View allAll Photos Tagged Recreating
Admittedly a rather feeble recreation due to budgetary considerations. Rather than the act of slaying a dragon, it's more of a grimace-off and the orange beast seems to be winning.
Recreating an old MOC I never took pictures of the original, though thankfully a couple do exist, thanks to my Dad. I was not pleased with the original one (This was also like, 15 years ago now) but looking back at the couple images I do have, I really liked it. The original also holds a soft spot in my mind, as I had a fun game playing with it. It's most notable attribute was that it looked great crashed. 124 studs long. 133 if you count the antennas.
This MOC took probably a year and a half to build. Long stretches of nothing, with brief spurts of building. Thought to be fair, I did have a move and got married in that time...
How could I visit Death Valley and NOT recreate this Star Wars scene?! Taken in the exact same spot as the original :-)
Museum École de Nancy, France
Entirely dedicated to the Nancy Art nouveau movement, this villa houses some of the most beautiful examples of work by Gallé, Majorelle, Vallin, etc., recreating the atmosphere of a residential home from 1900. the collection give a good idea of the diversity of techniques practised by Ecole de Nancy artists: furniture, glassware, stained glass, leatherwork, ceramics. The garden contains the plants favoured by the Ecole de Nancy artists and its pavillon.
30th of May 1944;
The commander of our anti aircraft unit says that we must destroy the bombers for win the war. But as the days pass we receive more attacks, we are afraid.
This piece honours Métis activist Maria Campbell, who greatly influenced the lives of many Indigenous women. In recreating the cover of Maria’s book, “Halfbreed”, Anderson realized that while her journey with Maria began with this book, it was their friendship filled with laughter, stories, teas, lessons, teachings and love that mattered most. As a result, the artist recognized that, by focusing on their relationship while beading, through Maria, parts of her emerged.
Recreating Mark Rothko Challenge - May /June 2022
A New Challenge That Opens Sunday May 22 in our Recreating Masters group :
*Recreating Mark Rothko Challenge - May /June 2022 - LINK HERE
The famous jump across Stand Rock, seen in sepia to recreate the very image taken by H.H Bennett. H.H Bennett took this photo to prove his invention, known as the "snapper", really worked. The snapper basically is what pioneered the camera shutter we all know and love today. Wisconsin Dells, WI
Recreate the iconic scene from Star Wars Episode III Revenge of the Sith where Yoda confronts the new Emperor or as he should be called, Darth Sidious.
Help Yoda wield his lightsaber against evil and jump from platform to platform to avoid falling hover platforms.
Pre-Covid, Amanda did a series where I was wearing long blue hair. I enjoyed it so much, I thought I would give it another try. This is one of those times were it is great to be able to pull off my "hair" (see other photos in this sessions) and put on another - for a different look!
(22209.30)
Americans frequently do not come across as culturally sensitive (I'm told!). Combine the native-American culture of a teepee and an entrepreneur recreating it for a tourist destination in the 1950's and you have a perfect example of our culture! (Oprah Winfrey stopped here once and was too claustrophobic to stay. Hadley and I did not suffer from that problem.)
ODC: Culture
www.nps.gov/nr/travel/route66/wigwam_village_hotel6_holbr...
Two different roads recreate one of many predecessor lashups on FEC through CSX local O721, passing me now joined by Dylan. One of few places not entirely building or tree tunneled on the Homestead Sub that can yield a shot pre-ProBuild. CITX SD70M-2 leads FEC SD40-2 #710.
December 2018, I had a rare chance to run a photo charter, in a month usually dominated by Santa trains. Hoping for the weather conditions that usually made December days special, it truly delivered. 7714 at Bewdley South box passing the bracket.
The whole structure of the museum is in cast concrete. It is almost all underground to recreate the oppression and discomfort all wars and related cruelties subject innocent victims to.
This was taken on the floor just before the entrance.
Recreating Masters - Art Week Gallery - Icon and Award for the new group :
www.flickr.com/groups/recreatingmasters/
A New group for those who love recreate famous Artworks by Old Masters and Contemporary Artists alike using Visual Arts :
painting, drawing, printmaking, sculpture, ceramics, photography, digital art, video, design, crafts, and architecture.
Each week a Famous Artwork for recreate, each month a new Challenge.
Recreating a very old image in a drawing from nearly 200 years ago, a ray of sunlight is captured in the cutting near Crown St Junction shortly after the departure of a Steam hauled train.
hope you are all having an enjoyable weekend....weather here has turned suddenly quite hot! - perfect weather for reading I reckon!
Doc to the carrot: How do you feel now that you've given birth to a bouncing baby bunny?
For Toy Sunday Group - HOW DO YOU FEEL
In the final stretch of summer Rhapsody always makes the best of it, instead of mopping around like the others
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Miss this girl because I sure did!! Shes just so darn cute
Unfortunately I am not in love with this shoot because her face is slightly out of focus which bothers me to no end but it would be really hard to recreate this photo because I had no planning going into it :V
Oh and as you can see Rhapsody is sporting Lydia's old wig, I like it much better on her even with out the pigtails
Also I might have gone blythe crazy recently, You guys might be seeing allot more of Her or should I say soon to be them...
Title:
Silence.
B♭ (B Flat)
A Novel by Mitsushiro Nakagawa
日本語のあらすじ等は下の方にあります😃
一部分の公開を更新しました。今回が最後です😃
“Synopsis”
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Korea’s cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not money—but to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinations—mirroring one another—ignite a nation’s deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidate’s life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New York—embedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) live—symbols of “the order America built.”
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: “We will never bow to terror.”
Among the crowd, Rafi’s operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasser—once Rafi’s comrade, haunted by the memory of his sister’s death in Gaza—tries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafi’s conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the city’s fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
“Characters”
Anaya Patel – 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh – 26, Anaya’s boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato – 25, Anaya’s friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford – 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake – 26, Justin’s fiancée
President Grant M. Langford – 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles “Chuck” Baines – 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett – 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett – 30, Ryan’s wife
Owen Reed – 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance – 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway – 30, Jack’s colleague
Darryl Ross – 29, Jack’s colleague
Elijah Kane – 28, Jack’s colleague
Marcus Dane – 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett – 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell – 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcus’s subordinate
Veronica Reeves – 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris – 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen – 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe – 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad – 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser – 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam – 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah – 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza – 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad – 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari – 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser – 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi – 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
B♭ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan — the man who challenges Netflix. 😃
( iPhone 13 Pro shot )
Motosuka Beach. Kujukuri Beach. Sanmu City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. October 9, 2025. … 0.9 / 10
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images.
