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I took a Butterfly Photography class sponsored by Desert Botanical Garden and taught by Joanne West. I learned a lot and practiced a lot. I really feel that I had improved significantly by the end of the class.
We had a classroom presentation followed by private hands-on practice in the Butterfly Pavilion.
I believe this is a common Garden Snail. Any correction will be appreciated. I was a couple of seconds slow in getting a good photograph. Looks like I need to stick to Landscape Photography and not try sports or wildlife photography.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornu_aspersum
Cornu aspersum (syn. Helix aspersa, Cryptomphalus aspersus), known by the common name garden snail, is a species of land snail in the family Helicidae, which includes some of the most familiar land snails. Of all terrestrial molluscs, this species may well be the most widely known. It was classified under the name Helix aspersa for over two centuries, but the prevailing classification now places it in the genus Cornu.
I believe this is common Primrose. Any correction will be appreciated.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primula_vulgaris
Primula vulgaris, the common primrose, is a species of flowering plant in the family Primulaceae, native to Eurasia.[2][3] The common name is primrose,[4] or occasionally common primrose or English primrose to distinguish it from other Primula species referred to as primroses.
Desert Botanical Garden has an incredible collection of plants and cacti arranged in a beautiful park setting.
"Think the desert is all dirt and tumbleweeds? Think again. Desert Botanical Garden is home to thousands of species of cactus, trees and flowers from all around the world spread across 55 acres in Phoenix, Arizona."
dbg.org/visit/butterfly-pavilion/
Desert Botanical Garden
DBG Butterfly class
Shame Meets the Mercy of Jesus
Christine Caine, Unashamed: Drop the Baggage, Pick Up Your Freedom, Fulfill Your Destiny
Hi, I'm Christine.
At dawn one morning, Jesus went to the temple to teach. The people gathered round, ready to be taught — but the Pharisees rushed up, bringing a woman with them.
Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery,” they said. — John 8:4
My heart catches at the thought of what this woman must have been feeling. Can you imagine her fear? And above all, her humiliation? Caught in the act, yanked from under the covers, dragged through the streets under the stares of her neighbors. Was she covering her face, crying, pleading, silent? We don’t know. But she had to be aware that there would be no erasing the damage now done to her reputation, that she would from this day forward be the subject of whispers and fodder for the town gossips. She had, after all, been caught in the act. She had violated the law.
We know nothing of what may have driven her to this. Was she a repeat offender? Had she been seduced, perhaps even pressured or forced, by an unscrupulous man? Did she give in, in a moment of weakness, to something that she thought might bring her some relief in a loveless marriage? The Bible doesn’t say. What led her to commit adultery is not the point of the story, but rather Jesus’ response to her when her shameful adultery was publicly exposed.
We cannot help but notice that only the woman was brought before Jesus. Isn’t someone conspicuously missing from the scene? Apparently, only the woman — not her lover — was considered enough of an offender to be brought to the temple for immediate judgment. For a woman, adultery was not just a cause of deep shame but also potentially a capital offense.
The Pharisees challenged Jesus:
In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do You say? — John 8:5
The Bible doesn’t leave any doubt about what these men were attempting to do. This wasn’t a matter of wanting to adhere to the purest interpretation of justice according to the law. They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing Him (John 8:6). This woman was their bait. Would Jesus give a nod to stoning her, or disregard the law? Either way, they must have thought, we win.
Jesus didn’t take the bait. And notice how cleverly He distracted the attention of the crowd from the humiliated woman; He knelt and wrote on the ground with His finger. Imagine the crowd’s puzzlement as they watched Him. The Pharisees probably looked at each other, confused, and remained silent for a few moments to see whether He would speak. When He didn’t, they began assaulting Him with questions again, and eventually He stood and uttered the lines that have echoed through the minds of people of conscience ever since:
Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her. — John 8:7
And He knelt and wrote on the ground again.
What was it that he was writing on the ground? A list of the sins of those who stood in judgment? The name of the missing man? It would be fascinating to find out, but that’s not what impresses me most about these verses. I find it a measure of Jesus’ mercy toward the woman that, once again, He draws all eyes away from her and toward Himself as He knelt.
I try to imagine myself in the woman’s place, dragged from the warmth of a bed with perhaps just time enough to snatch a garment or a blanket before being hauled through the streets to stand before Jesus and a hostile, glaring, condemning crowd, already hefting their stones. But for a few precious moments, she senses that no one is looking at her. All eyes are on Jesus. He has interceded for her already—and He hasn’t said anything to her yet. As He would one day soon on the cross, He has taken all her shame and humiliation on Himself and given her a respite.
As if this weren’t relief enough, what happened next must have astonished her even more. The crowd of people began to drift away—“the older ones first,” the Bible tells us (John 8:9).
Jesus didn’t stand until the crowd had dispersed. Then He turned to the woman and said,
Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you? — John 8:10
Don’t you imagine it was with equal parts relief and amazement that she said, “No one, sir.”
Have you ever wondered how God reacts when you fall into sin? Then listen to these gentle words of Jesus and let them echo in your heart:
Then neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin. — John 8:11
We don’t know whether any other women were present in the temple courts to witness this exchange, but even if not, surely there were women who witnessed the woman being dragged through the streets by the Pharisees. How grateful and appreciative they must have felt toward this man who actually protected her and showed compassion, as no other men—including, apparently, the man who’d been sleeping with her — were doing.
Watch this Powerful Video for Unashamed
Watch the Video for Unashamed
From the video: We are meant to live unashamed of who God made us to be. The world says 'shame on you,' but I'm declaring 'shame off you' in Jesus' name! - Christine Caine
Women Are Not “Less Than”
One could argue that the woman was brought for judgment because of her sin, but that would be only partly true. If justice had been the real goal, then the man would have been charged as well. No, this woman was guilty of the crime of being a woman caught in adultery.
If that sounds like an exaggeration, it wasn’t one by much in first-century Israel. Women in that culture were second-class citizens at best, akin to slaves. Men had complete authority over their wives and daughters and made all decisions regarding relationships and activities. The Mishnah, part of the Jewish Talmud, taught that women were like Gentile slaves and could be obtained by intercourse, money, or written contract. Women had few rights inside the home and practically none outside of it. They were not counted as members during a synagogue count, and received little or no religious education, except from their husband if he so desired. Men were discouraged from speaking to women on the street.
First-century Palestine — the world into which Jesus was born — was clearly a male-dominated society, but it certainly hasn’t been the only one. I can point out another one from personal experience: Greek culture. In the Greek family I was raised in, I felt that because I was neither the firstborn nor a son, I was somehow “less than.” “You’re only a woman,” I was told in so many ways — and it was crystal clear that this was not a good thing.
Nowhere in my experience has the denigration of women been clearer as in our work through A21 to rescue sex-trafficked women. In one court case, the accused was asked by the judge, “Why do you traffic women?”
The man shrugged. “They are easier to traffic than drugs and guns,” he said. “The penalty is not as harsh, and you can kick them like an animal, and they will do what you want them to do.”
Misogyny. It’s an ugly word — the hatred of women or girls. It comes to us through governments, cultures, religions, and nations. We’d like to think that it’s something that happens elsewhere, far away, or a long time ago. But no other word describes so precisely the attitude of the trafficker on trial that day, nor of the industry he represents. And it shows up in many other ways as well, from jokes — have you ever heard a blonde joke about a dumb blond man? — to pornography, to the difficulty a woman has getting equal pay for equal work, to the ease with which crimes against women are ignored or covered up.
Women are denigrated as often in modern society as they were in ancient cultures.
Two children are sold into the human sex trade every minute. Nearly two million children are forced into the worldwide sex trade every year.1 And 80 percent of all trafficking victims are women and girls.2 According to the United Nations, there are one hundred million women missing worldwide 3 — and five thousand girls are murdered around the world every year by their parents for acting in ways that shame their family.4
The history of our world — all periods of history, all continents, all cultural traditions — is rampant with damage, oppression, diminishment, contempt, and hostility aimed at women. Just think of the Salem witch trials, for example. Even today, women are stoned to death for adultery in India and Pakistan; they are raped and sold as slaves in Syria. And the men who perpetrate these horrendous acts are excused with religious theology. In every case, in every century, women have been targets. I see this same kind of evil played out in A21 court cases all the time.
Of all places on earth, the Christian church could be the most significant place of healing and hope — the place where women experience the joys of being respected, appreciated, esteemed, included, and celebrated. After all, God Himself made women in His own image —
Male and female He created them. — Genesis 1:26–27, emphasis added
What a profound thought: God’s image is only fully reflected in both man and woman.
When we denigrate a woman, we are in fact diminishing part of the image of God. When we exclude women, we exclude part of God. When we put women down, we tarnish the image of God.
Psalm 139:13 tells us,
You knit me together in my mother’s womb.
God took just as much time and care knitting together every female child as He did every male child. Male and female are equally loved and valued by Him. Paul wrote to the Galatians stating this very point:
There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. — Galatians 3:28, emphasis added
In Christ, there is no distinction in value between male and female.
No one dignifies, affirms, and celebrates women like the God of the Bible. Therefore, it should be the church that leads the way and sets the example of placing value upon womanhood... of getting them to Jesus, who can lift their shame and set them free.
Excerpted from Unashamed: Drop The Baggage, Pick Up Your Freedom, Fulfill Your Destiny by Christine Caine,
Unashamed
I taught a class on commercial photography where we used my 2021 Ford Bronco as the subject matter. I showed the class how to "use what you have" in a creative way to deliver deliverable material to a client. In this case we faked an off-roading scene in a parking lot with a wooded lot adjacent to it.
©2022 Jamie A. MacDonald
Athanassia means immortality. And what 2016 taught me is that saying good bye rarely means it is the end. It means we move on to an other dimension. One that is not seen, it is only felt. With the heart. In the heart.
2016 was an enormous good bye for me. It made me feel so fragile, so human. But this is not a step back, it is not sign of weakness. It is a sign that we get closer to our true self, the one with endless possibilities. We discover pieces of ourselves in saying good bye, in hearing ourselves saying it.
