View allAll Photos Tagged Pulsating
Mount Dora is known for its small-town charm. It has many antique shops in the downtown area. The downtown area overlooks Lake Dora. Mount Dora is home to one of three freshwater lighthouses in Florida. As many times we have visited this little town we never made it to this part of the Lake. The 35-foot lighthouse was dedicated on March 25, 1988. Built of bricks covered with stucco, the lighthouse stands sentry over the Port of Mount Dora. Its 750-watt photocell powers a blue pulsator sending out a guiding light to all boaters navigating Lake Dora after dusk. The Mount Dora Light is the only inland freshwater lighthouse in Florida.
The sky was clear, the air was clear. You could touch the stars and see them pulsate. You could make a wish and see it come true but I had already expressed mine and I had no regrets because all I wanted was just to stop this moment in my mind. What a fucking night!
A photo was definitely destroyed in the production of this image. It was a delicate little Viola which I scanned. So is a scan a photo? That is a good question. I love the play this does with the color rods in my eyes. It pulsates. Hope you enjoy it too.
There is a poet here on Flickr no one should miss. This is one of many wonderful pieces. His name is Mike Laycock.
Shot still quite early in the evening at 7:56pm, a good 30-40mins before full darkness, This 'green blob' is the type of aurora known as 'pulsating' or flame aurora, and so each patch of activity was bright but lasted only 30 seconds or so in each spot. This particular type of activity soon died away shortly after 8pm, leaving the main arc displaying until around midnight, but was amazing while it lasted :)
Mountain streams and brooks are nature’s flowing veins. Attending them with a bit of cavernous perceptibility allows one to feel the pulsating throb of our planet. Here, come with me… Stand next to the lazy stream and focus your senses on what you see and hear. You will likely hear soft gurgling of water as it flows past those rocks and invisibly mends them in shape. You will see the turmoil in the water body, where everything is in flux and the only constant is the flow. Let’s be a little adventurous… go ahead, dip a part of your person in the flowing water. You will feel it is cold and your instinct will be to withdraw yourself from the chill. However, if you give yourself and the rivulet some time, you will become friends. The water will not be cold and withdrawn anymore. Instead, you will feel it rubbing your skin like a down feather. Softly, tenderly… as if it is infatuated with you. Next, try to smell the water. It is very likely, you will first smell the damp – mingling odors of algal, fungal and decomposing matter that hang loose in the wet air. But with time and your friendship with the stream, you will slowly smell the musty sweat of earth. Now, pay close auditory attention to your new friend and you will soon know that the river’s gurgling is structured in an octave; she is singing a never-written hymn. And she is talking to you.
If you haven’t realized already, all this while, you have been in the company of an oracle, who in her autumn attire, is silently conveying you an eternal prophecy: despite all odds, seasons, reasons, pains, and elation… all we can do is flow. Just flow.
DJ Ne0 Timeless at Black Division July 2, 2023.
The vibrant underground music scene in Second Life offers a diverse range of genres and subcultures that cater to all tastes of its residents. Among these, the electro and dark synth music scene has gained a dedicated following and established its own unique identity.
Electro and dark synth music emerged from the rich tapestry of electronic music, blending elements of synthpop, industrial, and gothic sounds. With pulsating beats, haunting melodies, and evocative lyrics, these genres create an immersive atmosphere that resonates with the emotions of listeners. The music often delves into themes of dystopia, introspection, and the exploration of the human psyche.
Clubs serve as the lifeblood of the inworld music scene, providing platforms for artists and enthusiasts to connect, collaborate, and showcase their talents. These clubs play a vital role in fostering a sense of community, supporting independent musicians, and promoting underground genres that might not always find mainstream recognition.
Among the prominent clubs in Second Life's electro and dark synth music scene Black Division stands out as a beacon for enthusiasts. Run by Bax Coen and Nik Wimmers, it has consistently offered a space for both established and up-and-coming artists to express their creativity and captivate audiences with their unique sounds. Known for its immersive atmosphere, Black Division provides a perfect setting for fans to immerse themselves in the music and connect with like-minded individuals. Its expertly designed dance floor, mesmerizing visuals, and attentive staff contribute to an unforgettable experience, ensuring that each visit becomes a journey into the depths of sound and emotion.
— The Encyclopedia Of Second Life
Shot at Bax Coen and Nik Wimmer's Black Division.
Music: Twin Gods by Karl Casey, White Bat Audio.
Keen to check out Black Division? Here's the calendar!
Alternative, slightly longer version on YouTube.
With the company of all spirits of night and surrounded by this atmosphere of this magical place it is impossible not to be charmed by the pulsating energy of this wonderful city. It is magic!
#Twilight #morning #SugarLoaf #fog #vibe
If you enjoy good music, visit:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBB2bPwKWVg
If you want to use this image, please contact me on artenucci@hotmail.com
God is not a static thing...but a dynamic, pulsating activity, a life, almost a kind of drama. Almost, if you will not think me irreverent, a kind of dance.
C. S. Lewis
You'll probably agree with me when I say my previous upload of this installation is more successful, this is being uploaded mostly to show how the lights change colour creating an everchanging spectacle.