Taylor Swift … This Love
youtu.be/PfJzQuqWSSE?si=TrtL4Mb-uN2dNmML
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🌟 My New Novel: "B♭" (B Flat)
This is the 20th installment! 😄
The following is still in the first draft stage. I will revise it further.
•The order of the content being shared is random.
•This will be the final time I share partial excerpts.
The full novel will be released on February 28, 2026.
Please look forward to it! 😃
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
English translation by GPT-5, in collaboration with Mitsushiro Nakagawa
“Jack, look at your phone. Another message just came through. The IP address traces to a branch of the New York Public Library near Grand Central — via the Stavros Niarchos Foundation.”
It was a FaceTime from Ben. He was standing by in the NYPD Midtown South command post just beside the Garden. Despite everything that was happening, Ben’s voice was calm.
Jack slid his finger across his iPhone and read the short line that appeared. The characters lay down carelessly, yet somehow they gave the sentence a shape.
— There’s an arched ceiling in the underground concourse of Grand Central. Come there. Jack Vance. And don’t come alone — though, of course, you won’t be alone. —
The message struck at the inside of Jack’s chest like a ringing.
The car threaded north along Vanderbilt Avenue and came up at the southern lip of Grand Central. The city had not quite woken; the damp that hid in the canyon between buildings carried the metallic smell of morning. Jack let off the gas and eased the black SUV to the curb, almost sliding it along. As the tires brushed the edge of the pavement, the remaining beads of rain on the road leapt up into streaks of light.
He pushed open the heavy door and stepped out. His shoes hit the cobbles a beat later. Once he turned to look down the street behind him, the red reflection of a siren flashed through a shop window and briefly lit the faces of passersby, whitening them for a single instant.
Weaving through that cut of light, Jack made for the stairs that led down to the concourse. The service door groaned with a slight metallic protest. Inside, a low hum, like the breathing of a subway, filled the space. A cold breath struck his cheeks, and from the depths of the HVAC ducts a distant station announcement blurred toward him.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Jack took the stairs of Grand Central two at a time. The amber lighting flowed across his soles; his footsteps linked together like the heartbeat of the terminal.
The iron handrail was cold, passing a faint tremor into his fingertips. From far down the stairs other footsteps layered over one another, keeping an old rhythm that led downward. The arched ceiling drew the air in gently; the lights spread a thin film of glow.
The concourse smelled of damp; the old brick walls seemed unable to forget past rains and exhaled them faintly. The floor tiles were dulled by years of feet; hairline cracks ran through them, where little memories of the city had gathered. Jack walked without attending to these things. His gaze was naturally drawn to the darkness at the far end of the corridor. The usual stream of commuters hurried past.
Weathered signs and bulletin boards clung to the walls like pillows for torn flyers. A cleaner dragged her mop in a single ribbon; beyond it, a lone bench sat as if sketching a pale loneliness.
The air that moved through the passage felt to Jack like the slow pulse of a city’s vein. He felt his breath fall into the same beat and kept walking.
Light touched the tiles at his feet and shadows stretched and swayed. The faint metallic noise of an escalator sounded somewhere far away; the gust from the stairs cooled the heat that had gathered in his body. The scent of the city, the underground damp, and the faint warmth of old lamps mixed; time began to melt slowly.
Stopping, Jack rubbed his palms and let his eyes roam. The hum all around carried a peculiar echo that blurred one’s sense of direction. He told himself he was only looking for “it,” somewhere in the concourse.
As he moved again, a high metallic scrape suddenly sliced the air. His neck muscles twitched and a tautness ran through the soles of his feet. Reflexively he froze; at the edge of his vision a receiver quivered.
Its cord, knotted with the weight of years, twisted; dusty metal glinted dully. A telephone that should have been unused rang out abruptly, like a festival bell — an alien note within the city’s hush. The sound was low but it made the air itself tremble.
Jack turned to it slowly. The heavy underground air seemed to press against the backs of his knees. All he heard was his own breathing and the faint vibration of the receiver. People flowed past as if nothing had happened: a mother led a child by the hand, an old man refolded his newspaper and tucked it under his arm, and moved on.
The receiver was calling to Jack. The call came from a tear in silence, spreading slowly like ink trembling on the reverse side of an old map. He reached out without speaking and picked up the handset. The metal was cold; that cold dropped reality onto his palm.
“…Jack.”
The voice was low but distinct. Its timbre made time seem to slip backward just a touch. He recognized the voice from online footage; yet unlike the voice heard on television, here it carried not a blade but the color of a distant sunset.
Through the receiver Jack felt the corridor’s edges, the bench’s solitude, the small scrap of paper on the floor trickle into the pauses of the conversation. The voice let the city’s details slide in through the window of speech.
“What’s up, Amir? Sounding a little low.” Jack’s voice was quiet and heavy, like a stone dropped to ground. Through the handset he heard Amir’s small nasal laugh.
“Sometimes you get down — you’re only human.”
The voice was calm and remote. It was not the public mask Amir sometimes wore, but something honed in shadow. During the call the brief chatter of a passing parent and child snapped into the line and then was gone.
“Listen carefully to what I’m going to say. Well, you’re probably recording.”
“Likewise,” Jack replied.
Amir’s words fell smoothly through the receiver, making tiny ripples on the tiled floor of the underground. The noise around them blurred once and then resolved again: the mother’s footsteps, the mop’s scrape, the distant clink of a vending machine — all intersecting with the rhythm of speech.
“I’m out of the team. The reason? I don’t want to watch more people die. That’s it.”
Jack felt the receiver’s pulse under his fingers. The voice tried on calm but Jack could hear a tremor beneath. The lights in the concourse blurred slightly with each of Amir’s sentences.