During my trip to Genoa, my colleagues kept asking about my mother. I told them, she is a hero to my eyes, and at the age of 34 I realised she is also human. I described how I was holding her hand after the surgery like a child, I was trying to wake her up. Her body was so pale and cold, it made me see that eternity is our love for life.
A month later, my grand mother died. I was not there to say good bye, even though I knew it was our last time looking at each other's eyes when we last met. We always know deep inside.
So I told my colleagues "If 2016 was the end of all the pain and grief, and loss, new year will be the beginning of all the things our soul is travelling for."
I had this "dream" during meditation the other day. It was so intense, that I cried when I realised it was just a dream.
I felt rays of light on my body and my eyes could not focus, I was on a train. I was so happy. I saw me smiling, I saw me holding his hand. Who was he? As soon as the train stopped and the door opened, enormous, blinding gold, warm waves of light were showering us, I looked at him, I did not see his face, but I knew our eyes were meeting each other. I just knew. My heart was dancing and I smiled, saying "we are finally here". I woke up from meditation smiling out loud, and as soon as I realised this was just a dream, I felt both bliss and sadness. Sadness that it was just a dream, bliss that "Nassia" reminded me that happiness is not something out there. It is inside of us. And only from within it flows outside and surrounds us. And we shall hold hands again.
Whenever I feel lonely on the plane, I look at photographs, I smile at them. My family, my dog, my beloved ones. They say eternity is real, it is a photograph. Sometimes we see it, and sometimes, we imagine it. And it is even more "ours".
Love. N.
If there is one thing that photography has taught me about life that would be patience. When it comes to photography we often find ourselves waiting for that perfect moment. Depending on the type of photography this waiting can range from secs to hours but the key thing to remember is to stick with the plan. So often when I first started photography I would become impatient, abandon my shot or idea only to have it work out secs after I moved.
When I arrived at Cape Spear I had an idea in mind to photography the lighthouse at a new perspective I discovered weeks before. When I pulled into the parking lot I was very surprised....See I had done my research, checked the weather and it said that hurricane Kate was well off shore, so I assumed there might be a great chance at some interesting clouds...boy was I in for a surprise...Snow Squalls... I couldn't even see the lighthouse when I arrived. So naturally my brain began its routine.."Come on Brad lets go this is pointless".."Its not going to clear your wasting your time",,blah blah blah. So fighting the voice in my head I sipped on my fav hot beverage..Tim Hortons Tea and waited..6:30am arrived and only 15mins before the sun was about to rise...then..in the distance over the ocean a hint of open skies as the wind picked up....it was a glimmer of hope and time to get setup.
Once I was at my spot I set everything up and waited some more..taking off the cap of my lens would be a nightmare at this point since it would be covered in wet snow..so I waited..finally a moment with no snow...I dialled in my focus and began shooting as the snow squalls passed in the far distance over the ocean and for a brief moment the clouds opened just enough to light up the side of the lighthouse.
So next time you are in a situation and your mind is fighting you to stick with your plan...just reminder yourself of all the hard work you put in researching your shot and that some good will come out of it. Of course this doesn't always happen but I think its worth hanging around to find out because you just might be surprised in the end.
**If you like this image please consider liking my FB page and feel free to share with others**
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"Every good thought you think is contributing its share to the ultimate result of your life."
~ Grenville Kleise
Each day, I remember things my Dad and Mama taught me while I was a young girl growing up.
Thanks for stopping by
and God Bless,
hugs, Chris
I took a Butterfly Photography class sponsored by Desert Botanical Garden and taught by Joanne West. I learned a lot and practiced a lot. I really feel that I had improved significantly by the end of the class.
We had a classroom presentation followed by private hands-on practice in the Butterfly Pavilion.
I believe this is what I know as Desert Scorpionweed. Any correction will be appreciated.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phacelia_campanularia
Phacelia campanularia is a species of flowering plant in the borage family, Boraginaceae, known by the common names desertbells,[3] desert bluebells,[4] California-bluebell,[5] desert scorpionweed,[6] and desert Canterbury bells.[7] Its true native range is within the borders of California,[4][8][6] in the Mojave and Sonoran Deserts, but it is commonly cultivated as an ornamental plant and it can be found growing elsewhere as an introduced species.[3]
This annual herb has an erect stem reaching 0.7 metres (2.3 ft) in maximum height. It is covered in glandular hairs. The leaf blades are somewhat rounded with toothed edges. The inflorescence is a loose cyme of flowers. The flower has a bright blue corolla up to 4 centimeters long which can be bell-shaped, funnel-shaped, or round and flattened. It can have white spots in the throat. The protruding stamens and style can be 4.5 centimeters long. The fruit is a capsule up to 1.5 centimeters long.[9] It grows in dry, sandy places below 4,000 feet (1,200 m).[7]
The juice, sap, or hairs may cause irritation or a skin rash and should be washed from skin as soon as possible.[11]
Desert Botanical Garden has an incredible collection of plants and cacti arranged in a beautiful park setting.
"Think the desert is all dirt and tumbleweeds? Think again. Desert Botanical Garden is home to thousands of species of cactus, trees and flowers from all around the world spread across 55 acres in Phoenix, Arizona."
dbg.org/visit/butterfly-pavilion/
Desert Botanical Garden
DBG Butterfly class
Jamal taught us a few things at "de Rooden Hoed Grand Cafe" (www.deroodenhoed.be). See my other Netherlands images at flic.kr/s/aHsjXfzu6T
Breast stroke class, Buffalo Public School, where Red Cross life-saving is taught. All swimming teachers in Buffalo Schools instucted by Mr. Longfellow
15 April 1919 [date received]
1 negative : glass ; 5 x 7 in.
Notes:
Title, date and notes from Red Cross caption card.
Photographer name or source of original from caption card or negative sleeve: ARC, Mr. Longfellow.
Group title: First Aid U.S.
On caption card: Water.
Used in: Ex. indef. to Div. Bulletin. Atlantic Division, 7/12/1919.
Gift; American National Red Cross 1944 and 1952.
Subjects:
American Red Cross.
United States--New York (State)--Buffalo.
Format: Glass negatives.
Rights Info: No known restrictions on publication. For information, see "American National Red Cross photograph collection," www.loc.gov/rr/print/res/717_anrc.html
Repository: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. 20540 USA, hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.print
Part Of: American National Red Cross photograph collection (Library of Congress) (DLC) 2009632518
General information about the American National Red Cross photograph collection is available at hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.anrc
Higher resolution image is available (Persistent URL): hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/anrc.03474
Call Number: LC-A6195- 5181
Found on the web:
A cab driver taught me a million dollar lesson in customer satisfaction and expectation. Motivational speakers charge thousands of dollars to impart his kind of training to corporate executives and staff. It cost me a $12 taxi ride.
I had flown into Dallas for the sole purpose of calling on a client. Time was of the essence and my plan included a quick turnaround trip from and back to the airport. A spotless cab pulled up.
The driver rushed to open the passenger door for me and made sure I was comfortably seated before he closed the door. As he got in the driver's seat, he mentioned that the neatly folded Wall Street Journal next to me for my use. He then showed me several tapes and asked me what type of music I would enjoy.
Well! I looked around for a "Candid Camera!" Wouldn't you? I could not believe the service I was receiving! I took the opportunity to say, "Obviously you take great pride in your work. You must have a story to tell."
"You bet," he replied, "I used to be in Corporate America. But I got tired of thinking my best would never be good enough. I decided to find my niche in life where I could feel proud of being the best I could be.
I knew I would never be a rocket scientist, but I love driving cars, being of service and feeling like I have done a full day's work and done it well. I evaluate my personal assets and... wham! I became a cab driver.
One thing I know for sure, to be good in my business I could simply just meet the expectations of my passengers. But, to be GREAT in my business, I have to EXCEED the customer's expectations! I like both the sound and the return of being 'great' better than just getting by on 'average'"
Did I tip him big time? You bet! Corporate America's loss is the traveling folk's friend!
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Lessons:
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Go an Extra Mile when providing any Service to others.
*
The is no good or bad job. You can make any job good.
*
Good service always brings good return.
About a “Traveling Artist” – Jayson Yeoh
Self-taught artist Jayson Yeoh has a passion for art since young. His pursuit for art creation is relentless and never wavers. A skilled watercolourist, he is always obsessed with the magical quality and versatility of this water media.
Over the years, through his continuous exploration and practice, Jayson has developed a distinctive personal style. His works clearly demonstrate an artistic language unique to himself.
To him, life’s surroundings and the vast nature are his best teachers. They provide him with unlimited source of inspirations and creative sparks.
Jayson loves to travel and always bring with him his sketchbooks and art tools.
Sketching while traveling becomes an important part of his travel itinerary; and is one of the main catalysts for his constant travels.
He has recorded in his sketchbooks, many beautiful artworks and sketches, notes and information, as well as countless new creative ideas!
‘Sketching while traveling’ has enabled him to walk out of the studio and his own limitations, while opened up limitless possibilities.
It also taught him valuable lessons – to observe the world, to know the world, and to create the worlds he sees through his own eyes.
‘Sketching while traveling’ is a journey for enlightenment and knowledge. It is also an alternative method to treasure a memory by in-depth understanding, both visually and audibly.
To Jayson, the ultimate objectives of traveling and sketching are not the artworks created or the opportunity to see magnificent landscapes and rivers, but his interactions with the environment and the community, his means of observing the world, and those people and things, which had touched him one way or another along the journey. They not only broadened his horizons, but also enriched his personal feelings.
Such experiences make him grow as an artist to create better works, and at the same time encourage him to keep moving towards his artistic journey.
