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The air is sweet, tangible, and warm against bare skin. I half close my eyes and the world blurs; an array of pinks, blues, yellows, colour, life.
It's been so long. 80 days this year alone, before the first blossom, but it's here. Pink like childhood; a faint taste of vanilla, strawberry, sweet candyfloss. Minuscule petals drift, faintly falling to my hair, like little love heart sweets. 'Be mine?'. I raise my arms and swirl in the light, because I can, because I feel alive.
Almost able to breathe the summer air. So close.
Today, as I was walking home from school, I saw next door's tree in blossom. Finally. Yes, it made me very excited; hopefully our garden is next. But I had to take a photo, so I stood and swirled with my camera beneath the tree, just hidden from window view. Unfortunately not from the keen sense of their dog's smell - the crazy thing started having a minor fit at me so I upped and left. I swear that dog is evil.
So little time, so much to do.
Sometimes there are moments so beautiful that it would simply be impossible to express them with words. It’s at these times when photography can empower us to capture these moments and transform them into something more tangible - a single image that embodies the soul of our experience.
Though we had exceptional weather throughout our entire Italy Photo Tour in May, this was by far my favorite sunset of the trip, and quite possibly one of the most spectacular sunsets I’ve ever seen in Rome. The colors seemed to last forever as the slow moving clouds twisted and transformed into interesting shapes.
Let’s hope that the weather gods are on our side for our next Italy Photo Tour as well. :)
If you're interested in my work, feel free to drop me a line on Instagram or my website www.elialocardi.com.
In the realm of the abstract, concepts transcend the boundaries of the tangible world, weaving a tapestry of ideas and emotions that defy easy description. Imagine a canvas splashed with vibrant colors, each hue a symphony of emotions that dances across the mind's eye.
The crossover between virtual worlds and tangible world (especially the virtual and tangible artworlds) is not easy. With funding you can make something quite spectacular, but still not easy… read more
An undercover Greenpeace investigation released on Tuesday suggests that fossil fuel companies secretly funnel money into prominent scientists' pockets to manufacture doubt about mainstream climate change science.Greenpeace UK took an unconventional approach to the research: Members of the environmentalist group posed as representatives of fake oil and coal companies and asked two climate change skeptics to write papers promoting the benefits of carbon dioxide and coal in developing countries. The two academics the group approached -- Frank Clemente of Pennsylvania State University and William Happer of Princeton University -- reportedly agreed to pen the reports and not to reveal their funding source.The group's expose follows revelations from The New York Times earlier this year that Willie Soon, a scientist at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics, accepted donations from fossil fuel companies and anonymous donors to write papers that challenged the consensus on climate science -- without saying where his funding came from.This academics-for-hire tactic has "materially changed the debate about climate change,"said Jesse Coleman, a Greenpeace activist who participated in the probe. "You could say that one of the reasons we're facing such dire climate change risks is because these fossil fuel companies are funding climate change denial." "It's the exact same playbook" tobacco companies once used to "convince people of something that is just not true," Coleman added.For decades, tobacco corporations deceived consumers about the dangers of smoking by covertly funding contrarian research. Manufactured data, concealed conflicts of interest and misleading conclusions, as The Huffington Post has previously reported, are also evident in influential research on vaccination, organic food, secondhand smoke, lead paint and chemical flame retardants. But perhaps no environmental or public health issue is as high-stake as global warming.Peter Frumhoff, director of science and policy for the Union of Concerned Scientists, said that if the Greenpeace findings were true, they were "deeply, deeply disconcerting." He emphasized that while accepting money from industry to do research is not itself a breach of ethics, taking money from any source without transparency is "totally unacceptable."
www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/undercover-greenpeace-invest...
Great, so is there anything I can do?
Yes! It’s important for our leaders to know that we want real and tangible action on climate now. That’s why hundreds of thousands of people will be marching for the climate in cities around the world on 29 November. Find out how to join the march in London or elsewhere.Want to know more?There is lots more detail about what is being discussed at COP.The most significant thing has got to be the historic China-US climate agreement announced last November, in which the world’s two biggest carbon emitters and global superpowers indicated their commitment to moving away from fossil fuels.Obama has made a global climate deal a priority for his legacy while the G7 – Canada, France, Germany, UK, Italy, Japan and US – have agreed to decarbonise over the course of the century, aiming for zero emissions by 2100.Meanwhile, countries that were previously seen as barriers to a global agreement, including China and India are driving renewable energy in a big way (though India also wants to double coal production by 2020).
www.greenpeace.org.uk/blog/climate/5-things-you-need-know...
the old gent's place was silent as always, but with the second knock he didn't emerge as usual, declaring he was frightfully busy and can't linger to talk, and it was completely unnecessary we give him anything... but he didn't appear this time - his crusty, lean, learned self perhaps engrossed in some literary work out the back verandah, trying to warm his brittle bones in some meagre winter sun - but we left our gift anyway, as we generally do, though it is both sad and amusing to hear his slightly annoyed tone on receiving such bouquets in exchange for his unwanted grapefruits, lying strewn under the old trees in his front yard - for we wonder is there any other living soul he sees, or must his eclectic hermit spirit be bothered only for that citrus season once a year as winter arrives - and yet when he protested at yet another bunch of blooms, saying to take the fruit as we please for his has no liking of them - so I gently asked once: 'So you don't want them>!' - and of course, with the well-bred manners of a chilly Scottish upbringing, he swiftly and politely corrected himself and thanked us for the gift, and since then he has been at least more gracious, but one wonders if he even remembers such tangible items in his bachelor abode filled with the busy and pressing life of taking in ideas and percolating them around his ex lawyer mind.. ! :)
Two years ago, I wrote a short caption to one of my photographs containing some thoughts on being half-Chinese. It ended up becoming one of the most-read things I’ve written on my Flickr, and - thanks to Flickr Stats - I know that it continues to receive dozens of views each day as a direct result of people Googling terms like “half-chinese”, "half-asian girls" and even “what will a half-chinese baby look like.” (one example of an answer to this question can be seen in this photograph: my little cousin Lewis.)
