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This Nkisi Nkonde, captured at Faro Municipal Museum, is a type of power figure from the Congo Basin in Central Africa, specifically associated with the Kongo people. It is a form of Nkisi, a term referring to sacred objects in Kongo spirituality that are believed to house spirits or spiritual forces. The Nkonde (meaning "hunter") is a particular type of Nkisi known for its aggressive, protective, and judicial roles.
Key Features of Nkisi Nkonde:
Appearance:
Typically, these figures are humanoid in shape and made of wood.
They are often adorned with metal objects like nails, blades, or other sharp implements driven into their surface.
The inclusion of these materials is symbolic of the figure's activation or its use in fulfilling spiritual or legal purposes.
Function:
Hunter of Justice: Nkisi Nkonde was used to enforce laws, settle disputes, and exact punishment for wrongdoers. It was believed to "hunt down" those who broke oaths or contracts.
Protector: It served as a guardian against evil forces, illness, or malevolent spirits.
Healer: In some cases, Nkisi Nkonde was associated with healing, balancing spiritual forces within the community.
Activation and Ritual Use:
A spiritual specialist known as an nganga would "charge" the Nkisi Nkonde by embedding medicines (bilongo) into cavities in the figure.
The bilongo materials could include herbs, animal parts, minerals, or other substances with symbolic or spiritual significance.
The act of hammering nails or driving blades into the figure was a way to "wake" or "activate" it, often accompanying rituals and invocations.
Cultural Context:
Nkisi Nkonde reflects the Kongo people's intricate belief systems, which intertwine law, spirituality, and community order.
It was both a physical and metaphysical tool, acting as a tangible focal point for spiritual forces and social accountability.
Colonial Misunderstandings:
When European colonists and missionaries encountered Nkisi Nkonde, they often misinterpreted them as "fetishes" or objects of idolatry, failing to grasp their deeper cultural and spiritual significance.
Many Nkisi Nkonde figures were taken to museums, where they remain as artifacts of African spiritual heritage.
In Modern Times:
Nkisi Nkonde is studied as an important symbol of Kongo art and spirituality.
It is often featured in museum collections and exhibits focused on African art and the spiritual practices of Central Africa.
[Bonduaries]
During the winter months in the Po Valley , the fog is a part of the landscape, cold, dump, almost tangible.
Fog is moisture in the nostrils, is a limited landscapes. You feel isolated, almost blinded by the white. The gaze is limited and the fog tracks the boundaries.
There are places you always pass by, common places that turn invisible, canceled by the chaos of buildings and constructions.
The fog, greedy of space, grants you the crumbs of what encompasses, defines the boundaries forcibly, giving back, sarcastically, the most common details.
These details turn unique, eye-catching, aesthetically ready for photographic consecration.
The streets, the buildings and the fields are transformed into landscapes that you can only imagine. A pole, the wires of the light, a gasoline station is all that you can see.
They are the boundaries the fog gives you.”
CONFINI
"La nebbia in pianura padana, nei mesi invernali, è parte integrante del paesaggio, fredda, umida, quasi tangibile.
La nebbia è il freddo, l'umidità nelle narici, lo sguardo che fatica, il paesaggio che si chiude per isolare e delimitare lo sguardo, tracciare i Confini.
Ci sono luoghi davanti ai quali si passa spesso, luoghi talmente presenti da diventare anonimi immersi come sono nel caos dei fitti fabbricati dalla pianura.
La nebbia ne riscatta il loro valore; isolati dal resto del paesaggio, assurgono a linee di confine oltre le quali tutto è celato, misterioso: il paesaggio padano diventa metafisico, non più fisico. Lo senti, lo percepisci ma non lo vedi.
La nebbia è avida di spazio. Ti concede briciole di quello che ingloba, delimita forzatamente i confini, valorizza i dettagli, concedendoti sarcasticamente quelli che più vendono trascurati.
Li rende unici, accattivanti, esteticamente pronti alla consacrazione fotografica.
Le strade, gli edifici e i campi si trasformano in paesaggi che puoi solo immaginare. Un palo, i fili della luce, una stazione della benzina è tutto quello che ti viene concesso. Sono i confini forzati che la nebbia, avida, ti restituisce."
Every Autumn, my body
Prepares a little more for death
It is the time where there is more space
Between moments and
Minutes stretch out
Like a mountain range
With so many vivid blue contours
It feels more tangible and expansive
You know what will come next
The stillness.
A sense of a life too quiet
All the memories but with
No space left for the future.
Time adds up only to
Vanish like a desiccated leaf
Stepped on too many times
One last desperate thought...
Why is it so...