Haha I recently taught Barney to stand up on his hind legs, and he is now even able to take steps on them :) I'm sure he'll be waltzing in no time, so does anyone want to be Barney's dance partner? LOL he looks so happy here, he loves learning new tricks, I struggle to think up new ones regularly enough to keep him thinking, this one took a while, simply because he had to learn to keep his balance :)
It took ages for me to get any half way decent shots of him doing this trick, as it is hard to give him the signal for it (I'm only using a hand signal for this one at the moment) and take a photo... oh and when I stand far away, he immediately starts hopping towards me, to get the treat :) So this morning I got the idea of standing on a chair, and that way managed to get a couple of shots...
Reached Explore #65
I taught Mickey to fetch my slippers.
Well, actually, one slipper.
He delivers it.
After playing with it for 10 minutes.
Sometimes he hides it instead.
Okay, he always hides it.
Not sure if I'm teaching him to fetch or if he's teaching me to play hide and seek.
Part 1
I left for the sierras right after work, all the classes had been taught and the last student had left. The sun had not set yet but was hanging low in the western sky. By the time I reached the high desert of California and the small town of Neenach an hour later the sun had long sunk out of view and the dark desert sky sparkled with a splash of stars in the moonless night. After passing the town of Mojave the deep red moon slowly rose beyond the silhouette of distant mountains. Hours later I had driven far enough and I needed to stop for the night so I pulled off the highway onto a dirt road at a place called Fossil Falls. There is a large red and black cinder cone here that rises abruptly out of the desert floor with a dry lake at it's foot, it was here that I stopped. It was almost midnight and yet the temperature was still 98°. I set up my cot next to my jeep and fell asleep without a blanket beneath the hazy high desert sky.
At some point a slight breeze swirled and cooled the warm desert night enough for me to need a light blanket, after getting one out of my jeep I went back to sleep. With the first light of dawn across the playa I awoke but decided to go back to sleep, this happened several time until the sun rose over the distant mountains and it's warm rays touched me and I could not avoid the new day any longer so I finally got up and continued my drive to my friend Jan's place nestled in the lower slopes of the high sierras.
I stayed at her place for 2 day and 2 nights to acclimate to the high elevation. On the first full day there, a thunderstorm rose up providing me with some beautiful sights and sounds as well as scenting the air with the fragrance of wild onions which grew in the shade of the aspen and pine trees on her property.
On Monday I left early to drive to the trail head and begin my High Sierra wanderings. The first day started out with clear skies, though as I began my ascent up the pass dark storm clouds brewed in the distance. At one point I stopped for a break and another backpacker on his way out stopped for a chat.
Soon after I continued on and in the small saddle below the pass thunder rumbled and the rain began. This area was strewn with large, sharp boulders that were the only shelter for miles. I found a cluster of them that had a nice over hang just as the rain picked up, and I huddled underneath to stay dry.
www.flickr.com/gp/photographybyderekg/74Mg5Ao8SZ
It was good shelter until the wind shifted direction and blew the rain right into the opening, soaking my pants since they weren't water proof. My only option to not get any more wet was to shield myself with my waterproof pack. Thankfully my pants are a quick drying material and were dry within 10 minutes. An hour later the storm passed and I continued on to my first lakeside camp.
my new youtube channel: www.youtube.com/channel/UCJFdIj7TITFAg4fJyzUJzSA
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It's interesting if one has been posting to Flickr for awhile, to go back to one's first page in the photo stream and work one's way forward in time.
The photos one had thought pretty good once upon a time might now be thought rubbish. Actually quite a lot of those.
Some might now be thought to have potential that a decade on in experience lends a different perspective.
This one had been posted ten years ago and after seeing it, eventually found on an old hard drive.
The Canon 40D used was only 4 months old yet there were still sensor dust spots that needed cloning. Its sensor's dynamic range is not as good as that in my Fuji cameras which are now 7 and 4 years old. I was also reminded that at that time, I still hadn't been shooting in RAW. The original was a JPEG as my Ps app couldn't yet "see" the 40D's version of camera raw.
The original is in the first comment box below. If it doesn't show, click on your browser's refresh button.
I hadn't the Lightroom app when this photo was made and it certainly made a big difference being able to push the shadows slider all the way to the right and then the black slider some also.
This is one of those images that should have been made with a gradient neutral density filter, but thankfully software now is good enough to squeak by.
The vibrance and saturations sliders were pulled a bit left to reduce both. Knowing that eventually colour would be boosted in Ps LAB, it's better to start off a bit more bland.
There is a Detail panel in the Lr Develop module in which one can mask the sharpening to edges with a slider pushed to the right. This keeps artifacts from appearing in the sky. That same panel can reduce luminance and colour noise. This image shot with the 40D needed that, especially where the shadows had been brightened.
The image was then opened in Ps, the background copied and turned into a smart layer. Double clicking on the smart layer opens the image as a separate PSB image. When that image is closed and saved, all the edits are then brought back to the original Ps PSD image's smart layer. It's like having stacked images within images. It allows me to convert that PSB image from RGB mode to LAB mode. After lots of sliding and masking for increasing contrast between hues, it was brought back to the smart layer. I won't bore you with all the details. There are some good youtube videos that go over the basics. Nothing beats Photoshop LAB Color, the Canyon Conundrum by Dan Margulis if one wants to really learn about Ps LAB editing. I now do almost all my editing in LAB beginning with increasing contrast of hue, then edge sharpening confined to edges in the Lightness channel which avoids influencing hues. Finally, luminosity contrast might be enhanced and constrained using the concepts taught by Tony Kuyper regarding luminosity masking.
And that's about it.
This isn't one of those images that seems extreme, but the amount of sliding to get it here was extremely extensive.
Happy Sliders Sunday!
Taught my last photo safari for the season.
Students usually don't quite undersatnd that photography is all about the light, its absence, its presence. The control and manipulation of light. The capture of light.
We practiced on this this simple subject.
No toy trains this time. Just light.
Blessings,
Sheree
“My father taught me many things…keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”
(from The Godfather -Don Michael Corleone (Al Pacino)
Model: Lucas Tomashevsky ,Roza Model Agency
MUA: Lash-And Brow-Studio
Location: Kilcolgan Castle, Galway
I was taught that some photos are believed to be good, however, most times it is just an emotional attachment. Yes it's true. This photo is about two basking fish, but for me it has a much greater value. The fact is that we all have things or situations in which a value resides that cannot be explained.
Ben taught the base and figuring out the rest was easy. I really like models that have "holes" and appear to have had parts of them cut.
Folded from a square of kami of 25 cm on the side.
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- “Do not touch me…”
Gospel of John, chapter 20, verse 17 (John 20, 17)
+++++++++++++++++++++
I was with you, Father,
at the moment of creation.
I could not fail to know the elements and master them.
What would it be to
lift the stone of a tomb
compared to your will as Creator?
You taught me how the world is composed
and made me your son,
but I was a participant
in creation.
The followers who followed me
believed in You and in me,
Your son.
They will be happy to see me rise again,
but I will weep
for those still chained
in hell,
and my hands
will silence their strident cries.
Poor souls,
who migrate toward nothingness.
The fear,
God,
of these blind depths,
of these people who have not had
the splendor of your reins.
Because you do not know,
Father,
what it means
to sit at Your right hand
as a king.
A gentle but not cowardly king
who mediates
between your divine wrath
and the lust and unbelief of man.
I,
who am just,
love man
and ask your forgiveness
through this slow agony
that has lasted for centuries
for the world.
Behold, Lord, I give you back my spirit
in the form of a white dove
that will fly toward heaven.
And no other way
have you built peace
than with the groins of a bird
that brings the olive branch to your lips.
Father,
I will rise again,
and I will sit at your right hand.
POEM OF THE CROSS - Alda Merini
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
- “Noli me tangere …”
Vangelo di Giovanni, capitolo 20, versetto 17 (Giovanni 20, 17)
++++++++++++++++++
- Ero con te, Padre,
al momento della creazione.
Non potevo non conoscere gli elementi e dominarli.
Cosa vuoi che sia
sollevare la pietra di un sepolcro
in confronto alla tua volontà di Creatore.
Tu mi hai insegnato come è composto il mondo
e mi hai reso figlio,
ma ero partecipe
della creazione.
I seguaci che mi hanno seguito
hanno creduto in Te e in me,
Tuo figlio.
Saranno felici di vedermi risorgere,
ma io piangerò
per quelli che sono ancora incatenati
nell'inferno
e le mie mani
faranno tacere i loro stridori.
Povere anime,
che migrano verso il nulla.
Lo spavento,
Dio,
di queste profondità cieche,
di questa gente che non ha avuto
lo splendore delle tue redini.
Perché tu non sai,
Padre,
cosa vuol dire
sedere alla Tua destra
in veste di re.
Un re mite ma non codardo
che fa da intermediario
tra la tua collera divina
e la lussuria e la miscredenza dell'uomo.
Io,
che sono giusto,
amo l'uomo
e ti chiedo perdono
attraverso questa lenta agonia
che dura da secoli
per il mondo.
Ecco, Signore, io ti rendo il mio spirito
in forma di bianca colomba
che volerà verso il cielo.
E non altrimenti
Tu hai costruito la pace
se non con gli inguini di un uccello
che porta l'ulivo alle tue labbra.
Padre,
io risorgerò,
e siederò alla Tua destra.
POEMA DELLA CROCE - Alda Merini
-----------------------------------------------------------------
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www.worldphoto.org/sony-world-photography-awards/winners-...
www.fotografidigitali.it/gallery/2726/opere-italiane-segn...
