View allAll Photos Tagged Shift
A pair of FORD two-door coupes on display at the annual "All USA" car show.
(1 of 2) A beautiful 1956 Ford Victoria.
(2 of 2) 1967 Ford Mustang GT500.
Queanbeyan, New South Wales, Australia.
Playing with different camera effects in the rain today i caught this guy who looked like he was shape shifting.
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Well hey there ladies and gentlemen. So, I've long promised it and here we go. Nothing too new in terms of style, but this is pretty recent and by far the most recent shot I've posted in a long while.
Anyhow, I'll post ya a few new snaps and then most likely go back to the archive diving. My catalogue is in a complete mess and I'm slowly starting to tidy it up and relink photos to files etc etc. So I figure, as I start to build a few new quality pics to share, I'll be finding plenty I've never posted before from years ago along with some old favourites. Hope you enjoy and cheers.
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I don't have tilt-shift lens, but I have hands and old helios! :)
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Shimano bar end shifter on my "urban cycle" created after I redid this former high end Norco Nitro mountain bike that I bought in 1993. I took off the Rock Shox, replaced them with a more traditional front fork to suit the bike. See other previous photo for more information.
Selfmade fixed shift camera format 24mm / 83mm shift 4mm
4mm shift down
diesmal nur schwarz weiß weil ich selbst scannen musste um das volle format anzuzeigen
The constant battle of the photographer and the waves. Trying to catch just the right motions, without getting wet, is really just foolish. I think if I had any advice for a new seascape photographer, it would be, expect to get wet, use a ten stop filter, and just play with different shutter speeds until you're consistently getting something that you like, and don't get your $5,000 camera wet with sea water. Because salt water and electronics ... well they just don't mix. I was shooting an XT1 next to a rock once in San Diego and took the equivalent of a bucket of sea water on the camera. It still worked fine, weather sealed, but over time things began sticking. Doesn't matter the camera, sea water is eventual death. It will also probably kill your tripod. The price we pay I suppose.
I like this shot because I was alone this night. No one else there. Such a beautiful place, and wonderful soft light to be alone. I fully expected the usual hordes. No one. Not sure why, don't care, it was relaxing to not have to worry about being in anyone's way and not have to stake out my spot. I think I love freedom in general, so when expecting to be bogged down, it's nice to have wings and be able to flutter a bit.
The Fireman moves some coal in the tender before the next turn of duty.
Kidderminster station during Severn Valley Railway Winter steam gauge gala.
3rd January 26.
creative commons by marfis75
Twitter: @marfis75
License: cc-by-sa
you are free to share, adapt - attribution: Credits to "marfis75 on flickr"
1° tilt-shift.
(ou 1° tentativa né, pq não tá parecendo muito)
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Como disse nessa foto aqui: Be Free, perto de casa existe esse pasto onde já brinquei muito quando mais novo.
Meus amigos e eu andávamos muito longe além dessas torres para se aventurar em fazendas particulares, (algumas vezes os donos corriam atrás de nós haha) buscar frutas, nadar em açudes e tals.
e pipas então? era o lugar perferito.
chegava as Férias escolares e o céu forrava de pipas de todas as cores e tamanhos,
no fim da tarde só restavam os melhores.
eu não era muito bom em soltar pipas, mas bom em correr atrás dos que eram cortados,
subia em árvores, sumia nesse mato mas voltava com o tal do pipa. haha
as vezes bate tanta saudade desse tempo. =/
hj é difícil ver um pipa no alto :/
o que aconteceu com essa garotada?
Enfim, essa é a visão que tenho da rua de casa.
ah, esse arco-íris? a hora que vi, corri em casa pegar a câmera. o/
[mais nos coments]
The wind rolled across the desert like a sigh, reshaping the endless waves of golden dust. James Wren wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted his pack. He had walked this road for three days in search of a gas station to refuel his car. His water was low. His hope, lower.
Then he heard it.
A faint, crackling melody, twisting through the wind. It was impossible — a tune that didn’t belong to the desert, something old, something ghostly. He looked ahead, searching for the source.
At first, he thought it was a trick of the heat. But there it was, abandoned on the road — a rusting car from another time. The windshield was shattered, the doors long eroded by sand and wind. But the radio, impossibly, still played.
