Noir Film
View allAll Photos Tagged PESSIMISM
La "sofferenza fisica" quella della malattia, del deperimento organico, della morte. La "sofferenza morale dell'anima", più dilaniante di quella "sofferenza fisica", causata dall'ingratitudine, dall'abbandono, dal tradimento, dall'emarginazione, dal disprezzo. La "sofferenza psicologica", che spesso fa da conseguenza al dolore fisico e al dolore morale quella sofferenza sotto forma di tristezza, delusione, pessimismo, scoraggiamento, depressione. --"Possiamo avere tutti i mezzi di comunicazione del mondo, ma niente, assolutamente niente, sostituisce lo sguardo dell'essere umano". (Paulo Coelho)
The "physical suffering" is that of illness, of organic decay, of death. The "moral suffering of the soul", more tearful than that "physical suffering" caused by ingratitude, abandonment, betrayal, marginalization, contempt. The "psychological suffering", which often causes the suffering in the form of sadness, disappointment, pessimism, discouragement, depression as a consequence of physical pain and moral pain. - "We can have all the means of communication in the world, but nothing, absolutely nothing, replaces the gaze of the human being".
(Paulo Coelho)
f00096
adaptation to film noir, a style or genre of cinematographic film marked by a mood of pessimism, fatalism, and menace. The term was originally applied (by a group of French critics) to American thriller or detective films made in the period 1944–54 and to the work of directors such as Orson Welles, Fritz Lang, and Billy Wilder.
noun: film noir
a style or genre of cinematographic film marked by a mood of pessimism, fatalism, and menace. The term was originally applied (by a group of French critics) to American thriller or detective films made in the period 1944–54 and to the work of directors such as Orson Welles, Fritz Lang, and Billy Wilder.
a film marked by a mood of pessimism, fatalism, and menace.
plural noun: films noirs.
Take at Summer of 42 (some time ago)
So here I am back on Flickr after a much needed 10 day break. I hope all my friends on Flickr had a lovely Christmas, small as it may have been, and rang in the new year with as much vigour as you could muster. I think most will agree it felt very different this year.
At the moment you can't avoid the year end retrospective programs, on radio, on the tellie, and even on some of the streaming platforms. And what a year 2020 was. There certainly is lots to take stock of in a year that showed us just how bad it could get, on all kinds of levels. It seems that science, reason, and good sense have been discarded by so many good folks that really should know better. Will the world learn any valuable lessons from the disaster that was 2020? I wish I could be more optimistic about the chances of that happening but from everything I see around me I fear that may not be the case but as ever I live in hope. And to indulge me a little further in my pessimism I give to you my first photo of 2021, titled appropriately I think you'll agree.
Light of Hope...
Hope or Esperance is a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life.
In a religious context, it is not considered as a physical emotion but as a spiritual grace. Hope is distinct from positive thinking, which refers to a therapeutic or systematic process used in psychology for reversing pessimism.
Amidst all the pessimism and anxiety, one sign of life in our city is that the construction industry carries on, and very noisily at that.
The candle glows
A bright encouraging molten gold
The light filling our heart
Imparting happiness
An optimistic feel
Lending a fiery liveliness
Radiant even in sad times
Cheering us up when blue
Expanding small hearts
Into an ocean of generosity
Yet when the light wanes
Charring the milky white wick
Almost drooping like a dog’s ears
Enveloped by dying smoke
Gradually darkening like the summer night sky
With its light no more
Pessimism invades
Depressing, boring black
Adding a frown, gloominess and melancholy
The magic evading, leaving us belittled.
Inspiration song : www.youtube.com/watch?v=JztvnWwrqi0
Sticks on the front of the image : www.deviantart.com/lumibear/art/Fog-64-148090199
Background : www.deviantart.com/lumibear/art/Fog-49-148087247
Cabin pixabay.com/fr/photos/cabine-sur-le-terrain-nature-4096116/
Woman: unsplash.com/photos/60jofh7Vti0
Fire : www.shutterstock.com
Birds : www.pixelsquid.com
Fog , painting etc : Photoshop CC 2015
The deserted ruin of Park Llewellyn catches a brief burst of sunrise light on a stormy and turbulent morning. Hiking against gale force winds and rain I was borderline whether I should even continue to the ruin as the weather outlook was pretty dire. However I’m very glad I talked myself out of giving up. In my experience it’s usually a good idea to ignore the doubt and pessimism, as those ominous weather conditions gift the best photo opportunities 🙌
Please visit my YouTube channel: www.youtube.com/jamesbrewphoto
Please visit www.jamesbrew.com for my website and full Portfolio.