“Are you asking me to believe that? Your professor Zakaria says don’t talk like that — he went out in a big way.” Amir fell silent and let out an exhale that sounded like a laugh as if to shrug something off. At the corridor’s edge a child sucking on candy made a tiny wet sound that filled the space between words.
“So what now? Heartbroken?” Jack asked.
“Something like that. This detonator will destroy many buildings yet.”
That phrase punched through the little room inside the receiver. For an instant the light underground clouded faintly. Yet the corridor moved on as always; no one turned. The anomaly existed only in sound.
“Tell me exactly where, how many, what mechanism — brief. Don’t mix in jokes.” Jack’s tone chilled like ice cracking. Amir tried to explain calmly, but Jack listened more to the weight behind the words than to their particulars. In the pauses, the phone booth’s shadow stretched and traced a thin black groove across the floor.
“We weren’t trained terrorists, not professionals. The information was distributed piece by piece. Think of how betrayal would happen — like how I can call you now.” Amir’s voice was careful; not fearful. Jack pressed the receiver to his ear and felt the city’s everyday noises woven into the fabric of the explanation. An old woman adjusting her bag at the corridor’s edge, the faint opening of a shutter somewhere distant — the beginnings of small workdays.
“We infiltrated about five years ago. We planted C4 in the core of buildings that were being built then. Rafi studied architecture, so he knew where to place it. You’ve seen the collapse a million times online, you know how it looks. To detonate, you need an old phone that reads a ‘mute reader’ QR code. Along with it is a tablet I made myself. I embedded C4 into two-thirds of its battery. The tablet has old fingerprint authentication — the kind from a long time ago. I made two of them. One is in Los Angeles, one in New York.”
“So there are two detonators?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t the only one from the electronics department. Also, the phones that read the QR code are ancient, too specialized — they never caught on.”
“How do you trigger it?”
“There’s a special QR code placed on a site. You hold the phone up and read it. The QR is a 3D layer. The code rises in relief, deciphers itself, converts into a detonation code, and sends it by radio.”
“Radio? Not Wi‑Fi?”
“If it were Wi‑Fi you’d shut it down quickly. I modified the tablet. It’s not Wi‑Fi — it uses FM radio, like pirate radio.”
“We can jam the frequency.”
Amir laughed for a long moment before speaking.
“I set the app so the frequency can be changed arbitrarily. I also set it so that any signal sent to jam the frequency triggers the detonation. So either way, boom.”
Jack was silent for a little while, then asked,
“Where is the QR code located?”
“I don’t know. Everything was compartmentalized. Hardware production, QR placement, activation method. By scattering the flow, it seemed designed to deter betrayal.”
Silence fell again between them. Amir lifted his eyes from the ground and said,
“Jack, I’d tell you if I knew. Only those holding a mute reader would know. Today, that’s…”
“Just Rafi?”
“That’s right.”
Silence spread between them. The call hovered like thin ice. Jack’s breathing returned slowly to the present. The underground light was narrow but it marked him clearly.
“Why are you talking?”
“Like I said. I’m tired of people dying.”
“You knew you’d talk and yet Rafi let you go unharmed? Sounds too neat to be true.”
“Maybe I’m just making it up to dupe you.”
“Jack, take it easy. Amir, don’t move.”
Veronica’s composed voice cut into the call.
“Jack, he’s quite handsome in person.”
Amir, who was standing on the opposite side of the wall from Jack, holding a receiver himself, smiled at that.
The joke across the handset dried the damp air of the concourse a little. They were tracing different faces of the same space with their fingers.
Jack tightened his grip on the receiver and nodded softly. The nod felt like a small signal matched to the city’s beat and also like the announcement of yet another endless season.
Light in the corridor flowed slowly; shadows folded and layered; the conversation seeped into the tiles and sank.
Jack looked around slowly. The NYPD officers who routinely guarded Grand Central from terror stood at the entrances. Under Veronica’s orders, they had all focused on keeping Amir within range. Red and green laser dots from M4 carbines with Picatinny rails marked Amir’s feet. Likely the red came from the terminal’s NYPD contingent and the green from Veronica’s team. Two squads had lined up their sights to contain his movement. Of course, the sights were not on Amir’s forehead.
Suddenly a sharp smack of sound struck the receiver.
“Amir, who are you?” It was Ana.
Amir’s eyes widened for an instant then he recovered.
“Was I followed? Miss Patel. And who are you? Getting in Jack’s way.”
He shrugged with his thumb and pointed to his own feet, where the red and green laser dots rested. Ana stepped forward in her voice.
“Please. Come with Jack.”
Jack added, “For now, get arrested. We’ll hear the details with Veronica.”
Veronica said nothing; Jack assumed she nodded. He switched the receiver in his hand.
Amir laughed.
“If I were to say yes and surrender, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we? Look — trains are coming in. Watch your crosshairs.”
The concourse swelled with people in the early morning. New York breathed around the terminal. The stream of humanity was the city’s pulse, its very blood flow; warmth surged through the concourse.
When Ana shifted her gaze for a moment to that tide of people, she spoke calmly and gently.
“Please. To Jack.”
Amir’s smile fell when he met her look. He accepted Ana’s gaze and said,
“Do you remember the morning at the exhibition when we first met? That wasn’t an accident. I went there to kill you.”
Ana’s eyes went white. Life drained from her gaze; the surrounding clamor carried her away and it vanished. Then, softly, she said, why?
“If you disappear, Bombay Blood in America will be just Justin and me.”
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Across the nation television networks switched to breaking news. Anchors’ voices trembled as they searched for words; the screen held still images of the scene. Smartphone notifications chimed all at once, but what arrived felt less like words than an announcement of silence.
Social feeds filled in an instant; everyone stared at the frozen time on their screens.
“What is going on…?” Hands halted midreach as people watched the images. On distant street corners, in cafés, in offices, faces of people holding their breath were shown.
An old woman on a park bench gripped her bag; a mother with a child went speechless; a driver tightened his hands on the wheel. Silence took the city’s clamor, the suburbs’ stillness, the open fields of the countryside and wrapped them all together in a single deep breath.
Emergency responses began within government agencies. Phones rang; red alarms flashed on screens. A presidential aide lost words and the pen in his hand trembled. Hallways inside the White House fell quiet; only footsteps echoed.