We must give all this up?
It is the inevitable equation.
We could never appreciate the seasons
In the first place
If we didn’t realize the change was coming.
And we will all disappear
**All poems and photos are copyrighted**
Always on the lookout for something that catches my eye I came across this bottle the other day and little did I know it would have a rather interesting history going back to 1871! I think it's the perfect little vase to show off some Honey Mesquite (Prosopis juliflora) seed pods collected while visiting New Mexico this summer.
Shot with: VOIGTLANDER, 125mm f/2.5 SL, MACRO APO-LANTHAR, shot @ f/5.6, 34 Layer Focus Stack Rendered w/Helicon Focus, (B,R4,S2).
Additional reading on Meat Juice: thequackdoctor.com/index.php/valentines-meat-juice/
While Meat Juice is interesting in a macabre kind of way, the Honey Mesquite offers more tangible benefits from a variety of uses. prepperswill.com/honey-mesquite-survival-tree-arid-lands/
On a foggy morning near Rothenstein, Thuringia, Germany
{32 mm: ƒ/13 | 1/160 s | ISO 250 | manual White Balance | manual exposure | -5° C / 23° F}
In a way, the whole tangible universe itself is a vast residue, a skeleton of countless lives that have germinated in it and have left it, leaving behind them only a trifling, infinitesimal part of their riches
--Pierre Teilhard de Chardin--
Visit my blog
A long and eventful and exhausting day coming to an end with a beautiful sunset over the sea. I tried to make the speed of the ferry tangible...
[Bonduaries]
During the winter months in the Po Valley , the fog is a part of the landscape, cold, dump, almost tangible.
Fog is moisture in the nostrils, is a limited landscapes. You feel isolated, almost blinded by the white. The gaze is limited and the fog tracks the boundaries.
There are places you always pass by, common places that turn invisible, canceled by the chaos of buildings and constructions.
The fog, greedy of space, grants you the crumbs of what encompasses, defines the boundaries forcibly, giving back, sarcastically, the most common details.
These details turn unique, eye-catching, aesthetically ready for photographic consecration.
The streets, the buildings and the fields are transformed into landscapes that you can only imagine. A pole, the wires of the light, a gasoline station is all that you can see.
They are the boundaries the fog gives you.”
CONFINI
"La nebbia in pianura padana, nei mesi invernali, è parte integrante del paesaggio, fredda, umida, quasi tangibile.
La nebbia è il freddo, l'umidità nelle narici, lo sguardo che fatica, il paesaggio che si chiude per isolare e delimitare lo sguardo, tracciare i Confini.
Ci sono luoghi davanti ai quali si passa spesso, luoghi talmente presenti da diventare anonimi immersi come sono nel caos dei fitti fabbricati dalla pianura.
La nebbia ne riscatta il loro valore; isolati dal resto del paesaggio, assurgono a linee di confine oltre le quali tutto è celato, misterioso: il paesaggio padano diventa metafisico, non più fisico. Lo senti, lo percepisci ma non lo vedi.
La nebbia è avida di spazio. Ti concede briciole di quello che ingloba, delimita forzatamente i confini, valorizza i dettagli, concedendoti sarcasticamente quelli che più vendono trascurati.
Li rende unici, accattivanti, esteticamente pronti alla consacrazione fotografica.
Le strade, gli edifici e i campi si trasformano in paesaggi che puoi solo immaginare. Un palo, i fili della luce, una stazione della benzina è tutto quello che ti viene concesso. Sono i confini forzati che la nebbia, avida, ti restituisce."
One thing is clear and tangible to me in a way that it seldom has been: the world is full of God. From every pore, God rushes out to us, as it were. But we’re often blind. We remain stuck in the good times and the bad times and don’t experience them right up to the point where the spring flows from God. . . . In everything, God wants to celebrate encounter and asks for the prayerful response of surrender. The trick and the duty is only this: to develop a lasting awareness and a lasting attitude out of these insights and graces—or rather, to allow them to develop. Then life becomes free, in that freedom which we have often looked for.
-Alfred Delp to Luise Oestreicher, November 17, 1944; cited in Ultimate Price: Testimonies of Christians Who Resisted the Third Reich, selected by Annemarie S. Kidder (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2012), 65–66.
Reinheit, Frische, Unschuld – die Farbe Weiß weckt viele Assoziationen in uns. Sie steht für den Winter, für Eis und Schnee, sie gibt uns Kraft bei der Lösung unserer Probleme und wirkt unheimlich beruhigend. In fernöstlichen Kulturen wie China oder Japan steht sie für Trauer und Tod. In der katholischen Kirche ist Weiß die Heimat des Lichts, das alles sichtbar und erfahrbar macht. Sie festigt uns innerlich und befreit uns von störenden Gedanken.