Follow me on Instagram @ jamesbrewphoto
Coming south this morning on our seven car monster Z867, LA told us we'd swing through the east siding at Cairo for a lap meet with a dead northbound. As we made our way into Cairo, I was dismayed to see this former Seaboard SD40-2 leading, thinking it would be another good leader I'd miss out on shooting. My pessimism quickly turned to optimism as LA told the train following us to hold back at Ottawa, and that he had nowhere for him to go until the recrew for this Q506 came on at 0730. The end result is this, Q506-07 blasting off at North Cairo shortly before 0900 with 110 cars on the drawbar.
Nikoloz Baratashvili was born in Tbilisi, Georgia on December 4, 1817. His father was an impoverished aristocrat who was a loyal servant of the emperor. His mother, Efemia, the sister of Grigol Orbeliani, was the granddaughter of Erekle II. It was she, who inspired Nikoloz with a love of literature. He was influenced by famous Georgian writers and statesmen who often visited their house in Tbilisi. He studied at a Tbilisi gymnasium from 1827-1835 and was taught by Solomon Dodashvili. He graduated with a certificate of merit. He was unable to continue his education because of his family’s poor financial situation. He wanted to join the army, but a physical defect caused by breaking his leg as a child prevented him from being accepted. With the threat of poverty ever present, he was forced to work as an ordinary clerk which he considered a humiliation.
Baratashvili had an intense involvement with Ekaterine Chavchavadze, princess Dadiani which left deep marks on his soul. His poetry was filled with romantic spirit and revolutionary aspirations in which he expressed deep patriotic feelings. Through his poetry he spoke of high moral ideals and struggled against pessimism. His literary career was very short; 1833 to 1845. By the early 1840’s he was enjoying fame as a poet even though little or none of his poetry was published during his lifetime.
In 1844, after his father went bankrupt, Baratashvili transferred to serve in Nakhichevan, then to Gandju, Azerbaijan, where he served as deputy governor of that province. It was at Gandju that he contracted malaria and died on October 9, 1845, at the age of 27.
Nikoloz Baratashvili's poetry is the summit of Georgian romanticism. He left a mere 37 poems, and yet is held as one of the greatest Georgian poets. As his poems were published posthumously, he came to be idolized. His remains were brought back to Georgia and buried in Tbilisi in 1893 and his funeral turned into a great national celebration. Nikoloz Baratashvili was transferred, in 1938, to the Pantheon of Georgian writers and statesmen on Mtatsminda, on the slope of the mount he loved so dearly.
Football fever once again grips a nation, expectations run high, only to be dashed by cruel fate. And a penalty shootout. Probably…
Canvey Island, Essex UK
Somewhere on the Canadian prairie ... my pictorial comment on the state of the world. From the archives but seems to fit our times?
Timbuk 3 - www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qrriKcwvlY
- Saskatchewan, Canada -
After a good friend uploaded video of this train today, it reminded me of my less-than-valiant effort to capitalize on it myself.
SOO 6061 and five other EMD's have a combined trap rock monster on their hands as they head West on the old SOO. A fall Westbound of this caliber was worth the chase, although I ended up calling this "good enough" due to the cloud situation.
See how my pessimism was proven incorrect below.
Ci sono tanti pendoli; quello di Foucault, quello di Schopenhauer quello di Leopardi , quello di Umberto Eco, quello della nonna.... questo è il mio pendolo
La vita oscilla come un pendolo,
tra gioia e dolore,
tra ottimismo e pessimismo,
tra paura e speranza ,
tra tra sogno e realtà,
tra luce ed oscurità,....
tra terra e cielo....
( mio libero rifacimento )
Il mio pendolo è un fiore
There are a lot of pendulums: that of Focault, that of Schopenhauer, that of Leopardi, that of the granny...and this is my pendulum
The life swings like a pendulum between joy and sorrow / optimism and pessimism / fear and hope / light and darkness / dream and reality / .....earth and heaven....
My pendulum is a flower
dear friends, I don’t know about you, but today, my heart is blue, heavy and oh so very sad.
Pessimism is winning over my natural optimism as I realise now that we are at war, a war like no other, a war that targets any and all…
It will not stop me going out, and eventually I will be able to look up at the sky once more, and enjoy the warmth of the sun… but not today!
Thank you, M, (*_*)
For more of my other work visit here: www.indigo2photography.com
IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY image or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
I really really hope this guy's arm actually reads "Don't Give Up"...
