolhaas little Mailand: Der Regisseur Wes Anderson hat eine Bar für die Fondazione Prada entworfen
Grand Budapest in Koolhaas little Mailand: Der Regisseur Wes Anderson hat eine Bar für die Fondazione Prada entworfen
Quelle: Photo Attilio Maranzano Courtesy Fondazione Prada
Ein neues Luxusmodeviertel mit Bars und Discos und schicken Cafés zum Gesehenwerden hatte Koolhaas gerade nicht im Sinn; so was gibt es rund um die Brera und die Via Montenapoleone und die Flagshipstores der Armanis und Guccis eh schon zur Genüge. Hier draußen sollte eine kleine, feine Fabrik des Städtebaus entstehen, in die Wes Andersons bestürzend gemütliches Café im Stile von Mailänder Arbeiterkneipen der Vorkriegszeit bestens passt: ein alteuropäisches Caffè Milano im Geist von Grand Hotel Budapest. Hier sollen auch die Rentner, die Migranten, die Bauarbeiter von jenseits des Bahndamms ihren Espresso schlürfen, von der Parkbank aus antike Statuen durchs Fenster bestaunen, ihre Kinder in die Bibliothek begleiten oder einfach nur Luft schnappen.
In der Bauarbeiterbar ein paar Meter entlang der Fabrikmauern – am Nebentisch trinkt Miuccia Prada auf dem Plastikhocker ihren Espresso – bekennt sich Koolhaas zum architektonischen Pathos seiner Anfänge: „Da bin ich unverbesserlich links.“ In Zeiten, in denen Staaten kein Geld für Flüchtlingsunterkünfte und Kindergärten mehr haben, schwärmt Koolhaas von Büchereien, Theatern, Schulen und der Würde des sozialen Bauens.
Billiger bauen mit Gold
Doch immerhin: Wenn die Stadt Mailand trotz großer Wohnungsnot keinerlei Verwendung fürs Expogelände hat, wenn Bauen ohne Korruption in Italien zur großen Ausnahme wird – hier hat ein sturer Siebzigjähriger seinen Kinderspielplatz in die vernachlässigte Vorstadt gesetzt. „Playground of ideas“ – das sei Architektur heute mehr denn je: ein Spielen mit den Erwartungen, ein Erhalten des Kaputten und manchmal auch ein großer Witz: „Humor ist immer mehr die treibende Kraft.“
Und so sind die 19.000 Quadratmeter Ausstellungsfläche mit dem ganzen sozialen Drumherum – mit Museen, Bibliothek, Kino, Konzertsaal, einer Sommerschule für Filmregisseure und Wissenschaftler – zwar ironisch und geistreich, aber alles andere als ein selbstreferentieller Witz. „Wir wollen hier Nachbarschaft schaffen“, sagt Koolhaas und wirkt wieder so ernst und stur und niederländisch geradeaus, wie man ihn und sein Bauen kennt.
Doch dann zeigt er mit Pokerface auf den Turm, wo Arbeiter gerade auf dem Gerüst die letzten Quadratmeter mit Blattgold einreiben: „Sieht doch schön aus, oder? Damit zeigen wir der Stadt, dass hier etwas Neues entsteht. Und dann ist das Vergolden auch noch verdammt billig.“ Koolhaas steht auf und eilt wieder auf seine Baustelle. Er lässt offen, ob das nun ein Witz sein soll oder die Quintessenz des neuen sozialen Bauens.
Feuilleton
mich hat der Artikel fasziniert
IMG_8553afrrr
I was stunned when I first came upon this pair of little ghost girls. Found them shoved off to the side of a huge display of Halloween decorations in a home improvement store. The large decorations were the main drawing card here. Over the top werewolves with lights and sounds; the usual stereotypical iterations of Halloween icons. But I pushed by all of that to get close to these girls. I was overwhelmed with the utter simplicity of their construction that belied a tremendous feeling of pathos. Once again, it was the most lifelike creations that stood out as the most eerie. These faces were not far removed from real-life. What made them particularly jarring was the juxtaposition of softness in the features, particularly the lips and noses with the ghoulish blackness of the unseeing eyes. The lustrous hair offset by the balding scalps. And that vacant, haunted look of torment and sadness. Seeing the two of them together somehow made the scene even sadder. The expression 'misery loves company' flashed through my mind. I whipped out my phone without even a second thought. There was no way I was leaving without a photo. The lighting was garishly bright, but that's how it goes with in-store photography. No matter; this image will endure much longer than the few seconds of my encounter with the sisters.