Last month Ankur, a Glasgow-based production company which nurtures Minority Ethnic talent in Scotland, invited me to give a talk and be a part of a panel discussion at their festival Where Are You Really From? The following is a transcript of the talk I gave there, with additions to what I had prepared added as best I can remember. (The bullet points denote a moment where I moved the slideshow along: disregard these.)
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Researching and writing this talk has been a revelatory experience for me in many ways. I started with the title I had been given - "From Ethnography to Intercultural Practice" - and imagined I should prepare something quite scholarly. I looked out my old university notes, I scanned my bookcases for all I could find on cultural studies, art history, critical theory. I was getting excited because, since I graduated, I don't very often have reasons to engage that kind of deep, rigorous study, and I realised I had missed it.
But then it occurred to me that I've been invited here as an artist and not as an academic. I thought then that I should give a more personal response to the theme. "Is your own cultural heritage an influence on your work as an artist?" Whether I think of "cultural heritage" as artefacts, objects and places, or a collection of less tangible properties like language, lore and traditions, it seems that the ways in which I understand or interpret that heritage has everything to do with family. Add to that my "work as an artist" and it doesn't get much more personal. Thinking along these lines had me looking through old family photographs and retracing lots of my childhood in my mind, and in the end I thought 'this isn't right either. This isn't for an a public talk, it's for my psychoanalyst!'
So I struggled to find the right voice, wavering between the academic and the personal, the scholarly and the confessional. I think what would be best is if I explain the dry facts about my cultural heritage, about the work I do as an "artist", and then examine and analyse the points at which they intersect.
My Dad left Hong Kong in 1982 and came to Scotland to study • . His sister had arrived here a few years prior to that, and Dad worked nights in the Chinese takeaway she had set up in Ayr. A couple of years later, that's where he met my mother, who would pop in at the end of a night out for some food. •
Fifteen years after that, my parents gave me my first camera, and I took it everywhere with me, photographing everything and everyone that interested me. When I was seventeen I went to Glasgow University to study English Literature, and by then I had a fully manual camera, but I had never taken a course in or read a book about photography. I hadn't even read the instruction manual for the camera. I learned how to use it through practise, through trial and error. I knew that if this number was higher then this would happen, but it meant that this other number had to be lower, and if that number was lower than I had to do so and so.
In my second year I entered an essay competition and won a place on a student exchange to Pakistan. • When I returned and the university saw the photographs I'd taken there, I started to work for them, but it wasn't until I was in my final year that I'd developed the confidence to consider a career in it. When I graduated, I turned down the offer of a traineeship at a law firm to pursue photography, scraping by by working part-time as an administrator in the law firm and doing photography jobs of any kind whenever they came up. In my social life I was making friends with lots of people in the arts, and through an actor friend I met the theatre maker Stewart Laing, who commissioned me to photograph one of his shows. • I'll be eternally grateful to Stewart for that, for the leap of faith involved in asking me, at that time so young and inexperienced, to photograph something I'd never photographed before, because it turned out to be my first real break. When other theatre companies saw what I'd done for Stewart, I began to get a lot more emails from people in theatre and, now, I work regularly for almost every Scottish theatre company I've heard of. • • •
So that's more or less where I came from and where I am, but I've never really been comfortable with describing myself as an "artist". In my professional life I mostly document the art that other people have made - actors, directors, set designers and lighting designers. But I think the closest thing to art I make comes from my personal work, which is contained in my Flickr stream • - www.flickr.com/tgkw - a collection of 3000 images which I add to most days and which comprises a document of my life over the past seven years: all the friends I've ever made, all the interesting things and people I've ever seen as I passed them in the street, all the different cities I've ever visited. • • • The reason for my hesitation to call myself an artist - the reason that I've never held an artist residency, the reason I rarely exhibit - is that this work doesn't directly or intentionally question or challenge anything: it's documentary, it's portraiture, its only thematic link being that I saw it: it says nothing more than "Here is a person, in a place, doing what they're doing. Make of it what you will." Despite my background in literary studies, I've never been comfortable deconstructing or intellectualising my work. The photographs I like best stand on their own as images, and don't need an essay of text to explain what they're "really" "about". Susan Sontag writes in her collection of essays about photography that "The ultimate wisdom of the photographic image is to say: There is the surface. Now think - or rather feel, intuit what is beyond it, what the reality must be like if it looks this way." This is the only text that should accompany my work. •
So to return to the theme, I ask myself how these two aspects - my photography, such as it is, and my family, my upbringing, my culture, my heritage - are related. This involves quite a lot of self-analysis and family background, which I hope I can make interesting and not too self-indulgent, but I'm going to go ahead with it and see where it takes us.