…………………………………………………………………
This photographic story, with text, which I propose as my last work for Flickr in 2025 (2026 is now just a few minutes away), tells of the procession of the Holy Crucifix of Aracoeli, which took place in March of this year 2025 in the town of San Marco d'Alunzio (in the province of Messina). The procession normally begins on the morning of the last Friday of March each year, but there is an exception to this rule: when it coincides with Good Friday, then the procession is brought forward to the previous Friday. The procession of the Holy Crucifix of Aracoeli is an ancient penitential rite. On the feast day of the Crucifix, Holy Mass is celebrated in the Church of Aracoeli in San Marco d'Alunzio. On this occasion, the Holy Crucifix is celebrated. Crucifix (which is located in the church at the end of the right nave, at its feet is the painting of the Virgin of Sorrows pierced by seven swords), Christ on the Cross is removed by the devotees from the hook on which it is hanging, is carried outside the church, here it is raised and fixed on the float, the sermon of the priest who has climbed onto the float next to the Crucifix takes over, under the Cross is fixed the painting of His Sorrowful Mother, then they are carried in procession by the men (and women) in blue hoods called "babbaluti", they proceed invoking the pity and mercy of the Lord with a constant and rhythmic lament, saying "Signuri, Misericordia, Pietà!"; this is the norm, but this year the bad weather has brought some changes, the float on which they hoisted the SS. The crucifix with the kneeling babbaluti was not located in the churchyard, but inside the church. Christ was covered with a large sheet of cellophane to protect it from the rain, while the painting of the Madonna with swords in her heart was placed at her Son's feet only after the procession returned to the church. San Marco d'Alunzio is a charming town in the Messina area, located in the Nebrodi Mountains of Sicily. The procession takes place in honor of the Holy Crucifix of Araceli. This religious-penitential event is also known as the "procession of the babbaluti." These are those who, by vow or grace received, have chosen to carry the fercolo containing the crucifix and the painting on their shoulders in procession. they head to the nearby Church of Santa Maria dei Poveri or to some private home nearby where, sheltered from the curiosity of the faithful, they wear a simple but characteristic indigo-colored cloth habit, consisting of a tunic and a conical hood that covers the entire body and leaves only the eyes and hands free. It is not uncommon, however, for the penitents, rendered anonymous by the habit they wear, to also include women, who, to avoid any possibility of recognition, wear a pair of gloves; The babbaluti are 33 in number to commemorate the 33 years of Christ. The number is odd, in fact the 33rd babbaluto does not carry the vara. He (should be the “capo vara”) proceeds backwards, looking towards Christ and his Mother, and at the same time checks that everything is in order among the babbaluti, guiding the vara along the path, even if it is moving backwards (this is a way of proceeding in carrying the vara or fercolo, present in various Sicilian religious processions). So, the 32 (+1) "babbaluti" carry on their shoulders the float that bears the Holy Crucifix of the Araceli church (the statue of Christ was created by Scipione Li Volsi, in the year 1652, he was a sculptor and plasterer of the Sicilian Baroque), at whose feet, on the float, is tied the painting of Our Lady of Sorrows, whose chest appears pierced by seven swords (it is an 18th century painting), however, as already described, this year the painting, to protect it from the rain, was placed on the float only upon the return of the procession to the church. Before the procession begins, the babbaluti advance barefoot, wearing only heavy, hand-knitted stockings of raw wool. Before entering the church, they must walk a path of purification. When they approach the ancient church of Araceli, they bow and kiss the ground, thus receiving permission to enter the church. This, however, occurs through a side door, called the "false door" (in Sicilian dialect, "porta fausa"). Having entered the church from the side, they now exit through the main entrance, allowing them to take their places, kneeling in front and behind the float. To enter the "porta fausa," the babbaluti proceed in pairs, with the last babbaluti, the eldest, proceeding alone. After the priest's long-awaited speech, the procession can begin, winding through the streets of the picturesque and welcoming village of San Marco d'Alunzio. Along the way, the Babbaluti pace their steps, accompanying the mournful and plaintive jugular vein that invokes the Lord. Devout men and women walk alongside the Babbaluti, walking alongside the float, touching it, sometimes caressing it... just to have physical (and spiritual) contact with it. Finally, after completing a specific route, the procession returns to the ancient church (of Norman origins) of Aracoeli. Every time I attend this touching event, I am completely overwhelmed by emotion (which, however, I cannot abandon, lest I lose concentration while taking photos). The highlight is when the crucified Christ is removed from the hook fixed to the wall by expert men, and then carried (it seems to float) above the heads of the devotees, supported aloft with their hands, and hoisted and secured to the float. In these moments of intense emotion, it is common to see in the eyes of the devotees, shining with tears, that profound emotion of their relationship with this Christ, which has lasted forever: it is as if they were in the presence of the true Christ, in flesh and blood. This is the atmosphere experienced in those moments, this is the magic of the procession of the Most Holy Crucifix and His Mother, represented by the painting of Our Lady of Sorrows pierced by seven swords (an iconography of Spanish origin).
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Il presente racconto fotografico, con testo, che propongo come ultimo mio lavoro per Flickr dell’anno 2025 (oramai mancano pochi minuti al 2026) parla della processione del Santissimo Crocifisso di Aracoeli che si è tenuto nel marzo di quest’anno 2025 nel paese di San Marco d’Alunzio (in provincia di Messina). La processione normalmente inizia la mattina dell’ultimo venerdì del mese di marzo di ogni anno, c’è però una eccezione a questa regola, quando si realizza la coincidenza col Venerdì Santo, allora la processione viene anticipata al venerdì precedente. Quella del SS.Crocifisso di Aracoeli è un antico rito penitenziale, il giorno della festa del Crocifisso, a San Marco d'Alunzio si celebra la S. Messa nella Chiesa dell'Aracoeli, in questa occasione il SS. Crocifisso (che si trova nella chiesa in fondo alla navata di destra, ai suoi piedi è posto il quadro della Vergine Addolorata trafitta da sette spade), il Cristo sulla Croce viene tolto dai devoti dal gancio sul quale è appeso, viene portato all’esterno della chiesa, qui viene innalzato e fissato sulla vara, subentra il sermone del sacerdote salito sulla vara accanto al Crocifisso, sotto alla Croce viene fissato il quadro di sua Madre Addolorata, quindi vengono portati in processione dagli uomini (e donne) incappucciati di colore blu detti “babbaluti”, essi procedono invocando la pietà e la misericordia del Signore con un costante e ritmato lamento, dicendo “Signuri, Misericordia, Pietà!”; questa è la norma, ma quest’anno il cattivo tempo ha portato qualche cambiamento, la vara sulla quale hanno issato il SS. Crocifisso con i babbaluti messi in ginocchio, non si trovava sul sagrato davanti la chiesa, ma era dentro la chiesa, il Cristo veniva ricoperto con un ampio foglio di cellophane per proteggerlo dalla pioggia, mentre il quadro della Madonna con le spade nel cuore, è stato messo ai piedi di Suo Figlio solo al rientro della processione nella chiesa. San Marco d’Alunzio è un ameno paese del territorio Messinese, sito sui monti Nebrodi, in Sicilia; la processione si svolge proprio in onore del Santissimo Crocifisso di Araceli, è questa una ricorrenza religioso-penitenziale conosciuta anche come "processione dei babbaluti", essi sono coloro che per voto o per grazia ricevuta, hanno deciso di portare in processione sulle loro spalle il fercolo con il Crocifisso ed il quadro; essi si dirigono nella vicina Chiesa di Santa Maria dei Poveri o in qualche abitazione privata lì vicino dove, al riparo dalla curiosità dei fedeli, indossano un semplice ma caratteristico saio di tela di colore indaco, costituito da una tunica e un cappuccio di forma conica tale da coprire l'intero corpo e lasciare liberi solo gli occhi e le mani, non è raro purtuttavia che tra i penitenti, resi anonimi dal saio che indossano, vi siano anche delle donne, le quali per evitare qualsiasi possibilità di riconoscimento, indossano un paio di guanti; i babbaluti sono in numero di 33 per rievocare i 33 anni di Cristo, il numero è dispari, infatti il 33° babbaluto non porta la vara, egli (dovrebbe essere il “capo vara”) procede all’indietro, rivolgendo lo sguardo al Cristo ed a sua Madre, e nel contempo controlla che tutto sia in ordine tra i babbaluti, guidando la vara lungo il percorso, anche se il suo andamento è a ritroso, (questo è un modo di procedere nel portare la vara o fercolo, presente in diverse processioni religiose siciliane). Quindi, i 32 (+1) "babbaluti" portano sulle loro spalle la vara che reca il Santo Crocifisso della chiesa dell’Araceli (la statua del Cristo è stata creata da Scipione Li Volsi, nell'anno 1652, egli fu uno scultore e stuccatore del barocco SIciliano), ai cui piedi, sulla vara, viene legato il quadro della Madonna Addolorata, il cui petto appare trafitto da sette spade ( è un dipinto del XVIII secolo), purtuttavia come già descritto, quest’anno il quadro, per proteggerlo dalla pioggia, è stato messo sulla vara solo al rientro della processione in chiesa. I babbaluti prima dell'inizio della processione avanzano a piedi scalzi indossando solo delle pesanti calze di lana grezza realizzate a mano, devono percorrere, prima di entrare in chiesa, un cammino di purificazione: quando essi giungono in prossimità dell'antica chiesa dell'Araceli, essi si chinano e baciano in terra, ricevendo in tal modo il permesso per poter accedere dentro la chiesa, questo però avviene da una porta laterale, chiamata "falsa porta" (In dialetto siciliano “porta fausa”), una volta entrati in chiesa lateralmente, ora fuoriescono dall'ingresso principale, potendo così prendere posto, inginocchiandosi sul davanti ed alle spalle, della vara; i babbaluti per accedere alla “porta fausa” procedono in coppia, l’ultimo babbaluto procede da solo, lui è il più anziano tra i babbaluti; seguirà l'atteso discorso del sacerdote, terminato, potrà iniziare la processione che si svolge per le vie del pittoresco ed accogliente paese di San Marco d'Alunzio. Lungo il percorso i Babbaluti cadenzano la propria andatura accompagnandosi alla mesta e lamentosa giugulatoria che invoca il Signore . Ci sono uomini e donne devoti che procedono assieme ai babbaluti camminando a lato della vara, toccandola, ora accarezzandola...pur di avere un contatto fisico (e di rimando spirituale) con essa. Infine, dopo aver compiuto un preciso percorso, la processione fa rientro nell'antica chiesa (di origini Normanne) dell'Aracoeli. Ogniqualvolta sono presente a questa toccante ricorrenza sono completamente inondato da emozioni (alle quali però non posso abbandonarmi, perderei la concentrazione nel realizzare le foto), il momento clou è quando il Cristo Crocifisso viene tolto dal gancio fissato sul muro da uomini esperti, per poi essere portato (sembra galleggiare) sopra la testa dei devoti, sostenuto in alto con le mani, ed essere issato e fissato sulla vara; in questi momenti di intensa emozione è comune vedere negli occhi dei devoti, lucidi di lacrime, quella emozione profonda del loro rapporto con questo Cristo, che dura da sempre: è come se si trovassero al cospetto del Cristo vero, in carne ed ossa, questa è l’atmosfera che si vive in quei momenti, questa è la magia della processione del SS. Crocifisso e di Sua Madre, rappresentata dal quadro dell’Addolorata trafitta da sette spade (iconografia di origine spagnola).