Words could not be pinned down; fear and confusion spread like a chain. Emergency teams moved; experts began analysis. Reports, communications, camera footage — every piece of information crossed and re-crossed — yet the four had slipped through all eyes of surveillance.
Their silence left no record, but it scored a sure claw mark on the world’s timeline.
City, state, nation, the world — all inhaled together and froze in the same instant.
The four shadows completed their mission at the center of the world without being recognized, then dissolved as shadows into the curtain of night.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
無音。
僕の新しい小説
B♭ （ビーフラット） ……. Mitsushiro Nakagawa
“あらすじ”
北朝鮮の仮想通貨システムをハッキングし、数億ドルを奪取したガザ出身のパレスチナ人グループが、アメリカ合衆国へ密かに潜入する。
彼らの目的は、失われた祖国ガザを、アメリカの地に「復元」することだった。
共和党による強硬な移民政策と、国内にくすぶる排外感情を利用し、アメリカ社会を内側から崩壊させる計画が静かに進行していく。
共和党大統領候補ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードがマディソン・スクエア・ガーデンで演説中に狙撃され、ほぼ同時刻、ロサンゼルスでは前大統領オーウェン・リードもまた、民主党候補ライアン・ベネットの集会で撃たれる。
国家を二分する双方向の暗殺。だが、ジャスティンは奇跡的に生還する。
彼の血液型は、世界でわずか250万人に一人といわれる「ボンベイブラッド」。
その希少な血を提供できたのは、ブルックリンで活動するコミュニティアート・ファシリテーター、アナヤ・パテルだった。
彼女の血液はベルビュー病院の血液バンクに保存されており、緊急輸血によって、候補者の命はかろうじて繋がれた。
シークレットサービスのジャック・バンスは、テロの背後にガザ出身の組織が関与していることを察知し、FBIロサンゼルス支局長官キャメロン・バートレット、ニューヨーク支局の特別捜査官ヴェロニカ・リーブスと共に捜査を進める。
やがて彼らは、イスラム大学で建築学を学んだラフィ・ガンナムが、ロサンゼルスやニューヨークの再開発現場に潜入し、梁や構造体の中枢にC4爆薬を仕込んでいた事実に辿り着く。
標的は、ICE（移民・関税執行局）やERO（執行・送還作戦部門）の職員が暮らす新興住宅街——すなわち、「アメリカが築いた秩序」そのものだった。
ヴェロニカは、これ以上の破壊を防ぐため、大統領への対話を進言するが、現職のグラント・ランフォード大統領は耳を貸さない。
一方、命を取り留めたジャスティンと民主党候補ライアンは、テレビを通じて国民に訴えかけ、分断を乗り越えようとする。
だが、その理性の声を嘲笑うかのように、グラントはアイオワ州での演説を強行し、「テロには屈しない」と宣言する。
その会場には、すでにラフィの仲間が率いる工作チームが潜入していた。
崩壊する会場の惨状を前に、仲間の一人アミール・ナッセルは、かつてガザで妹を失った記憶に引き裂かれ、破壊の連鎖を止めようとする。
だが、ラフィの信念は揺るがない。
ウィリアムズバーグ橋の下、夕暮れの喧騒のなか、二人は決別する。
それは、祈りと報復、希望と虚無の境界線だった——。
“登場人物”
アナヤ・パテル ２５歳 コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
アルジュン・シン ２６歳 アナヤの恋人・ルミナテック・イノベーションズ社
佐藤 ミカ ２５歳 アナの友人・コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
ジャスティン・ブラッドフォード ２７歳 共和党大統領候補
エリノア・ブレイク ２６歳 ジャスティンの婚約者
グラント・M・ランフォード大統領 ６１歳 共和党大統領現職
チャールズ・ベインズ副大統領 ６４歳 共和党副大統領現職
ライアン・ベネット ３０歳 民主党大統領候補
ソフィア・ベネット ３０歳 ライアンの妻
オーウェン・リード ６５歳 民主党前大統領
ジャック・バンス ４５歳 シークレットサービス 元FBIロサンゼルス支局
ベン・ホロウェイ ３０歳 ジャックの同僚
ダリル・ロス ２９歳 ジャックの同僚
イライジャ・ケイン ２８歳 ジャックの同僚
マーカス・デイン ４５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局
キャメロン・バートレット ５５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局 支局長
トム・コールドウェル ３８歳 FBI技術班 マーカスの部下
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス ４１歳 FBI特別捜査官
アレクサンダー・ハリス ５２歳 FBI ニューヨーク支局 支局長
エリオット・チェン ３６歳 テクノロジー班主任
アリシア・モンロー ５８歳 FBI長官
ザカリア・ハッダード ５１歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 工学部教授 ニューヨークチーム
アミール・ナッセル ２３歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 電子工学部 ニューヨークチーム
ラフィ・ガンナム ３２歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
ロハン・シャー ２９歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
マジード・ハムザ ４７歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 情報技術学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サミラ・ハンマド ２８歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 工学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サイード・カバリ ３５歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 経営学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
リーム・ナセル ３０歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 メディア学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
ノア・レヴィ 55歳 イスラエル テルアビブ在住 ユダヤ人
僕のこの小説は、来年、２０２６年２月末日に公開します。
先日、リドリースコット監督がサブスクの映画やドラマ群がつまらないと話していたようだけど、同感です。
僕も非常に退屈です。
それらに2時間を要するなら、僕の小説を２分間だけ読んで欲しい。
その2分間は、２時間を越えるでしょう。
僕は自信があります。
ぜひ、期待してお待ちください。
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
09th. Oct . 2025.
追伸
ネトフリに挑戦する男、みっちゃん。😃
( iPhone 13 pro shot )
本須賀海岸。九十九里浜。山武市。千葉県。日本。10月９日。2025. … 0.9 / 10
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images.