James approached cautiously. The melody wavered and dipped, 1930’s jazz, the kind played in smoky speakeasies a century ago.
His fingers brushed against the corroded metal of the door. A whisper of a voice rose out of the music.
"…always knew you’d find me…"
James’ breath hitched. He stepped back, pulse hammering. The voice was thin, feminine, stretched with age. It wasn’t a recording. It was speaking.
"It’s been so long, Jimmy."
The desert was empty. No one had called him Jimmy since —
No.
He swallowed hard. He forced himself to look inside.
The dial of the radio glowed. The voice rose from the speaker.
"You promised me a drive to the coast, Jimmy. You never came back."
He remembered. A lifetime ago, or maybe a hundred lifetimes. The night he ran. The night he left her behind.
The music crackled, fading in and out.
"I waited. I waited, Jimmy."
The wind howled and the sand began to shift.
The radio let out one last, ghostly note before falling silent.
Midjourney, Photoshop
of course another evening catboy stroll — and while yesterday the kría (arctic terns) were still their usual nesting-season aggressive, this evening they checked us out but then flew off hunting over the water — the season is already waning…
There is a moment—quiet, almost secret—when the boundary between your inner landscape and the outer world dissolves. Not dramatically. Not with revelation. More like a soft unfastening. A loosening of edges. The kind of shift you only notice because something inside you suddenly feels less alone.
In that hush, the world doesn’t feel separate from you.
It feels like an extension of your own interior weather.
And the presences that shaped you rise—not as memories, not as stories, but as sensations woven into that weather.
The gentle ones become the warmth in your chest,
the part of you that softens even when you don’t mean to.
Their imprint is the quiet reassurance that tenderness once found you,
and that it still lives somewhere inside your breath.
The steady ones become the grounding beneath your thoughts,
the inner gravity that keeps you from drifting too far from yourself.
Their presence is the calm you feel without knowing why.
The storm‑bearers become the deeper currents—
the places where your inner world has ridges, shadows, depth.
They shaped the parts of you that can hold intensity,
that can feel without collapsing,
that can stand in truth even when it shakes.
And the luminous ones—
the rare souls who revealed you to yourself—
become the thin, impossible light that moves through your inner horizon.
Not bright. Not overwhelming.
Just enough to show you the shape of your own being.
When the world and the self blur, all of these textures gather.
Not as separate influences,
but as one continuous presence inside you.
You feel the warmth and the weight,
the calm and the storm,
the scattered and the whole—
each one a trace of someone who once touched your life
and now lives as part of your inner atmosphere.
And in that merging, a quiet understanding rises:
You are not yourself alone.
You are a single grain on the endless shore.
Shaped by every presence that ever reached you,
held by tides far larger than your own.
Lost
Lake Bumbunga
South Australia
Over the easter weekend, I had a great time visiting the nearest salt lake to Adelaide (130km north of the city). The lake was pretty dry but a few hundred metres from the shore, I saw some planks lieing there as though they had been there for years. The trails they had made reminded me of those boulders in Death Valley (which I have yet to visit!) - I can't explain how these deepset planks would do this though!
Timelapse of the morning here : Bumbunga Dawn Timelapse
It always happens. I peak round the door as I get the dogs ready for their morning walk, it’s flat dull and tossing down, so I decided to leave the camera. The walk is as damp as I expected but on the home leg I come across this little scene in the field. The horses have all congregated underneath a willow tree to keep dry, it looks lovely, but no camera. As I get home I leave the wet dogs in the porch and quickly pick up a camera and a tripod, jump in the car and nip back up to the field. When I get there the scene is even better, rather than the huddle I left 10 minutes ago I now have another horse trying to negotiate room underneath the willow. “Go on, shift along mate. I’m not moving.” You’ll be glad to know within a few frames, room is found and horsey get comfortably under the tree. I do like a happy ending.
Shot using the 28mm f3.5 SHIFT Lens
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Thank you
time goes on
always forward
run to keep up
or fall behind
picking up pieces
filling in cracks
don't look behind
the past
is the past.
always forward
but don't forget
memories
and our past
let us move ahead
let us become
let us evolve
let us change
and so
there is
a slight
shift left.
The trees leaning towards Spring. A great day with a magnificent shape shifting sky changing every few minutes.
~