My day-to-day upbringing wasn't much different from that of most children brought up in working-class Scottish families. • Mum took care of the house and raised the children, Dad worked. The main difference may be that, like many Chinese fathers, Dad really worked. Fourteen to sixteen hours a day, six days a week. He never took holidays - we went on family holidays without him - and he never took sick days, even when he was very ill. •
My Chinese name is Ga-Ken. It's quite common for the first part of a Chinese man's name to be Ga - it can translate as "most" - followed by an adjective. For example, Li Ka-Shing, the name of Asia's richest man: sing means honest, so whoever named him "most honest" believed that honesty was the most important quality, the quality they wanted him to have. When I was 11, I got my first report card from secondary school and it described me as "an industrious pupil". Dad didn't know what industrious meant, so he looked out his English-Chinese dictionary, and was overjoyed to discover that I had been described by the name he had given me: "most industrious, most hard-working." •
Another school report card leads me to my point. By the time I was fifteen, my reports reached the consensus that "Tommy excels only in those subjects in which he is interested. If he is not interested, he will not work hard." I've read that children often don't take after their parents with regard to attitudes to money. If a child sees her parents arguing or worrying about money, she may resolve never to be like that herself, to be careful and sensible with her money. Conversely, if her parents are constantly telling her "no, we can't have that, it costs too much" she may resolve never to be like that herself, to be liberal and carefree with her money. I can relate to that when I think about Dad's work ethic. I'm not saying I can't be hardworking, but, as my teachers noted, only if it's something I care about. Dad's kind of hard work - on his feet for fourteen hours a day in a small, overheated kitchen doing repetitive tasks to cook takeaway food - is not something anyone is interested in. He did it to provide for his family. Now, as an adult, I see that, and have so much respect for it - I think it's heroic - but I hated it as a child, simply because I missed him. Dad's weekly day off was something I would get excited about two days beforehand, like a mini-Christmas every week. Although he retired when I was seventeen - he wasn't even forty - his absence throughout my childhood resulted in a tense relationship between us throughout my teenage years and for much of my adult life. It was only three years ago that I began to get to know him as a person - to understand his likes, his dislikes, his hopes and fears. And perhaps that explains why I felt I had to do something I loved: I didn't want to be like him. Because, when I do work and work hard, it doesn't feel like work because I love it. I went to university to study something I love, and ended up making a career of something that began as a hobby and became a passion, even an obsession. •
I studied English Literature because I found that I could learn more about life and about what it means to be a human being by reading fiction than by studying psychology or history or philosophy directly. This aspect of my personality was encouraged by Mum from the youngest age. Although she herself had left school at sixteen with hardly any qualifications, she taught me to read, and bought me novels so I'd keep doing it; she bought me pencils and paper to draw with. While she watched her soaps, I would lie on the living room carpet filling out pages of paper with stories that came out of my head, and when she saw this she bought me a typewriter. My love of stories began with playing video games with strong characters and storylines before moving to novels and, eventually, to a degree in Literature. They also paved the way for a love of photography. • When I tell people I studied literature and that I'm a photographer, they typically say "oh, completely different, then!" but I don't believe that. I was once in an interview with a graphic designer, and when I told him about my studies he asked "do you take photographs in an English literature kind of way?" At first I didn't know what he meant, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that I do. I'm interested in stories, and in the work I do I'm interested in how we tell a story by capturing the light and colour of a single moment and placing it in that space.
My Mum told me a story about a time when I was four years old, and the two of us were walking down Ayr High Street to meet my Dad as he finished work. When I saw him outside the takeaway, I screamed "Daddy!" and ran towards him. Two passing women observed this and one said to the other "That's no a chinky's wean." I'm not sure if I just constructed a false memory around the story as my Mum told it, but I feel like I remember that, like I remember not knowing what it meant. But before I was even old enough to realise I was mixed race, I believe it had begun to influence the creative work I do now. I first visited Hong Kong when I was two years old, but I don't remember anything of it and wouldn't have understood where we were going and why. • But by the time I was in my first year of primary school, Hong Kong had become very important to me. One of my earliest and happiest memories - a memory I know I really do possess - is the day Dad returned from a trip to Hong Kong. From that day on, I spent my childhood trying to understand where he had been - what Hong Kong was - but I didn't look at informational books or documentaries; I experienced Hong Kong through the sweets • and toys • and comics • and films he brought back with him. They were so exciting to me, so unlike anything I'd seen before, and I couldn't get enough. I spent hours looking through comics that I couldn't understand, drawing the characters in stories of my own. While my friends wanted to be Power Rangers, I wanted to be a vampire-fighting Taoist priest. • I wanted to speak the language, and would imitate the lines spoken by my favourite characters in Chinese films, whether I knew what they meant or not. I wanted to eat with chopsticks all the time, and they were the first items I took in to "Show and Tell"; the same day that one of my classmates pulled his eyes into slits and imitated the sounds of Chinese dialiects at me. This first encounter with playground racism wasn't enough to dampen my enthusiasm for my Chinese heritage, or to "play it down", an option which my Mum's red hair and fair skin has sometimes left open to me. • Some people I meet are surprised to find out I'm anything but “white", whereas to others it's obvious from the start that I'm half-Chinese. But I remember as a child wishing to look, if not be, fully Chinese. I remember being jealous of my cousins, also half-Chinese, who were and are darker-skinned and more obviously Chinese. I've always been surprised that my sister never shared an interest in Chinese culture, language, food, thought, art: she is, I think, largely indifferent to the fact of her mixed race.
But, for me, Hong Kong pervaded my imagination and almost every aspect of my inner life long before I ever went there as anything but a baby. In my mind, it was a magical and lively place filled with colour, excitement and happiness. The reality, which I discovered when I was sixteen and have returned to almost every year since, was, for me, exactly that. Hong Kong is where I have taken most of the photographs I consider to be my best, whether these are portraits • , street scenes • or professional commissions • . But could it have been anything else? Even if I had found it a dull, drab and boring place, would I have taken everything I'd imagined for so long and projected it there? Have I? Do I still?
