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My last upload from a couple weeks ago at Kittery Point. I wanted to get at least one shot that showed a long line of the rocky coast with the unusually strong waves battering the shore. The light was really this red, it's not from picking a hot white balance. The clouds were those sort of hazy clouds that just make the entire sky turn red. This is not my favorite shot from here, but I liked the wave action enough to post it.
On another subject, I've made an ambitious goal for myself. I love photography and exploring the wild beautiful places so much that when I'm doing anything else, I always wish I was doing what I really love. I'm going to work and research a ton on eventually becoming a full-time juried art fair participant and landscape photographer. My aim is to spend half of my time on week-long backpacking trips in national parks and other amazing places, 1/4 of my time processing photos and keeping up with the "real world," and 1/4 of my actively participating in the fairs. I know this is not an easy path to take and it doesn't really pay out huge incomes, but I'm better suited for it than most people for several reasons. I don't have a family to take care of, and I don't have a career-level job to feel bad about leaving behind. I'm content sleeping in a tent every night. I only need an apartment big enough to hold my stuff when I'm out (which will be most of the time) and a small area to sleep. My costs are way lower than most people's for these reasons.
But, it's going to be a while. Probably at least a few more years before any significant changes happen in my life on this subject. For now, I'll go on being an office grunt and relish my 1-2 week annual vacations (Grand Canyon next year, hell yeah). I'm going to try and get into some lower-level craft fairs next year, to get my feet wet on the whole deal with selling work. I also have some other major obstacles to get by that I won't go into depth with here.
If anyone has done this sort of thing even on a part-time basis, I'd love to hear about it. I don't mind if you want to tell me not to pursue this path. But I'll say that all feels right in the world for me when I'm doing my photography, even when it's cold out, even when I have to walk 10 miles to get where I want to be. I don't want to find out when I'm much older that I wish I had spent my life doing something I really love instead of something to just get by with.
And I absolutely understand and forgive if you didn't read any of that. :-)
Nikon D50
Nikon 17-35mm f/2.8 @ 17mm
ISO 200
Exposure: 1/2 sec
Aperture: f/8
Filters: Tiffen Circular Polarizer, Lee GND 0.9 + 0.6
White Balance: 5200K (I only mention this because it's amazing how red the image is)
I visited in hope and it was realised. These 3 species joined my @22 folder for species/races taken this year.
After the formalities, we were treated to a video recording, transmitted via Zoom, of the one-act play "Fixed Point". The author, David Stuart Davies, played Holmes, with Matthew Booth as Watson, Mark Jones as a reporter, and Kathryn White as a nurse.
The promise of clear skies and an early morning moonrise saw me head out to The Avenue with the hope of getting a few star trail images. Sadly despite having so many great monuments around the countryside we are plagued with light pollution. Swindon, Salisbury, Marlborough, Calne and Bath have us surrounded and fill the night sky with the orange glow from their sodium street lights.
I contented myself with a view across The Avenue with the point of one of the great marker stones pointing up towards Jupiter (the bright star) and no star trails.
The slight orange glow in this image is a combination of the bright lights of Bath some 22 miles away and Melksham about 10 miles away.
A 20 sec exposure - Canon 24mm TS-E lens at F3.5, ISO 800, was a little too long to capture all the stars sharply, the ones on the left of the image have slight trails. I am quite pleased with the light painting of the foreground though.
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from the highest point,
the world seems so small.
i created a new blog in which i'll talk about photography related things. Take a look!
[explore #258]
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This shot was processed with Nik, ColorEfex. It was a total experiment and ended up settling on this version.
Man Pointing
Alberto Giacometti (Swiss, 1901-1966)
1947. Bronze, 70 1/2 x 40 3/4 x 16 3/8" (179 x 103.4 x 41.5 cm). Gift of Blanchette Hooker Rockefeller. © 2009 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris
Frail yet erect, a man gestures with his left arm and points with his right. We have no idea what he points to, or why. Anonymous and alone, he is also almost a skeleton. For the Existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, in fact, Giacometti's sculpture was "always halfway between nothingness and being."
Such sculptures were full of meaning to Sartre, who said of them, "At first glance we seem to be up against the fleshless martyrs of Buchenwald. But a moment later we have a quite different conception: these fine and slender natures rise up to heaven. We seem to have come across a group of Ascensions."
In the years leading up to World War II, Giacometti abandoned his earlier Surrealism. Dissatisfied with the resource of imagination, he returned to the resource of vision, focusing on the human figure and working from live models. Under his eyes, however, these models seem virtually to have dissolved. Working in clay (the preparation to casting in bronze), Giacometti scraped away the body's musculature, so that the flesh seems eaten off by a terrible surrounding emptiness, or to register the air around it as a hostile pressure. Recording the touch of the artist's fingers, the surface of Man Pointing is as rough as if charred or corroded. At the same time, the figure dominates its space, even from a distance.