The Yayoi Kusama installation called 'Gleaming Lights of the Souls' was one of the very last things we saw during our visit to the Louisiana Museum in Denmark. It's constructed in a small room big enough for only a few people to enter at a time, consequently queues can be quite long when the Museum is busy. It was well worth the wait though even if still photography can't really do the room of glowing pulsating orbs justice......
The Museum is currently showing a retrospective of her work : en.louisiana.dk/exhibition/yayoi-kusama
More shots from my trip : www.flickr.com/photos/darrellg/albums/72157656314165922
From the Louisiana Museum website : 'Gleaming Lights of the Souls by Yayoi Kusama is one of the most beloved pieces in the museum collection. The installation, dating from 2008, consists of a single space, four by four meters. The walls and ceilings are covered with mirrors; the floor is a reflecting pool; and you stand in the middle of the water on a platform.
Hanging from the ceiling above you are a hundred lamps that resemble glowing ping pong balls. These lamps change colour in a way that transport us into a special rhythm and pulse, almost as though we become one with the universe of the installation. Gleaming Lights of the Souls is a truly lyrical work of art in every sense.'
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© D.Godliman
Yes, I cannot hold a movie camera still! LoL
Aerating fountain In Tucson's man-made lake in Fort Lowell Park.
MVI_7425
The lazily winding spiral arms of the spectacular galaxy NGC 976 fill the frame of this image from the NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope. This spiral galaxy lies around 150 million light-years from the Milky Way in the constellation Aries. Despite its tranquil appearance, NGC 976 has played host to one of the most violent astronomical phenomena known – a supernova explosion. These cataclysmically violent events take place at the end of the lives of massive stars and can outshine entire galaxies for a short period. While supernovae mark the deaths of massive stars, they are also responsible for the creation of heavy elements that are incorporated into later generations of stars and planets.
Supernovae are also a useful aid for astronomers who measure the distances to faraway galaxies. The amount of energy thrown out into space by some types of supernova explosions is very uniform, allowing astronomers to estimate their distances from how bright they appear to be when viewed from Earth. This image – which was created using data from Hubble’s Wide Field Camera 3 – comes from a large collection of Hubble observations of nearby galaxies which host supernovae as well as a pulsating class of stars known as Cepheid variables. Both Cepheids and supernovae are used to measure astronomical distances, and galaxies containing both objects provide useful natural laboratories where the two methods can be calibrated against one another.
Text credit: European Space Agency (ESA)
Image credit: ESA/Hubble & NASA, D. Jones, A. Riess et al.
For more information: www.nasa.gov/image-feature/goddard/2022/hubble-views-a-tr...
BC Place is host to a number of Vancouver's major sport franchises, stadium concerts and other events. It was the main stadium for the 2010 Winter Olympics.
The colours change each night providing a pulsating light show for all passersby.
7:50pm, Oct 7th 2015
Shot very early in the evening at 7:50pm, a good 45mins before full darkness, I wasn't even running the camera before this point, but suddenly noticed aurora right overhead and across to the NW, the first time I've ever seen aurora so high in the sky so far south.
It was the type of aurora known as 'pulsating' or flame aurora, and so each patch of activity was bright but lasted only 30secs or so in each spot. This particular activity soon died away shortly after 8pm, leaving the main arc displaying, but was amazing while it lasted :)
Poem.
A silhouetted, rapier-like peninsula piercing the radiant splendour of a pewter-grey sea.
Domed islands capped by the heavenly spokes of a setting-sun.
Timeless beauty.
Silence, but for the distant scream of a gull and the gentle, pulsating whistle of an oyster-catcher.
Sky, rock, sand, light and sea uniquely combine
to produce a glimpse inside heaven’s door.
Don’t yearn for heaven.
Look around.
It’s already here!
Magnificent performances of song, dance and fireworks will sizzle up during the major National Day Parade held at The Float@Marina Bay.
Not only do the days leading up to Singapore’s National Day on 9 August are set abuzz by pulsating, patriotic vibes all around the country, this is also the best time to take in our lush cityscape.
El Capitan, projecting from Texas’s highest mountain range, watches over me as I wander the barren salt flat at its base. A pulsating wind whips down from the Guadalupe Mountain range as I survey the area for the ideal spot to set up my camera gear. Each of my steps disrupts the slightly soft, cracked surface, leaving an unmistakable trail behind. I stop, making sure my footprints are out of the image frame, when all of a sudden a blast of wind rips off my hat, sending it in a rapid tumble across the dry lake bed. I lurch for it, my hand grabbed empty air, then I stood still and watched the hat whirl into the dusty West Texas sky and tumble only to disappear into the desert brush half a mile away.
Strangely, there was an odd delight for me watching this, and I must wonder if El Capitan let out a slight chuckle at nature’s power over me. Perhaps one day I will venture back in search of the lost hat, though I would be more inclined to search for new ways to capture these scenes in my lens.
The Guadalupe Mountains encompass parts of the most extensive Permian lime- stone fossil reef in the world. Over two hundred fifty million years ago, a four- hundred-mile-long limestone reef formed along a shelf in the Permian Sea. These mountains are part of the reef’s remains, shaped by thousands of years of continuous weathering.
Guadalupe Peak is the highest peak and highest point in Texas, standing at 8,749 feet.
