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Thanks to a suggestion from Ingrid in OZ, have recropped the previous image which gives a much better balance. Taking out the sun, which was hideously overblown, has allowed tweaks elsewhere in the image including a general warming up. Not sure if it's still right but much better. Thanks Ingrid - great to have a fresh pair of eyes to provide some inspiration!
As previously, this is Traigh Stir beach on the north west coast of North Uist.
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The liquid project nr: 44
The goal: make 50 shots related with liquid.
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52 weeks of 2020, week 21 Food photography...
Reports are that because of the lockdown/quarantine in many communities around the world, there is a renewed interest in home cooking and baking...
So, this week let's focus on photographing the food that is being made in your household in the last several months.
Nothing much has changed for us, in terms of the food we eat. Stir fry is a regular on our menu, usually with chicken, so here are some of the ingredients. Of course, our cat Dora was very interested in this topic, see photo in comments. She even rearranged the onion and garlic :-)
Juicy pork, crunchy carrots and sweet sauteed red bell pepper combined with unagi sauce, soy sauce and sesame seed oil. Amazing flavor bomb!
" I looked around and could not find quite the car I dreamed of, so I decided to build it myself" - Ferdinand 'Ferry' Porsche
Watersmeet House,
Lynmouth,
Devon.
9sec Exposure with Kase Filters.
Watersmeet House is a National Trust property located some 1.8 miles (2.9 km) east of Lynmouth, in the English county of Devon. A former fishing lodge, it is today used as an information centre, tea room and shop by the National Trust. Adjoining the house is the Watersmeet SSSI, a Site of Special Scientific Interest.
The house, which dates from approximately 1832, was built for Walter Stevenson Halliday. It stands at the bottom of a deep gorge at the confluence of the East Lyn River and Hoar Oak Water. The house itself lies on the east bank of the river in the civil parish of Brendon and Countisbury, although the other bank is in Lynton and Lynmouth parish. Approximately 200 metres (660 ft) from the house on the bank of the river are a pair of lime kilns dating from the late 18th or early 19th century. Watersmeet House is the starting-off point for some 40 miles (64 km) of woodland, streamside and seaside walks. The site has been a tea garden since 1901, and has been owned by the National Trust since 1936.
The 348 hectares (860 acres) Watersmeet SSSI, partly situated on land also owned by the National Trust, includes an extensive area of ancient oak woodland. The woodland is notable for its endemic species of tree - the "No Parking Whitebeam" (Sorbus admonitor).
Agent provocateur. No, not the lingerie. (More on that story later.)
Alright, I admit it, it's a wind up. Albeit one with a serious purpose.
But I do truly admire Professor Peterson for his noble stand against Justin Trudeau's thought police and for other things besides. That doesn't mean that I agree with everything he says and I am sure that he holds beliefs that I do not share. But I'm not one of those saddoes who feels the need to trawl through everything he has ever said or written in order to be offended.
On my profile page it says "Trans Activists Do Not Speak For Me". Prime examples being those who invade Dr Peterson's speaking events and shout him down. But there are many others from whom I wish to distance myself.
Expressing that wish has resulted in me being blocked by a couple of posters here and banned from one crossdressers' site.
No skin off my nose. That's their privilege. But this is my gaff where I get to vent my spleen without interference.
For a start, who are these activists? Clearly the vast majority are not trans people. There is no way that a group comprising of less than 1% of the population could make the other 99% dance to their tune no matter how loudly they screamed and shouted.
So obviously we have "allies". Who are these so-called allies? What are the terms of this alliance? What do they get out of it? I don't remember signing up for it or even having its terms spelled out to me.
Well one group of them belong to the Socialist Workers Party. You see their logo on the placards carried at many a trans rally. I saw one of their stickers on a traffic light last year in London demanding trans rights and "liberation now". Liberation from what exactly?
Why on Earth should I ally myself with this ultra-left Trotskyist organisation and assist them in their attempt to destroy western society? As Douglas Murray has pointed out that is the goal of so many of the most militant activists who attach themselves to any and every cause in order to create mayhem.
On the subject of rights, what exactly are the rights being denied me that I should be fighting for? Chief among them would seem to be the right to remain permanently out of earshot of any opinion that I disagree with.
Give me a break. I'm not the pathetic snowflake that so many of you seem to be.
"Trans Rights are Human Rights" is a slogan often seen and heard at demonstrations. Does that work the other way? Are human rights trans rights? It certainly does not look that way. So many of these hooligans claiming to act for me are striving to deny me the fundamental human right of free speech. Or I'm expected to trade it for the right to dress as I please.
I wasn't expected to surrender my human rights when I started going out dressed 40 years ago and I'll be damned if I surrender them now.
And another thing...