I was approached a couple of years ago by a directing and writing team who were in the development stages of a television production. My role was to be a visual consultant, but I ended up working as a cinematographer for the first time when we produced a trailer. • • • When the trailer was shown for the first time at a development weekend run by The Playwright's Studio, the visuals were described as showing Glasgow in a new way: not its usual portrayal as a dark, gray place, but colourful and vibrant: it evokes Bladerunner, they said. It doesn't take a great leap of the imagination to see in Ridley Scott's futuristic imagining of LA, Hong Kong in the present day. • And so it occurred to me that the image, the myth of Hong Kong I had created in my mind as a child: I took that and projected it not only onto the real Hong Kong, but to my home in Glasgow, and to everywhere. I photograph the night, whether in Glasgow or Lisbon, in shades of blue with flashes of neon; I photograph the sky and the grass in the same cartoonish, vivid hues as I had seen in Japanese animation. •
I have rarely been influenced by photographers. Frank O'Hara once remarked that, other than his own, he didn't really like poetry unless it was so good it forced him to admire it. I feel more or less the same about photography: photography books take up only a small corner of my bookcase, and I don't make much effort to go to photography exhibitions. I do however, spend lots of time watching films, and analysing and appreciating their cinematography taught me much more about light and colour and composition and feeling and storytelling than any photography has. The single biggest influence on my work and my visual taste has been the films of the Hong Kong auteur Wong Kar-Wai and his cinematographer Chris Doyle. • I was lucky enough to meet and work - and mostly drink -with Chris Doyle while he was in Glasgow earlier this year, and again some months later when I visited Hong Kong. • I watched many of Wong and Doyle's films in my early teens, during my quest to create Hong Kong in my mind, and it was then that I first fell in love with the image, first realised its power. • Wong's films often deal with urban alienation, • with protagonists who inhabit a city with an identity crisis, a city which moves and changes so quickly that they turn inward; they daydream, they sleepwalk. And, in my portrait work, I am attracted to these same qualities: • whether a candid portrait I've taken on the underground or through the window of a bar, or whether someone is sitting for me, I am looking for an arrangement of elements: light, lines, colour and most of all an expression which suggests an inner world. • In my photographs, people tend not to be doing anything: they're thinking, reflecting. The films of Michael Mann have appealed to me for the same reason: they tend to be about deep and lonely men in dark and lonely places. I'm often told that what is most distinctive aspect my style is my colour palette, and it's no surprise that Wong's and Mann's films, Doyle's cinematography, are notable for the same reasons, using washes of colour to reflect an emotional state. • •
The identity crisis that afflicts modern Hong Kong comes largely from its history as a British colony and then a transfer of power to Beijing, under which Hong Kong exists as a "Special Administrative Region" with its own devolved government. • Dad told me that, growing up, he felt confused and unsure about where he was really from. Was he British? Chinese? Which flag should he wave, which national anthem should he sing? There is in Hong Kong now a growing tension between Hong Kongers and Mainlanders, and a growing movement for the city's independence. • The parallels with Scotland's situation are obvious: "Hong Kongese, not Chinese", "Scottish, not British." I support both Scottish independence and Hong Kong independence, but for pragmatic, political reasons: reasons of governance, and nothing to do with flagwaving or patriotism. I think that to be mixed race predisposes one to being a "world citizen": I'm reminded of Thomas Paine's remark that "The world is my country: my religion, to do good."
My conclusion was to summarise the ways in which I consider being mixed race to have been a blessing - and I’ll still read it, because it’s still true - but having seen the short films Arpita has shown us, I see how much it relates only to my own experience. As one of the characters in the second film said: “It isn’t even about being from Britain or not: it’s about the colour of your skin.” I’m a big fan of the X-Men comics, which tell the story of people with genetic mutations which grant them superhuman abilities or gifts, and who are consequently ostracised and persecuted. They are an excellent allegory for all kinds of minorities. In one storyline, a cure for these mutations is developed, and many mutants want to take it, to be “normal”. In one scene where some of the X-Men are questioning how people could betray their beings, their natures, in this way, an X-Man called Beast, who as one consequence of his mutation is covered in blue fur, says “that’s easy for you to say”, or something to that effect. And I realise that it may be easy for me to say, to call it a blessing to be mixed race. Because, unlike the Nigerian girl we saw in the first of Arpita’s films - who doesn’t feel at home either in Scotland or in Nigeria, who doesn’t feel fully accepted in either culture - I have often “passed” for being Scottish, for being white, without comment or question.
My case, then, is a happy one. I hope it is clear from everything I've talked about that being mixed race is a huge part of who I am: it has, if subtly, affected every aspect of my life. I don't say I'm proud of it - I think it's foolish to be proud of something that was merely an accident of birth - but I consider it to have been a blessing: to have been exposed to an entirely different culture, language, cuisine, philosophy; to have had my imagination stimulated by knowing that my origins were as much in a distant land as here where I was born and raised. The mixed race person can travel without travelling, and if Mark Twain is right when he says that "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness", then to mix races and cultures is to spread tolerance, understanding and open-mindedness.
Thank you.
Glasgow, 2013.
Sometimes a memory seeps forth from the waters of your mind, clawing out and rasping at your composure. This tumor straining malevolent tendrils toward the very tangible sky you wake up under, you fall asleep under. The sky that you exist under and the sky that you will cease existing under. A cyst evoking and stressing your being, trying to nestle its way into a niche in your sky, to forever cast opacity over the organic capsule that you are to commandeer until your inevitable, gravitationally-assisted plummet from, and into, obscurity. It is with that end that this memory is wretched from your borrowed sky and wails down toward the waters from where it once metastasized. It groans and lurches, a ship on its knees in its death throes, sloppily spilling its salty innards out into the musky wet of the enveloping elements. The structure of this memory collapses into one all-encompassing singularity that includes you and everything you ever were. And then nothing.
to summarize, it was a pretty nice morning bike ride.
but to be serious for a moment. I loved how the trees showed a progression, clawing out of the water and ground on the left, reaching up toward the sky in the middle, then falling back to water at the right. It's... poetic.
