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Realization washed over her in alternating waves of pain and numbness.
"If we don't end war, war will end us." - Words by H.G. Wells
For The People of Ukraine
Millions of people around the world want to find practical ways to show solidarity with Ukraine.
Here is a list of organisations you can donate to and help people affected by the terrible crisis. Every little helps. 'Thank You'.
Help for Ukrainians in Poland. Important addresses and telephone numbers.
P.C.P.M. - PILNE: Pomoc Dla Ukrainy - URGENT: Aid for Ukraine
The U.N. Children’s Fund in Ukraine
Ukraine Humanitarian Appeal with Adrian Lester
for Flickriver - Sophie Shapiro
I would like to thank everyone who takes an interest in my work. I am truly grateful. Please take good care of yourselves in these uncertain times. Keep well, safe & inspired.
Kind regards,
Sophie
.
Everyday my dreams come true
In every moment I feel it new
I see those dreams right begin
For every step I run
How persisting can these dreams be?
And how persistent can be the motivation
That every incident in my present life
Brings me nearer to the realization
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Kendall Katwalk, part one - from Hikes of 2024.
This was a really fun hike. I'd been looking forward to the "Katwalk" for some time, and I believe I had in fact wanted to do it the year before, but conditions and timing didn't pan out. This hike didn't disappoint, and I did keep going beyond the Katwalk to see Gravel and Ridge Lakes.
It was during this particular hike, in fact, when I realized my Nikon was no longer functioning, which is why you won't see any 35mm photos for the rest of last year's hikes.
Image made with my Innova 6x9 Pinhole.
© Daniela Hartmann, flickr.com
In order to be an immaculate member of a flock of sheep, one must above all be a sheep oneself.
(Quote by Albert Einstein)
The letter "S" of my keyboard is striking. It tell_ me _omething of _elf-realization. That'_ fine by me. Now, I am _itting here without that letter ^^. I will try to _olve that problem before the peaceful revolution will expand. Hopefully your keyboard i_ o.k. and no letter i_ di_cu__ing the meaning of life with you.
_____________________________________
Um ein tadelloses Mitglied einer Schafherde sein zu können, muss man vor allem ein Schaf sein.“
(Zitat von Albert Einstein)
Der Buchstabe "S" meiner Tastatur streikt gerade.
Erzählt mir wa_ von _elb_tverwirklichung. Na, wunderbar, da kann ja jeder kommen, wo kommen wir da bloß hin? Ich ver_uche die friedliche Revolution irgendwie einzudämmen, bevor eine_ Tage_ auch einer Deiner Buch_taben Dich mit einer Blume begrüßt und ander_ _ein will al_ die anderen Buch_taben....
Ich habe dem "S" aus Draht Füße gebastelt und eine kleine Stoffblume angeklebt. Mit Sekundenkleber bleibt dann auch die ganze Konstruktion auf der "Alt"-Taste stehen. Weil die Tastatur doch ein wenig langweilig aussieht, hat das Foto in Photoshop noch einen blauen Anstrich bekommen.
All my images are copyrighted.
If you intend to use any of my pictures for non-commercial usage, you have to sign them with © Daniela Hartmann, flickr.com. Please write a comment if you have used it and for what purpose. I would be very happy about it. I am curious about the context in which the image is used.
If you have any commercial usage, you need to contact me always first. USE WITHOUT PERMISSION IS ILLEGAL.
You find some of my photos on Getty Images.
My name there is "alles-schlumpf".
Besting Damian was the easy part. The more difficult task was convincing Jim to allow me to detain him in the cave, fortunately whilst he may want to even the score with Damian the realization that Damian knows that Bruce Wayne and Batman are one in the same was enough to make him agree. Nice to see he still has faith in what I claim to stand for. It’s seeing people like him believe in me that keeps me going.
Tim was able to successfully rescue his father unharmed much to my relief and it appears as though he’s managed to patch things up with Miss Brown…..or the Spoiler as she seems to be going by these days. At first I chose to withhold who the Crimson Knight claimed to be. I couldn’t be certain without another DNA test to be sure. Sadly the results came back positive. All this time. The man who has been fighting me for control of Gotham has been my son. My own flesh and blood, trying to kill me. Certainly not how I expected this to go. I was certain that it was going to be Ra’s or even the man who led the Pêna Duro prison revolt.
I want to linger on this discovery. Learn what it is that Ra’s did to Damian to make him into this monster. But deep down I know that time is against me. The last thing I can do is stand still. He’ll be coming for me, and I need to be ready.
”I know I hoped for you to one day have a child of your own Master Bruce, but I was rather hoping you wouldn’t do so until you finally chose to hang up your cape and settle down.”
”It’s as much a shock to you as it is to me Alfred.”
”I can only imagine sir.”
”It’s just…..my own flesh and blood…..fighting against me…..trying to kill me…..”
”It’s painful, isn’t it Master Bruce? The sense of betrayal, the feeling of failure that you weren’t able to stop them from making that bad decision.”
”You still think about what happened to Julius?”
At the height of the cold war Alfred and his brother both operated in the Soviet Union, gathering intel for MI6. One night the KGB paid them a visit and abducted Alfred, but left his brother unharmed. It turned out Julius had agreed to sell Alfred out in exchange for being granted asylum with the Union. They executed him two days later for spying. It was only after a prisoner exchange organised through the United States government that Alfred was released. I dread to think what he was put through during his time in captivity, but it was enough to make Alfred consider leaving the service. Were it not for the intervention of the head of MI6, Alfred would have left the service there then. Instead it would be the events of the Santa Prisca revolts that would lead him to retire from the service. It’s after his retirement that Alfred met my Father.
In a way, were it not for the events of Santa Prisca I wouldn’t have Alfred today and that’s something I dread to think of.