Taylor Swift … This Love ( 和訳 )
youtu.be/PfJzQuqWSSE?si=TrtL4Mb-uN2dNmML
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第20弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
今回で部分的な公開を最後にします。
２０２６年２月２８日。
その日にすべてを公開します。
期待して待っていてください。😃
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
「ジャック、スマホのメッセージを見ろ。またメッセージが飛び込んでいる。IPアドレスは、グランドセントラルターミナルのそばにあるニューヨーク公共図書館の分館、スタヴロス・ニアルコス財団経由だ」
ベンからのフェイスタイムだった。ガーデンのすぐそば、NYPDのミッドタウン南分署に設置された対策室で待機しているベンからだ。ベンの声はこれだけの事件が起きているにも関わらず、冷静だった。
ジャックはアイフォンに指を滑らせ、表示された短い文を確かめた。文字列は無造作に並んでいたが文の輪郭を整えているように見えた。
― グランドセントラルの地下コンコースにアーチ形の天井がある。そこへ来い。ジャック・バンス。言うまでもないがひとりでだぞ、と言っても一人ではないと思うがな ―
メッセージは、ジャックの胸の内を強く叩いた。
車はヴァンダービルト・アヴェニューを北へ抜け、グランドセントラルの南端に差しかかった。街はまだ朝を迎えきれず、ビルの谷間に籠もった湿気が金属の匂いを帯びていた。
ジャックはアクセルを抜き、黒いSUVを滑らせるように歩道ぎりぎりへ寄せた。タイヤが縁石をかすめる瞬間、路面に残る雨粒が光の筋となって跳ねた。
ジャックは重いドアを押し開き、足を落とした。靴音が一拍遅れて石畳に響いた。
彼は一度だけ背後の通りを見やると、赤いサイレンの反射がショーウィンドウの奥をよぎり、通りの影に沈む通行人の顔を、刹那だけ白く照らした。
その光の切れ目を縫うように、ジャックは地下コンコースへ降りる階段へと向かった。
通用扉は重く、金属の軋みがわずかに響いた。構内には地下鉄の呼吸のような低い唸りが満ちていた。
冷気が頬を打ち、空調ダクトの奥から、遠くの構内放送が滲んで聞こえくる。
額の汗を拭ったジャックはグランドセントラルの階段を一段飛ばしに駆け降りた。照明の琥珀色が靴底に流れ、ターミナルの心臓の鼓動のように足音が連なった。
鉄の手すりは冷たく、指先に浅い震えを伝えた。階段の奥からは人の足音が複層的に重なり、地下へと導く古いリズムを刻んでいる。アーチ型の天井は空気を柔らかに吸い込み、照明は薄く膜のように光を張っている。
地下コンコースの空気は湿り、古い煉瓦の壁は過去の雨を忘れられずに微かに匂っているようだ。床のタイルは長年の踏み跡で曇り、ところどころにひびが走って、そこへ街の小さな記憶が溜まっている。
ジャックはそれらを意識せずに歩を進めた。彼の視線は、通路の奥にある暗がりへと自然に吸い寄せられていた。そこにはいつもと同じ出勤途中の人たちが早足で過ぎていく。
壁際に並ぶ古びた看板や掲示板は、折れたチラシを枕にして眠るように貼り付いている。清掃員が一つの帯のようにモップを引き、その先でベンチが一つ、淡い孤独を描くように置かれている。
通路を流れる空気は、まるで都市の静脈のゆっくりした鼓動だとジャックは思った。自分の呼吸が、その鼓動と同じ拍に馴染むのを感じながら、歩みを進めた。
足元のタイルに光が差し、影がゆらりと伸びた。エスカレーターの金属音が遠くで微かに鳴り、階段から吹き下りる風がジャックの体にこもった熱を冷ました。街の匂いと、地下の湿り気と、古い電灯の微熱が入り混じって、時間はゆっくりと溶けてゆく。
歩を止めたジャックは掌をこすり、周囲に視線を散らした。耳に入る雑踏は、独特の反響を帯びて方向感覚を曖昧にする。彼はただ、どこかにいる「それ」を捜しているのだと自分に言い聞かせる。
再び歩き出した瞬間、金属が擦れる高音が辺りの空気を裂いた。一瞬、彼の頸筋が弾かれ、足元に微かな緊張が走った。反射的に足を止めると、視界の端で受話器が小さく揺れていた。
コードは年月の重みでねじれ、埃まみれの金属部分が鈍く光っている。誰も使わないはずの電話が、唐突に、祭りの鐘のように鳴った。都市の静寂に差し込む異音。音は低く、しかし確実に空気を震わせた。
ジャックはゆっくりと視線をそれに向けた。地下の重い空気が一瞬、膝の裏を押すように沈む。耳に届くのは自分の呼吸と、受話器の小さな振動音だけだ。周囲の人々は何事もないように通り過ぎ、母親が幼児の手を引き、老いた男が新聞を折りたたんで小脇に抱え直し、去ってゆく。
受話器はジャックを呼んでいた。沈黙の裂け目からの呼び声は、まるで古い地図の裏側で震えるインクのように、じわりと広がる。ジャックは無言で手を伸ばし、受話器を取り上げた。金属は冷たく、その冷たさが掌に現実を落とした。
「……ジャック」
声は低く、だがはっきりしていた。耳に残る音色に、時間が少しだけ逆戻りする気配があった。ネットの映像で見知った声の輪郭。しかしテレビで聞いたときとは異なり、そこには刃ではなく遠い夕焼けのような色度が含まれているようだった。
ジャックは受話器越しに、通路の端の人影や、ベンチの孤独、床に落ちた小さな紙片──それらが会話の合間に流れ込むのを感じた。声音は会話の窓に、街の細部を滑り込ませるものだ。
「どうした、アミール。覇気のない声だな」
ジャックの声は静かだが、地面に落ちる石のように重みを持っていた。受話器の向こうで、アミールがすこし鼻で笑うのが聞こえた。
「ときどきは落ち込むこともあるさ、人間だからね」
その声は穏やかで、かつ遠い。以前に見せた公の顔とは違い、こちらは影の中で磨かれたものだった。通話の間、隣を通り過ぎる親子の会話がスナップのように割り込み、また消えていった。
「ジャック、これから言うことをよく聴け。ま、録音はしてるだろうけどな」
「それはお互い様だろ」
受話器の向こうで、アミールの言葉は滑らかに落ち、地下のタイルに小さな波紋を作るようだった。周囲の雑音が一度だけ音像を濁らせ、また整頓される。母親の靴音、清掃員のモップの擦れる音、遠くの自販機の冷える音──それらが会話のリズムに交差してゆく。
「俺はこのチームから降りた。理由は、もう多くの人間が死ぬのを見たくないからだ。それだけだ」
ジャックの指先が受話器の脈動を確かめた。声は冷静を装うが、その奥に震えがあるのを彼は聴き取った。地下の照明の輪郭が、アミールの言葉ごとにわずかに滲む。
「それを信じろって言うのか？ お前らの教授、ザカリアはそんな弱音を吐くなって言ってるぞ、せっかく盛大に死んだのに」
アミールはしばらく黙り、何かを笑い飛ばすような吐息を漏らした。通路の端でキャンディを舐める子供の小さな舌音が、言葉の間を埋めた。
「で、どうしたんだ？ 失恋でもしたのか？」
「そんなところだ。この起爆装置は、これからも多くの建物を破壊する」
その一言が、受話器の内の小さな部屋を突き破った。ジャックは一瞬だけ、地下の光が薄く濁るのを見た。だが通路は相変わらず普段どおりで、誰も振り返らない。異変は音の中にしか存在しない。
「どこにどれくらいセットし、どんな仕掛けなんだ、正確に、手短に話せ。つまらないジョークは混ぜるな」
ジャックの口調は掴みかけた氷のように冷たい。受話器の向こうでアミールは静かに説明を試みるが、ジャックは言葉の細部よりもその声が持つ重さに耳を澄ます。通話の合間、壁際の電話ボックスの影が長く伸び、床に細い黒い溝を引いた。