Abby: "Hey, Barkley, come and get your treat. You can eat it out of my hand even though your tongue will make my fingers sloppy. You deserve this; you've been so good. I think the fact that we got you as our pet was good karma; Mom or one of us must have done something very good and maybe that's why you found your way to us, rather than being adopted by another family. Think of everything we'd be missing out on! Barkley, you just might be Tangible Karma!"
A Kleinian Group tiling created using the Fractal Science Kit fractal generator - www.fractalsciencekit.com/
So excited to announce my first ever fashion collection with MISSGUIDED, launching 12th November. I’ve been secretly working on this project since the beginning of the year & can’t believe it’s now about to drop! This is a MAJOR moment for me, as I’ve been dreaming to put out a collection of tangible clothing since forever & now it’s happening! Huge thank you to the CEO of MISSGUIDED Nitin Passi for believing in me & giving me this opportunity. I hope you all love the collection
#HAYDENWILLIAMSxMISSGUIDED #babesofmissguided
This is one of two woven tapestries by the artist Yelena Papova in a small exhibition in the Holden Gallery which is in the Manchester School of Art which we visited in early March . I found them incredibly beautiful even though their subject matter is a little dark they are representing the mausoleums that we will need to construct to keep old nuclear reactors safe .
I have added a wider shot at the top of the comments which show the tapestries in context with other works in the show that was called the Scholar stones project
A little bit about the show
On Christmas Day 2018, artist Yelena Popova took a stroll along the Suffolk shoreline, a short distance from the Sizewell nuclear power stations. Born in Ozyorsk, Russia – a closed city that was the birthplace of the Soviet nuclear weapons programme – Popova started to question the invisible impact of these energy houses, hidden in plain site. On the same day, she collected the first stone for the Scholar Stones Project.
Scholar stones (also known as gongshi) are naturally weathered rocks that often act as the focal point of a traditional Chinese garden. Initially defined by the Tang dynasty as an object that encouraged contemplation, Popova’s scholar stones are taken from the sites of decommissioned Magnox power reactors around the UK to make tangible the very real impact that nuclear energy production has on the ground under our feet.The collection of stones – which Popova curated after visiting seven different reactors – now stands at the centre of the Holden on a black floor that mimics the geometric design of the early reactor’s graphite core. Laser-cut from recycled material from previous exhibitions, the thin spread of circles and squares stands in direct contrast to the core that will still be making its mark on the environment until the end of this century.
Two tapestries rise off the centre of the back wall. Positioned where there had once been a large tapestry by Edward Burne-Jones, Keepsake I and II appear initially as a pleasing kaleidoscope of geometric shapes and bright colours. On closer inspection it becomes evident that the lower half of each tapestry contains the repeating pattern of the granite core, while the top half is an imposing building. Popova’s scholar stones congregate before the tapestries, paying their respects to the fearsome reactors entombed beneath triangular architecture evocative of the pyramids or Lenin’s mausoleum
An extra shot at the top of the comments
THANKS FOR YOUR VISITING BUT CAN I ASK YOU NOT TO FAVE AN IMAGE WITHOUT ALSO MAKING A COMMENT. MANY THANKS KEITH. ANYONE MAKING MULTIPLE FAVES WITHOUT COMMENTS WILL SIMPLY BE BLOCKED
A polymorphic virus begins its infection in an executable file designed to convert image files to different formats, which will create many new versions of the virus before it is completely corrupted.
Going for some techno-abstract concept. Also, The Journey will be continued soon, but I hope you enjoy this. Please C&C! :)
Well, well! Isn't it exciting! The very Begonia grandis Dryand. that Carl Peter Thunberg (1743-1828) collected during his stay at Dejima, Nagasaki, in Japan 1775-1776, can still today be seen, touched, admired in his Herbarium preserved in Uppsala University, Sweden. Earlier it had been seen and drawn by another intrepid explorer and naturalist Engelbert Kaempfer (1651-1716) during his Japanese sojourn 1690-1691. Both men traveled to Japan as surgeons in the service of the Dutch East Indies Trading Company VOC. Our Begonia's first scientific description was by Jonas Carlsson Dryander (1748-1810) who worked first in Sweden but longer in England.
The name 'Begonia' was given this plant by Charles Plumier (1636-1704) in 1690 to honor his patron in the West-Indian Antilles, Michel Bégon (1638-1710) - also called 'Le Grand Bégon' -, who besides being the highest French administrative official there was also an untiring amateur naturalist.
Returning to that Herbarium: just think how hard it actually is to make a good dry herbarium specimen of Begonia with its fleshy, wet leaves and petals. And yet, after almost 250 years there it still is in Uppsala!
Lakeside images of Japan
I set a goal this year to make real, tangible things that you can hold in your hands. Of course, prints can be held in hand too but in most cases they end up behind glass and on a wall. Eight is a folio. A folio is an adaptation of the Japanese "shiho chitsu" or 四方帙. Originally these were used to protect precious books and other documents. In this case, the folio includes a signed title page, an introduction, eight images, an afterword with episodic accounts of the images, and a colophon which can be seen here.
The prints are exactly the same as the ones I sell individually but you get eight A4-sized prints for the price of three plus everything else. It's your proverbial good deal.
Head to my website for more details and ordering.