”Yes. May he rest in peace.”
Alfred never likes to talk about Julius. He prefers to remember the good times rather than what his final act was.
”I’m sorry that I’m bringing up those memories again Alfred.”
”It’s alright Master Bruce. I just hope you can do for that young man what I couldn’t for Julius.”
”Let’s hope so Alfred. Let’s hope so.”
”How long do you think it will take for him to get here?”
”He’ll be coming with the full force of the League. At best I’d say we have two weeks.”
”You think he’ll come for the boy?”
”I’m certain of it. We need to be ready.”
”Shall I send work to Master Dick?”
”No. The last thing I need is him worrying before it happens. He’ll just get in the way. Have we heard anything from Jason?”
”Nothing. I suspect his comms have been destroyed though. I sent a feedback signal and got nothing back from them.”
”We can only hope.”
”Shall I dispatch the Batwing to Greene’s house sir?”
”No. We need to consolidate our forces. If Jason’s out there, he’ll make it here by himself.”
”Bruce……….”
”It appears your son wants a word with you.”
”So it would seem. Where’s Tim?”
”Last I heard he said he was going to visit his father.”
”Glad to hear. Keep trying to reach Jason on his comms. If he doesn’t respond we’ll have to begin preparing a contingency plan.”
”Brucie……..”
”I’ll deal with our guest.”
”Very good Master Bruce.”
I raise my cowl over my face and walk down to the brig. There in the middle cell stands Damian without his armoured suit and with a smug look across his face. He’s had that look on his face ever since he regained consciousness in the cell much to my annoyance, all because he knows that he holds the advantage. Ra’s will be coming for him and he’ll bring the entire League of Assassins with him. Even with all our allies, we’ll be outnumbered.
But numbers aren’t everything.
”How long do you think it’ll be before he comes then Father? I reckon it will take him ten days to assemble all the League’s forces and bring them to Gotham.”
”Ra’s won’t make a move until his agents are in place throughout Gotham. Fourteen days is the best case scenario.”
”So……you’ve accepted the truth. I take it you ran another DNA test then?”
I nod for a brief moment or two.
”I’ve accepted the truth of where you come from. That doesn’t make you my son.”
”What I being taken in due to pity does?”
”All three of them are more like sons to me than you.”
”I’ll enjoy ramming my sword through you heart when this is all over. Gotham will soon be known as the City of the Demon.”
”Not whilst I still draw breath.”
“That, I intend to remedy once I’m free of this cage. You know this won’t hold me Bruce.”
”No. It won’t. But it will give me extra time. Enough time for me to turn the tide in my favour.”
”You keep telling yourself that Father. It’ll make it all the more glorious when you fall.”
”I’m sorry Damian. If I had known, I would have tried to save you. Instead I seem to have damned you to life of servitude.”
”I serve no-one!”
”I think Ra’s disagrees.”
With that I begin to walk up back to the batcomputer where Alfred’s desperately trying to reach Jason.
”Sound proof the cells Alfred.”
”Are you sure you really want to do that Master Bruce?”
”No. But I have no choice. It’s clear where Damian’s loyalties lie. I can’t have him knowing of our preparations.”
”So this is it?”
”I’ve known that was only a matter of time till he came for me.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. For a brief moment I’m at peace with my thoughts. Batman’s fight for survival may be over. But Bruce Wayne’s is about to begin.
”We’d better start making preparations for the Endgame protocol.”
”Yes Master Bruce.”
Two weeks. Two weeks to be ready. I just hope that’s enough time.
A stick cracked to my left, sounding like a deafening yell in the serene silence of the forest.
I stopped, holding absolutely still, and was rewarded with the heart-warming sight of a doe and her calf making their way through the woods.
Smiling, I continued on my way after they passed, heading more or less in the vague direction of Durrough.
I had ditched the wagon several miles and two nights back, after coming to the realization that if someone was hunting me, it probably wasn’t the best idea to travel out in the open, driving a conspicuous wagon. Now, I was on foot, going through some of the more difficult, less traveled paths through the eastern-most portion of the Wandering Woods. It would take longer to reach my destination, but it would also draw less attention to myself, thus making it worth the longer journey.
Squaring my shoulders, I forged onwards.
————————————
The next morning,
I awoke to something sharp jabbing into my back from beneath my bedroll. Groaning, I rolled over, and extracted……a rock.
Muttering in disgust, I threw the rock aside, and groggily disentangled myself from my cloak, which had been serving as my blanket, climbing to my feet with an audible cracking of joints.
“Well,” I said to no-one in particular, “Time to start the day I guess.”
I had killed a small rabbit with my crossbow last night, and I cooked him up now, along with a few edible greens I found near my campsite.
After breakfast, I packed up my bedroll, checked to make sure I still had that sealed letter, gathered my things, and kicked out the fire.
Then, I headed off in the same direction as yesterday. I estimated I only had another day at most before I reached Durrough. Fortified by this, (as well as that rabbit), I set off for another day of hiking.
Little did I know today was not going to be like the days before it.
————————————
A few hours later, I stopped for a rest, and possibly lunch, if I could find some game large enough to make a meal out of.
Making sure my crossbow was loaded, I began to stealthily advance through the woods, keeping a sharp eye out for prey. I spotted a couple of squirrels, but neither one was large enough to warrant taking a shot at.
Watching the second one run off, I detected movement out of the corner of my eye. Moving slowly, so as not to scare whatever it was, I turned towards the spot I saw movement from.
Expecting to find a deer, or even better, a wild hog, I was shocked to discover it was a BEAR!
I froze. The bear was staring right at me, not moving either.
As the seconds dragged on in our stand-off, I realized this wasn’t just any bear, it was a grizzly bear!