I help aspiring and established photographers get noticed so they can earn an income from photography or increase sales. My blog, Photographer’s Business Notebook is a wealth of information as is my Mark Paulda’s YouTube Channel. I also offer a variety of books, mentor services and online classes at Mark Paulda Photography Mentor
All images are available as Museum Quality Photographic Prints and Commercial Licensing. Feel free to contact me with any and all inquiries.
Follow My Once In A Lifetime Travel Experiences at Mark Paulda’s Travel Journal
Chunky grey songbird with heavy black bill, found in dry forest and bushland across semi-arid southern Australia. Male has pale orange throat and dark, not orange, in lores (compare Red-lored Whistler). Female greyish, paler under the tail (as opposed to yellow in Golden Whistler), with much shorter bill than Grey Shrikethrush. Voice includes a pulsating repeated synthesizer-like "chowp-chowp-chowp-chowp…."
Information from eBird
We wanted to take Photography to the streets.
Life is on display on the street -- people walk, sit, stand, sleep, drive, drink, eat, piss, talk, mingle, fight, and love. The street is where groups collide and where people live and die and where all of society mixes with trash, smog, sewage, and the pulsating sounds of traffic.
We’ve put together a bunch of our pictures and will be bringing them to you, where you’re standing, on the street -- where they’re easy to see:
From Koshy’s to Brigade Road. From Temptations to Blossom’s. On sidewalks and in alleys. Next to coffee shops and streetside panwallas. On postboxes and on blank walls. In between advertisements and PG accomodations. We’ll be standing there.
On the 5TH of August with double sided tape in hand we arrived on Church Street and plastered away. (thank you Kassia and Shilpa for helping !)
5 pieces of work were on show
Surely you're Joking Mr. Mahajan
Lady Boys of Siem Reap by lovely Ying Ang
We pasted them on the whitewashed wall out side Coconut Grove (thank you Arvindam), on the transformer behind Barton Center, next to the Pani Puri wallah ahead of queens and next to the name on Rice Guy.
Here is what it looked like -
Photo Source: www.flickr.com/photos/arndbutoh/2232148763/!
During my latest evening of Tango dancing, I was wearing a skirt which was just a bit longer than this one. As you may have read in my profile I really enjoy the nakedness and adventure of wearing short skirts and dresses without wearing panties. One of the guys I danced with really swung me around a lot and my boyfriend told me later with a worrying voice that he spotted my vaginal lips at least 4 times. I felt embarassed and aroused at the same time, but I didn't have a lot of time to think about it, because I was asked for the next dance.
It was a guy who was at least twice my age and it surprises me sometime how great vitality and smooth dancing go together with older age. When he complimented me with my sensual lips I didn't know for sure which lips he was referring to. That cafe (The Syndicate) has quite a small dance floor and the next tango was a slow one. It was very crowded and we danced in close embrace. I let my left hand slide down in an easy manner and felt his sturdy bottom move with my body and the music. He obviously felt he could do the same, because I felt how his hand slid down casually onto the back of my skirt.
At that same time I felt his manhood grow in his trousers, while his hand slid down a little lower under the rim of my skirt. My heart started to beat a little higher, but then he slowly and casually moved his hand up under my skirt! I was doubting what to do until I looked him in the eyes. He had this warm, daring and intense look in his eyes and I felt sure that he was quite playful about what he did right then. It was that playfulness that made me relax into his arms and dance on.
He kept looking into my eyes when his hand moved up, his fingers slowly caressing my inner thigh. It was only a matter of (very long) seconds before he touched my bare vaginal lips! His eyes became even more intense, while we were still slowly moving around between the other dancers packed within the cafe. He began feeling and rubbing my lips slowly, while my heart was now bouncing in my chest. I checked if my boyfriend could see what was happening, but I spotted him at the bar, trying to get throug the cue to buy a drink.
I felt how my dancing partner now had a thick and hot rod hidden in his pants and my lower lips felt like they were dripping with wetness from the excitement. I noticed a couple sitting at the edge of the dancing space looking with a big smile and great interest at my skirt. It was only then that I realised how part of my nude butt was exposed to their eyes and so was the hand that was caressing my lips below that butt with lovely intent. Within a second I moved my hips in a sudden turn.
This made it even worse because my partner was not as quick, making my skirt slide up completely, exposing all my completely naked flesh under my skirt for everyone to see. The packed crowd saved me, because I only noticed a few people giving a possible sign that they could see my derriere! And than something strange started to happen. The look in my partner's eyes was still playful but at the same time there was an intensity to it that connected with the intimacy and vulnerability of being naked. Something that I would normally only feel while making love with my boyfriend.
I suddenly felt a total surrender to my sensuality within the dance. I felt eager to be watched by all the men and women within the cafe, while my body was being touched only by the music, my partner and the air that I was breathing. It wasn´t my heart that was pounding anymore. It was my whole body pulsating with sexual energy and it wanted to be seen, enjoyed by admiring eyes that were already undressing me now with their interested looks. It felt like being drunk and I wanted my partner to bluntly expose me as much as possible.