Purity, freshness, innocence - the color white awakens many associations in us. It stands for the winter, for ice and snow, it gives us strength in the solution of our problems and is incredibly calming. In Far Eastern cultures like China or Japan it stands for mourning and death.In the Catholic Church, white is the home of light, making everything visible and tangible. It strengthens us inside and frees us from disturbing thoughts.
Shot with my Land Camera 230 loaded with Fujifilm 3000B film.
Despite what some (too many) report, Chicago, my home for over 16 years, is a beautiful city with incredible people. It's diversity and inclusion are what make it so special.
For years, I have not participated in 'Roid Week as intentionally, fully and joyfully as I have this week. Art is one of my acts of rebellion and creating is what helps me to express what I feel internally in a tangible way. I have not been able to treat my patients since the start of the shut down, and it's incredibly frustrating and sad. But I must say, this is the best week I've had in a month.
Thank you fellow analogue lovers and nerds. See you in the Spring!!!
Nearly three months separates the photos in this composite. Yet it feels like much less in my increasingly contorted perspective of time. As a child I would sometimes spin in circles. I loved the momentary sense of imbalance before my senses fell back into rhythm. The passage of time gives me the a similar sense of imbalance. However these days the normal rhythm is never fully restored. I stumble from one season into the next with a failing sense of comprehension about the progression.
Photography at least provides me with a tangible set of way posts to mark my journey. My phone in particular offers an amazing visual tracking of life moments. I often cross through the camera roll quickly. It creates a weird motion blur where you can't really focus on a single image. Rather I discern only shapes and colors that correlate in part to the season in which the pictures were taken. Another trick is to zoom way out until hundreds of photos appear in miniature. Love seeing my recent life translated into to a mosaic, billions of pixels. Individually indiscernible, but collectively representing my daily experiences on the pathway of life.
Standing on the edge off this woodland pond the other day, I was struck by the cold and barren bleakness. I thought back to that brilliant October day when I stood in this exact same spot. The scene literally burst into vibrant and joyous color. This composite conveys that joy, but in a shocking, even disturbing juxtaposition. It put me in mind of the explosion of an underwater depth charge. Yet another unwanted time marker passing me by.
This room, at Dachau Concentration camp, had a tangibly bad feeling permeating it. It was used to store bodies before being cremated in the ovens next door.
Photographs taken after the liberation by US soldiers shows it piled high with bodies. A really terrible, terrible place.
For an account of my week in Bavaria. including my visit to Dachau:
[Boundaries]
During the winter months in the Po Valley , the fog is a part of the landscape, cold, dump, almost tangible.
Fog is moisture in the nostrils, is a limited landscapes. You feel isolated, almost blinded by the white. The gaze is limited and the fog tracks the boundaries.
There are places you always pass by, common places that turn invisible, canceled by the chaos of buildings and constructions.
The fog, greedy of space, grants you the crumbs of what encompasses, defines the boundaries forcibly, giving back, sarcastically, the most common details.
These details turn unique, eye-catching, aesthetically ready for photographic consecration.
The streets, the buildings and the fields are transformed into landscapes that you can only imagine. A pole, the wires of the light, a gasoline station is all that you can see.
They are the boundaries the fog gives you.”
CONFINI
"La nebbia in pianura padana, nei mesi invernali, è parte integrante del paesaggio, fredda, umida, quasi tangibile.
La nebbia è il freddo, l'umidità nelle narici, lo sguardo che fatica, il paesaggio che si chiude per isolare e delimitare lo sguardo, tracciare i Confini.
Ci sono luoghi davanti ai quali si passa spesso, luoghi talmente presenti da diventare anonimi immersi come sono nel caos dei fitti fabbricati dalla pianura.
La nebbia ne riscatta il loro valore; isolati dal resto del paesaggio, assurgono a linee di confine oltre le quali tutto è celato, misterioso: il paesaggio padano diventa metafisico, non più fisico. Lo senti, lo percepisci ma non lo vedi.
La nebbia è avida di spazio. Ti concede briciole di quello che ingloba, delimita forzatamente i confini, valorizza i dettagli, concedendoti sarcasticamente quelli che più vendono trascurati.
Li rende unici, accattivanti, esteticamente pronti alla consacrazione fotografica.