And to make matters worse, it was a very hungry-looking grizzly bear.
Keeping my eyes fixed on the bear, I began to slowly back away, taking micro-steps so as not to startle it into action. After a few steps, the bear began to move forward, as I moved back.
That was definitely not what I wanted the bear to do, and I realized this was not going to end peacefully.
Just as I was coming to this conclusion, the bear charged.
Given less then a second to react, I dropped and rolled to the side, feeling a rush of air as the bear breezed by. Rolling to my feet, I saw the bear stop and start to turn around, for another go at me. Pre-empting this, I turned and ran, as fast as my legs would carry me, hearing the bear charging up behind me.
Now, I know that everyone says the stupidest thing you can do when facing a bear is run, but A; not everyone is me, and B; I wasn’t trying to outrun the bear, I just needed a few seconds to get my shot, pardon the pun.
As I ran, I checked hastily that my crossbow was still loaded, and, finding it was, judged that the bear was too caught up in chasing me to slow down or avoid this, whipped around, bringing the crossbow to my shoulder, sighted, and pulled the trigger.
The bolt flew seemingly in slow motion, as the bear charged at me, straight into the grizzly’s right eye, killing him instantly.
The bear’s momentum kept his body moving forward, even as it started to hit the ground, forcing me to quickly step to the side, to avoid getting pinned as the corpse slid to a stop where I had been standing moments before.
I staggered against a nearby tree, sliding to the ground with my back against the trunk, staring at the bear’s corpse, feeling the adrenaline from my near-death experience pumping through my veins, and my breath coming in ragged bursts.
It was then, sitting on forest floor, waiting for my body to clam down, that the sound of rushing water penetrated my senses. I got up, and, turning around, surveyed my surroundings, which I hadn’t even registered yet.
My jaw dropped.
Hardly believing my eyes, I stepped out of the tree line.
I was on the bank of a river, that forked around the spit of land I was standing on. Both ends of the river wound away through the trees.
Directly across from me was the source of this river;
A magnificent (although not very large) waterfall, pouring majestically down the side of sheer rock face. The sound of it filled the air, which was the sound I had noticed minutes ago.
The rock face the waterfall poured over continued beyond to the right, slowly curving outward.
A huge old oak tree grew near this face, on the opposite bank. Over on my side, a large pile of boulders sat jumbled to my right, a tree growing up from their midst.
The whole area was overflowing with bright colors and abundant flora and fauna.
Looking around, I felt at peace for the first time in several days.
Putting down my crossbow, I flopped in the grass with a grateful sigh, content just to lay there in the soft grass for awhile.
As I lay there, I tried to come up with a suitable name for this hidden gem of the forest. Nothing I tried sounded right, and it wasn’t until I sat up and took another look at the place that the perfect name popped into my head.
“Heaven’s Lagoon,” I said out loud, trying it out. It fit perfectly.
It was then, as I was sitting there, enjoying the feeling of having this beautiful place all to myself, plus the fact I had just named it, when I noticed something I had missed before. Or maybe it hadn’t been there before, because I never missed anything.
Almost directly across from me was a cave.
As I stared at it, trying to figure out why I hadn’t seen it the first time I looked over there, I began to feel a strange sensation. It felt like the cave was calling to me, inviting and drawing me in.
That should have been more than enough warning to not go in the cave, but I had never been able to resist something like this.
So, curiosity getting the better of me, I got up, picking up my crossbow on the way, and moved to the edge of the bank, looking for a way across.
Finding it, I went over to the boulder pile, climbed up on the largest one, and, balancing carefully, hopped to a rock in the middle of the river, then over to the far bank, right in front of the cave.
Having reached my goal, I stopped to examine the cave opening. It was a little over six feet high, irregularly shaped. Other than that, there was nothing to suggest it was anything other then a normal cave. Anything besides that the tugging feeling in my gut had gotten stronger.
Fashioning a makeshift torch from a tree branch and some spare cloth I kept in a pocket, I took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
Instantly I was hit with a prickling sensation, a magic ward being tripped.
Damn, I thought, and then the cave walls disappeared.
————————
I am standing in the middle of a glade, surrounded by ages-old oak trees. A gentle breeze blows through, swirling leaves around, and tousling my hair. The afternoon sun shines down through the leaves, casting a golden light over everything. It would be the perfect day, if it weren’t for what I knew was about to happen.
Across the glade from me, shock mixed with horror etched on his face, stands my best friend, Trevor Mortlen. He has a hunting spear in one hand, as do I. Mine has the blood of a deer on the tip.
“S-Skye,” the other says, “What-how?”
At first, I am not quite sure what he is trying to say, then it dawns on me: He saw what I did, how I drew the spear back to me from the deer, twelve feet away, clear across the glade.
“Trevor,” I say calmly, forcing myself to look him in the eyes, “There’s something I’ve never told you about myself. I think it’s time I rectified that.”
I see the the hurt and fear in his eyes.
“I’m sorry Skye, but it’s too late for that. You’re not who I thought you were.” The other says, and begins to back away.
Panic starts to take told of me. I know how this ends. I know because I have relived this moment in my mind so many times, always trying to find an ending different than the one I know is about to happen, never being successful.
“Trevor,” I hear myself say, “Please, you must listen to me. It’s not what you think. I can explain everything, if you just let me.”
My plea falls on deaf ears.
“I’m sorry Skye,” he says again. “I don’t trust you anymore. You’re not someone who should be free to cause harm.”
Each word is like a dagger to my heart. I can barely believe what I’m hearing. This couldn’t be my Trev, the very best friend I had in this world. The person who meant so much to me.
“Please, “ I begged, tears beginning to blur my vision, “Trev, don’t do this.”
He looked at me with sadness in his eyes.