Sony A7Riv
Sony FE 135mm/f1.8 GM
Si lo miramos con pesimismo vine, si somos optimistas se va. If we look at it with pessimism, it came, if we are optimistic it goes.
In the Air there is a Certain Pessimism ... We Hope for Good!
♥ ♥ ♥ Beautiful Memories - Chapter One ♥ ♥ ♥ - © Kris de Curtis 2013 (YouTube Video)
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Best View: On Black
.
Lifer! I used to see these high in the forest canopy during my BC years, but there was never a photo op... until last month, here on the Saskatchewan prairie. We are at the easternmost extent of this species' migratory range, and one showed up at a friend's feeder. I received an early morning phone call, rushed over, and was able to shoot through an open window.
Lifers - by which I mean photo-lifers - are hard to come by these days. I've photographed most species that breed here or pass through in migration. Most days I'm out there trying to improve on earlier shots or capture some interesting behaviour. Once in a while, though, I get lucky; this is my second lifer of Spring 2024. Will there be a third? I am optimistic. And that comment leads to one of my favourite quotes:
"The reason for optimism lies in the biological fact that it keeps you happy and busy, whereas pessimism just leads to lying around and bitching."
- Robert Anton Wilson
I tried the latter many years ago and it didn't work, so I'll just stick with the former and ride it until my ride ends.
Photographed just outside village limits, in the Rural Municipality of Val Marie, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission ©2024 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
NOTES ON A GOLDEN-EYED GECKO MISSION IN CENTRAL QUEENSLAND
The Golden-eyed Gecko (Strophurus trux) was recently described in 2017. It is currently known from one small area of the Brigalow-belt Bioregion within central Queensland.
The species occurs along a series of difficult to access, elevated ridge-tops vegetated with dry open woodland with a predominately Hummock Grass (Triodia sp.) understorey. Another significant floristic component of the understorey was the prescence of Grass Trees (Xanthorrhoea sp.).
A group of us drove down to central Queensland from Cairns on a mission to locate this intriguing little Gecko with such beautiful, photogenic eyes-just prior to Christmas. Upon attaining our first glimpse of the immediate habitat of S. trux, I can state that collectively it was deduced that the pending mission would more than likely be an unsuccessful one.
The series of steep ridges were blackened and laid bare, still smouldering from an obviously intense inferno only recently dissipated. Around 75% of viable habitat was obliterated!
As darkness enveloped the small portion of intact habitat remaining to search, the pessimism pervading our thoughts concerning the finding of S. trux were extinguished as quickly as a candle in the wind, when Reid Newell spotted the first of around ten adult Golden-eyed Geckoes for the evening!
Zammyth Brook even shined 3 geckoes within the burnt zone, with two lizards perched on one thin, vertical branch of a blackened skeleton that once stood as a shrub! This unexpected success gave us all hope that the population of S. trux was still a viable one after such a catastrophic event, and we were all in great spirits just knowing that.
Sorry if I did not get to everyone's stream yesterday. The techie came and finally fixed my network of which I am very happy but it meant I could not get online much
Hope everyone has a great day!
HBW !!
:~)
2024-09-13, Day 7
Looking northwest along the braided channels of the Duke River, the lesser peaks that flank Mount Hoge rise into a gathering weather system, Kluane National Park, Yukon.
On the previous day, we crested Atlas Pass and followed the course of Atlas Creek toward its confluence with the Duke River. The ever-handy Parks Canada route description suggested that just before the confluence an obvious game trail would leave the creek bed on the right. After following this path for several hundred meters, we would ostensibly be presented with excellent campsites and easy walking along the riverbank.
I noticed the game trail leaving the creek more or less where we expected to find it, and it had even been marked with a small piece of flagging by some enterprising individual. Wanting to gauge the amount and temperature of the water flowing down the Duke, we proceeded to the confluence anyway to have a gander. Where the water of the creek mingled with the greater current of the Duke, the water was cold and the river was pinched in to a single channel that was deep and fast enough to make it clear that crossing several more shallow channels would be a necessity. It was also impossible to follow the riverbank upstream at this particular point due to a number of steep outcroppings and dense vegetation.
We retreated to the game trail, and after 400 meters or so the ground began to get suspiciously boggy, and the game trail was interrupted repeatedly with increasingly large pools of standing water. Believing this to be the route, and not worrying too greatly about damp feet, we forged onward by pushing through dense vegetation and wending around the pools. Optimism can be useful but ours soured after a time and morphed into downright pessimism once it became clear that the ever-widening pools were but the satellites of an incredible engineering effort put forth by the resident master beaver population. A dam appeared, constructed from beautifully selected, regularly-sized poles, laid neatly in rows and cemented with mud like the careful work of an artisan bricklayer. We were forced to negotiate a steep mossy bank, grasping at small trees to pull ourselves up toward higher ground. It was not long before another, similar dam appeared, tiered upstream from the first one, and then another and another.