Red Herrings :
The Final Act
Act Five - The Pygmalion Ring
At 10:10 am the Phone rang on the Chief Inspectors desk. It was the sergeant, whom had gone to the town house with the director to search for clues. It appeared that a rather nosey older neighbor lady had been keeping a detailed track for the townhouse owner of all the comings and goings in a small notebook.
Including all of the license plate numbers with descriptions of all the vehicles that had been coming and going. Included in the lot was the red Mercedes of a rather nice looking lady with red hair who had been there the previous morning!
So it was that the first real tangible clue of the troupe of pickpockets/kidnappers, whom had run amuck like wolves amongst the easily distracted sheep that were the wealthy guests in attendance that fateful evening at St. Davids Chambre, was discovered.
It took less than 2 hours to trace the Mercedes to an airport rental. A group of officers swarmed the rental agency demanding to see its records. The Mercedes had been rented out late Thursday evening, by a visiting priest who gave the address and phone number of the Cathedral of Eastminster as his place of residence during his stay.
The auto had been dropped off Sunday afternoon. The office had been closed, the key dropped off in a box. No idea really by whom..
The Mercedes, was still parked out back, just now being cleaned for an afternoon pickup.
The detective dispatched men to locate and impound the rental, while he went into the airport.
All outgoing flights made on the previous Thursday and Sunday afternoon were noted, most of them had been to and from the states.
Names of the fight attendant’s were taken down, and perpetrations made to have them all interviewed.
The detectives who had been sent for the car, found it with all the doors open, as well as the trunk, while a man was bust vacuuming out the interior.
He was stopped and asked questions about the vehicle.
The condition of the interior had been pristine, the outside however had been caked with mud at one time, and the auto had been run through a wash before being returned.
There was no real garbage, inside, he answered a bit awkwardly. The detective pounced on him, what garbage was there then sir? He shrugged, and going to a waste bin, pulled out a small film canister.
The detective could not believe his eyes! You were going to toss this mate? He asked quite sharply.. the cleaner shrugged, less trouble ain’t it, than trying to find an owner, who probably was a thousand miles away now?
The detective clucked his tongue in disbelief. Called the tow yard to have the vehicle impounded, and took the film canister, now bagged as evidence, to the officer in charge.
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The film canister was handed over to the chief Inspector who carefully had the bomb disposal squad open it. It only contained a single reel of film.
The director and the cameramen were pulled into a conference room, where all three identified the canister as belonging to them, however the film spool inside was not!
Confused, the film was taken in and examined. It was old footage of a ballroom, but indeed not that of of St. Davids Chambre. Mysteriously it was the 3rd reel of an old b/w move, titled Pygmalion, the original movie version made from the Bernard Shaw play.
The reel depicted the ballroom scene, referring to a street girl being passed off as a member of royal society, fooling all the experts in such matters. What this actually had to do with the case was one of many mysteries never solved, but it gave the absconded gang their name.
The Pygmalion Ring
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So ends our tale.
At least for those of you who have seen through the Red Herrings and have discovered the clues pointing to what had happened to the 3 missing Ladies that fateful Saturday Evening. You already know the answer to the mystery and may not even have had to read this far…. SO HERES TO A JOB RATHER WELL DONE!
However, for those of us who have not possibly had the time to play detective, and wish to know what had happened… Please by all means read on below………………..
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As the Chief inspector, his detectives, and a quite exasperated Superior, were watching the contents of the Mysterious reel of film..
The Chief Inspector thought to himself, what could have happened to the thieves and their captives? He watched the movie for a few seconds… someone not as she seems, playing a role, fooling the experts, all by appearing to be one thing, and at the same time….! Oh my God he exclaimed, and all eyes turned upon him….. I know where they are being held, the girls who disappeared.
And he started to bark out orders, for the first time feeling he was in control of the situation.
Meanwhile, as the Chief Inspector was having his Epiphany, the afternoon post arrived.
And 30 minutes before that, the afternoon post had also arrived at the office of the Bishop of the Eastminster Diocese...
Now amongst the bundles of his excellency’s mail was a letter , an envelope with the Bishop’s name and address, but instead of handwriting or typing out the address, it had been pasted upon the envelope with cut out letters from a magazine.
The Bishops assistant opened the rather puzzling envelope and extracted an equally puzzling missive.
Inside was a note made on the stationary paper with the heading of the Eastminster Catholic Diocese. Using the same letters cut from the same magazine, it said simply
Time to Aire out the basement of St Davids green door stone cottage
The Bishop’s sassistant rang the Chief Inspector, catching him just as he had entered his office to grab his jacket.
Already on our way there he said almost cheerfully ( pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together)
As the police arrived at the cottage, they met and elderly nun coming out, face an ashen white. She mumble something about knocking and scratching about on the basement door , rats methinks, or worse !?
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The good officers and constables of Eastminister CID quickly went inside.
The cottage had been used for small gatherings with tables and chairs stacked neatly up against the walls, a small kitchen was set up in one corner.
At the far end was a small, thick wooden door with old wrought iron hinges and a bolt that was thrown shut and locked with an ancient key padlock. The skeleton key dangled from a peg next to the door. Said door was the source of the rather weak knocking.
Upon opening the basement door, three rather disheveled, long hair loose and tangled, ladies tumbled out. All three wearing nothing but their thin silken underclothes.
The three ladies, of course, were the missing twin daughters of the Baroness and the multi- Millionaires young wife. The three were given jackets, and hot tea was made in the small kitchen.
The Chief Inspector, with the blessings of his superior, held off notifying their families so that proper statement could be gathered without interferences.