It was as if his eyes were saying "are you sure" and it felt like there was a slightly dangerous touch added to his gaze. It was like he looked right into my heart and I only remember my heart shouting "yes, please, expose me, show me, let me feel naked completely!" It felt like I wanted everyone to see ME. Dancing naked with all these people around me would show them all of ME. Not the cover, the package, but ME.
My body moved in a spasm, pushing my behind even more outwards, as if it was begging for his hands to keep caressing it's halves. As if he could feel my thoughts, my partner now moved his hand casually to the side of my skirt and with a swing in the dance his arm moved my skirt up completely again, now even more than before, right up to my middle, showing my completely naked butt, my naked and shaved vagina, and my naked upper part of my thighs right down to the edge of my hold-up stockings. I was bending over, leaning my breasts against his chest, pushing my butt backwards, positioning my vaginal lips outward as if my body wanted everyone to feel induced to lick me and penetrate me, and I shivered from the fear about the desire that made me dare to go beyond all fear!
It frightened me that I was thrilled! I didn't drink a drop of alcohol and I was completely drunk from the feeling this blunt exposure brought home to me. I saw quite a few gazing faces that noticed my completely bare bottom and naked genitals, and it made me drunk in the surrender that I felt during the few seconds that my partner held up my skirt. As if nothing had happened, he changed the position of his arm and my skirt fell down friveously, while we kept on dancing.
All this had happened in only a few minutes and I'm still trembling when I think of what happened. My boyfriend was one of the gazing faces at the end and that put an end to the excitement. I still have to cope with the not so nice reaction he had and somehow I understand. On the other hand I feel this experience is very important for me and I need to come to terms with it. I wrote this spontaneously, when looking at this picture, giving a comment.
Reading my comment back, it had become so lenghty, I decided to copy the picture of Arnd Butoh on my own stream (with a link back to the sourceof course), as the source of inspiration that made me share this confession and get to terms with what has taken me over recently. This picture makes feel me less alone about my personal experience, knowing other people may have similar experiences and dare to share them here. I'm learning about me and I love and dread it!
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.
I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.
I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That's all for England!
"I think a person permeates a spot, and a lost presence makes the environment timeless to me, keeps an area alive. It pulsates because of that." -Andrew Wyeth
***
I had the opportunity to spend a day recently wandering in and around the house and property that is Kuerner Farm, made famous by Andrew Wyeth. The hill you see in this image is the hill he used to walk over from his studio on the other side to get to Kuerner. I am not prone to being starstruck over famous people - I save being starstruck for real stars, the kind that hang in the sky - but I wish with all my heart that Andrew Wyeth had come walking over that hill that day.
It would have been nice to chat with him.
It's okay, though. I knew he was there anyway.
Part of Bristol Light Festival 2020
This work consists of a series of wood and LED frames, which experiment with natural perspectives, enhanced by an organic light composition - gently pulsating to feel like a breath or a wave.
Artist: Olivier Ratsi
Millennium Square, Bristol
Please do not use my photos without permission. Feel free to contact me if you have a request.
"Be thou as a throbbing artery, pulsating in the body of the entire creation, that through the heat generated by this motion there may appear that which will quicken the hearts of those who hesitate."
― Baha'u'llah
The "Aesthetic Lighting" on the new Tilikum Crossing was tested last night. The lighting will show the temperature (the color of the lights), the speed (how quickly the lights pulsate and move) and the depth (the height of the lights on the pilings and cables) of the river.
“Darkness comes. In the middle of it, the future looks blank. The temptation to quit is huge. Don't. You are in good company... You will argue with yourself that there is no way forward. But with God, nothing is impossible. He has more ropes and ladders and tunnels out of pits than you can conceive. Wait. Pray without ceasing. Hope.”
- John Piper
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=CoNtYC_XDC8
ALL THAT YOU HAVE IS YOUR SOUL – TRACY CHAPMAN
I take myself away now for a little while because I am feeling sad again and my heart is elsewhere.