From MoMA site:
www.moma.org/collection/browse_results.php?criteria=O:DE:I:5|G:HI:E:1&page_number=654&template_id=1&sort_order=2
Part of NYC set www.flickr.com/photos/shibanov/sets/72157623010122560/
My first attempt at astrophotography, i.e. making images of starry skies and the Milky Way.
These images were made at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon during two evenings in late October, 2016.
The first evening I shot at Yaki Point, the second evening was at Grandview Point.
White-point moth, Mythimna albipuncta. 1 June 2024. Ealing, London, England, UK.
Please contact me to arrange the use of any of my images. They are copyright, all rights reserved.
While exploring the Maine coast we traveled Rt. 32 along picturesque Muscongus Sound through New Harbor in Pemaquid Neck.Our travels took us to a beautiful beach and then to Pemaquid Point. Pemaquid Point Light is a wonderful place to stop, take in the scenery, smell the salty air and just sit listening to the waves crash. The sun and clouds were wonderfully dramatic, the sunlight highlighting the flag flapping in the breeze.Photograph "Pemaquid Point Lighthouse", by Joy Nichols, has been edited with border, watercolor process, and texture.
joy-nichols.artistwebsites.com/featured/pemaquid-point-li...
The narrative mode (also known as the mode of narration) is the set of methods the author of a literary, theatrical, cinematic, or musical story uses to convey the plot to the audience. Narration, the process of presenting the narrative, occurs because of the narrative mode. It encompasses several overlapping areas of concern, most importantly narrative point-of-view, which determines through whose perspective the story is viewed; narrative voice, which determines the manner through which the story is communicated to the audience; narrative structure, which determines in what order events are presented; and narrative tense, which determines with what sense of time the story is expressed, whether in the past, present, or future.
The person who is used to tell the story is called the "narrator," a character developed by the author expressly for the purpose of relating events to the audience. The experiences and observations related by the narrator are not generally to be regarded as those of the author, though in some cases (especially in non-fiction), it is possible for the narrator and author to be the same person. However, the narrator may be a fictive person devised by the author as a stand-alone entity, or even a character. The narrator is considered participant if an actual character in the story, and nonparticipant if only an implied character, or a sort of omniscient or semi-omniscient being who does not take part in the story but only relates it to the audience.
Ability to use the different points of view is one measure of a person's writing skill. The writing mark schemes used for National Curriculum assessments in England reflect this: they encourage the awarding of marks for the use of viewpoint as part of a wider judgment.
The narrative mode encompasses not only who tells the story, but also how the story is described or expressed (for example, by using stream of consciousness or unreliable narration).
Little Girls Point, Ironwood Michigan, camping along Lake Superior with my Mom, Dad, Brothers Jason (left with mandolin) and Daniel (middle smoking cigar)
Unfortunately, the highest point on our land and therefore the best place for a water tank is rather inaccessible and surrounded by trees. After much wandering around with tape measures and calculators Den & I were really pleased that we could find an area where we could build a 40,000 litre water tank and only have to cut down 1 tree. It would mean digging a hole, by hand, over 2m deep and we had no idea how rocky the underlying ground was going to be but we really didn't want to cut down any more trees than we had to. Lets just hope the surrounding tree roots don't penetrate the tank.
Selon la légende, ce lac aurait englouti, il y a fort longtemps, une belle et riche ville qui s'étirait sur les bords du Doubs vers la fin de la période gallo-romaine.
Dans la cité de Damvauthier, la vie était alors heureuse, insouciante. Comme partout en Gaule, la paix romaine avait apporté prospérité. De somptueuses et confortables demeures avec leurs murs décorés de peintures et de fresques ou revêtus de marbre se dressaient le long de la rue principale. Au centre se trouvait la vaste place, encadrée de portiques et entourée de magnifiques monuments: théâtre, thermes ou bains publics... Depuis des siècles, les habitants avaient délaissé le costume et les modes gauloises de leurs ancêtres. Cheveux courts et visage rasé, les hommes se chaussaient de sandales, se drapant dans un long manteau, la toge. Leurs épouses très coquettes portaient des robes de tissu fin et les plus aisées se paraient de bijoux, bagues, bracelets, colliers.
Ils vivaient dans la paresse, l'oisiveté et passaient leurs journées à festoyer, à donner des réceptions, à s’amuser ...