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Orpheus and Eurydice
Orpheus was the son of Apollo and the muse Calliope. He was
presented by his father with a lyre and taught to play upon it,
and he played to such perfection that nothing could withstand the
charm of his music. Not only his fellow mortals, but wild beasts
were softened by his strains, and gathering round him laid by
their fierceness, and stood entranced with his lay. Nay, the
very trees and rocks were sensible to the charm. The former
crowded round him and the latter relaxed somewhat of their
hardness, softened by his notes.
Hymen had been called to bless with his presence the nuptials of
Orpheus with Eurydice; but though he attended, he brought no
happy omens with him. His very torch smoked and brought tears
into their eyes. In coincidence with such prognostics Eurydice,
shortly after her marriage, while wandering with the nymphs, her
companions, was seen by the shepherd Aristaeus, who was struck
with her beauty, and made advances to her. She fled, and in
flying trod upon a snake in the grass, was bitten in the foot and
died. Orpheus sang his grief to all who breathed the upper air,
both gods and men, and finding it all unavailing resolved to seek
his wife in the regions of the dead. He descended by a cave
situated on the side of the promontory of Taenarus and arrived at
the Stygian realm. He passed through crowds of ghosts, and
presented himself before the throne of Pluto and Proserpine.
Accompanying the words with the lyre, he sung,
"O deities of the
underworld, to whom all we who live must come, hear my words, for
they are true! I come not to spy out the secrets of Tartarus,
nor to try my strength against the three-headed dog with snaky
hair who guards the entrance. I come to seek my wife, whose
opening years the poisonous viper's fang has brought to an
untimely end. Love had led me here, Love, a god all powerful
with us who dwell on the earth, and, if old traditions say true,
not less so here. I implore you by these abodes full of terror,
these realms of silence and uncreated things, unite again the
thread of Eurydice's life. We all are destined to you, and
sooner or later must pass to your domain. She too, when she
shall have filled her term of life, will rightly be yours. But
till then grant her to me, I beseech you. If you deny me, I
cannot return alone; you shall triumph in the death of us both."
As he sang these tender strains, the very ghosts shed tears.
Tantalus, in spite of his thirst, stopped for a moment his
efforts for water, Ixion's wheel stood still, the vulture ceased
to tear the giant's liver, the daughters of Danaus rested from
their task of drawing water in a sieve, and Sisyphus sat on his
rock to listen. Then for the first time, it is said, the cheeks
of the Furies were wet with tears. Proserpine could not resist,
and Pluto himself gave way. Eurydice was called. She came from
among the new-arrived ghosts, limping with her wounded foot.
Orpheus was permitted to take her away with him on one condition,
that he should not turn round to look at her till they should
have reached the upper air.
Under this condition they proceeded
on their way, he leading, she following, through passages dark
and steep, in total silence, till they had nearly reached the
outlet into the cheerful upper world, when Orpheus, in a moment
of forgetfulness, to assure himself that she was still following,
cast a glance behind him, when instantly she was borne away.
Stretching out their arms to embrace one another they grasped
only the air. Dying now a second time she yet cannot reproach
her husband, for how can she blame his impatience to behold her?
"Farewell," she said, "a last farewell," and was hurried away,
so fast that the sound hardly reached his ears.
Orpheus endeavored to follow her, and besought permission to
return and try once more for her release but the stern ferryman
repulsed him and refused passage. Seven days he lingered about
the brink, without food or sleep; then bitterly accusing of
cruelty the powers of Erebus, he sang his complaints to the rocks
and mountains, melting the hearts of tigers and moving the oaks
from their stations. He held himself aloof from womankind,
dwelling constantly on the recollection of his sad mischance.
The Thracian maidens tried their best to captivate him, but he
repulsed their advances. They bore with him as long as they
could; but finding him insensible, one day, one of them, excited
by the rites of Bacchus, exclaimed, "See yonder our despiser!"
and threw at him her javelin. The weapon, as soon as it came
within the sound of his lyre, fell harmless at his feet. So did
also the stones that they threw at him. But the women raised a
scream and drowned the voice of the music, and then the missiles
reached him and soon were stained with his blood. The maniacs
tore him limb from limb, and threw his head and his lyre into the
river Hebrus, down which they floated, murmuring sad music, to
which the shores responded a plaintive symphony. The Muses
gathered up the fragments of his body and buried them at
Libethra, where the nightingale is said to sing over his grave
more sweetly than in any other part of Greece. His lyre was
placed by Jupiter among the stars. His shade passed a second
time to Tartarus, where he sought out his Eurydice and embraced
her, with eager arms. They roam through those happy fields
together now, sometimes he leads, sometimes she; and Orpheus
gazes as much as he will upon her, no longer incurring a penalty
for a thoughtless glance.
..................................................................................................................................................................
Models: Constantinos & Panayiota
Place: Konnos, Famagusta region, Cyprus
Assistant photographer: Frixos Markou
Lyre: constructed by Constantinos Sophocleous
...................................................................................................................................................................
***PLEASE DO NOT USE MY PICTURES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION***
© Andreas Constantinou
www.facebook.com/pages/Andreas-Constantinou-Photography/1...
Generations of Americans have been taught that one of the United States' true strengths is that it is just a big ol' melting pot.
We come from all parts of the world, and what binds us together are an adopted or shared history, a culture honed by common influences and faith in our imperfect democracy.
Sociologists would call that a polyglot society.
Fact is, that we also share convergent bloodlines. Love has a way of knowing no color, no religion and in some cases, no politics.
Hard times have a way of making people think about who they are and how they feel.
I guess belief systems are really being tested these days.
I've cast a lot of ballots in the past 36 years. Sometimes I've voted for people who look a little like me. Many times I've voted for what late Congressman Mickey Leland often described as candidates who were "people of good will."
This time, that's the choice for some folks. You can look at this candidate and see the obvious. You can look at this candidate's family and see America. If you can't get past what you see on the surface, just vote for the white part.
A few more thoughts in my Blog: dehollsworld.blogspot.com/
About a “Traveling Artist” – Jayson Yeoh
Self-taught artist Jayson Yeoh has a passion for art since young. His pursuit for art creation is relentless and never wavers. A skilled watercolourist, he is always obsessed with the magical quality and versatility of this water media.
Over the years, through his continuous exploration and practice, Jayson has developed a distinctive personal style. His works clearly demonstrate an artistic language unique to himself.
To him, life’s surroundings and the vast nature are his best teachers. They provide him with unlimited source of inspirations and creative sparks.
Jayson loves to travel and always bring with him his sketchbooks and art tools.
Sketching while traveling becomes an important part of his travel itinerary; and is one of the main catalysts for his constant travels.
He has recorded in his sketchbooks, many beautiful artworks and sketches, notes and information, as well as countless new creative ideas!
‘Sketching while traveling’ has enabled him to walk out of the studio and his own limitations, while opened up limitless possibilities.
It also taught him valuable lessons – to observe the world, to know the world, and to create the worlds he sees through his own eyes.
‘Sketching while traveling’ is a journey for enlightenment and knowledge. It is also an alternative method to treasure a memory by in-depth understanding, both visually and audibly.
To Jayson, the ultimate objectives of traveling and sketching are not the artworks created or the opportunity to see magnificent landscapes and rivers, but his interactions with the environment and the community, his means of observing the world, and those people and things, which had touched him one way or another along the journey. They not only broadened his horizons, but also enriched his personal feelings.
Such experiences make him grow as an artist to create better works, and at the same time encourage him to keep moving towards his artistic journey.
.……………………………….
- “Do not touch me…”
Gospel of John, chapter 20, verse 17 (John 20, 17)
+++++++++++++++++++++
I was with you, Father,
at the moment of creation.
I could not fail to know the elements and master them.
What would it be to
lift the stone of a tomb
compared to your will as Creator?
You taught me how the world is composed
and made me your son,
but I was a participant
in creation.
The followers who followed me
believed in You and in me,
Your son.
They will be happy to see me rise again,
but I will weep
for those still chained
in hell,
and my hands
will silence their strident cries.
Poor souls,
who migrate toward nothingness.
The fear,
God,
of these blind depths,
of these people who have not had
the splendor of your reins.
Because you do not know,
Father,
what it means
to sit at Your right hand
as a king.
A gentle but not cowardly king
who mediates
between your divine wrath
and the lust and unbelief of man.
I,
who am just,
love man
and ask your forgiveness
through this slow agony
that has lasted for centuries
for the world.
Behold, Lord, I give you back my spirit
in the form of a white dove
that will fly toward heaven.
And no other way
have you built peace
than with the groins of a bird
that brings the olive branch to your lips.
Father,
I will rise again,
and I will sit at your right hand.
POEM OF THE CROSS - Alda Merini
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
- “Noli me tangere …”
Vangelo di Giovanni, capitolo 20, versetto 17 (Giovanni 20, 17)
++++++++++++++++++
- Ero con te, Padre,
al momento della creazione.
Non potevo non conoscere gli elementi e dominarli.
Cosa vuoi che sia
sollevare la pietra di un sepolcro
in confronto alla tua volontà di Creatore.