Take care of yourselves and each other. I will return when I am smiling more and the shadows have lifted. Thank you all for your wonderful support and kindness. I love you all <3
THE ARTIST (AGAIN)
I am emptied; devoid of all emotions
motionless; sunk into the softest mattress
cushioned from the world
reclusive and alone
no distractions; I listen to the outward sounds
to quieten my mind and inner voices
I listen to the ticking of the mantel clock
and to the spaces inbetween where heaven is
I listen to the sound of the ocean lapping on the shore
it comforts me and lulls me into a dream-like state
my eyelids feel heavy, but I can't close them both
one of them is bruised and swollen;
the colour and texture of ripened grapes
sweet juice oozing and beading on the surface of the skin
a soft sheen glistening; a loud bang makes me jump
before I settle with a sigh back into the verge of unconsciousness
he's gone; the door slamming was a relief
I listen to the sound of the birds; twilight is approaching
they seem to get excited around this time
like they are saying goodnight to each other
the dawn chorus is the one everyone talks about
but more beautiful than that is the chorus of the golden hour
those precious moments before the sun slides down the globe
and into another land where it begins to rise up to greet the day
I wondered was there a quantum slipstream
of space-time continuum
when the sun was alone in the darkness
was there a pathway between where night meets day
I wondered what that place would be like
what extraordinary powers existed
that could block out the sun
albeit for some brief moments in time
or what if time did not exist in this imaginary place
perhaps this is the place where all things mislaid go
all those odd socks; keys and other little mundane things
which bring a little comfort to our everyday lives
I blocked out even these small thoughts
thinking only made me more aware
of the pounding in my skull
my brain felt that it was too big to be contained within
pulsating at the temple on the right side of my head
I could feel the blood pumping to protect me
it felt warm and comforted; a natural defence mechanism
how marvellous the body is at repairing itself
and thank goodness for that; mine was overtaxed
every few weeks or so had narrowed now to every few days
the shouting; the moods; the artistic temperament of the Artist
I didn't yet call myself this; I didn't feel like being labelled
and I didn't recognise anything in me
that would make anyone think I was one
He, on the other hand, The Artist; He was the real deal
tortured and tormented some days
and charming, charismatic on others
I never knew what his moods would be; he was unpredictable
at first this had been exciting; I loved his passion for life
for his art; all this spilled over onto me
and at first it had been exciting; oh yes, I said that already
I am repeating myself; my thoughts need checking
and bringing into line;
I tried to block out all thoughts once more
the headache continued to thump rhythmically
at least my pulse was now steady
and consistent as it pounded away
I listened to the night settling around outside
and watched as the darkness crept into the room
slowly enveloping me in it's claustrophobic cloak
I wasn't afraid; how could I be afraid of the dark
when it was the day that brought most terrors
the birdsong was tailing off now as they roosted
In the darkness I could hear the tide turn
I know; you may think it's too subtle to be heard
but let me assure you it is possible
and I heard it now; the turning of the tide
for the Adriatic and for me
the end of the road; how clichéd I had become
my mind once so desirous of knowledge
that no amount of reading could quench my thirst
now I had become empty-headed
the only thoughts when he was here
were his thoughts; his words;
entering my brain with a loud tangible thud
not much difference between them
and the blows he had landed before he left
I wanted to yawn but I felt my jaw was broken
I could feel the blood that once was warm within me
congealing now; cold upon my cheek
my nose was numb; broken again
tears rolled down my cheeks, but I couldn't feel them
until they fell from my chin
the window was open
and a gentle breeze flowed in from the sea
I followed him here to Venice; to The Lido
I thought it would be exciting and it was
but now the excitement was no longer pleasurable
I heard the door opening downstairs in the hall
I groaned; the sound of an animal but it was me
I heard his footfalls on the stairs
he called my name, but it wasn't him
and at last I was saved ...
- 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 4 of my photographs
The Chandra image shows Mira A (right), a highly evolved red giant star, and Mira B (left), a white dwarf. To the right of the image is an artist's conception of the Mira star system. Mira A is losing gas rapidly from its upper atmosphere via a stellar wind. Mira B exerts a gravitational tug that creates a gaseous bridge between the two stars. Gas from the wind and bridge accumulates in an accretion disk around Mira B and collisions between rapidly moving particles in the disk produce X-rays.
The separation of the X-rays from the giant star and the white dwarf was made possible by the superb angular resolution of Chandra, and the relative proximity of the star system, at about 420 light years from Earth. The stars in Mira AB are about twice as far apart as Pluto is from the Sun.
The ability to distinguish between the interacting stars allowed a team of scientists to observe an X-ray outburst from Mira A. An ultraviolet image made by the Hubble Space Telescope was key to identifying the X-ray outburst with the red giant star.
Mira A (or simply, Mira) was named "The Wonderful" star in the seventeenth century because its brightness was observed to wax and wane over a period of about 330 days. In this advanced red giant phase of Mira A's life, its diameter has swollen to about 600 times that of the Sun and it is pulsating, due to increasingly energetic nuclear reactions in its core.
Mira A is now approaching the stage where its nuclear fuel supply will be exhausted, and it will collapse to become a white dwarf. In contrast, Mira B has already reached the white dwarf stage, and is about the size of the Earth, but about a quarter million times more massive.
Before this observation it was assumed that all the X-rays came from a hot disk surrounding Mira B, so the detection of an X-ray flare from the red giant star came as a surprise. This outburst was likely an indirect consequence of the internal turmoil in Mira A.
X-ray studies of the Mira star system may also provide better understanding of interactions between other binary star systems
Image credit: X-ray: NASA/CXC/SAO/M. Karovska et al.; Illustration: CXC/M.Weiss
Read more about this image: www.chandra.harvard.edu/photo/2005/mira/
Read more about Chandra:
p.s. You can see all of our Chandra photos in the Chandra Group in Flickr at: www.flickr.com/groups/chandranasa/ We'd love to have you as a member!
Jean-Michel Basquiat (* 22 December 1960 in New York City; † 12 August 1988 ibid.)