「俺たちは、一般人で訓練されたテロリストではない。しかし、渡された情報は各個人へ分散されていた。たとえば今、俺がこうしてあんたに電話しているように裏切りが生まれた時のことを考えてね」
アミールの声は慎重で、しかし怯えはない。ジャックは受話器を耳にしっかり押し当て、周囲の生活音がそのまま説明の布地となって織り込まれていくのを感じていた。通路の端で老女がバッグを直す音、遠くでシャッターが開く小さな仕事のはじまりの合図が聞こえた。
「俺たちが潜入したのは、今から５年ほど前だ。その頃に建てられていた建造物の中枢にC4を仕掛けた。ラフィは大学で建築学を学んでいたからね。崩壊する様子はもうネットでも１００万回再生だからわかってるだろう。起爆させるためには、ミュートリーダーというQRコードを読み取る昔の携帯電話が必要だ。それとペアで独自に俺がつくったタブレットもだ。このタブレットのバッテリー部分、3分の２にC4を埋め込んだ。このタブレットも大昔にあった指紋認証式のタブレットだ。俺が作ったタブレットは2台だ。それがロサンゼルスとニューヨークに分かれて存在している」
「つまり、起爆装置は2台か？」
「わからない。俺の他にも電子工学部の人間がいたからな。それからQRコードを読み取る携帯電話は大昔、あまりに特殊すぎて売れずに浸透しなかった機器だ」
「どういう流れで起爆させるんだ？」
「あるサイトに特殊なQRコードが設置されているらしい。そこに携帯電話をかざして読み込む。QRコードは３Dレイヤーだ。コードが立体的に浮かび上がって解読し、起爆させるコードへ変換させ、電波で飛ばす」
「電波？ Wi-Fiではなくか？」
「Wi-Fiだったら、あんたらすぐに止められるだろ？ そこは俺がタブレットを改造した。Wi-FiではなくFM電波だ、パイレーツラジオ（海賊ラジオ）と同じ仕組みだ」
「ならば、周波数を駆逐できるぞ」
アミールはしばらく笑ってからいった。
「周波数はいくらでも変えられるようにアプリを設定した。ちなみに周波数を妨害しようと発せられた電波も起爆するようセットした。つまり、いずれにしても、ドカンだ」
ジャックは、しばらく沈黙してから続けた。
「QRコードは、どこのサイトにあるんだ？」
「わからない。すべての過程で分散している。ハードの製造、QRコードの場所、起爆させる操作。流れを散らすことで、裏切りを抑止しているようだった」
ふたりの間に再び沈黙が落ちた。アミールは、足元に落とした視線を引き上げて、いった。
「ジャック、ここまで話しているんだから、知っていたら話しているさ。つまり、ミュートリーダーを手にしている人間にしかわからない。今で言うなら ….」
「ラフィだけ、か」
「そのとおりだ」
二人の間に沈黙が落ち、通話は薄い氷の上で揺れている。ジャックの呼吸がゆっくりと現実を取り戻した。地下の光は細く、しかししっかりと彼を照らしている。
「アミール、どうして話す？」
「さっきもいったとおりだ。人の死にはうんざりだ」
「お前がこうして喋ることがわかっているのに、ラフィはお前を無傷で解放したのか？ この話を信じるにはうますぎないか？」
「確かに。俺が適当なことをいって、あんたらをカモるかもね」
「ジャック、お疲れ様、アミール、その場を動かないで」
ヴェロニカの落ち着いた声が二人の通話に割り込んだ。
「ジャック、実物はなかなかの男前だな」
そういったアミールは、ちょうどジャックのいる壁面の反対側で受話器を手にしていた。
受話器越しの冗談は、地下の湿った空気を幾分、乾かせた。彼らは同じ空間の別々の面を指でなぞっているようだ。
ジャックは受話器を握りなおし、静かに頷いた。その頷きは、街の鼓動に合わせた小さな合図のようでもあり、また終わりのない季節の一端を告げるものでもあった。通路の光がゆるやかに流れ、影が折り重なり、会話は地下のタイルにゆっくりと染み渡っていった。
ジャックは、ゆっくり辺りを見渡した。元々、グランドセントラルターミナルをテロから守る為に、日常的に警護していたNYPDが出入り口に構えている。非常事態の現在、ヴェロニカの指示で一斉にアミールを射程内に捕らえていた。ピカティニーレールを持ったM4カービンの赤とグリーンのレーザーサイトがアミールの両足に張り付いていた。おそらく、赤はターミナルのNYPDで、グリーンがヴェロニカのチームだろう。二つの班がアミールの動きを封じようと照準を定めていた。もちろん、照準はアミールの額にはない。
突然、ジャックの受話器の向こうから頬を叩く音が響いた。
「アミール、あなたは何者なの？」
その声はアナだった。
アミールは一瞬目を丸くしたが、すぐに自分を取り戻した。
「ジャック、つけられてたのか？ ミス・パテル。君こそ何者なんだ？ ジャックの邪魔をしているよ」
彼はそういって親指を逆さにし、自分の足を示した。そこには、赤とグリーンのレーザーサイトが静かに張り付いていた。アナはアミールに詰め寄ると言い放った。
「いっしょに出頭して」
その言葉にジャックは付け足した。
「とりあえず捕まれ。詳しい話は、ヴェロニカといっしょに聞いてやる」
ヴェロニカは足さなかったが、おそらく頷いているだろうと思いながら、ジャックは受話器を持ち替えた。
アミールは一笑した。
「言うまでもないが、はい、わかりましたというなら、ここで対話してないよな。ほら、列車がたくさん到着したぞ、照準に気をつけな」
早朝のターミナルに、人が溢れ出した。ターミナルを中心にニューヨークは呼吸している。人の流れは、都市の脈動であり、血流そのものだ。コンコースには人の熱気が溢れ出していた。
溢れた人の流れに一瞬目を移すと、アナは冷静に、そして穏やかな眼差しでいった。
「おねがい。ジャックのところへ」
アミールも同じように笑みを消すと、アナの視線を受け入れ、いった。
「君に初めて会った展示の朝を覚えているかい？ あれは偶然じゃない。僕は君を殺しに行ったんだ」
アナの視線が白くなった。眼差しからは生気が失せ、周囲の喧騒に流され、消えていった。そして、どうして？ と小さく言葉を落とした。
「君が消えれば、アメリカでボンベイブラッドは、ジャスティンと僕だけだ」
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全国のテレビ局が緊急報道に切り替わった。
キャスターの声は震え、言葉を探す間、画面には会場の静止した映像が映った。スマートフォンの通知が一斉に鳴り、しかし、届くのは言葉ではなく、静寂の報せのように感じられた。
SNSのタイムラインは瞬く間に情報で埋まり、誰もが画面の中で止まった時間を見つめていた。
「どういうことだ…？」画面を見つめる手が、思わず止まる。
画面の向こう、遠くの街角でも、カフェでも、オフィスでも、息を呑む人々の姿が映る。
公園のベンチに座る老女は、手にしたバッグを握りしめ、子供を抱く母親は言葉を失い、運転中の男性はハンドルを握る手に力を込めた。
沈黙は、都市の喧騒、郊外の静けさ、田舎の広野を一斉に包み込み、世界を一つの深い呼吸に束ねた。
政府機関では緊急対応が始まっていた。電話が鳴り、スクリーンに赤い警報が灯っている。大統領補佐官は言葉を失い、ペンを握る手が微かに震えている。ホワイトハウス内の廊下は、普段の喧騒を消し、足音だけが響いた。
誰も正確に理解できないまま、言葉は混乱と恐怖の連鎖として広がっていく。政府内の応急対応が動き、専門家たちが分析を開始する。報告書、通信、カメラ映像、あらゆる情報が交錯するが、四人の存在は、すべての監視の目をすり抜けていた。
四人の沈黙は、記録に残らず、しかし世界の時間軸に確実な爪痕を刻んだのだ。
都市、州、国家、世界 — すべてが一瞬にして同じ呼吸をし、同じ時間の中で凍りついた。