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This weekend I took my family to the Santa Clara Global Winter Wonderland to see the lantern festival featuring various iconic landmarks from around the world. It was one of those cold winter days that makes you feel all warm and cozy inside and we were having a lot of fun seeing all the gigantic lanterns. My toddler daughter was tucked away in her warm stroller but she would direct us where to go with a tiny gloved hand. She eventually broke free of the stroller and ran towards this carousel and eagerly pointed at the horses. “Yes, we can go on, but we have to wait our turn in line.” We waited in line for 20 minutes, but when we got to the front, the carousel operator would not let us in because we were short by one ticket. This was definitely a fail on my part for not getting additional tickets just in case, so I tried to reason with the nice man. I asked him if he would be willing to either take cash or let us in and we could come back and give him the additional ticket after the ride. He curtly shooed us away and closed the gate. It was infuriating and sad all at once. It was already too late and cold to wait another 20 minutes so we ended up leaving. My only consolation is that my daughter is still too young to really understand what happened, and she did not seem disappointed, but I promised myself that I would never again let her down for lack of planning.
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I took this photo at San Francisco's Westfield Mall a while ago. I remember noticing how people seemed to just dredge through the place going from one shop to the other in a mechanical way. I was starting to get weirded out, so I took out my camera and looked around for interesting things to photograph. I found this view and I stood int the middle of a small courtyard looking up and shot a few frames. When I looked back down, everyone around me had stopped and they were just staring at me, as if a bunch of drones had been severed from the mother signal and were starting to think for themselves. They looked up at what I was seeing and a couple of people took some photos with their phones, but it was not long before they went back to their mechanical shopping ... creepy!
...oder 175 Jahre Ausflugsschifffahrt auf der Donau. Oder 175t Jahre Völkerwanderung. So unglaublich viele Menschen, Stative und Schiffe!
Ich hab die Walhalla nie gemocht, ihre Intention, ihr theutschtümelndes Pathos, ihr klassizistischer Kitsch.
Ich hab auch die Leute nie gemocht, die da - gleich zu welcher Uhrzeit - immer rumhängen, von fetten Amitouristen über alkoholisierte Landeier und Studenten, bis zu Pokemon-Go-Zombies, die wirklich jeden gehypten Scheiß mitmachen. Ich bin immer lieber immer noch ein paar Kilometer weiter geradelt, nach Wiesent und hab mich dann in den Schatten des Nepaltempels an den kühlen Teich gesetzt, hab den Mantras zugehört und öfter ein bisschen geweint, weil mich der Ort so ergriffen hat. Die Walhalla ist das genaue, erschreckende Gegenteil, Stein statt Holz, weltliches statt spirituelles, Lärm staat Ruhe, ein das Ego produzierender Ort, statt einer, an dem man es zu überwinden sucht.
Gestern hab ich mich dann doch dorthin und unter die Menschen begeben und es waren so unglaublich viele! Aber es hat sich gelohnt, weder Regen noch Nebel oder Tau konnten einem das fotografische Vergnügen vereiteln, was eigentlich einem Wunder gleichkommt. Zumindest mit Nebel oder taufeuchter Ausrüstung wäre zu rechnen gewesen. Aber nein....
ddmagazine.it/2009/numeri.2009/09set/09set.html
HOTB (Ita)
Is anybody home?
HOTB composes figures where other people, in past centuries, had made Phylosophical systems, or had been hunted by the evil persistance, writing books on cruelty.
HOTB with his provocation helps us to feel how alive and adorned by commercial images is our televisive conscience.
In HOTB a genital and sometimes pornographic humanity interprets an unhinged life pulsion, while black phones, disseminated like ruins in a romantic landscape, rest, waiting for a call.
Patrizia Miliani in “schizzi d’ inchiostro”
Hot Chi?
E' finito il tempo in cui un'immagine scatenava baruffe e si pigliavano botte a cotè di un dipinto dove una puttana nuda guardava lo spettatore senza fare la maddalena? E' finito.
Non c'è più modo che un'immagine possa èpater le bourgeois, facendo un botto nel suo salotto disneyano? No, non c'è più.
HOTB compone figure, là dove altri nei secoli hanno costruito sistemi filosofici, o si sono tormentati sulla persistenza del male, e hanno scritto volumi sulla crudeltà. HOTB non è il nipote di De Sade, e non finirà alla Bastiglia per le sue immagini. Anzi. Il fruitore della sua personale potrà sentirsi piacevolmente compiaciuto o sottilmente sconcertato, ma tornerà a casa comunque con un frizzico blu nella schiena. HOTB con la sua provocazione ci aiuta a sentire quanto è viva la nostra coscienza televisiva, adorna di immagini pubblicitarie, dove c'è sempre casa, ovunque nel mondo e in qualsiasi malaugurata situazione, basta avere il fusillo in tasca. HOTB lo sa, e alleste per noi il suo teatrino poco rassicurante nello scantinato umido e fetente delle sue pulsioni di morte. Manca l'ultimo sfregio, quando la creatura soccombe, senza ritorno, all'esplorazione di quello scantinato,dove le donne di Barbablù sono custodite in stile macelleria.