Un jour d'hiver, la neige se mit à tomber abondamment, comblant les fossés, coiffant les sapins. Personne n’osait s’aventurer à l’extérieur de la cité. Dans les maisons, tous se rapprochaient du feu et continuaient à rire, à manger, à boire, à chanter et à danser...
Dans la bise glaciale, sous les flocons blancs, cheminait péniblement une pauvre femme, les vêtements en lambeaux et les pieds à demi‑nus. Respirant difficilement, elle portait avec précaution un précieux fardeau qu'elle essayait de préserver du froid. Elle oubliait son propre malheur pour ne songer qu'à son unique trésor, son petit garçon. Elle cherchait à le protéger avec son châle. Souffrant du froid et de la faim, le marmot avait longtemps pleuré. A présent, il geignait et ses plaintes, quoique affaiblies, déchiraient le silence de la nuit.
Les premières maisons de Damvauthier avec leurs étroites fenêtres et leurs cours intérieures étaient en vue. La malheureuse reprenait espoir car tous deux pourraient se réchauffer bientôt sous un toit et une âme charitable leur offrirait sans doute une bouillie et du pain. Déjà elle s'avançait sous un porche où l'on sentait moins le vent. Elle frappa à la porte. Un domestique s'empressa et la dévisagea avec mépris.
- Que veux-tu, mendiante ?
- Pitié, pitié pour mon enfant à demi‑mort. Nous venons de loin et cherchons un abri pour la nuit.
‑ Mon maître m'a ordonné de ne pas ouvrir aux vagabonds. Passez votre chemin !
- Pitié !!!
- N'insistez pas, sinon on lâchera les chiens.
Elle s'éloigna en trébuchant. Là ‑bas, trouverait‑elle peut‑être des gens plus accueillants ? Elle frappa contre une porte. Elle entendit des voix, elle se reprit à espérer.
- Que voulez-vous?
- Pitié, pitié pour mon malheureux petit. Laissez‑nous entrer et nous chauffer.
- Ah! Non ! Le propriétaire ne reçoit que des gens correctement vêtus. Continuez votre route, femme.
Et la porte claqua, tandis qu'arrivaient, de l’intérieur, chants, rires...
L'infortunée continua à frapper à tous les logis. Partout, elle ne rencontra qu'indifférence et dureté de cœur tandis que la nuit tombait insensiblement. Ici on manquait de place, là on n'ouvrait pas à une heure aussi tardive…
Découragée, à bout de forces, elle errait et l'enfant se remit à gémir lamentablement. Il ne leur restait plus qu'à s'endormir pour toujours dans cette nuit hivernale, alors que tout près, on mangeait et buvait à pleines gorgées, on s'amusait et riait. De grosses larmes roulèrent sur ses joues creuses et livides. Dans un ultime sursaut, apercevant une statue de la Vierge sur un socle de pierre, elle lui présenta son fils dans un geste d'offrande.
‑ Sainte Marie, vous qui avez connu toutes les souffrances des mères, priez pour mon enfant auprès du Seigneur. Ma vie importe peu. Mais lui, gardez‑le, protégez‑le. Faites qu'une âme charitable veuille bien le secourir.
A peine achevait‑elle sa prière qu'elle entendit marcher derrière elle. Se retournant, elle vit un homme d'un certain âge, à la barbe grisonnante et vêtu simplement. D'une voix très douce, il demanda :
‑ Où allez‑vous? Vous marchez pieds nus par ce temps? Votre enfant est tout transi.
Levant ses yeux remplis de larmes, la mère reconnut un moine de Condat, (c'est‑à ‑dire de Saint-Claude, Jura).
‑ Mon Frère, je n'en peux plus. Pitié pour mon enfant qui souffre terriblement!
‑ Courage! Je ne vous abandonnerai pas. Je ne suis pas riche et je ne vis pas dans le luxe comme beaucoup d'habitants de cette ville. Je suis le moine Point et vous trouverez refuge dans ma hutte à la lisière de la forêt.
Bientôt, tous trois purent se réchauffer auprès d'un bon feu dans la modeste cabane. L'ermite partagea le pain et le lait qui lui restaient, y ajoutant quelques noix, châtaignes et pommes. Après ce maigre souper, la femme et son enfant se couchèrent sur une paillasse et s'endormirent profondément. Ils n'entendirent pas, vers le milieu de la nuit, le vacarme assourdissant, le tumulte des eaux du Doubs. Plusieurs fois, le tonnerre gronda et la terre trembla dans ses profondeurs. Un barrage céda et l'eau envahit les rues de Damvauthier. Trop occupés à festoyer, les habitants demeurèrent indifférents aux bruits. Les vagues continuèrent à déferler avec violence en s’écrasant sur les murs. Enfin les cloches sonnèrent l'alarme, mais personne ne savait où fuir. Affolés, certains montèrent à l'étage, grimpèrent sur les toits en s'agrippant aux colonnes alors que les flots atteignaient déjà les fenêtres. Situation désespérée! Ici une famille entière appelait au secours, plus loin, d’autres essayaient de se sauver en hurlant de frayeur. Les unes après les autres, les habitations disparaissaient sous les eaux en furie qui détruisaient tout sur leur passage.