Tu mi hai insegnato come è composto il mondo
e mi hai reso figlio,
ma ero partecipe
della creazione.
I seguaci che mi hanno seguito
hanno creduto in Te e in me,
Tuo figlio.
Saranno felici di vedermi risorgere,
ma io piangerò
per quelli che sono ancora incatenati
nell'inferno
e le mie mani
faranno tacere i loro stridori.
Povere anime,
che migrano verso il nulla.
Lo spavento,
Dio,
di queste profondità cieche,
di questa gente che non ha avuto
lo splendore delle tue redini.
Perché tu non sai,
Padre,
cosa vuol dire
sedere alla Tua destra
in veste di re.
Un re mite ma non codardo
che fa da intermediario
tra la tua collera divina
e la lussuria e la miscredenza dell'uomo.
Io,
che sono giusto,
amo l'uomo
e ti chiedo perdono
attraverso questa lenta agonia
che dura da secoli
per il mondo.
Ecco, Signore, io ti rendo il mio spirito
in forma di bianca colomba
che volerà verso il cielo.
E non altrimenti
Tu hai costruito la pace
se non con gli inguini di un uccello
che porta l'ulivo alle tue labbra.
Padre,
io risorgerò,
e siederò alla Tua destra.
POEMA DELLA CROCE - Alda Merini
-----------------------------------------------------------------
click to activate the icon of slideshow: the small triangle inscribed in the small rectangle, at the top right, in the photostream;
or…. Press the “L” button to zoom in the image;
clicca sulla piccola icona per attivare lo slideshow: sulla facciata principale del photostream, in alto a destra c'è un piccolo rettangolo (rappresenta il monitor) con dentro un piccolo triangolo nero;
oppure…. premi il tasto “L” per ingrandire l'immagine;
www.worldphoto.org/sony-world-photography-awards/winners-...
www.fotografidigitali.it/gallery/2726/opere-italiane-segn...
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This photographic story, with text, which I propose as my last work for Flickr in 2025 (2026 is now just a few minutes away), tells of the procession of the Holy Crucifix of Aracoeli, which took place in March of this year 2025 in the town of San Marco d'Alunzio (in the province of Messina). The procession normally begins on the morning of the last Friday of March each year, but there is an exception to this rule: when it coincides with Good Friday, then the procession is brought forward to the previous Friday. The procession of the Holy Crucifix of Aracoeli is an ancient penitential rite. On the feast day of the Crucifix, Holy Mass is celebrated in the Church of Aracoeli in San Marco d'Alunzio. On this occasion, the Holy Crucifix is celebrated. Crucifix (which is located in the church at the end of the right nave, at its feet is the painting of the Virgin of Sorrows pierced by seven swords), Christ on the Cross is removed by the devotees from the hook on which it is hanging, is carried outside the church, here it is raised and fixed on the float, the sermon of the priest who has climbed onto the float next to the Crucifix takes over, under the Cross is fixed the painting of His Sorrowful Mother, then they are carried in procession by the men (and women) in blue hoods called "babbaluti", they proceed invoking the pity and mercy of the Lord with a constant and rhythmic lament, saying "Signuri, Misericordia, Pietà!"; this is the norm, but this year the bad weather has brought some changes, the float on which they hoisted the SS. The crucifix with the kneeling babbaluti was not located in the churchyard, but inside the church. Christ was covered with a large sheet of cellophane to protect it from the rain, while the painting of the Madonna with swords in her heart was placed at her Son's feet only after the procession returned to the church. San Marco d'Alunzio is a charming town in the Messina area, located in the Nebrodi Mountains of Sicily. The procession takes place in honor of the Holy Crucifix of Araceli. This religious-penitential event is also known as the "procession of the babbaluti." These are those who, by vow or grace received, have chosen to carry the fercolo containing the crucifix and the painting on their shoulders in procession. they head to the nearby Church of Santa Maria dei Poveri or to some private home nearby where, sheltered from the curiosity of the faithful, they wear a simple but characteristic indigo-colored cloth habit, consisting of a tunic and a conical hood that covers the entire body and leaves only the eyes and hands free. It is not uncommon, however, for the penitents, rendered anonymous by the habit they wear, to also include women, who, to avoid any possibility of recognition, wear a pair of gloves; The babbaluti are 33 in number to commemorate the 33 years of Christ. The number is odd, in fact the 33rd babbaluto does not carry the vara. He (should be the “capo vara”) proceeds backwards, looking towards Christ and his Mother, and at the same time checks that everything is in order among the babbaluti, guiding the vara along the path, even if it is moving backwards (this is a way of proceeding in carrying the vara or fercolo, present in various Sicilian religious processions). So, the 32 (+1) "babbaluti" carry on their shoulders the float that bears the Holy Crucifix of the Araceli church (the statue of Christ was created by Scipione Li Volsi, in the year 1652, he was a sculptor and plasterer of the Sicilian Baroque), at whose feet, on the float, is tied the painting of Our Lady of Sorrows, whose chest appears pierced by seven swords (it is an 18th century painting), however, as already described, this year the painting, to protect it from the rain, was placed on the float only upon the return of the procession to the church. Before the procession begins, the babbaluti advance barefoot, wearing only heavy, hand-knitted stockings of raw wool. Before entering the church, they must walk a path of purification. When they approach the ancient church of Araceli, they bow and kiss the ground, thus receiving permission to enter the church. This, however, occurs through a side door, called the "false door" (in Sicilian dialect, "porta fausa"). Having entered the church from the side, they now exit through the main entrance, allowing them to take their places, kneeling in front and behind the float. To enter the "porta fausa," the babbaluti proceed in pairs, with the last babbaluti, the eldest, proceeding alone. After the priest's long-awaited speech, the procession can begin, winding through the streets of the picturesque and welcoming village of San Marco d'Alunzio. Along the way, the Babbaluti pace their steps, accompanying the mournful and plaintive jugular vein that invokes the Lord. Devout men and women walk alongside the Babbaluti, walking alongside the float, touching it, sometimes caressing it... just to have physical (and spiritual) contact with it. Finally, after completing a specific route, the procession returns to the ancient church (of Norman origins) of Aracoeli. Every time I attend this touching event, I am completely overwhelmed by emotion (which, however, I cannot abandon, lest I lose concentration while taking photos). The highlight is when the crucified Christ is removed from the hook fixed to the wall by expert men, and then carried (it seems to float) above the heads of the devotees, supported aloft with their hands, and hoisted and secured to the float. In these moments of intense emotion, it is common to see in the eyes of the devotees, shining with tears, that profound emotion of their relationship with this Christ, which has lasted forever: it is as if they were in the presence of the true Christ, in flesh and blood. This is the atmosphere experienced in those moments, this is the magic of the procession of the Most Holy Crucifix and His Mother, represented by the painting of Our Lady of Sorrows pierced by seven swords (an iconography of Spanish origin).
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Il presente racconto fotografico, con testo, che propongo come ultimo mio lavoro per Flickr dell’anno 2025 (oramai mancano pochi minuti al 2026) parla della processione del Santissimo Crocifisso di Aracoeli che si è tenuto nel marzo di quest’anno 2025 nel paese di San Marco d’Alunzio (in provincia di Messina). La processione normalmente inizia la mattina dell’ultimo venerdì del mese di marzo di ogni anno, c’è però una eccezione a questa regola, quando si realizza la coincidenza col Venerdì Santo, allora la processione viene anticipata al venerdì precedente. Quella del SS.Crocifisso di Aracoeli è un antico rito penitenziale, il giorno della festa del Crocifisso, a San Marco d'Alunzio si celebra la S. Messa nella Chiesa dell'Aracoeli, in questa occasione il SS. Crocifisso (che si trova nella chiesa in fondo alla navata di destra, ai suoi piedi è posto il quadro della Vergine Addolorata trafitta da sette spade), il Cristo sulla Croce viene tolto dai devoti dal gancio sul quale è appeso, viene portato all’esterno della chiesa, qui viene innalzato e fissato sulla vara, subentra il sermone del sacerdote salito sulla vara accanto al Crocifisso, sotto alla Croce viene fissato il quadro di sua Madre Addolorata, quindi vengono portati in processione dagli uomini (e donne) incappucciati di colore blu detti “babbaluti”, essi procedono invocando la pietà e la misericordia del Signore con un costante e ritmato lamento, dicendo “Signuri, Misericordia, Pietà!”; questa è la norma, ma quest’anno il cattivo tempo ha portato qualche cambiamento, la vara sulla quale hanno issato il SS. Crocifisso con i babbaluti messi in ginocchio, non si trovava sul sagrato davanti la chiesa, ma era dentro la chiesa, il Cristo veniva ricoperto con un ampio foglio di cellophane per proteggerlo dalla pioggia, mentre il quadro della Madonna con le spade nel cuore, è stato messo ai piedi di Suo Figlio solo al rientro della processione nella chiesa. San Marco d’Alunzio è un ameno paese del territorio Messinese, sito sui monti Nebrodi, in Sicilia; la processione si svolge proprio in onore del Santissimo Crocifisso di Araceli, è questa una ricorrenza religioso-penitenziale conosciuta anche come "processione dei babbaluti", essi sono coloro che per voto o per grazia ricevuta, hanno deciso di portare in processione sulle loro spalle il fercolo con il Crocifisso ed il quadro; essi si dirigono nella vicina Chiesa di Santa Maria dei Poveri o in qualche abitazione privata lì vicino dove, al riparo dalla curiosità dei fedeli, indossano un semplice ma caratteristico saio di tela di colore indaco, costituito da una tunica e un cappuccio di forma conica tale da coprire l'intero corpo e