Le strade, gli edifici e i campi si trasformano in paesaggi che puoi solo immaginare. Un palo, i fili della luce, una stazione della benzina è tutto quello che ti viene concesso. Sono i confini forzati che la nebbia, avida, ti restituisce."
photo rights reserved by Ben
From the high mountains of Gergeti, via Mtskheta, we arrived in the semi-desert landscape of Udabno — a world of vast emptiness and rolling hills. Udabno is located in eastern Georgia, near the border with Azerbaijan, and forms a fascinating contrast to the green, mountainous regions of the country. Here stretches a vast semi-desert landscape of colorful, rolling hills, dusty tracks, and endless horizons. The earth glows in shades of yellow, red, and brown, especially when the sun hangs low in the sky, and the silence is almost tangible. In this rugged environment, traditional shepherds still roam. With small flocks, they move across the open terrain on foot or horseback, searching for patches of grass. Sometimes they appear as tiny dots on the horizon, their loyal dogs at their sides. Their simple, hardy way of life has changed little over the centuries, giving the region an authentic, timeless feel. The combination of the striking landscape, the profound stillness, and the presence of the shepherds makes Udabno a truly unique place where time seems to stand still.
Shepherds have shaped Georgian life for generations, guiding their flocks across rugged, open landscapes. In Udabno, they move slowly through the semi-desert on foot or horseback, following ancient routes across the hills. Their loyal dogs help them keep the sheep together, while horses carry them across the vast distances. Life here is simple and demanding, closely tied to the rhythms of nature. In the wide silence of Udabno, the sight of a shepherd on horseback feels like a timeless scene.
Vanuit de hoge bergen van Gergeti, via Mtskheta, belandden we in het halfwoestijnachtige landschap van Udabno — een wereld van uitgestrekte leegte en golvende heuvels. Udabno ligt in het oosten van Georgië, vlak bij de grens met Azerbeidzjan, en vormt een fascinerend contrast met de groene, bergachtige delen van het land. Hier ontvouwt zich een uitgestrekt halfwoestijnachtig landschap met kleurrijke, golvende heuvels, stoffige paden en eindeloze horizonten. De aarde kleurt in tinten geel, rood en bruin, vooral wanneer de zon laag aan de hemel staat, en de stilte is bijna tastbaar. In deze ruige omgeving leven nog altijd traditionele schapenherders. Met kleine kuddes trekken ze te voet of te paard door het open terrein, op zoek naar grazige stukken land. Soms verschijnen ze als stipjes aan de horizon, hun honden wakend aan hun zijde. Hun eenvoudige, stoere levensstijl lijkt al eeuwenlang onveranderd en geeft deze streek een authentieke sfeer. De combinatie van het bijzondere landschap, de diepe rust en de aanwezigheid van de herders maakt Udabno tot een unieke plek waar de tijd lijkt stil te staan.
[Bonduaries]
During the winter months in the Po Valley , the fog is a part of the landscape, cold, dump, almost tangible.
Fog is moisture in the nostrils, is a limited landscapes. You feel isolated, almost blinded by the white. The gaze is limited and the fog tracks the boundaries.
There are places you always pass by, common places that turn invisible, canceled by the chaos of buildings and constructions.
The fog, greedy of space, grants you the crumbs of what encompasses, defines the boundaries forcibly, giving back, sarcastically, the most common details.
These details turn unique, eye-catching, aesthetically ready for photographic consecration.
The streets, the buildings and the fields are transformed into landscapes that you can only imagine. A pole, the wires of the light, a gasoline station is all that you can see.
They are the boundaries the fog gives you.”
CONFINI
"La nebbia in pianura padana, nei mesi invernali, è parte integrante del paesaggio, fredda, umida, quasi tangibile.
La nebbia è il freddo, l'umidità nelle narici, lo sguardo che fatica, il paesaggio che si chiude per isolare e delimitare lo sguardo, tracciare i Confini.
Ci sono luoghi davanti ai quali si passa spesso, luoghi talmente presenti da diventare anonimi immersi come sono nel caos dei fitti fabbricati dalla pianura.
La nebbia ne riscatta il loro valore; isolati dal resto del paesaggio, assurgono a linee di confine oltre le quali tutto è celato, misterioso: il paesaggio padano diventa metafisico, non più fisico. Lo senti, lo percepisci ma non lo vedi.
La nebbia è avida di spazio. Ti concede briciole di quello che ingloba, delimita forzatamente i confini, valorizza i dettagli, concedendoti sarcasticamente quelli che più vendono trascurati.
Li rende unici, accattivanti, esteticamente pronti alla consacrazione fotografica.
Le strade, gli edifici e i campi si trasformano in paesaggi che puoi solo immaginare. Un palo, i fili della luce, una stazione della benzina è tutto quello che ti viene concesso. Sono i confini forzati che la nebbia, avida, ti restituisce."