Bientôt, les clochers furent eux aussi engloutis. Il ne resta plus rien de cette ville ingrate, impie. La tempête se calma et un grand silence s'établit. Le soleil pointa à l'horizon et glissa ses pâles rayons sur les eaux tranquilles.
Un jour nouveau naissait et la pauvre femme se réveilla apaisée. En vain, elle appela le moine Point qui avait quitté les lieux. Elle sortit et aperçut, devant elle, à perte de vue, une étendue d’eau claire à la place où, la veille, s'élevait la fière cité de Damvauthier.
Avait‑elle rêvé? Où se trouvaient toutes ces orgueilleuses maisons qui n'avaient pas voulu lui ouvrir leurs portes? Étaient‑elles à jamais enfouies au fond des eaux?
On raconte que l'humble femme s'installa dans la cabane, qu'elle vécut longtemps au bord du lac, y élevant son enfant, trouvant à proximité les produits nécessaires à sa survie. Plus tard, son fils entra au service d'un seigneur pour apprendre le métier des armes. Il donna entière satisfaction. Son maître l'adopta et le choisit pour lui succéder. Il se souvint alors du religieux qui les avait sauvés lors cette nuit tragique et transforma le rustique ermitage en prieuré. En souvenir du moine de Condat, le magnifique plan d'eau fut dénommé lac de Saint‑Point. Au fil des ans, bourgs et hameaux s'établirent sur ses rives et les pêcheurs prétendaient que les soirs d'orage, leurs filets s'accrochaient à quelques tours ou toitures demeurées intactes au fond de l’eau. A la fin de l'été, à la tombée la nuit, des vapeurs blanchâtres semblent monter de la surface et certains affirment qu'elles sont les fantômes des habitants disparus, en particulier pendant la nuit du 2 novembre (Toussaint), afin que personne n'oublie le devoir d'amour et de charité...
The Centre Point office building, 101-103 New Oxford Street, London...and, yes, it is on its side here! Designed by Richard Seifert, this was one of London's first skyscrapers, and was constructed from 1963 to 1966. At 117 metres (385 feet) high with 32 floors, it is now only the (joint) 27th tallest building in city.
On completion, the building remained empty for many years - rather like much of the Empire State Building in New York after it was finished. The property tycoon Harry Hyams wanted to keep it empty and wait for a single tenant at the asking price of £1,250,000. Although challenged to allow tenants to rent single floors, he consistently refused to do so. The prominent nature of the building - it is far taller than anything else around it - led to it becoming a symbol of greed in the property industry and some campaigners argued that Edward Heath's Conservative government should intercede and take it over. At one point, in June 1972, Peter Walker (then the secretary of state for the environment) offered £5-million for the building. Eventually though, Hyams agreed to let the building by floors but the arrangements were stalled.
A more intriguing speculation was that the government was paying Hyams 'a heavy but secret subsidy to keep it empty' for its own purposes. Various conspiracy theories circulated about what they might be. One common tale was that since the building was fully air-conditioned - a rarity in London at that time - and sited over Tottenham Court Road Underground station with its deep tube lines, this would somehow make it useful to the government in the event of nuclear war.
Since July 1980, the site has been the headquarters of the Confederation of British Industry. In 1995 Centre Point became a Grade 2 listed building, despite the noted architecture critic Nikolaus Pevsner describing it as "coarse in the extreme." In October 2005, the skyscraper reportedly changed hands in an £85-million deal. Commercial property firm Targetfollow was named as the buyers and plans for the block are said to include a restaurant on the two top floors.
However, try and photograph it up close, as here, and you'll be pounced upon by security guards, for this London landmark, which has probably been snapped millions of times by tourists during its 42-year life, is now regarded as a major terrorist target. The mind boggles...especially as it's perfectly easy just to cross the road away from it and then happily take pictures using a zoom lens, free from the attentions of over-zealous security staff...
Of course, there are some who might argue that blowing up this building might actually improve this part of central London...but I rather like its Sixties concrete and glass brutalism.
Taken in London, England on December 4, 2008.