lasciare liberi solo gli occhi e le mani, non è raro purtuttavia che tra i penitenti, resi anonimi dal saio che indossano, vi siano anche delle donne, le quali per evitare qualsiasi possibilità di riconoscimento, indossano un paio di guanti; i babbaluti sono in numero di 33 per rievocare i 33 anni di Cristo, il numero è dispari, infatti il 33° babbaluto non porta la vara, egli (dovrebbe essere il “capo vara”) procede all’indietro, rivolgendo lo sguardo al Cristo ed a sua Madre, e nel contempo controlla che tutto sia in ordine tra i babbaluti, guidando la vara lungo il percorso, anche se il suo andamento è a ritroso, (questo è un modo di procedere nel portare la vara o fercolo, presente in diverse processioni religiose siciliane). Quindi, i 32 (+1) "babbaluti" portano sulle loro spalle la vara che reca il Santo Crocifisso della chiesa dell’Araceli (la statua del Cristo è stata creata da Scipione Li Volsi, nell'anno 1652, egli fu uno scultore e stuccatore del barocco SIciliano), ai cui piedi, sulla vara, viene legato il quadro della Madonna Addolorata, il cui petto appare trafitto da sette spade ( è un dipinto del XVIII secolo), purtuttavia come già descritto, quest’anno il quadro, per proteggerlo dalla pioggia, è stato messo sulla vara solo al rientro della processione in chiesa. I babbaluti prima dell'inizio della processione avanzano a piedi scalzi indossando solo delle pesanti calze di lana grezza realizzate a mano, devono percorrere, prima di entrare in chiesa, un cammino di purificazione: quando essi giungono in prossimità dell'antica chiesa dell'Araceli, essi si chinano e baciano in terra, ricevendo in tal modo il permesso per poter accedere dentro la chiesa, questo però avviene da una porta laterale, chiamata "falsa porta" (In dialetto siciliano “porta fausa”), una volta entrati in chiesa lateralmente, ora fuoriescono dall'ingresso principale, potendo così prendere posto, inginocchiandosi sul davanti ed alle spalle, della vara; i babbaluti per accedere alla “porta fausa” procedono in coppia, l’ultimo babbaluto procede da solo, lui è il più anziano tra i babbaluti; seguirà l'atteso discorso del sacerdote, terminato, potrà iniziare la processione che si svolge per le vie del pittoresco ed accogliente paese di San Marco d'Alunzio. Lungo il percorso i Babbaluti cadenzano la propria andatura accompagnandosi alla mesta e lamentosa giugulatoria che invoca il Signore . Ci sono uomini e donne devoti che procedono assieme ai babbaluti camminando a lato della vara, toccandola, ora accarezzandola...pur di avere un contatto fisico (e di rimando spirituale) con essa. Infine, dopo aver compiuto un preciso percorso, la processione fa rientro nell'antica chiesa (di origini Normanne) dell'Aracoeli. Ogniqualvolta sono presente a questa toccante ricorrenza sono completamente inondato da emozioni (alle quali però non posso abbandonarmi, perderei la concentrazione nel realizzare le foto), il momento clou è quando il Cristo Crocifisso viene tolto dal gancio fissato sul muro da uomini esperti, per poi essere portato (sembra galleggiare) sopra la testa dei devoti, sostenuto in alto con le mani, ed essere issato e fissato sulla vara; in questi momenti di intensa emozione è comune vedere negli occhi dei devoti, lucidi di lacrime, quella emozione profonda del loro rapporto con questo Cristo, che dura da sempre: è come se si trovassero al cospetto del Cristo vero, in carne ed ossa, questa è l’atmosfera che si vive in quei momenti, questa è la magia della processione del SS. Crocifisso e di Sua Madre, rappresentata dal quadro dell’Addolorata trafitta da sette spade (iconografia di origine spagnola).
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Sometimes, it’s not what is light that learns to fly –
but what finally lets go.
A piece of my story.
A part of my noise.
And the light that taught me how to dream again.
Trapped.
Trapped by lies, by manipulation,
trapped in believing in the good within everyone.
Naive, maybe —
but real.
I believed in warmth.
In love.
In safety.
In false hopes.
And still, it was never enough.
Perhaps it wasn’t always darkness in people,
not always bad intention —
but they were there.
They screamed inside my head,
like echoes in the rain,
echoes that never end.
I live with ADHD.
It’s not a disease, not a weakness.
It’s my superpower.
It lets me feel what others feel,
understand fast, think ahead,
and find solutions where others have already given up.
But it’s loud.
Sometimes confusing.
Sometimes simply there.
My mind is never quiet.
I can’t just lie down and fall asleep.
It keeps thinking, sorting, asking.
It longs for order, for logic, for understanding.
It’s endlessly curious —
it wants to know, to learn, to discover.
And it longs to be understood.
My heart runs beside it —
feeling every longing, every pain, every spark of hope.
My mum was my peace.
My best friend.
She knew me like no one else.
When everything became too loud,
she was the light I could return to,
the one that held me when I lost my way,
that gave me warmth and love so I could dream again,
so I could fly again.
In 2018, cancer stole her from me.
Suddenly. Without warning.
She was only 59.
So much love, so many dreams.
And then… gone.
But she’s still here —
deep inside my heart.
She taught me to be kind,
to see the beauty in small things:
the wind moving through a meadow,
the rustle of leaves,
the glitter of morning dew on a flower.
I perceive the world differently.
I see the calm colors of a sunset,
I feel the day whisper goodnight
as the last ray touches the horizon.
Thank you, Mum.
Taught workshops at Point Reyes for over 15 years and always enjoyed the unpredictability of the weather and the wild coastal views. If I only had wings....
USA: California: Marin County: Point Reyes National Seashore: Chimney Rock: Hazy sunset views of the rugged California coast, eroding from the constant pounding of Pacific Ocean waves - © Sean Arbabi | seanarbabi.com (all rights reserved worldwide) #pointreyes #silverefexpro #tamron #nikon #gitzo #pointreyesnationalseashore #californiacoast #californiadreamin #naturephotography #niksoftware #marincounty
Biography: Abna Aggrey Lancaster taught English and world literature for more than 40 years in public high schools and at Livingstone College in North Carolina. She had "a sense of joy in seeing young people develop." Both parents were teachers; her father taught at Livingstone College. Until she reached fifth grade, Abna Aggrey was taught by her mother, who did not work outside the home until after her husband's death. Miss Aggrey attended the high school department of Livingstone, then Shaw College. After teaching for one year in Winston-Salem, she returned to Salisbury, where she married Spencer Lancaster, also a teacher. They both taught at Price High School in Salisbury for more than 20 years. Mrs. Lancaster then spent 14 years as a teacher at Livingstone, where her concern for the students, and especially the foreign students, led them to call her "Mother." While at Livingstone, she also chaired the admissions committee, was faculty representative to the board of trustees, corresponding secretary of Poets and Dreamers Garden Association, and secretary of the English department. She retired in 1977. Mrs. Lancaster was appointed by the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church as a delegate to the World Council of Churches meeting in Nairobi in 1975; she was also a charter member of the board of directors of the Salisbury Symphony and a member of the Business and Professional Women's Club.
Description: The Black Women Oral History Project interviewed 72 African American women between 1976 and 1981. With support from the Schlesinger Library, the project recorded a cross section of women who had made significant contributions to American society during the first half of the 20th century. Photograph taken by Judith Sedwick
Repository: Schlesinger Library on the History of Women in America.
Collection: Black Women Oral History Project
Research Guide: guides.library.harvard.edu/schlesinger_bwohp
Questions? Ask a Schlesinger Librarian
I have always taught my students to avoid a dead-center composition. Yet, this foreboding image demanded to be conveyed this way: Like a gloomy classical surrealist painting.
There is something unnerving I find in this image, almost causing physical discomfort: Like the deep bass tones used to foreshadow the worst that is yet to come, in horror movies, causing an involuntary shiver along the spine, and sweaty palms.
This abandoned and dilapidated building, in Panjim, Goa, had warning signs and quarantine boards outside, and strange patches of orange slime and almost glowing yellow-green fungus growing on the walls. I never did find out what had transpired there, and I am not sure I would want to.
When you taught me how to dance
Years ago with misty eyes
Every step and silent glance
Every move a sweet surprise
Someone must have taught you well
To beguile and to entrance
For that night you cast your spell
And you taught me how to dance
Katie Melua - When You Taught Me How To Dance
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Its Monday again ... and I'm enjoying in this song , again
www.youtube.com/watch?v=aERfvEGC3ZI&index=4&list=...
Have a Monday to remember my dear friends
"¡Oh, libertad gran tesoro! Porque no hay buena prisión, aunque fuese en grillos de oro." ― Lope de Vega.
“We have been taught that freedom is the freedom to pursue our petty, trivial desires. Real freedom is freedom from our petty, trivial desires.” ― Russell Brand; 'Recovery: Freedom from Our Addictions'.
Richie Havens — Freedom ♫ youtu.be/SQ0I0SRW9_U
Freedom, freedom
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
"Life without freedom is like a body without a soul, and freedom without thought is like a confused spirit... Life, Freedom, and Thought are threein-one, and are everlasting and never pass away" ― Kahlil Gibran; 'The Vision: Reflections on the Way of the Soul'
Michael McDonald — Sweet Freedom ♫ youtu.be/_8Xfib2nboo
Shine, sweet freedom
Shine your light on me
You are the magic
You're right where I wanna be
Oh, sweet freedom, carry me along
We'll keep the spirit alive on and on
"See, children grow up thinking the adult world is ordered, rational, fit for purpose. It's crap. Becoming a man is realizing, that it's all rotten. Realizing how to celebrate that rottenness, that's freedom". — Richard Onslow Roper (Hugh Laurie); 'The Night Manager', Season 1: Episode 3.