四人の影は、誰にも認識されることなく、世界の中心でその使命を終え、影のまま、夜の帳の中に溶け込んでいった。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
For japanese
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
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「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
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2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
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Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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To celebrate the 75th anniversary of the introduction of the RT bus, a special service was operated over part of the old route 22 in London.
All my images are my copyright and cannot be used, altered or distributed in any way, shape or form without expressed written permission by myself. All Rights Reserved.
If you want to get this look for free you can win this preset! Click on the link here: www.photoserge.com/share
Throwback to the Yosemite photo I did few months ago, I tried to recreate the Ansel Adams look!
Pan House 4 recreates the working environment where the brine was boiled fired by the furnaces below. This images works better in mono as the son et lumiere presentation colours seem unnatural.
This really was pushing tripod / flash less photography to the limits. I rested the camera on the rail of the viewing gallery. 0.5 sec at f4 ASA 2000!
More photographs of the Lion Salt Works can be found here: www.jhluxton.com/Industrial-Archaeology/Lion-Salt-Works
The Lion Salt Works is the last remaining open pan salt works in Marston, near Northwich, Cheshire, England. It closed as a works in 1986 and is now preserved as an industrial museum.
The Lion Salt Works was built in 1894 when John Thompson Junior and Henry Ingram Thompson purchased the site of the Red Lion Hotel, adjacent to the bridge on the Ollershaw Lane in Marston. John Thompson Junior retired shortly afterward to Eddisbury Hall in Macclesfield. Henry Ingram Thompson sunk a brine shaft built a brine tank and engine house and built the first pan and stove house (number 1) on site around the Red Lion Hotel. By 1899 the orginal Red Lion Hotel had been demolished and two cottages converted to the Red Lion Inn. This allowed them to build two further pan and stove houses (2 and 3).
On-site there were also two butter pans and two fishery pans. A Manager's House and Smithy were built at the south-west of the site. By 1906 a mineral railway had been built that extended to the south of the site.
Henry Ingram Thompson ran the site with his sons Jack Thompson and Alan Kinsey Thompson. The salt works exported salt to Canada, North America and West Africa. The domestic market saw salt sold to Cheshire, Manchester and Liverpool.
Between the first and the second world wars, the salt works saw little change. New markets were opened up with salt sold to Denmark for salting bacon. However, the advent of the Second World War meant these markets were disrupted. In 1937 Henry Ingram Thompson died. His sons Jack Thompson and Alan Kinsey Thompson ran the business. They dug a new brine borehole and pump.
Henry Lloyd Thompson joined the firm in 1947 after the Second World War. He had just finished his military service in the Royal Navy. He was to run the salt works for the next forty years.