Acrylic, oil and colored oilstick on canvas
From the exhibition BASQUIAT. THE RETROSPECTIVE at the Albertina Museum in Vienna
"Pater is the Latin word for father. Basquiat presents a generalized archetypal father image. This father can be a hero and role moderl, but also has an air of severity and authority about him. [...]" He is "both victimizer and victim, oppressor and oppressed, winner and loser. This polarity is not least expressed through the scribbly halo over the head and the cartoonishly overdrawn male genitals." (Information text in the museum)
"Virtually no other artist comes anywhere close to being as representative of the 1980s and that decade’s pulsating New York art scene as does the brilliantly exceptional artistic phenomenon that was Jean-Michel Basquiat." www.albertina.at/en/exhibitions/basquiat/
XW530 was delivered to the RAF on the 31st October 1970 and served with XV and 16 squadrons at RAFG Laarbruch to start with. She returned to the UK in 1979, joining 216 Squadron at RAF Honington before moving on to 208 Squadron. XW530 was one of the Buccaneers deployed to Cyprus as part of Operation Pulsator in 1983, supporting UN peace keeping operations in Lebanon and carrying out 'show of force' low level missions over Beirut - thankfully without the need to drop any weapons.
Returning to the UK, XW530 moved to 12 Squadron at RAF Lossiemouth. She was one of several Buccaneers to take part in Operation Granby, the UK's part of the 1991 Gulf War, being one of the first Buccaneers to be dispatched to the Gulf. Given a temporary 'desert pink' paint scheme, she also gained a Sky Pirates flag and the name 'Glenmorangie' (many of the Gulf War Buccaneers were given not only names and nose art but were also marked with the names of detachment personnel's wives or girlfriends and a particular drink).
After her return home in March 1991, she remained with 12 Squadron for a while before transfer to 208 Squadron for a few months before retirement in 1994. She was sold to Ian Aitkenhead who wanted to display her at his petrol station in Elgin, a few miles down the road. It was decided that XW530 would be towed the 3 or so miles to the site, and this happened in 1996. The airframe gained a Sky Pirates flag on the starboard side along with its mission symbols to indicate the history of the airframe in the Gulf War. The shark teeth markings on the slipper tanks were somewhat less historically accurate!
In August 2021, Ian put XW530 up for sale, Ian said that he would not sell the airframe to the scrap man as he'd like to see her go to a well-deserved home that will give her some much-needed attention. Just a month later, the aircraft was brought by millionaire David Hamilton who moved the airframe to The Scottish Deer Centre on December 12th, 2021.
The airframe is fairly complete with the cockpits missing some minor instruments - she doesn't have jet pipes fitted. The original paint has been fading for many years and she is now in desperate need of a repaint. Sadly transport to her new home resulted in some minor damage too. She was unveiled in a ceremony on 19th February 2022, and hopefully will be getting some attention to improve her appearance in due course. She's on display within the centre on a miniature runway, visible from the A91 road if you are just passing by - or pop in for a proper look!
The warning shot hits the skies and they are running. The light pollution smells like adrenaline and the trees are witness to the crime.
There is doubt, there is a savior approaching them. They climb aboard and evacuate the scene in a revolution of rubber and a transient glint of metal.
Pounding are their hearts, the pulsating of their veins spasmodically beating against the rhythm of the song that is blaring on the radio.
Quiet chaos is mutual and neither knows what the verdict will reveal. And neither cares.
sorry this is a bit similar to yesterdays photo.
going to the drive in tonight to see Alice in Wonderland with Sara and Rae for the second time. pretty stoked :]
72/365
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I photographed a Rave which is a Techno beat gathering in a large gym filled with teens and 20's all dancing to VERY loud pulsating music. The lazers and light shows created interesting effects. Spinning lights and colors would cause reactions from the kids in an apparently drugged state (extasy).
This photo is from a recent trip up north.
It resonates with something I felt yesterday while listening to a heartbreaking interview between Patrick Bet-David* and a young courageous woman named Yeonmi Park. They were discussing her dangerous escape from North Korea with her mother in 2007 as outlined in her book “In Order to Live”.
Not only did she escape North Korea but was then trafficked into slavery in China. Living in trauma for years, she explains that she felt numb most of the time because when you are starving and have no freedom to think for yourself, you do not even know what range of emotions are possible. From the time she was a baby, everything from her favorite color to her style of dress to what she was allowed to think and say was dictated to her. Disobedience meant incarceration or death. She did not risk her life in order to be free but to avoid starvation and later she left China to escape her life of slavery.
What particularly struck me was her remarkable response when Patrick asked her about how it felt when she finally did have a taste of freedom, was she in shock and when did that moment of recognition happen for her? In China? In South Korea or America?
I wrote down her response because the words shook me right down to the core of my Being:
“…being free wasn’t easy at all. It was so painful. At one point I thought if someone is not going to kill me and give me enough food in North Korea… just giving me frozen potatoes and no one will hurt me, I would go back to a place where everything was decided for me…because you know understanding freedom was a responsibility, was scary right?! If I choose to become, let’s say a dancer, I have to be responsible for that choice for the rest of my life. That was an insanely scary idea. I had to choose. Being free is not easy.”
I sat dumbfounded when I heard her words. Wow! I saw Patrick’s eyes open wide as he was deeply struck by how profound her words were. He had lived in a refugee camp in Germany for a few years after his family fled from Iran when he was a teenager. Even he seemed deeply moved and immediately acknowledged the depth of this insight and paused to really take it in.
Her words jarred me back to something I had heard before. Many prisoners, who were liberated from the Bastille during the French Revolution, came back within a few days. Why did they return? Did they feel the same way? Were they completely overwhelmed by freedom and consequence of choices? Why is this affecting me so deeply right now?