[Bonduaries]
During the winter months in the Po Valley , the fog is a part of the landscape, cold, dump, almost tangible.
Fog is moisture in the nostrils, is a limited landscapes. You feel isolated, almost blinded by the white. The gaze is limited and the fog tracks the boundaries.
There are places you always pass by, common places that turn invisible, canceled by the chaos of buildings and constructions.
The fog, greedy of space, grants you the crumbs of what encompasses, defines the boundaries forcibly, giving back, sarcastically, the most common details.
These details turn unique, eye-catching, aesthetically ready for photographic consecration.
The streets, the buildings and the fields are transformed into landscapes that you can only imagine. A pole, the wires of the light, a gasoline station is all that you can see.
They are the boundaries the fog gives you.”
CONFINI
"La nebbia in pianura padana, nei mesi invernali, è parte integrante del paesaggio, fredda, umida, quasi tangibile.
La nebbia è il freddo, l'umidità nelle narici, lo sguardo che fatica, il paesaggio che si chiude per isolare e delimitare lo sguardo, tracciare i Confini.
Ci sono luoghi davanti ai quali si passa spesso, luoghi talmente presenti da diventare anonimi immersi come sono nel caos dei fitti fabbricati dalla pianura.
La nebbia ne riscatta il loro valore; isolati dal resto del paesaggio, assurgono a linee di confine oltre le quali tutto è celato, misterioso: il paesaggio padano diventa metafisico, non più fisico. Lo senti, lo percepisci ma non lo vedi.
La nebbia è avida di spazio. Ti concede briciole di quello che ingloba, delimita forzatamente i confini, valorizza i dettagli, concedendoti sarcasticamente quelli che più vendono trascurati.
Li rende unici, accattivanti, esteticamente pronti alla consacrazione fotografica.
Le strade, gli edifici e i campi si trasformano in paesaggi che puoi solo immaginare. Un palo, i fili della luce, una stazione della benzina è tutto quello che ti viene concesso. Sono i confini forzati che la nebbia, avida, ti restituisce."
Было очень темно и довольно холодно. Сильные порывы теплого ветра шумели замерзшими ветками деревьев и опавшей листвой, заставляя ежиться не только от холода, но и от общей атмосферы. Лучи фонарей выхватывали фрагменты старых дубов, которые, казалось, сплелись ветками и окружили нас плотным кольцом, постепенно его сужая. Эти древние исполины выглядели как стражи, охраняющие сокровище. Под ногами был ковер из прошлогодних листьев, на котором дырами виднелась земля и молочными пятнами блестел снег. Я несколько раз подбросил сапогом ворох листьев, который тут же подхватил и унес куда-то очередной порыв ветра, оставив на память едва уловимый аромат дуба. Казалось, что я стою на спине огромного спящего тигра, от теплого дыхания которого пробегал мороз по коже. И с этими фантазиями я двинулся дальше, в темноту, готовый раскрыть секреты, скрытые за этим замерзшим лесом.
Буквально через полчаса наша группа оказалась на краю утеса. Ветер тут был значительно сильнее и его рев с легкостью заглушал разговоры. К дереву была привязана веревка, другой конец которой растворялся во тьме, и даже мощности фонарей было недостаточно, чтобы его разглядеть. Если кто из нас еще не дрожал от холода, то сейчас наверняка задрожал от предстоящего приключения со спуском по отвесной скале. Я до сих пор сомневаюсь, что тяжелые рюкзаки, набитые фототехникой, и утепленные резиновые сапоги входят в перечень альпинистского снаряжения. Наиболее отважные джентльмены стали пропускать дам вперед, выдумывая вполне убедительные, на мой взгляд, аргументы.
Когда мы все-таки спустились, перед нами открылся захватывающий вид на остров. После оглушительного рева ветра на вершине утеса, здесь, внизу, тишина была почти осязаемой, нарушаемая только тихим шепотом моря. Я выбрал себе льдину поудобнее и стал ждать рассвета, думая, что это было приключение в зимней стране чудес, которое вряд ли забудется.
It was very dark and quite cold. Strong gusts of warm wind rustled the frozen tree branches and fallen leaves, making us shiver not only from the cold, but also from the general atmosphere. The beams of the flashlights picked out fragments of old oaks, which seemed to have intertwined branches and surrounded us with a dense ring, gradually narrowing it. These ancient giants looked like guards protecting a treasure. Underfoot was a carpet of last year's leaves, on which the frozen ground looked like holes and the snow sparkled with milky spots. I tossed the pile of leaves a few times with my boot, which was immediately picked up and carried away somewhere by another gust of wind, leaving behind a barely perceptible aroma of oak. It seemed that I was standing on the back of a huge sleeping tiger, from whose warm breath chills ran down my skin. And with these fantasies, I moved on into the darkness, ready to reveal the secrets hidden behind this frozen forest.