“I don’t want to. But I have to. I don’t know you anymore Skye.” And he turned away, heading out of the glade, bound for the sheriff’s office in our village.
I was torn apart in that moment, as Trevor turned his back on me. I knew if he reached the sheriff, my life, my parent’s life, maybe even my cousin’s lives, would be ruined, if not over completely.
There was only one way to stop this.
Only one way to ensure the safety of myself and my family.
Screaming my fury at the unfairness and helplessness of my situation, I throw the spear at my love’s back.
I could feel the scene beginning to change. Afraid of what I would be forced to relive next, I pushed against the memories, tearing myself free.
“NNNOOOOO!”
—————————
And then I was back in the real world, still standing in the same spot. My legs collapsed beneath me, and I barely managed to catch myself before I hit the floor.
Lifting my torch, I was able to clearly see now that the cave was man-made, probably by some old wizard with elemental powers, which would also explain the ward guarding the entrance.
Finding my mind starting to drift back to the memory that had been triggered, I forced myself to redirect, settling on the the fact that the tugging in my gut hadn’t lessened any, despite the ordeal I had just gone through.
Getting to my feet, crossbow in one hand, torch in the other, I cleared away my jumbled thoughts, and focused solely on the feeling.
It was definitely coming from deeper inside the cave, so despite my growing reservations, I allowed myself to be led into the bowels of the earth, winding downward, past branch tunnels and rooms, drawn ever deeper by the steadily increasing tugging, til' finally, I arrived at the end of the tunnel. Before me was an absolutely ancient oaken door, fastened into the rock via some very rusty iron hinges. The source of the tugging sensation was on the other side of that door, I was sure of it.
Studying the four rusty hinges, I set down my crossbow and torch, stretched out my hands, palms outward, and concentrated.
A second later, the hinges tore free of the rock and zoomed into my hands.
Smiling, I dropped the hinges on the ground, and, retrieving my torch and crossbow, kicked down the old door.
Beyond, the room inside was circular, about twelve feet in each direction, walls, floor, and roof all made of carved stone. Carved into the floor, all around the edge of the room, were strange runes, in a foreign language I didn’t understand. But that wasn’t what drew my attention the second I stepped into the room, nor was it the faded mural-like pattern scrawled across the back wall.
It was the perfectly symmetrical pedestal, placed in the exact center of the room, with a second ring of runes around it’s base.
Atop the pedestal sat………..a gleaming, perfectly polished nautilus shell.
I could instantly tell the tugging sensation was originating from the mysterious shell.
Why, I didn’t yet know.
I slowly approached the pedestal, as if in a trance, and reaching out, picked up the shell.
Instantly the tugging sensation disappeared. I turned the shell over in my hands, studying it. Other then being extra shiny, it didn’t appear any different than any other nautilus shell.
“So what caused the tugging feeling?” I asked into the silence, not really expecting an answer.
But I got one.
A faint sound became discernible in the room, and it seemed to be coming from the shell in my hand.
Lifting it to my ear cautiously, I was surprised to hear the sound of waves, mixed with the chirping of birds, (though I couldn’t tell what species they were from), along with other sounds I didn’t recognize. This close to my face, I noticed for the first time there was something different about this shell.
The stripes on the nautilus were translucent, and in the one closest to me, I could faintly see a beach, made of white sand.
I blinked, and the image was gone.
Shaking my head to clear it, thinking maybe I had imagined it, I turned away from the pedestal, placing the shell in a pocket on my belt.
It was then I realized, without the tugging feeling leading me, I had no idea where I was.
I was lost down here, in this maze of tunnels.
As this set in, my shadow flickered, and disappeared, as the room went dark.
My torch had just gone out.
————————————
It's a strange realization, how white a white home isn't in the winter. With the contrast of snow, every bit of yellowed wear and bare wood beneath shows through. It's such an unlikely beauty, the utter lack of purity, the pretty improbability. There's a misery overhanging, a looming blueprint to the blues, like a meandering story no one thought to edit. You can always make a new addition, but should you? Someone has to say too much, build too far, overdo it. How would you know the difference if everyone was restrained? I think of this structure like a Tower of Babel, someone went overboard between here and Noah's Ark. It's all just fables now, dereliction and dilapidation, slowly slipping to the place called beyond repair. Don't stare too long, you just might turn to rot.
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Jamie.
After a short break from taking stranger portraits, I've come to a certain realization. During this time I reassessed my initial motivation to start this project. One of the guidelines of the project is that photographers are encouraged to share their experience while taking portraits. While this description of individual experience is supposed to make portraits more personable, it somehow had an opposite effect on me. It is difficult to exactly put in words, but let's just say that the descriptions of my portraits made me feel that the attention was being divided between the person in the portrait and the text that accompanied it. One might argue that the descriptions complement the portraits and I can understand how that would work. But I want you to enjoy the portrait, without judgment, without knowledge of who the person is or where she comes from. I want you to be drawn to the person in the portrait, just like I get drawn to them before I take their photograph, without knowing anything about them.
That is the reason why my future portraits will not have any descriptions about the person (except, perhaps the name). I know that a lot of you enjoy reading my experiences and I deeply appreciate that. But in order for me to be convinced that all credit goes to the person in the portrait, I have to keep my words to a minimum. Quite an ironic thing to say after having written so much already!
In any case, I hope you all continue enjoying my portraits just as much as I enjoy taking them. I hope you appreciate the beauty that I see (and even more) in a person without knowing a thing about them.
This is Portrait #36 in my 100 Strangers project. Please visit the 100strangers group page on Flickr www.flickr.com/groups/100strangers/ and check out some amazing portraits by some very talented photographers.