E' femminile, l’oggetto che si ritrova nello scantinato di HOTB, serrata nelle corde, nastro adesivo sulla bocca, spesso senza occhi, un essere senza sguardo, negato, come nei lager, dove i prigionieri non dovevano mai guardare negli occhi i carcerieri.
Perchè lo sguardo è lo specchio, e il torturatore non vuole specchiarsi.
Gli occhi ricompaiono nei primissimi piani maschili, dove HOTB assume il ruolo di colui che ama, e il colore è sparato nelle iridi degli amati.. Lo sguardo cancellato della donna, vittima per definizione, traspare nascosto nelle iridi fluorescenti degli amati, che accompagnano, come faceva l’Iride del mito, le donne"morte" nell'aldilà.
C'è del manierismo nelle immagini di HOTB, nel sovraccarico di grafismi che addensano oscurità, accanto a qualche colore primario steso a contrappunto di una luce che non illumina. L'immagine è come sottoposta alle interferenze del tempo, litografica e bloccata nelle righe, nelle vetrate a quadrati, quasi sbarre.
Il pathos è' confinato nei titoli, nell'abbandono lirico di un capannone industriale, nella rovina accorata di una vasca da bagno, nelle macerie di un luogo senza luce, dove le sole finestre possibili si spostano, e sono occhi di visi infantili, in altre immagini, sparse qua e là, come una grammatica di luce in mezzo all'opaco.
Una discesa agli inferi con redenzione promessa dai visi infantili. E se il nazareno capitasse nella galleria dove espone HOTB, tornerebbe alla carica, con i suoi amici pescatori ed esattori delle tasse, lenti e permalosi, per trovare altri amici, lenti e permalosi.
Per sua sfortuna e nostra fortuna, HOTB non ha letto Melanie Klein, che racconta con dovizia del "terribile comportamento sadico" dei bambini piccoli. E così, per HOTB l'innocenza resta, e rischiara o disturba la nostra visione delle sue immagini.
In HOTB un'umanità genitale e a tratti pornografica interpreta una sgangherata pulsione di vita, mentre neri telefoni disseminati, come ruderi in un paesaggio romantico, sono in attesa di una chiamata.
Forse, la chiamata di colui che un tempo era l'Interlocutore, ora muto.
Il fotografo pugliese non ci racconta nulla della signorina stesa a terra con i polsi legati dalle corde ben serrate. Lo sconcerto per noi, il vero teatro della crudeltà, sarebbe scoprire che è nostra sorella o la vostra fidanzata. Ma HOTB ce lo risparmia. Anche Isacco era incaprettato sulla pira, pronto al sacrificio, ma fu risparmiato. Ecco, le immagini di HOTB parlano dell'impossibilità del sacrificio.
E dell'essere risparmiati.
L'impossibile sacrificio costringe a ripetere rituali dove la vittima è sempre risparmiata, e alla fine, si toglie le corde, si riveste e torna a casa, a farsi una piatto di fusilli e a guardare la tivù.
Patrizia Miliani
Collaboratrice del DDproject
Winter shot taken on the frozen lake of the Mont-Cenis dam (2.083 m), Savoie, France.
A lovely, algid, castle of clouds was wrapping Pointe Clairy (3.161 m), its rock ridge is barely visible through the clouds.
In the foreground the first cracks of solid ice temporarily covered by a thin blanket of snow.
The idea behind this photo is to document the unique moment and the beauty of the place, but this seemed even too easy... so the real challenge was to convey the inflexible rigidity of the cold winter, a difficult season, often minimalist, somehow empty, but so full of intangible pathos!
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©Roberto Bertero, All Rights Reserved. This image is not available for use on websites, blogs or other media without the explicit written permission of the photographer.
Seltsame Zurückhaltung
Elon Musk zeigte offen den Hitlergruß
... von Haiko Hoffmann
KOMMENTAR
Schwerin/gc. Auf der Veranstaltung vor der Amtseinführung Trumps hat er das sogar mehrmals getan. Das Publikum war zum Teil rechtsextrem. Seine rassistischen und rechtsextremen Ansichten kennen wir bereits zur Genüge. Und dieser Mann, den Alice Weidel so sehr bewundert, fordert dazu auf, die AfD zu wählen. Er weiß warum, was viele hierzulande nicht wahrhaben wollen.