Literally half an hour later, our group found itself on the edge of a cliff. The wind was much stronger here and its roar easily drowned out conversations. A rope was tied to a tree, the other end of which dissolved into the darkness, and even the power of the flashlights was not enough to make it out. If any of us were not shivering from the cold yet, then now they were probably shivering from the upcoming adventure of descending a steep cliff. I still doubt that heavy backpacks filled with photographic equipment and insulated rubber boots are included in the list of mountaineering equipment. The most courageous gentlemen began to let the ladies go first, inventing, in my opinion, quite convincing arguments.
When we finally descended, a breathtaking view of the island opened up before us. After the deafening roar of the wind at the top of the cliff, here, below, the silence was almost tangible, broken only by the quiet whisper of the sea. I chose a comfortable ice floe for myself and began to wait for dawn, thinking that this was an adventure in a winter wonderland that I would hardly forget.
[Boundaries]
During the winter months in the Po Valley , the fog is a part of the landscape, cold, dump, almost tangible.
Fog is moisture in the nostrils, is a limited landscapes. You feel isolated, almost blinded by the white. The gaze is limited and the fog tracks the boundaries.
There are places you always pass by, common places that turn invisible, canceled by the chaos of buildings and constructions.
The fog, greedy of space, grants you the crumbs of what encompasses, defines the boundaries forcibly, giving back, sarcastically, the most common details.
These details turn unique, eye-catching, aesthetically ready for photographic consecration.
The streets, the buildings and the fields are transformed into landscapes that you can only imagine. A pole, the wires of the light, a gasoline station is all that you can see.
They are the boundaries the fog gives you.”
CONFINI
"La nebbia in pianura padana, nei mesi invernali, è parte integrante del paesaggio, fredda, umida, quasi tangibile.
La nebbia è il freddo, l'umidità nelle narici, lo sguardo che fatica, il paesaggio che si chiude per isolare e delimitare lo sguardo, tracciare i Confini.
Ci sono luoghi davanti ai quali si passa spesso, luoghi talmente presenti da diventare anonimi immersi come sono nel caos dei fitti fabbricati dalla pianura.
La nebbia ne riscatta il loro valore; isolati dal resto del paesaggio, assurgono a linee di confine oltre le quali tutto è celato, misterioso: il paesaggio padano diventa metafisico, non più fisico. Lo senti, lo percepisci ma non lo vedi.
La nebbia è avida di spazio. Ti concede briciole di quello che ingloba, delimita forzatamente i confini, valorizza i dettagli, concedendoti sarcasticamente quelli che più vendono trascurati.
Li rende unici, accattivanti, esteticamente pronti alla consacrazione fotografica.
Le strade, gli edifici e i campi si trasformano in paesaggi che puoi solo immaginare. Un palo, i fili della luce, una stazione della benzina è tutto quello che ti viene concesso. Sono i confini forzati che la nebbia, avida, ti restituisce."
The fog is an illusion—
A master of disguise,
Which hides the tangible
Before our very eyes.
But when the fog has lifted
Everything’s still there,
And the tangible
Only seemed to’ve disappeared.
In the early morning
Or late at night,
The fog descends
Upon various sites.
It gives an air of mystery
That has long prevailed.
Dangerously intriguing
Is the fog’s foggy veil.
~Poem Walterrean Salley
»Museum of the Moon« zeigt eine Nachbildung des Mondes von 7 Meter Durchmesser, die im Hauptschiff der in Hildesheim gelegenen St. Andreas Kirche schwebt. Die Installation ist eine Verschmelzung von detaillierten NASA-Bildern der Mondoberfläche, Mondlicht und einer Sound-Komposition des BAFTA- und Ivor Novello-Preisträgers Dan Jones. Jeder Zentimeter der von innen beleuchteten Skulptur stellt etwa 5 Kilometer der Mondoberfläche dar. Das metaphorisch gemeinte “Aufeinandertreffen von Himmel und Erde” zeigt sich hier im wahrsten Sinne des Wortes und lässt das scheinbar Unerreichbare in greifbare Nähe rücken. Siehe auch www.my-moon.org.