Our forward progress utterly arrested, we paused amongst the trees to admire the handiwork of these evidently abundant and industrious rodents. The ponds were deep and impassable without flotation of some sort, though I am confident the local moose require no such accoutrements. Gazing toward the river and trying to determine the best course of action (retreat? climb up through the forest and hope to find a route?), two brightly colored backpacks bobbed just above the golden willows some 300 meters away, moving slowly upstream along the bank of the Duke. These were the first people we had seen in 5 days, and their presence suggested a retreat and then an effort to find a way to the riverbank would yield navigational dividends. We bid the beaver adieu and found a place to camp amongst the willows by the side of the river, some 200 meters downstream from our fellow travelers, electing to ensconce ourselves and respect their privacy.
On the morrow, we broke camp and paused to introduce ourselves to our impromptu neighbors as we made our way upstream to find a place to ford the Duke. A short, energetic, gray-haired fellow named Bruno did most of the talking, as his female traveling partner spoke little English and my French is, shall we say, poor. He was astounded to learn we had camped so close by and failed to come say hello and share a tale. He entreated us to drink a coffee by their fire, and he conveyed that they had traveled from their homes near the French Alps to Paris, then to Whitehorse, then had hitchhiked to Destruction Bay on the shore of Kluane Lake to begin their Yukon adventure. Evidently Bruno and his companion had been dating for some months and had not been together long before embarking into the wild. A bold move. Bruno lamented that one side-effect of these decisions was that he had become self-conscious about farting. And backpacking food does not set one up for success in this department.
Having just consumed a good deal of coffee, we declined Bruno’s offer for more and left the odd-couple to their ministrations. The map suggested the river broadened to a wide, braided channel some miles upstream, and we noticed a thickening mass of clouds drifting over the mountains from the southwest. Perhaps a storm would find us.
Yes, in the inset is a nice painting by Johannes Moreelse (1603-1634), a Dutch Caravaggist, of the ancient Greek thinker Democritus (c.460-370 BCE). In the tradition of western philosophy Democritus is known as the 'laughing philosopher' in opposition to ancient Heraclitus as the weeping thinker. Those are two very different visions of the transience of the world, the so-called 'vanitas mundi'. Heraclitus shedding tears about it; Democritus smiling at the ways people seek without success to hold back inevitable change. The painting is stuck away in a dark corner above a doorway in the marvelous Mauritshuis Museum, I think it should be given more prominence with something of an explanation.
I've used it as an inset because on my way to a concert of music by Brahms I ambled past a garden full of Tulips in their last throes, their 'transience' as it were. Whether to weep or to smile...? I suppose Democritus, first atomist thinker, would say that the atoms of these flowers once 'set free' will reconfigure into another perhaps as beautiful world.
I recently returned to the Chiang Dao hills overlooking the small Thai village of Ngai for one particular purpose and that was to replace a lost image which I was very fond of (Lone Rider) and which included a dirt road. To my dismay that dirt road is now concrete and the wonderful view that went with it forever changed. It is in my eyes no longer beautiful. I'll be honest, I loathe change in this world and particularly when I see no benefit. These are not mud tracks, they are made of stone and provide a perfect road surface for the few farm vehicles passing through here. A concrete road will eventually crack and crumble as is evident in much of the surrounding area.
Forced to seek somewhere new to sit alone and grumble at dawn, drink coffee as well as embrace the beauty of the area, I drove to the other end knowing there is a kink in the road and that there was a possibility that the concrete 'downgrade' may not have continued after the 1st kilometer, particularly as the road is quite steep further on. It's a view I've taken on several occasions previously but not using a multi-shot panorama format before. I wouldn't say it's an easy shot, I needed to stand on the roof of my truck in the middle of the road, and getting a tripod head perfectly level and the camera set up before the sun catches the tip of the mountain range had me in full throttle fumble mode! Thankfully no other vehicle passed this way at the time and I'm not exactly disappointed with this image either. In fact I think I may have replaced my old image with a more appreciable one after all that fussing..*grins ear to ear*. Pessimism can be an odd thing at times when it works to your advantage.
Thank you for not being an old stick in the mud.. unlike me :)
* * * * *