Die Art und Weise, wie er das tat, entsprach haargenau einer Filmaufnahme Hitlers, gem. Weidel in ihrem fatalen Geschichtsbild ein „Linker“ oder „Kommunist“, wo dieser zuerst die rechte Hand auf die Brust schlägt, um dann seitwärts den Arm auszustrecken. Und genau das tat Musk. Und nicht nur einmal. Er zeigt sich als Faschist. Er ist ein Faschist.
Umso mehr wundere ich mich über die Berichterstattung bei uns, ganz zu schweigen von den Leuten, die Musk in den sozialen Medien so vehement verteidigen und das Ganze herunterspielen. Da ist, außer vielleicht in der taz oder der ZEIT, von einer „Hitlergruß-ähnlichen Gerste“, einer „Geste, die an einen Hitlergruß erinnert“, einen „mutmaßlichen Hitlergruß“, einen „angeblichen Hitlergruß“, einen „vermeintlichen Hitlergruß“, einen „umstrittenen Hitlergruß“ usw. zu lesen. Der entscheidende Kontext ist dabei auch nicht die angeblich „unbeholfene“ Geste eines Autisten oder Musks Worte danach, dass sein Herz den Trump-Fans zufliege.
Gerade wir Deutschen sollten doch wohl klar erkennen, was ein Hitlergruß ist, oder? Und das war definitiv einer!
Warum also geniert man sich so, den von ihm mehrfach gezeigten Hitlergruß auch als solchen ohne Wenn und Aber zu benennen? Was hält Journalisten oder Medien davon ab, es klar und deutlich auszusprechen oder zu schreiben, dass das der Hitlergruß war? Wieso bemüht man sich, unsere Wahrnehmung in Zweifel zu ziehen, dass DAS ein Hitlergruß war? Wieso versucht man mir einzureden, dass ich mich irren könnte in dem, was ich vollkommen eindeutig und unmissverständlich gesehen habe?
Fürchten sich Medien bereits jetzt vor einer Machtübernahme der Radikalen und Demokratiefeinde, fürchtend, dass nicht nur die „Windmühlen der Schande!!!“ (welch Pathos, den selbst Don Quichote lächerlich gefunden hätte) eingerissen werden könnten?
Mit Verlaub: Schon jetzt zu kuschen wäre das Dümmste und Schlechteste, was eine noch immer freie Medienlandschaft tun könnte. Die Verteidigung der Demokratie und offenen Gesellschaft braucht Mut, nicht Feigheit und Zaghaftigkeit. Denn die Feinde der Demokratie und offenen Gesellschaft werden nicht feige zurückschrecken, um ihre Ziele durchzusetzen. Sie haben bereits den Mut, unsere Demokratie offen infrage zu stellen und das Grundgesetz. Und das ist erst der Anfang.
Spätestens 2033 wissen wir es!
Bildunterschrift:
Gerade wir Deutschen sollten doch wohl klar erkennen, was ein Hitlergruß ist, oder? Foto: Heiko Wruck
Here you can see the gorgeous Vajolet Towers, in their famous southern side.
Slightly long exposure taken before dawn (5:35 a.m.), at the Passo di Laurino (2.621 m), in the heart of the Catinaccio (Rosengarten), Dolomites.
As shown in a previous photo of mine the moon was heading to the west, over the Croda di Re Laurino, so behind me and my camera, freeing the towers from darkness with some sort of feeble light, veiled by an ever-changing ocean of mist that for all night had silently wrapped the entire area... in a hushed otherworldly atmosphere...
The sun had not yet risen, but a far presence of light was coming from the east, providing three-dimensionality to the swirling clouds around the towers.
Due to the transition between night and day the colors are almost absent, a sort of natural monochrome, which is something I really love. I've taken other shots a bit later, much more colorful, but honestly I believe that "bright colors" are strongly overestimated in landscape photography.
In my humble opinion the Vajolet Towers (especially this side) are among the most beautiful mountains in the world, a must see for all true lovers of nature and mountain!
In their shapes I see: strength, grace and style.
I am well aware that some people may even remain indifferent to such a spectacle, we all have different personal tastes and preferences... but I know that - for me - at least once a year I have to come here and pay a visit... even though this place is pretty far from where I live. This was my second visit and I hope that many others will follow.
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©Roberto Bertero, All Rights Reserved. This image is not available for use on websites, blogs or other media without the explicit written permission of the photographer.