“Museum of the Moon” shows a 7-meter-diameter replica of the Moon floating in the nave of St. Andrew’s Church in Hildesheim. The installation is a fusion of detailed NASA images of the Moon’s surface, moonlight and a sound composition by BAFTA and Ivor Novello Prize winner Dan Jones. Each centimetre of the sculpture, illuminated from the inside, represents about five kilometers of the Moon’s surface. The metaphorical “encounter of heaven and earth” is literally revealed here, bringing the seemingly unattainable into tangible form. Move closer. See also www.my-moon.org.
Website: www.heiko-roebke-photography.de
Vinyl me please!
Vinyl gives superfans something tangible to showcase their love for an artist. It also gives them a chance to hear it without the compression of typical streaming bitrates. Good to see lots of Vinyl music stores in Shibuya.
Shibuya, Tokyo
January, 2020
Just some leaves, on a car, lit up by the sun. This image probably two months old now, but of course I still remember that sunny Sunday afternoon. And while there's nothing flashy or dramatic about this, it's the kind of scene that really appeals to me...simple, but still possessing a definite mood and an almost tangible reminder of that day.
Reviving a dormant mechanical camera is akin to resurrecting a piece of history, a tangible connection to the past that transcends the digital age. The intricate mechanisms and tactile controls of these vintage cameras impart a sense of craftsmanship that modern counterparts often lack. When I successfully restore one to working order, it's as if I've breathed life back into a bygone era. The careful calibration of settings, the rhythmic click of the shutter, and the winding of film transport wheels become a symphony of nostalgia. Each revived camera becomes a time capsule, capturing not only images but the essence of an era when photography was a deliberate and contemplative art. It's a gratifying experience, a dance with history where I am not just a photographer but a custodian, preserving the soul of a mechanical marvel for future generations to appreciate.
Fujifilm XT3
Website: www.sollows.ca
Contact and links: linktr.ee/jsollows
[Bonduaries]
During the winter months in the Po Valley , the fog is a part of the landscape, cold, dump, almost tangible.
Fog is moisture in the nostrils, is a limited landscapes. You feel isolated, almost blinded by the white. The gaze is limited and the fog tracks the boundaries.
There are places you always pass by, common places that turn invisible, canceled by the chaos of buildings and constructions.
The fog, greedy of space, grants you the crumbs of what encompasses, defines the boundaries forcibly, giving back, sarcastically, the most common details.
These details turn unique, eye-catching, aesthetically ready for photographic consecration.
The streets, the buildings and the fields are transformed into landscapes that you can only imagine. A pole, the wires of the light, a gasoline station is all that you can see.
They are the boundaries the fog gives you.”
CONFINI
"La nebbia in pianura padana, nei mesi invernali, è parte integrante del paesaggio, fredda, umida, quasi tangibile.
La nebbia è il freddo, l'umidità nelle narici, lo sguardo che fatica, il paesaggio che si chiude per isolare e delimitare lo sguardo, tracciare i Confini.
Ci sono luoghi davanti ai quali si passa spesso, luoghi talmente presenti da diventare anonimi immersi come sono nel caos dei fitti fabbricati dalla pianura.
La nebbia ne riscatta il loro valore; isolati dal resto del paesaggio, assurgono a linee di confine oltre le quali tutto è celato, misterioso: il paesaggio padano diventa metafisico, non più fisico. Lo senti, lo percepisci ma non lo vedi.
La nebbia è avida di spazio. Ti concede briciole di quello che ingloba, delimita forzatamente i confini, valorizza i dettagli, concedendoti sarcasticamente quelli che più vendono trascurati.
Li rende unici, accattivanti, esteticamente pronti alla consacrazione fotografica.
Le strade, gli edifici e i campi si trasformano in paesaggi che puoi solo immaginare. Un palo, i fili della luce, una stazione della benzina è tutto quello che ti viene concesso. Sono i confini forzati che la nebbia, avida, ti restituisce."
Vor vielen Jahren entwarf und nähte ich Tastbilderbücher für Blinde und sehbehinderte Kinder. In diesem Buch ist die erste Hälfte des Alphabets in Blindenschrift mit Perlen tastbar und in Normalschrift in Kontrastfarben für jene mit Sehrest sichtbar.
Many years ago I designed and sewed tactile picture books for blind and visually impaired children. In this book, the first half of the alphabet is tangible with pearls in Braille and visible in contrasting colours for those with remaining sight.
“Theories are always very thin and insubstantial, experience only is tangible.”
[Hosea Ballou]
in explore 9jun13 - highest position: 90 on sunday, jun9, 2013
[Bonduaries]
During the winter months in the Po Valley , the fog is a part of the landscape, cold, dump, almost tangible.
Fog is moisture in the nostrils, is a limited landscapes. You feel isolated, almost blinded by the white. The gaze is limited and the fog tracks the boundaries.