It appeared that the women had been rather keen upon meeting the handsome actor in person, along with probably a few dozen other ladies in attendance
Apparently the group of pickpockets, in addition to lifting their jewels, were also gathering information on those ladies with the desire to personally meet with the rather charming actor. These three had been weeded out for selection and approached, obviously not just because of their overwhelming interest in a private meeting, but also because they were wearing an overwhelmingly pricy collection of jewels.
The priest had been talking to the Millionaire’s wife at the back of the crowd, and had managed to steer the conversation to meeting the actor, whom, he implied, personally knew. The wife had seen him talking and coming in with the film crew and assumed he was quite right.
He had told her that he would arrange the meeting at the stone cottage just outside the gardens. The two went off together.
Meanwhile the dark skinned Romeo had come across one of the twins watching the autograph hounds in action ( red satin gown), and had found out she was also interested in meeting the actor. He had taken the pretty lady over to the cameraman to see if it could be arranged. A blind ruse to lure his victim ever closer into his confidence.
After being turned away by the cameraman, her friend in the fancy tux “happened” to spy the priest walking with a lady in green. He had led her over and asked the good father that since he knew the film crew, could a meeting of the actor be arranged.
The “good priest balked for a minute… than smiled cheerfully in the heavily made up eyes of the lovely twin…
As it so happened he was actually in the process of arranging a meeting. The Priest felt that one more would be okay, but not to say anything to anyone else. The twin asked if her sister could come along. The priest had given her a quite long, thoughtful look, and after much ponderonce , reluctantly said ok.
He had told the gentleman wearing the fancy tux to collect the girl’s sister, and take the 3 to the cottage while he collected the actor. And again advised them not to utter a single word to anyone.
The four arrived at the cottage and waited in the shadows off to one side.
They had heard a whistling, and the Romeo had told them to wait and went around the corner. The girls had heard a thunk, then something hitting the ground. The next thing they knew a pair of black clothed, figures wearing black cat masques , appeared on either side , surrounded them , and had told them to be quiet and no one else would be hurt. They then herded the 3 terrified ladies around to the front, where Romeo laid out cold upon the ground.
They were led past him, to the now open green door and told to get inside quick.
Once inside, the three ultra-wealthy victims were told to hand over their jeweled designer purses , their purses all together were worth nearly £100,000 alone !….
Then they were, in turn cordially, but sternly, asked to remove all their valuables. Each in turn places the extremely valuable jewels they had been wearing, into the purse held opened by one of the thieves…. The purses were then placed in a black travelling satchel, along with the diamond Tiara, which had been gently pulled from the wife’s head. ( the total of their jewels came to just shy of £550,000) !
The 3 now dejeweled Ladies were than instructed to strip off their, expensive personally tailored, designer gowns, and these also were stuffed inside the satchel, along with their pricey spiked heels ( these items totaled £85,000)
Then, stripped down to their knickers, they were told to march barefoot inside, then down to the dank, dirt floored basement below ground.
It hadn’t been a bad time imprisioned down there, nor good either, after the door had been shut and bolted home on them.
The windowless basement had a few wooden chairs, a small work bench ( no tools) with a small candle for light with a book of matches ( from St Davids). There was a jug of water, two bottles of wine and some liver pate with sour dough brea also placed upon that bench. A small service loo with rusty water was located at one end, with the basements lone, long ago bricked up, window.
Aside from being freaked out when hearing a scurry of mice now and then, the three were certainly no worse for wear… despite never in their lives ever coming close to such squalid living conditions!
They had had no way of telling time, and had thought it been about 4 days that they had been held down there. All three had been surprised that it had only been less than 2 days….
They was really , nothing more to their story.
The one twin who had been wearing the red gown, and the millionaire’s wife who had worn the luxurious green taffeta gown, both recalled dancing with the Romeo in the fancy tux, though neither could remember his name, there had been so many they had danced with after all. Nor did they recall, aside from him complementing them on their dresses, that he had taken any special interest in their jewels, nor anyone else for that matter.
The Detective Chief Inspector surmised that these lambs had been left alone from any trimming, instead saved as proper candidates to be lured away for a bit of wolfish shearing down to the silken flesh.
The three were then released, and returned to their grateful families, the constables dismissed from any further surveillance. There would of course, never be a ransom demand, for that was not in the Pygmalion Rings card deck…
Once a tally had been made of all the missing, and known stolen items, the rather staggering total came to over £ 1,350,000 pounds in jewels and other pricey valuables that had been lifted and acquired by the gang. Which made one think about what the grand total of all the jewels worn that evening would have been! And most of it ripe for the plucking by such nimble fingered thieves! Ones who had had such a bloody cheek to plan and pull of such a well-planned endeavor.
The producer, his camera crew and the actors were all cleared and released, the authorities soon realizing that they had been the patsy’s for a for more organized ring of thieves. It is believed the stolen gems never left the country, but whomever eventually fenced them was not amongst the ones known to the authorities.
The flight attendants days later were interviewed, none of them=m could clearly remember any passengers fitting the descriptions of the priest, the smarmy Romeo, or the two mysterious ladies…
Composite Pictures drawn from witness accounts had by now had been made and circulated, none ever coming close to being identified. Though one of the twins thought a lady looked a bit like one of their temporary parlor maids.. But no one could remember the lass’s name, or even how long or when the time she had been employed was.
Servants should be seen and not heard after all!
The police were at a standstill, a standoff with an unknown enemy. But in the Easminster’s CID’s defense, Thr Pygmilion ring’s heist had been at least 2 years in the making, considering that at least one of its suspected members had been in attendance the year before at the same function.
They area around the Stone Cottage was scoured far more thoroughly.
A small path that had been noted earlier , leading, but not walked, which led into the woods from the backside of the stone cottage.
It was now followed for some distance and at one point a branch path led off it and onto the road.