The Self-Realization Fellowship Encinitas Retreat, Hermitage, and Meditation Gardens is a spiritual retreat, monastic ashram, and meditation gardens in Encinitas, California, United States. Its famous golden lotus towers rise above the white wall along Highway 101 near Swami's Seaside Park.
52 Weeks of 2015
Week No: 5
Theme: From this spot (Season 1) (to be followed with three additional shots from this spot spaced over the year)
Category: ConceptualOur Daily
Challenge: In the Distance
Thank you so much for your views, comments and favs. I really do appreciate every one!
My images are posted here for your enjoyment only. All rights are reserved. Please contact me through flickr if you are interested in using one of my images for any reason.
Sometimes...it's best to keep your mouth shut. Sometimes...you have to realize it's not your problem. Sometimes...when you've rolled your eyes so much that you can no longer see forward...accept that it's time to go back home.
Name: Urban Entertainment Centre
City: Almere
Architect(s): William Alsop (UK)
Realization: 2004
The Urban Entertainment Centre in Almere comprises of 16,000sqm of new buildings containing shopping, pop concert hall, disco, hotel, bicycle park and associated leisure, cafe and restaurant facilities. These elements are grouped together beside a new sunken square and form an edge to the southern limit of the existing town centre.
The 'polder city' of Almere, close to Amsterdam, has grown up as a low-rise development along the lines of the English garden cities. Although the residential areas of Almere are attractive, the settlement lacks a real 'heart' and the lack of local amenities encourages people to commute to Amsterdam for entertainment. Almere has, however, something of a tradition of encouraging bold and innovative architecture and this has underpinned moves to transform the central area.
In line with the development masterplan for Almere, which envisages a process of 'intensification' for the city centre, Alsop designed a 16,000sqm waterfront entertainment centre. The Centre consists of a family of buildings grouped around a new square and elevated four metres on a unifying podium, which covers a parking area. Varied in form, the buildings use a variety of materials to create a rich new urban landscape.
At the heart of the development is the Pop Zaal, its reinforced concrete structure clad in pre-weathered zinc and steel mesh. The scale of the structure is not apparent at first sight and cloaks the various internal functions of auditorium, disco, bar and ancillary spaces in a continuous metal skin.
The Almere Hotel is a 120 room 4-star hotel clad in cedar boarding. The hotel has a raised 'sleeping block' approximately 4,000sqm, that is lifted eight metres above street level. Below the ground plain is the car park with a direct connection to the lobby.
The 400sqm two-level entrance building is organic in shape and clad with brass. It houses the lobby, meeting rooms, a restaurant, a bar, offices, and storage spaces. Two elevators, a staircase and a services shaft connect the entrance bubble with the main accommodation component.
The square itself is a lively place, with cafes and restaurants, attractive in all seasons.
text: www.alsoparchitects.com
“A Red Realization” 2019 from the #BurdensOfAWhiteDressProject.
When you wake up, you finally understand that you can never go back to the way things were.
And waking up to the truth of our reality can be the most frightening thing we’ve ever done.
I was 19 when I first told my little sister I wanted to leave the cult we had been raised in. She winced as though I had slapped her across her face. She had been out for a year already, and had weathered incredible amounts of abuse as she fought for her freedom and in the aftermath.
Saying those words out loud to another person was the scariest thing I had ever done. Although my siblings and I had been raised to “report” on each other, it wasn’t that I was afraid of her sharing my secret. It was that I was afraid of my own desire to leave.
It would take me three years from that point. I was sent to multiple re-indoctrination camps, one almost immediately after my confession (and not through any fault of my sisters). I lost my way multiple times. But it was never as scary as that first moment of realization.
And yet I am infinitely grateful for it as well.
What about you? Have you ever woken up to a reality or decision that you hadn’t wanted to face but knew it was the path you needed to take?
Big thank you to @ben_e_photography For naming the photo and for his assistance during the shoot!
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Oh don't sulk, darling....it happens to the best of us, and I'm not really making fun of you. In fact, I find your occasional naiveté in these matters positively endearing. 😋
Anyway, though she was concerned about her shoulders and her bra, the story had a happy ending. Her shoulders simply weren't a problem at all, and the bra she had on worked just fine. I simply pulled her straps down and she wore it that way all evening with no trouble. As I told Daisy, she needn't have worried...her Mistress has been there herself many times, and knows just what to do. 😉
9th February 2013: Animals make for the best of friends at least they are loyal. Sorry for not having been around, still under shock. We deal with life's blows with the weight of time. It's funny how guilt and shame affect even the innocent.
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www.worldphoto.org/sony-world-photography-awards/winners-...
www.fotografidigitali.it/gallery/2726/opere-italiane-segn...