Today this powerful young woman’s pain has challenged me to celebrate my relentless journey of seeking value and meaning through art, poetry, singing and photography. That to live beyond the numbness of a mind on auto-pilot, to be open to feel a broad range of profound human emotions navigating the abundance of life is a noble pursuit in a society where we are able to express freely from the heart. I feel a sudden wave of gratitude pass through me.
I go back to the photograph. I stand again on that dock facing the opposite shore. It represents the next moment . The ladder welcomes me to enter the water. I carry all of my thoughts, habits, emotions and memories with me. Will this be enough to embrace the other side with courageous possibility thinking? Do I know enough about myself, my strengths and vulnerabilities to forge ahead and create something better than ever was before? Will I carry the weight of my freedom with responsibility? Will I exercise the enormous priviledge of shaping my limitless imagination to design the world I really want to live in or will a part of me simply seek refuge in old patterns of thinking and recreate the comfort of the familiar even if it feels empty or painful?
This question pulsates through the whole world right now.
*If you would like to see the whole interview with Yeonmi, Patrick’s show is called “Valuetainment”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=za34H-dT8I0
…or if you would just like to listen for context to the quote …41:59 to 44:14 is such a powerful bit to watch.
** The image quote is from Toni Morrison from the book "Beloved"
In 1876,Monet made no less than ten paintings of his rented house and garden at Argenteuil.This canvas may be among the ones he painted in June when he was working on "a series of rather interesting new things."Madame Monet seems incidental in comparison to the impressive stand of hollyhocks in the middle of the composition.Flickering brushstrokes of brightly colored paint makes the canvas appear to pulsate with light.
on a rainy day...
i need the beach,
our beach.
and i need to hold hands as we hold our breaths and stick our heads into the salty water,
muting the loud, whimsical, chaos of the world with the soft, whispering, hum of the ocean.
i need to lay my head on your chest as i collect sunshine to fill my mind with sun bleached thoughts that are hard to tell a part from dreams.
i don't need any sea shells or things to shove in my pockets.
i need ten million tiny grains of sand to bury my body in, and you to dig me out when it's time to wake up.
i need a moment to turn the volume down so low that all i can hear is the pounding, echoing, pulsating heartbeat that reminds me to breathe.
it's been raining for awhile now and all i can think about is bob dylan and how he'd light cigarettes just to watch them burn, just for inspiration.
and how when he'd go to the studio to record his songs, he'd bring all his friends and everyone would sit and drink wine in little plastic cups and smoke cigarettes.
the place would be packed full, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
New for Saturday Sale, Wapsicles, static held wapsicles with 4 flavors. Vanilla/Choco/Caramel/Lemon, 5 Li box, click for 4 flavors, left hand hold. Jiggly version also included, the booty will pulsate when held. left/right mirrored held poses!
Brandon and I went for a nice night walk into the woods tonight not far from my house. The stars and moon were out, the wind was calm, and the air was fresh. We began to hear something...a distant song....but couldn't place it.....but it was so familiar..... It was just there...where was it coming from?...That tree far away?.....was it just in our mind..... We could smell mountain air, and the beach, and fresh dountus. We could see something in the distant pines....a pulsating warm glow.....Did someone have a campfire going?....No... We approached and saw something among the trees. We stood and stared and time stood still. I don't know how long we were there....it might have been a few decades...it may have been only a few seconds. Time stopped. Stuck. Motionless. Frozen....but so warm and familiar. It was like being in a bubble of all your favorite things, in a daydream. I don't know what we sensed and saw. Maybe it was just a weather balloon. I took this picture of Brandon locked in its grip of hypnotic bliss. Obviously inspired by the Singularity series by Pala Teth.
Aurora by Kleifarvatn, Iceland
Finally the sky cleared up here in Iceland after weeks of nonstop cloudy sky and rain. Luckily the Aurora showed up aswell.
The Aurora this night was really weird. At one point it was very faint straight overhead and it pulsated like a heart beat. It stayed up straight overhead for a few minutes and then slowly got lower until it fainted out. It was more like a cloud than a Aurora arch that I am used to see.
I managed to capture one shot wide enough with a mountain and this weird Aurora before it disappeared. Sometimes the 16mm are not wide enough for those Aurora shots. I really look forward when Canon comes with something that compares with the Nikon 14-24mm lens. If they dont I will have to try to fit that Nikon lens on my Canon
Italia, Emilia Romagna, Fontanellato (PR), Inverno 2012
La presenza dall'uomo a Fontanellato ha origini antichissime, infatti sono state trovate palificazioni e suppellettili riconducibili a interi villaggi dell'età del bronzo. È con il secolo XI che inizia la storia di Fontanellato che ha nel castello il suo simbolo e il suo centro pulsante. Da una iniziale torre fortificata ha origine l'attuale Rocca di proprietà dalla Famiglia Sanvitale sin dal XIV sec. con relativa nascita di un piccolo feudo grazie alla elevazione a dignità comitale dei fratelli Giberto e Gianmartino da parte del Duca Gianmaria Visconti nel 1404. Nel castello una galleria di ritratti della dinastia Sanvitale consente di ripercorrere visivamente tutta la storia della famiglia sino al 1948 quando il castello fu venduto dall'ultimo conte Giovanni al Comune. Il nome di Fontanellato richiama la "fontana lata" zona ricca di acque e risorgive. La Rocca al centro di Fontanellato, è tuttora circondata da un grande fossato. All'interno si trova una delle più splendide opere da manierismo italiano, la saletta dipinta da Francesco Mazzola detto il Parmigianino (Parma, 1503-Casalmaggiore, 1540) nel 1524 con il mito di Diana e Atteone tratto dalle metamorfosi di Ovidio.Nel castello trova posto la curiosa camera ottica, un gioco di lenti che consente di vedere, non visti, la piazza e le vie del borgo.