Henry Lloyd Thompson was joined by his second cousin Jonathan in the early 1960s. They sought to diversify and modernize the salt works. New techniques were introduced including an automated pan and converting the works to run on reclaimed oil. The Thompson's produced their own brand salt from the late 1960s in an attempt to create new markets. They eventually opened the Lion Salt Works as a working museum between 1980 and 1986.
During the 20th century, more efficient methods of extracting and refining salt were developed and by the late 1960s the works was the only business continuing to use the open pan process in the country. The business closed down in 1986 when the West African markets, the major purchaser of 'Lagos Salt', began to decline.
Henry Lloyd and Jonathan Thompson eventually closed the Lion Salt Works in 1986.
The site was then acquired by the local council reopening as an industrial museum in 2015.
I recreated an image from 2009, same dress, totally different Lex.
Hope all is well on your end of things flickr universe, if you miss me you can find me here
snapchat: lexikaan
This morning I received the DPS Weekend Photography Challenge: Recreate a Famous Portrait. Immediately I knew I wanted to participate. (What fun, right?!)
I just had no idea how much time it would involve. :P
I found one of my absolute favorite Norman Rockwell paintings (The Prom Dress), and decided it was "The One" to recreate.
Everything was either in an attic, basement, or my mum's or my closet. :P We had to tear the living room apart to make a good set. (the only place in the house that even kind of looked like the picture) The boys weren't so happy with us, because we were shooting where the TV usually is... meaning that the Playoff game was on hold.
How dare we, eh? ;)
Anyway, I know it's not perfect, but I think that 3 hours gather and prepping, and an hour and 1/2 editing is my limit for right now.
I have to go clean up and work on my list of "To-Do's" for this weekend. *laughs*
Here is the original, if you'd like to see it:
imagecache5.art.com/p/LRG/22/2207/E1ZAD00Z/norman-rockwel...
Have a GREAT weekend everyone! :D
A bonus Patreon image from the 1980s Generation of Justice Photoshoot.
This was mostly photographed to recreate that famous panel we all know and love so well! :)
(Uploaded November 2017)
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Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everybody!
2018 has been a crazy year for me! Having to do my best maintaining uploads while waiting on figures throughout the year, while also working two jobs on top of running the Patreon account!
If I thought I didn't have free time before, I'm impressed that I can get anything done at all! :P
Anyway, I'm sure you all remember last year I shared some of my favorite bonus posts from Patreon over the course of 2017. I felt like you all really enjoyed that, so here's only a teeny tiny fraction of what I've shared to Patreon in that time! (Plus a bit from the end of 2017)
If you like what I do, or the art that I put out to the world, I encourage you to join my Patreon page to see 100% of the work I put out there. It takes time and money and sweat and tears and blood (on more occasions than I'd like to admit) :P
If you too would like to be part of the club, be sure to join me over there and you'll get to see all of this stuff (plus more) as it's posted through-out the year! In 2019, I already have new projects scheduled including photoshoots for The Dark Knight Interrogation Room, More Dr Fate, Iron Man and Captain America, New Brickheadz, New Frontier Batman, Shazam etc... and these will be available to you first, plus bonus content for each of those uploads :)
So just think what you're missing out on! Think of what's to come! Help support the content you see here, and join some of our other flickr friends!
Here's a very special thanks and a happy holidays to all of you!
But a truly grateful thank you goes out to JamPotStudios, Phoenix Custom Bricks, Sara Ahh, Fan Xu, Metrix, | Jonathan |, DoctorLate28, ParisCustomBricks, Taylor Mazzone, My Mom, and of course a very special thank you to my first Patron (who's still with me today), Mr Anthony Scott himself! :)
You all do so much and help keep the lights on here in the photography studio. I couldn't have made it as far as I have now without you guys! :)
Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year to all you champs! See you in 2019! Woo! :D
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Patreon: andrewcookston
Instagram: a.cookston.photography
Twitter: @acookston_photo
Facebook: andrewcookstonphotography/
Model wearing a Alice Nightingale creation , an all paper dress made from copies of Frankie magazine . A fashion parade with a difference showcasing clothing made entirely from recycled paper ..
Paper Couture Parade
Brisbane
So this is my first time merging photos and doing the whole square crop thing, and this has way too much editing than I originally intended. But, this is different for me.
This might be the start of a 'childhood' series.
Jake Hegel Photography Facebook page: www.facebook.com/pages/Jake-Hegel-Photography/21335669868...
Deviantart: www.jakehegel.deviantart.com/
Here comes my second try for the weekly theme 'Recreate A Favourite Image' for my 365 group.
Today i recreated one of my favourite Réné Magritte paintings 'La Reproduction Interdite'.
Shot with my Fuji X100's, created in Photoshop with different layers. After this, i used various presets in Aperture.
April 28th. Recreate a favourite image. I thought I'd try and emulate some of you lovely people this week. It will be pretty hard to imitate actual places (no Gelt round here), but I hope it will be fun, if I can find time!
Anyway I hope you will recognise my poor imitation of one of Karyn's food shots. Yes I did actually make the raspberry jam and the scones in order to recreate this pic. I love all Karyn's work, her macros are stunning and her food photography sublime, not to mention the recipes that accompany them. She gets an amazing light in her pics, maybe it's Australian, because try as I might i can't get it quite right. so i've added the jofolo light blue rinse to this!
She has an exhibition in Melbourne soon. I wish I could get there
Karyn - i hope you like!
In a scene that could have been captured sixty years ago, ‘Hymek’ D7017 arrives at Blue Anchor with the 14.30 Minehead to Bishops Lydeard service on 20 May, 2023. The West Somerset Railway lends itself to such recreations, thanks to the quality of its infrastructure restoration and relative lack of obtrusive lineside development, although the latter is beginning to change in some locations.
Created for Art Week Gallery - 29 May to 4 June our theme is:
~~~ Recreating Asia ~~~
www.flickr.com/groups/temporaryexhibitionsartgallery/
The Lion of Buddha's original significance was as a guardian presence in a Buddhist temple.
With thanks to Cindy Mc for the Lion Dog
The Buddha, Lantern and background are from my photos.
Editors: GIMP, Picasa