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Beach holidays were born in the 1700s in Great Britain, this social phenomenon was born in which bathers for the first time go to the beaches, certainly not as sunny as those bathed by the Mediterranean Sea, they are fully dressed; this "new fashion" is also encouraged by the belief of English doctors since the beginning of the eighteenth century (starting around 1720), that breathing the brackish sea air and bathing in cold sea water is healthy, invigorates the body and cure lung diseases (conviction even more strengthened by the discovery of oxygen by Antoine Lavoisier in 1778, which led to the greater diffusion and conviction of the theories on the health benefits of sea air, which was thought to be more oxygenated and pure), these theories push many people from Northern Europe suffering from severe lung diseases to spend long periods in southern Europe, often in the south of Italy, this explains why characters with extraordinary qualities come to Taormina to cure their tuberculosis. The photographer baron Wilhelm von Gloeden and the English lady Florence Trevelyan Trevelyan had the seawater brought with their mules from Isola Bella, but while W. Von Gloeden heated the sea water, the English noblewoman Lady Trevelian did not heat it, mindful of the teachings of the English medical school, this will cause her death from bronchopneumonia on 4 October 1907 (see my previous "photographic stories" about Taormina). In fact, "thalassotherapy" was born in Great Britain, together with the social and cultural phenomenon of frequenting bathing beaches (before the beginning of the 18th century, the sea and its beaches were lived, except for reasons of trade and fishing, in a dark and negative way, from the sea often came very serious dangers such as the sudden landings of ferocious pirates, or foreigners carrying very serious diseases could land). Thus the fashion of spending holidays by the sea was born in the English aristocracy and high bourgeoisie of the time, subsequently the habit of going to the sea spread to all levels of society, the railways that were built throughout Great Britain to 'beginning of the nineteenth century, made travel to the ocean accessible even to the lower classes, they too will frequent the seaside resorts, Blackpool becomes the first seaside resort in Great Britain completely frequented by the working classes thanks to the presence of low-cost bathing establishments; the great and definitive boom in seaside tourism will then take place in the 1950s and 1960s. This being the case, it should not be surprising to know that in Great Britain the beaches are more frequented than one might instinctively think due to a climate very different from the Mediterranean one, and that this socio-cultural phenomenon has been investigated at the photographic by photographers of the same Great Britain, of these I mention four names. An important photographer, who probably inspired subsequent photographers, was Tony Ray-Jones, who died prematurely in 1972, at the young age of 30, who was trying to create a “photographic memory” of the stereotypes of the English people; the famous photojournalist Martin Parr, who, although inspired by the previous one, differs from it for his way of doing “social satire” with his goal; finally, I would like to mention David Hurn and Simon Roberts, the latter with wider-ranging photographs, with photographs more detached from the individual. In Italy there are numerous photographers (I will mention only a few) who have made in their long career images captured in seaside resorts (generally we speaking of "beach photography" similar to "street photography"), photographs that are often unique in their style, such as that adopted by Franco Fontana, I mention Mimmo Jodice, Ferdinando Scianna (of whom I am honored to have known him personally), and Massimo Vitali, famous photographer (understood by some as "the photographer of the beaches"), especially for his beautiful photographs taken on the beaches (but not only), thanks to the presence of elevated fixed structures as a kind of mezzanine, built specifically in the bathing beaches for the realization of his photographs. This is my introduction to talk about the theme proposed here, that of “beach photography” (with some exceptions for “narrative” reasons), with a series of photographs taken on the beaches surrounding Taormina (Sicily). For some photographs I used a particular photographic technique at the time of shooting, in addition to capturing the surrounding space, it also "inserted" a temporal dimension, with photos characterized by being blurry because the exposure times were deliberately lengthened, they are confused-out of focus-imprecise-undecided... the Anglo-Saxon term that encapsulates this photographic genre in a single word is "blur", these images were thus created during the shooting phase, and not as an effect created later, in the post-production phase.
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Le vacanze al mare nascono nel ‘700 in Gran Bretagna, nasce questo fenomeno sociale nel quale i bagnanti per la prima volta si recano sulle spiagge, non certo assolate come quelle bagnate dal mar Mediterraneo, sono completamente vestiti; questa “nuova moda” è anche incoraggiata dalla convinzione dei medici inglesi fin dall’inizio del ‘700 (a partire dal 1720 circa), che respirare l’aria salmastra del mare e fare il bagno nell’acqua marina fredda sia salutare, rinvigorisca il corpo e curi le malattie polmonari (convinzione ancor più rafforzata dalla scoperta dell’ossigeno da parte di Antoine Lavoisier nel 1778, che portò alla maggiore diffusione e convinzione delle teorie sui benefici per la salute dell’aria di mare, che si pensava essere più ossigenata e pura), queste teorie spingono molte persone del Nord Europa affette da gravi malattie polmonari a trascorrere dei lunghi periodi nel sud Europa, spesso nel meridione d’Italia, questo spiega perché a Taormina giungono personaggi dalle qualità straordinarie per curare il proprio “mal sottile”, il barone fotografo Wilhelm von Gloeden e la lady inglese Florence Trevelyan Trevelyan si facevano portare coi muli l’acqua di mare proveniente dall’Isola Bella, però mentre W. Von Gloeden riscaldava l’acqua marina, la nobildonna inglese lady Trevelian non la riscaldava, memore degli insegnamenti della scuola medica inglese, questo causerà la sua morte per broncopolmonite il 4 ottobre del 1907 (vedi i miei precedenti “racconti fotografici” su Taormina). Infatti la “talassoterapia” nasce in Gran Bretagna, insieme al fenomeno sociale e culturale della frequentazione dei lidi balneari (prima dell’inizio del ‘700, il mare e le sue spiagge erano vissuti, tranne che per motivi di commercio e di pesca, in maniera oscura e negativa, dal mare spesso provenivano gravissimi pericoli come gli sbarchi improvvisi di feroci pirati, oppure potevano sbarcare stranieri portatori di gravissime