The presence of man at Fontanellato has very ancient origins, in fact various important archaeological finds have been found which can be traced back to the existence of whole Bronze-Age villages. And, with the XIth century, the history of the town commences. Its symbol and pulsating Fontanellato is its castle: originating from an initial, fortified tower, the present Rocca fortress was property of the Sanvitale family, which it had been since the XIVth century, along with the birth of a small feud, thanks in 1404 to the brothers Giberto and Gianmartino being promoted to the rank of count by the Duke Gianmaria Visconti. In the castle, a gallery of portraits of the Sanvitale dynasty gives you the chance to run through the history of the family right up to 1948, when the castle was sold by the last count Giovanni to the town council. The name of Fontanellato refers to the "fontana lata", an area rich in water and freshwater springs. The Rocca, at the centre of the town, is still encircled by a large moat. In its interiors can be found one of the most splendid works of Italian mannerism, the small hall painted in 1524 by Francesco Mazzola, alias the Parmigianino (Parma, 1503-Casalmaggiore, 1540), with the myth of Diana and Actaeon taken from Ovid's Metamorphoses. The castle also holds the curious optical room, which is a play on the use of lenses permitting the viewing of the piazza and the streets of the village outside, without being seen oneself.
If there was ever any doubt whether or not there was actual life within those gray oval shapes we sometimes find hanging on leaves, here's the answer.
Parasitic Meteorus Wasp larvae prey upon caterpillars...like this hapless White-streaked Prominent, who's desiccated remains lie nearby.
The pupating wasp can be seen squirming within the cocoon.
That sound you hear in the background is the steady rain from an approaching front...so unfortunately, I had to cut this video short of an actual emergence.
Catoctin Mountains
Frederick County, Maryland
September 30, 2015
Il mal d’Africa è uno stato dell’anima, prima ancora che uno stato mentale.
E’ qualcosa che pulsa nello stomaco ed esiste a prescindere, pesante continente o di una giovane, fresca noce di cocco.
Mal d’Africa è imparare a perdere tempo scrutando una lucertola dalla testa arancione fare le flessioni. Mal d’Africa è disegnare con gli occhi il contorno di un baobab che si staglia sullo sfondo del cielo basso e turchese, con sotto due Giraffe....che si godono lo spettacolo
The African sickness is a state of the soul, even more than a state of mind.
It is something that pulsates in the stomach and exists regardless of whether it is a heavy continent or a young, fresh coconut.
Sick of Africa is learning to waste time watching an orange-headed lizard do push-ups. Mal d’Africa is to draw with your eyes the outline of a baobab that stands out against the background of the low and turquoise sky, with two Giraffes underneath .... enjoying the show
LA STRADA PIU' BELLA DEL MONDO
Il Canal Grande è una delle vie più belle e conosciute al mondo oltre ad essere la principale via d’acqua di Venezia. Si snoda a forma di “S” per la città attraversandola e dividendola in due parti, ognuna delle quali raggruppa tre sestieri. Il canale è lungo quattro chilometri e attraversato da quattro ponti. A sud c’è il Ponte dell’Accademia, Rialto in posizione centrale. Alla stazione il Ponte degli Scalzi ed il moderno Ponte della Costituzione a Piazzale Roma. La larghezza del Canal Grande varia dai 30 ai 70 metri e la profondità massima è 5 metri.
Ai suoi lati si diramano ben 45 canali. Il Canal Grande è sempre molto trafficato: vaporetti, motoscafi, gondole, imbarcazioni di servizio, taxi. E’ l’arteria pulsante della città e il moto ondoso è problematico perché corrode le fondamenta dei palazzi che lo circondano.
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THE MOST BEAUTIFUL ROAD IN THE WORLD
The Grand Canal is one of the most beautiful and well-known streets in the world as well as being the main waterway in Venice. It winds its way through the city in an "S" shape, crossing it and dividing it into two parts, each of which includes three districts. The canal is four kilometers long and spanned by four bridges. To the south is the Accademia Bridge, Rialto in a central position. At the station the Scalzi Bridge and the modern Constitution Bridge in Piazzale Roma. The width of the Grand Canal varies from 30 to 70 meters and the maximum depth is 5 meters.
45 canals branch off to its sides. The Grand Canal is always very busy: vaporettos, motorboats, gondolas, service boats, taxis. It is the pulsating artery of the city and the wave motion is problematic because it corrodes the foundations of the buildings that surround it.
CANON EOS 600D con ob. SIGMA 10-20 f./4-5,6 EX DC HSM