There are places you always pass by, common places that turn invisible, canceled by the chaos of buildings and constructions.
The fog, greedy of space, grants you the crumbs of what encompasses, defines the boundaries forcibly, giving back, sarcastically, the most common details.
These details turn unique, eye-catching, aesthetically ready for photographic consecration.
The streets, the buildings and the fields are transformed into landscapes that you can only imagine. A pole, the wires of the light, a gasoline station is all that you can see.
They are the boundaries the fog gives you.”
CONFINI
"La nebbia in pianura padana, nei mesi invernali, è parte integrante del paesaggio, fredda, umida, quasi tangibile.
La nebbia è il freddo, l'umidità nelle narici, lo sguardo che fatica, il paesaggio che si chiude per isolare e delimitare lo sguardo, tracciare i Confini.
Ci sono luoghi davanti ai quali si passa spesso, luoghi talmente presenti da diventare anonimi immersi come sono nel caos dei fitti fabbricati dalla pianura.
La nebbia ne riscatta il loro valore; isolati dal resto del paesaggio, assurgono a linee di confine oltre le quali tutto è celato, misterioso: il paesaggio padano diventa metafisico, non più fisico. Lo senti, lo percepisci ma non lo vedi.
La nebbia è avida di spazio. Ti concede briciole di quello che ingloba, delimita forzatamente i confini, valorizza i dettagli, concedendoti sarcasticamente quelli che più vendono trascurati.
Li rende unici, accattivanti, esteticamente pronti alla consacrazione fotografica.
Le strade, gli edifici e i campi si trasformano in paesaggi che puoi solo immaginare. Un palo, i fili della luce, una stazione della benzina è tutto quello che ti viene concesso. Sono i confini forzati che la nebbia, avida, ti restituisce."
I found this most encouraging this morning: "Hope is a beautiful thing. It gives us peace and strength, and keeps us going when all seems lost. Accepting what you cannot change doesn't mean you have given up on hope. It just means you have to focus your hope on more humanly tangible and attainable goals."
Thank you Julie Donner Andersen
A little New Haven for your Saturday night.
I hadn't planned on going out this weekend, but the pipe dream that is Boston Surface Railroad* finally coughed up the money to move the FL-9 they bought from ConnDOT over a year ago. Its in Worcester while being moved from long-term storage in Connecticut to long-term storage in Massachusetts.
* BSRC proposes to run commuter service between Worcester and Providence, presumably using the engine pictured above. They've already gone bankrupt once, and the FL-9 is their only tangible asset. They removed the number boards but left the horn, go figure.
[Bonduaries]
During the winter months in the Po Valley , the fog is a part of the landscape, cold, dump, almost tangible.
Fog is moisture in the nostrils, is a limited landscapes. You feel isolated, almost blinded by the white. The gaze is limited and the fog tracks the boundaries.
There are places you always pass by, common places that turn invisible, canceled by the chaos of buildings and constructions.
The fog, greedy of space, grants you the crumbs of what encompasses, defines the boundaries forcibly, giving back, sarcastically, the most common details.
These details turn unique, eye-catching, aesthetically ready for photographic consecration.
The streets, the buildings and the fields are transformed into landscapes that you can only imagine. A pole, the wires of the light, a gasoline station is all that you can see.
They are the boundaries the fog gives you.”
CONFINI
"La nebbia in pianura padana, nei mesi invernali, è parte integrante del paesaggio, fredda, umida, quasi tangibile.
La nebbia è il freddo, l'umidità nelle narici, lo sguardo che fatica, il paesaggio che si chiude per isolare e delimitare lo sguardo, tracciare i Confini.
Ci sono luoghi davanti ai quali si passa spesso, luoghi talmente presenti da diventare anonimi immersi come sono nel caos dei fitti fabbricati dalla pianura.
La nebbia ne riscatta il loro valore; isolati dal resto del paesaggio, assurgono a linee di confine oltre le quali tutto è celato, misterioso: il paesaggio padano diventa metafisico, non più fisico. Lo senti, lo percepisci ma non lo vedi.
La nebbia è avida di spazio. Ti concede briciole di quello che ingloba, delimita forzatamente i confini, valorizza i dettagli, concedendoti sarcasticamente quelli che più vendono trascurati.
Li rende unici, accattivanti, esteticamente pronti alla consacrazione fotografica.
Le strade, gli edifici e i campi si trasformano in paesaggi che puoi solo immaginare. Un palo, i fili della luce, una stazione della benzina è tutto quello che ti viene concesso. Sono i confini forzati che la nebbia, avida, ti restituisce."