malattie). Nell’aristocrazia e nell’alta borghesia inglese di allora nasce così la moda di trascorrere le vacanze al mare, successivamente l’abitudine di andare al mare si diffonde a tutti i livelli della società, le ferrovie che furono costruite in tutta la Gran Bretagna all’inizio dell’Ottocento, resero i viaggi verso l’oceano accessibili anche per i ceti più bassi, quelli più popolari e meno agiati, anch’essi frequenteranno le località balneari, Blackpool diviene la prima località balneare della Gran Bretagna completamente frequentata dalle classi popolari grazie alla presenza di stabilimenti balneari a basso costo; il grande e definitivo boom del turismo balneare si avrà poi negli anni ’50 e ’60. Stando così le cose, non ci si deve meravigliare nel sapere che in Gran Bretagna le spiagge sono più frequentate di quanto istintivamente si possa pensare a causa di un clima ben diverso da quello Mediterraneo, e che questo fenomeno socio-culturale sia stato indagato a livello fotografico da parte di fotografi della stessa Gran Bretagna, di questi cito quattro nomi. Un importante fotografo, che probabilmente ispirò i successivi fotografi, fu Tony Ray-Jones, scomparso prematuramente nel 1972, alla giovane età di 30 anni, il quale cercava di realizzare una “memoria fotografica” degli stereotipi del popolo inglese; il famoso fotoreporter Martin Parr, il quale pur ispirandosi al precedente, se ne differenzia per il suo modo di fare “satira sociale” col suo obiettivo; infine desidero menzionare David Hurn e Simon Roberts, quest’ultimo con fotografie di più ampio respiro, con fotografie più distaccate dal singolo individuo. In Italia numerosi sono i fotografi (ne cito solo qualcuno) che hanno realizzato nella loro lunga carriera immagini colte in località balneari (genericamente si parla di “beach photography” affine alla “street photography”), fotografie spesso uniche nel loro stile, come quello adottato da Franco Fontana, menziono Mimmo Jodice, Ferdinando Scianna (del quale mi onoro di averlo conosciuto personalmente), e Massimo Vitali, famoso fotografo (da alcuni inteso come “il fotografo delle spiagge”), soprattutto per le sue bellissime fotografie realizzate sui lidi (ma non solo), grazie alla presenza di strutture fisse sopraelevate a mò di soppalco, costruite appositamente nei lidi balneari per la realizzazione delle sue fotografie. Questo mio incipit, per introdurre il tema da me affrontato, quello della “beach photography” (con qualche eccezione per motivi ”narrativi”), con una serie di fotografie realizzate sulle spiagge circostanti Taormina (Sicilia). Ho utilizzato per alcune fotografie una tecnica fotografica particolare al momento dello scatto, oltre a catturare lo spazio circostante, ha "inserito" anche una dimensione temporale, con foto caratterizzate dall’essere mosse poiché volutamente sono stati allungati i tempi di esposizione, sono confuse-sfocate-imprecise-indecise...il termine anglosassone che racchiude con una sola parola questo genere fotografico è "blur", queste immagini sono state così realizzate in fase di scatto, e non come un effetto creato successivamente, a posteriori, in fase di post-produzione
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His job often brings him to the most despicable places. The very places where you expect to find the scum and villainy he is payed to capture: dirty, ugly and dark.
Today the landscape is different.
The day’s last rays of sun bathe his armor as he walks across the remains of the old mining facility.
He can see the sea, just few kilometers away from his current location.
The target is even closer, rummaging the abandoned facility for some valuable item.
This is going to be a quick, after all. He draws his blaster and unsheathes his vibrosword.
It can end only in two ways and he gets paid in both cases…
The amazing, badass Samurai Boba Fett is back in action in the first outdoor photo I ever took of him :)
The action figure is made by Bandai and its full “designation” is Tamashii Nations Movie Realization Ronin Boba Fett.
I hope you like this photo :)
May the Force be with You :)
Week 8 Image 1 Selfie project
So at first I had not intended to use this image. I decided it was important to post it because I feel very frustrated with my own choices...this was not a first choice, yet received better reviews...sometimes I feel like I should be paying more attention to those images that I likely would just overlook.
G's breath caught in her throat as the realization dawned on her. She was in the presence of one of the Clockwork Sibyls, a duo revered not only for their groundbreaking contributions to the digital realm, but also for their rare status as celebrated female oracles in a domain predominantly ruled by men.
Lady Beatrice, with her keen intellect and ability to decipher the complex patterns of the cosmos, alongside Lady Abigail, whose engineering prowess brought to life inventions that were the very essence of the steampunk spirit, were figures of legend. The thought that one half of this illustrious pair was missing sent a ripple of concern through G's mind.
"To clarify," G responded, maintaining her professional demeanor while subtly acknowledging the significance of Lady Beatrice's identity, "Lady Abigail, your partner and fellow Clockwork Sibyl, is missing?"
"The last communication I had from her, she said 'BRB, bio break.' And then... silence. I believe she has vanished to a place known as 'RL', and I fear she's being held there against her will."
The term 'RL' lingered in the air, an acronym for the mysterious and unpredictable realm of Real Life. G leaned back in her chair, her mind's gears beginning to turn. This was no ordinary disappearance; this was a journey across dimensions, a voyage from the digital to the organic.
A missing avatar was one thing but vanishing into the vast unknown of Real Life was a complexity of a different caliber.
"So you suspect foul play?" G inquired.
Lady Beatrice, taking a seat with composed grace across from G, spoke with a hint of distress in her voice.
"I find myself at a loss," she admitted. "It's as though Lady Abigail has departed from our realm and is no more. I've searched tirelessly, exploiting all my intellectual resources, networks, and assets, yet she remains lost to me."
"I'll take the case," G stated, her voice soft yet resolute, silently pledging her loyalty to the captivating Lady Beatrice.
With the case now officially open, G. Aeon stood, her figure a beacon of resolve in a sea of uncertainty, thus marking the beginning of a new partnership between her and Lady Beatrice as they set out to unravel the mystery of Lady Abigail's disappearance.
Part 1 flic.kr/p/2pQizbm
Part 2 flic.kr/p/2pQtrtY
Photo taken at New Victoria Township - RP and community opening late Summer.
Story by Grace with some help from ChatGPT
More G. Aeon, Private Detective, at flic.kr/s/aHBqjBgiN8
More Clockwork Sibyls at flic.kr/s/aHBqjBiSG9
[3:32pm]
2008 - Day 25
Ugh. I hate homecoming.