... stop sexualising children. Stop sending drag queens into kindergartens to tell them there are 73 different genders. Stop initiating medical procedures on three year olds that will ruin their lives. Stop classifying every little girl who likes climbing trees and every little boy who likes the feel of soft fabrics as trans. Stop locking up rapists in women's prisons. Stop trying to trans the gay away. Stop the misogyny and the invasion of women's spaces.
At the very least stop doing it in my name allegedly for my benefit.
Stir it up little darling, stir it up
Come on baby come on and stir it up little darling, stir it up
It's been a long long time since I've got you on my mind
And now you are here
I say it's so clear
To see what we can do, honey, just me and you
Come on and stir it up, little darling, stir it up
Come on baby come on and stir it up little darling, stir it up
I'll push the wood, I'll blaze your fire
Then I'll satisfy your heart's desire
Said I'll stir it up, yeah, ev'ry minute, yeah
All you got to do is keep it in, baby
And stir it up, little darling, stir it up
Come on and stir it up, oh, little darling, stir it up, yeah
Stir It Up ~ Bob Marley
benjie.galvez.googlepages.com/06StirItUp.mp3
*Dedicated to my friend Moni
Playa Del Rey, California
Choy Sum is one of the most popular vegetables among the Chinese and is probably the most popular vegetable in Hong Kong. It is now also widely used in the western world; a member of the Mustard family is also referred to as a flowering pak choy or choy sum. Its green leaves are juicy and tender.
CC Most Versatile - Eat Your Veggies
Some of the vegetables in this dish came in a package of precut, mixed veggies. I don't plan on doing that again as the cutting makes them go bad quicker. And the asparagus was quite woody. They must have used the parts of the plant that I would normally cut off when prepping. Also, the precut round carrots are just plain boring and make me think of cafeteria food. The food was still delicious, with added flavors of wine, ginger, lemon grass paste, and low sodium soy sauce.
Another one from early morning on the levels in 2009 - starting to go stir crazy with the lack of good photo days this month so far, hoping the forecasted frost for Saturday morning pays dividends!
There's nothing that yells summer like a flock of seagulls and their 'cawing' with the ocean waves in the background.
All my photographs are Copyrighted! You need my permission to use any photo.
Our labrador Venz shaking off after swimming.
Appropriately enough, after my post this morning about the novel Sailing to Sarantium, I finished its sequel tonight, The Lord of Emperors, a fictional retelling of the lives of the men and women at the time this dome was built, all those centuries ago. I would tell you the novel is an amazingly moving story, gripping and poignant, that leaves one both stirred and stilled. But I am not sure how much of that is true because of where I have stood, under that very dome, looking and listening. Because if you take a moment, just a moment, in such a place to look up and imagine centuries ago a man laying on a scaffold, fitting pieces of glass after pieces of glass across an immense dome - the largest dome ever built at that time, you see and hear certain things that stay with you even after you leave. You can see him finishing and coming all the way down from such a height, physical and metaphorical, and wonder what must he have seen? And did he have any idea of what he built and what it might endure, and who might stand here hundreds of years later and wonder about him? It never fails to amaze me in such places that man will build such things. We all must die, and perhaps that is why we do. To not just cast a stone haphazardly into the ever-flowing river of time, but to position a rock firmly in place that will change currents, collect uncounted lives over a barely measurable large amount of time. That is what Hagia Sophia is, a stone in a river, lives like mine flowing in and then by, but caught for at least a little while in an eddy around it. A pause or a slowing at least in the nature of time.
It is humbling to think of this building being built and then being decorated and then being used. To be with a camera and wanting to make a photo of it, it can even be intimidating in a way, not that I let that sort of thing stop me. It helps to realize that I am just tossing pebbles myself, and I am ok with that. But it was quite an experience to stand here for as long as I did. They took my tripod away when I entered, but allowed me to enter with a pinhole camera. A pinhole camera with 100 speed film, mind you. That translated to 15 minute exposures, more or less. And you might be inclined to think that such a device is merely a tool for making photographs, recording the places you went before you left them in search of other places to go. And you wouldn't be wrong, but nor would you be entirely right either. For me it is a reason to stop, to wait, to listen and to remember that we can learn to listen with parts of us other than our ears, which are capable of only hearing a certain thing. If one listens carefully you can imagine you might be able to hear the whispered oaths of the mosaicists. Or the laments sung at times of grief. Or a thousand raised voices singing praise in unison. Millions of feet shuffling by. Or even an emperor, a ruler of men and women who will be written about long after he is dust and memory, taking a moment from matters of state to offer a prayer to his god. Or you can imagine the creak of a wooden ladder nailed to the side of a scaffold as an artisan descends from the heights where he was creating what I now see.
Places like this give you a lot to listen for, and when that current finally does catch you again and carry you on, you are no longer quite the same.