“Who can explain the secret pathos of Nature's loveliness? It is a touch of melancholy inherited from our mother Eve. It is an unconscious memory of the lost Paradise. It is the sense that even if we should find another Eden, we would not be fit to enjoy it perfectly nor stay in it forever.”
~Henry Van Dyke
German Cemetery La Cambe - Cimetière Militaire Allemand
Deutsche Kriegsgräberstätte La Cambe, hier ruhen mehr als 21.000 deutsche Soldaten, die im Zweiten Weltkrieg gefallen sind.
Ein ganz anderer Friedhof als der der Amerikaner. Ohne Pathos, eher bedrückend. Jedes Grab ist eine Ermahnung zum Frieden.
The palace reliefs were fixed to the walls of royal palaces forming continuous strips along the walls of large halls. The style apparently began after about 879 BC, when Ashurnasirpal II moved the capital to Nimrud, near modern Mosul in northern Iraq. Thereafter, new royal palaces, of which there was typically one per reign, were extensively decorated in this way for the roughly 250 years until the end of the Assyrian Empire. There was subtle stylistic development, but a very large degree of continuity in subjects and treatment.
Compositions are arranged on slabs, or orthostats, typically about 7 feet high, using between one and three horizontal registers of images, with scenes generally reading from left to right. The sculptures are often accompanied with inscriptions in cuneiform script, explaining the action or giving the name and extravagant titles of the king. Heads and legs are shown in profile, but torsos in a front or three-quarters view, as in earlier Mesopotamian art. Eyes are also largely shown frontally. Some panels show only a few figures at close to life-size, such scenes usually including the king and other courtiers, but depictions of military campaigns include dozens of small figures, as well as many animals and attempts at showing landscape settings.
Campaigns focus on the progress of the army, including the fording of rivers, and usually culminates in the siege of a city, followed by the surrender and paying of tribute, and the return of the army home. A full and characteristic set shows the campaign leading up to the siege of Lachish in 701; it is the "finest" from the reign of Sennacherib, from his palace at Nineveh and now in the British Museum. Ernst Gombrich observed that none of the many casualties ever come from the Assyrian side. Another famous sequence there shows the Lion Hunt of Ashurbanipal, in fact the staged and ritualized killing by King Ashurbanipal of lions already captured and released into an arena, from the North Palace at Nineveh. The realism of the lions has always been praised, and the scenes are often regarded as "the supreme masterpieces of Assyrian art", although the pathos modern viewers tend to feel was perhaps not part of the Assyrian response.
There are many reliefs of minor supernatural beings, called by such terms as "winged genie", but the major Assyrian deities are only represented by symbols. The "genies" often perform a gesture of purification, fertilization or blessing with a bucket and cone; the meaning of this remains unclear., Especially on larger figures, details and patterns on areas such as costumes, hair and beards, tree trunks and leaves, and the like, are very meticulously carved. More important figures are often shown larger than others, and in landscapes more distant elements are shown higher up, but not smaller than, those in the foreground, though some scenes have been interpreted as using scale to indicate distance. Other scenes seem to repeat a figure in a succession of different moments, performing the same action, most famously a charging lion. But these were apparently experiments that remain unusual.
The king is often shown in narrative scenes, and also as a large standing figure in a few prominent places, generally attended by winged genies. A composition repeated twice in what is traditionally called the "throne-room" (though perhaps it was not) of Ashurbanipal's palace at Nimrud shows a "Sacred Tree" or "Tree of Life" flanked by two figures of the king, with winged genies using the bucket and cone behind him. Above the tree one of the major gods, perhaps Ashur the chief god, leans out of a winged disc, relatively small in scale. Such scenes are shown elsewhere on the robe of the king, no doubt reflecting embroidery on the real costumes, and the major gods are normally shown in discs or purely as symbols hovering in the air. Elsewhere the tree is often attended to by genies.
Women are relatively rarely shown, and then usually as prisoners or refugees; an exception is a "picnic" scene showing Ashurbanipal with his queen. The many beardless royal attendants can probably be assumed to be eunuchs, who ran much of the administration of the empire, unless they also have the shaved heads and very tall hats of priests. Kings are often accompanied by several courtiers, the closest to the king probably often being the appointed heir, who was not necessarily the oldest son.
The enormous scales of the palace schemes allowed narratives to be shown at an unprecedentedly expansive pace, making the sequence of events clear and allowing richly detailed depictions of the activities of large numbers of figures, not to be paralleled until the Roman narrative column reliefs of the Column of Trajan and Column of Marcus Aurelius.