Although this year was alot better. I didn't actually film the whole ceremony thing this year because I finally came to the realization that the money involved would not be worth the effort. Last year I made a little over 200 dollars, which isn't bad money but unfortunatly all of my DVD's at one point or another messed up, which meant I had to deal with pissed off students and the occasional parent demanding an explination as to why the movie went halfway and then stopped. The honest truth is that I have no idea why they work on my Dvd player but not on everyone elses, I sure as hell don't do it on purpose. I think it's the program that I use though. Ulead DVD Workshop is finikey as it is but using their burning software just compounds the problem.
But anyway my point is that I made 200 dollars but put in a solid 48 hours of work on it that means that If I were to give away the copies for free, I would be making roughly 4 dollars an hour. And that amount of time was only a conservative estimate so I probably made even less. I just didn't want to deal with all the hassle of everything going wrong. That happens enough when I'm taking pictures.
But anyway, I'm going to skip ahead to 4th period because nothing intresting happened before that excpet the arrivial of the english teacher's really hot adopted daughter Anna, unfortunatly, even though she looked 16 she was 22 and recently married. Life sucks dosen't it? But anyway, we had a big test in Mrs. Britts math class, and as always I'd msised the day where they did most of the work so I only knew how to do about half of the work. I got through it though, after alot of stress and a little finageling I managed to get it done and turned it in. After the bell had rung of course.
From then until around 1:30 I stayed in the Science lab and talked to Heather and her mom. It's really strange how different Heather is when you talk to her without alot of people around. In a really good way of course. We talked for about 30 minutes in the science lab while we were counting change and tying together all of the suckers that they were going to give away at the Pep Rally and then when 1:30 rolled around, we walked down to the Gym and took pictures. Including one of me with a pom pom on my head looing rather nerdish. If I manage to get ahold of it I'll post it up here because it's really really bad.
The Pep rally was pretty funny actually, the younger girls (5-9) did a really funny version of the "Soulja Boy" (I hope I spelled that right) dance. And the highschool cheerleaders did a very provocative dance to some other rap song, I don't listen to that kind of music so I don't know, but I will tell you one thing, I found out right then that Hannah Inman can seriously dance. I'll leave the details out on that one, just use your imagination.
Anyway, after the pep rally was over and we got the Spirit Stick. Or actually we didn't actually win it but it was given to the senior class out of pitty for our dwindiling numbers. Heather and I were the only people sitting in the bleachers when the cheerleaders did there thing. It was a little wierd that we won. But that was that and after we left I just sat around the science lab and talked to Noah, Sarah and Heather.
I played so me piano afterwards and did what Stephanie said made me look like an old man. I'd just play different songs on the piano and Noah would guess which ones they were. It wasn't really the most fun thing in the world but it really sucked when everybody left and I was stuck alone in the school with nothing to do.
I took this picture during the time between the end of school and the game and yes, I know that I did this pictures a few day's ago but I don't think it turned out as good as It could have, and the girl who's eye I used previously wasn't exactly the ideal subject. But that's just my own opinion, and we all know what opinions are like.
Anyway, I'm actually very happy with this, it took a bit of convincing to get the model to cooperate though. Brooke is a 7th grader who does NOT like having her picture taken so It's always fun to annoy her with the camera. But, like I said I had to make all sorts of promises to get this picture, including a promise to kill somebody at the school, which I don't think I'll be doing. Some of the other things she said she'd do to get me to kill the guy were unsuitable for discussion here but I'm sure you can use you're imagination.
Anyway...
Sarah came back after galavanting around Whiteville with Stephanie for a few hours so I went up to the school after everybody had left and talked to them for about an hour. It was basically an hour of discussing the wierdest topics imaginable, half of the time though we were in the presence of Mr. Gergle which was a little awkward for me but Sarah and Stephanie didn't seem to mind.
They're a little wierd.
6 o'clock rolled around and I was forced to leave the two girls up at the school and go down to the gym to take pictures of the girls prancing around in there dresses. I don't like being forceful with some of these parents but I had to because the honest truth was that I was hired to take pictures of these girls and the parents, as much as I appreciate there wanting to take pictures of there kids, attempted a thousand times to set up their own pictures or try to push me out of the way and take more pictures of their own. They only got away with it once though. I had to ask nicely but forcefully for them to shove off. I don't think that these parents would expect me to be rude in that respect but I had to be, and it worked, they left.
After taking all of the picture for Mrs. Paige I went back to taking pictures of the game. It was pretty much over so I only got a few pictures before Fuller Royal one of the photographers working for the local paper came in and asked me to take some pictures of the Homecoming court so he wouldn't have to stay. I thought it was pretty cool that he trusted me enough to do his job.
What's really awsome is that one of the pictures that I took today is going to be on the front page of the sports page in the NewsReporter on Monday. Which I think is pretty awsome. I've had 5 or 6 pictures that I've taken in the Newspaper but nothing on the front page. So anyway...
Caroline got Queen and Lauren got Princess. Not really any suprise there.
After everything ended mom picked us up and we went home.
I just played on the computer until I got to where I am now. I'm really tired, itst 2 in the morning and Tomorrow I have to get up early and take the SAT, which sucks because had that not been the case I would have been able to go out to eat with Noah and his family.
But there's always next time.
Anyway, I'm out.
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk
I am not a person that is good in expressing myself with words, but my short trip to India let me realize how fortunate my life is. Even if something bad happens, things that don't go well, I guess it is still pale in comparison with what I saw in the slum area over there. I tried to capture my emotion at that moment in time so that I won't forget that feeling.
On the other hand, India do have really fine historical architectures and also, warm smiles.
Lets not try to explain ourselves
shot with the little Olympus XA2
SOOC
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also... we are looking for photos for our flickr group SortOfNatural just good shtuff