"Waiting for the winds of change
To sweep the clouds away
Waiting for the rainbow's end
To cast its gold your way
Countless ways
You pass the days
Waiting for someone to call
And turn your world around
Looking for an answer to
The questions you have found
Looking for
An open door
Oh, you don't get something for nothing
You don't get freedom for free
You won't get wise
With the sleep still in your eyes
No matter what your dreams might be
No, you don't get something for nothing
You can't have freedom for free
You won't get wise
With the sleep still in your eyes
No matter what your dream might be
What you own is your own kingdom
What you do is your own glory
What you love is your own power
What you live is your own story
In your head is the answer
Let it guide you along
Let your heart be the anchor
And the beat of your song
Oh you don't get something for nothing
You can't have freedom for free, no
Whoa, you don't get something for nothing
You can't have freedom for free" Rush; 'Something for nothing (Freedom)' youtu.be/pMAJmJCG2tI
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From this Sunday, Spain will allow children to go outside for walks in a loosening of the country's strict coronavirus lockdown.
Photo taken with mobile phone (Nokia Lumia 930) and edited with Fotor.
Just taught I'd spend some time at the bath house in morningwood, might has well let you have a peek. maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Morningwood%20Valley/138/6...
She taught it to me at the OrigaMIT convention earlier this month. I like it a lot! #365origamichallenge #morigami #origami #wreath #christmas
I taught this box last year at Mexico's convention. someone came up with a variation, but I haven't been able to make it work.
Folded from a square of mexican paper of 30 cm on the side.
Garfield taught me how to hate.
Acrylic on paper
12x16 inches
created for Steve Saiz's Garfield zine.
*sold*
One thing Corona lockdowns have taught us is that virtually any place can be a place to eat. The corner of the library is a particularly suitable one. Thanks guys for keeping the pose for a couple more pictures, it was nice meeting you :)
Asahi Pentax MX and SMC Pentax 50mm f/1.7, Fomapan 400 in Rodinal 1+50 for 13 min @ 20°C and digitalized using kit zoom and extension tubes.
Thank you everyone for your visits, faves and comments, they are always appreciated :)
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I make myself a rule of publishing only pictures I honestly think their subjects would like. However, if you'd rather not see yourself here, let me know (www.flickr.com/people/matthiasrabiller/), and I'll remove the image from my stream. Besides, I might have made pictures of you that you'd like to have but have (not) yet appeared on this page. Maybe I messed up, maybe it's not developped yet... don't hesitate co contact me I'll let you know.
Aus Prinzip veröffentliche ich nur Bilder, wovon ich denke, dass sie ihren Subjekt gefallen würden. Wenn sie ihr Bild jedoch hier nicht sehen möchten können sie mich natürlich anschreiben (www.flickr.com/people/matthiasrabiller/), ich werde dann das Bild schnellstmöglich löschen. Habe ich von ihnen ein Bild gemacht, das sie haben möchten, aber (noch) nicht hier veröffentlicht wurde? Vielleicht habe ich bei diesem Bild auf irgendeiner Weise versagt, vielleicht ist es einfach noch nicht veröffentlicht... schreiben sie mich einfach an, und ich werde ihnen sagen wie es steht, bzw. ihre unveröffentlichte Bilder zukommen lassen.
My Turkish daughter in law taught me that original Santa Claus history started in Turkey. Shortly, thereafter she started calling me Santa and the name happily has become how she calls me 😊❤️😊. Now, keep in mind, I also have a name for her. I call her Smurf. And when she drops in to visit, I put a small step ladder or stool in the kitchen so that she can reach the dishes on the top shelf. 😊❤️😊. Oh, one more element to the story of this photo. This series occurred totally by chance. at a non-profit donation store in Bellefonte , Pennsylvania. Oh, one more element to the story of this photo. This series occurred totally by chance. at a non-profit donation store in Bellefonte , Pennsylvania. 😊 And Finally, one last thing about this Santa-Me photo series of eleven Santa’s plus one. - I went to this store , the Bellefonte store center Faith which is like their goodwill store there, in order to
return a fan for credit because it turned out to be broken
While the two salespeople were deciding whether or not to give me credit, I walked around the store and saw all these Santa figures.
So needless to say I took only eleven photos of Santa for the 12 days of Christmas – because I will be the last Santa on the twelfth day 😄😄😄.
Moreover I have begun to imagine : a Santa Cocktail Party. But I still have to work on that photo 😄
Girls are taught from an early age by their mothers how to create beautiful clothing from alpaca and sheep fur. In many rural Andean villages, before shearing begins, an offering is made to the gods and the Pachamama (Mother Earth).
We visited an Andean weaving center in Chinchero where a group of women, all dressed in typical clothing and speaking amongst themselves in native Quechua language, welcomed us to watch while they washed, spun, thread, weaved and dyed their alpaca and sheep fibers.
Here we see an Andean girl who is washing sheep fibers using an ancient mixture of water and root mixture. Peru has more than one kind of naturally-occurring plant detergents, which are traditionally used to wash shorn wool and fiber. In the Sacred Valley, Sacha Paraqay is a root which is grated into the wash water and mixed to create a foamy lather. The wool came out bright white, and ready to dye. Once the wool is clean, it is hung to dry. Weaving is a part of Peru's history and traditions.
After being taught how to play Magic the Gathering" last night (I finally beat him BTW :) ), tonight I experienced my fist game of Dungeons and Dragons where I played as Axeless Bob - every other character had an axe apart from me. Tom is in geek heaven this weekend with MTG of Friday, D&D on Saturday and Warhammer tomorrow.
Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to cry
So courage, teach me to be shy
When you float like a cannonball
{+7 in comments}
San Francisco today :) I had too much fun on the beach by the bay. It rained a lot this morning but was really nice in the city, very windy however. I've really missed the beach... I also have a few more that I'll upload later as well.
Anyways, I'm going to dinner now with my brother and sister. I'll browse your streams later this evening!
You're taught in training that the second you hear the air raid siren, you run like hell for cover. That's exactly what I did on June 11, 2033. Unfortunately, I was the only one. The air raid sirens went off a few minutes too late, and only started blaring as the Urag Plasma Bombs started to rain down on the base. I was close to the shelter, so I made it inside. I waited for 30 seconds before sealing the door to let anyone else in should they make it. No one did. The bomb shelter was equipped to last a group of 10 soldiers for 2 years. I was the only one, so I had enough food to last a lot longer than that. 2 days later, the coast seemed clear. I tried to turn the handle on the door, but something was blocking it from the outside. With growing fear, I jerked and tugged on the handle for hours, until I finally realised I was trapped. That was almost ten years ago. I know because I carved each tally mark into the wall of the bunker. Day by day, hour by hour, I waited for something, anything to help me. Nothing came. After exactly 3682 days of solitary confinement, I heard a grinding noise that ended with a reverberating boom. With growing excitement, I raced to the door, and slowly turned the wheel. With a great cloud of dust, the rusty hinges grated open. The first breath of fresh air in ten years tasted sweeter than anything else I could imagine. After my eyes adjusted to the natural sunlight, I started to see a drastically different landscape than the one I left 10 years ago. Now, I've decided to leave this bunker in search of other humans, and I'll keep a log so people in the future can learn what happened to me.
This little feather taught me something: it was picked out strongly in the golden, late afternoon sunlight, which caught my eye. As I tracked it through the lens, it passed through the shadow of a wooden post from a derelict fishing platform. I took a shot almost thoughtlessly despite having lost the wonderful light momentarily ... and of course preferred the muted tones here to the glaring contrasts of the other shots.
I thought you might give it a glance as it floats downstream past you ...
If theres one thing that my dad taught me was not to play with fireworks. Well id say that was bad advice. So i went out and bought a pack of firecrackers the other night and headed down to find somewhere i could let them off. So this is where i ripped my finger on a chain that i had hooked up with this mad idea and as i was getting that ready i gashed open my index but it was still before i even took the photo so like any light painter would do i set up my lights and had to get the photo.
This was the first attempt i did as i had 5 fireworks but i first tested the light on my with the 2 flashes and i set up all that exposure and then it was time to attempt the fire work. I knew i had to hit the self timer on the camera and make a mad dash back to the picnic table and sit down and light that firework with the timer of when the photo was about to start cause the flashes that lit me fire a tthe start of the exposure so i had to be ready and set and thats how this shot went down --I ran back to the camera after the firework was done and checked the back of the camera and this was on there --i was stoked and first attempt i didnt want to jinx it so i saved my other firecrackers and went home with that ---"that was a good shot thoughts" --i peroxided my ripped finger and called it a day---day 171 actually---playing with fireworks
Specs and Strobist
Sb-800 camera right full gelled yellow (zoomed 24)
sb-800 camera left full gelled blue (zoomed 24) and both fired via nikon cls as the flashes were about to go off i lit the firework and sat in position--then the flashes went off and lit me and then i slowly moved the fire work every time it fired from left to right to create that pattern
30 second exposure
sooc
About a “Traveling Artist” – Jayson Yeoh
Self-taught artist Jayson Yeoh has a passion for art since young. His pursuit for art creation is relentless and never wavers. A skilled watercolourist, he is always obsessed with the magical quality and versatility of this water media.
Over the years, through his continuous exploration and practice, Jayson has developed a distinctive personal style. His works clearly demonstrate an artistic language unique to himself.
To him, life’s surroundings and the vast nature are his best teachers. They provide him with unlimited source of inspirations and creative sparks.
Jayson loves to travel and always bring with him his sketchbooks and art tools.
Sketching while traveling becomes an important part of his travel itinerary; and is one of the main catalysts for his constant travels.
He has recorded in his sketchbooks, many beautiful artworks and sketches, notes and information, as well as countless new creative ideas!
‘Sketching while traveling’ has enabled him to walk out of the studio and his own limitations, while opened up limitless possibilities.
It also taught him valuable lessons – to observe the world, to know the world, and to create the worlds he sees through his own eyes.
‘Sketching while traveling’ is a journey for enlightenment and knowledge. It is also an alternative method to treasure a memory by in-depth understanding, both visually and audibly.
To Jayson, the ultimate objectives of traveling and sketching are not the artworks created or the opportunity to see magnificent landscapes and rivers, but his interactions with the environment and the community, his means of observing the world, and those people and things, which had touched him one way or another along the journey. They not only broadened his horizons, but also enriched his personal feelings.
Such experiences make him grow as an artist to create better works, and at the same time encourage him to keep moving towards his artistic journey.