Crossing the road the searches found a driveway that led to a small rubbish area. Two sets of tyre tracks were found. One was never matched, but believed to belong to a small sports type car, possibly a jaguar coupe, about 20 years old. the other set matched the airport rental that had contained the film canister….the mud found on the rental auto also matched the area…..
Further investigation revealed that the magazine used was an Eastminster Diocesan magazine, and the article the letters were cut out from was one that told about the annual charity ball held at St . Davids? So they Pygmalion Ring had a bit of a sense of humour.
There was also discovered, a thumbprint on the letter. , which for a time greatly excited the local authorities… Until it was discovered that the thumbprint belonged to The Bishop of the Diocese of Eastminister!
Another unexplained mystery, or one last red herring ( The Bishop had never seen the letter, his secretary had called the police, his fingerprints were also found)
With their daughters and wife safely returned, the pressure was let off by the families. The insurance companies squawked a bit, but then there is no ever pleasing that lot!
It has now been three years since the heist, and Interpol feels that the time is quite ripe for the gang to strike again, somewhere in the world where large gatherings of the wealthy and privileged will be taking place. A formal event where copious displays of jewels will be worn by the female guests, like so many shimmering lures to attract the like of them !
But even though most of the leads in the original case proved to be so many red herrings left by the Pygmalion Ring , the police still maintain confidence that justice will prevail, even though the reality of the matter is that the original trail is growing ever colder…….like ice!
Quand on rencontre un mystère, on croit généralement être scélérats cachés
“When one encounters a mystery, one generally believes to be hidden scoundrels”
Author Unknown
The End (Fini)
"The fog is an illusion,
A master of disguise,
Which hides the tangible
Before our very eyes...
It gives an air of mystery
That has long prevailed.
Dangerously intriguing
Is the fog's foggy veil."
.:: Poem (Partial) © Walterrean Salley ::.
A foggy morning in Upper Normandy.
Étretat is a very picturesque town surrounded by steep chalk cliffs (falaises), including 3 stunning natural arches. Despite the reduced visibility, the most famous of the arches (La Porte d'Aval) and the pointed "needle" were breath-taking. The Falaise d’Aval looks as an elephant dipping his trunk into the sea. Standing next to it is l'Aiguille Creuse (Hollow Needle), made famous by Maurice Leblanc. The French novelist created the character of Arsène Lupin, the Gentleman Thief and set his legendary refuge inside the Needle.
Postcard texture with thanks to Kim Klassen
View Large On Black and have a fabulous day.
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Copyright © Kia & Zeno. All rights reserved.
No usage allowed in any form without our written explicit permission.
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My other half is a doctor, which means the effects and consequences of his work are tangible. It's a bad day when someone in his charge dies; it's a better day when, given limited time and resources, he's able to give his patients something approaching decent care. This palpability, this definiteness, was among the factors which led me to have a mini existential crisis about the value of my own career and work to the wider world.
I've written before that the educational choices I've made in my life were driven by the literally selfish desire to understand who I am and what it means to be me. This led me to interests and studies in psychology, philosophy and - the subject of my degree - literature. I discovered that I learned much more about myself by reading stories about other people. These choices disappointed my teachers in mathematics and the sciences, and my career in photography has surprised old schoolmates who assumed I would become a lawyer or else justify their designation of me as 'most likely to be elected to parliament.'
When I was around eleven I saw Dead Poets Society, and was so moved by a monologue delivered by Robin Williams' character that it imprinted on me a love and appreciation for the value of art. "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering: these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love: these are what we stay alive for."
It's easy to forget art's value, difficult to feel it day to day, even for - perhaps especially for - those who work in the arts. The first moment of doubt that I remember with any vividness was in a literature tutorial at university when, as we sat round a table discussing a novel by C.S. Lewis, the thought struck me: "What are we doing? Why the fuck are we sitting here talking about a children's book like this!?" And although I consider some small parts of my studies to have been pseudo-intellectual nonsense, I knew on a deeper level that what we were doing was important.
I don't even consider my work to be 'art': it certainly doesn't set out to challenge anyone or anything, or even to convey any deep meaning or message. Like this little essay, it's self-indulgent. I photograph the things that move me, surprise me and interest me, and if that can make someone think or discover something new - or even if they just enjoy looking at it - then that makes me happy. I'm encouraged by the occasional emails I receive from people I don't know which tell me of how my work has inspired their own, or of how it has made them realise the beauty of a city they've lived in for years; or, very occasionally - and most surprising and even frightening of all - of how it has affected the decisions they've made about their own lives.
And this is what art is for: to teach us how to be human beings, to teach us how to be here. In Other Colours, Orhan Pamuk writes about the importance of reading novels, but his words can be applied to other arts: "Reading was central to my efforts to make something of myself, elevate my consciousness, and thereby give shape to my soul. What sort of man should I be? What was the meaning of the world?…With the knowledge I gathered from my reading, I would chart my path to adulthood."
Glasgow, 2012.
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resurrection
part of the tangible project
for snacky.
modified polaroid SX-70
the impossible project PX-70 COLOR SHADE Test Film
double exposure
join us at the tangible project
The greatest things in life are not tangible. They are the things that elude us, like a spark we try to freeze as it explodes through its brief existence. Just as we try to grasp it, dazzled by its energy, it dissolves in a wisp of smoke. But life only exists in the movement and change. It is precisely the intangible, the moments of indescribable quality slipping through our fingers, that give us the greatest meaning. Like the knowing smile of a friend or the squeeze of your lover's hand. Like the soothing sound of raindrops above you, or misty layers of mountains surrounding you. We know it can't last, but in that second, it is everything.
A life well lived is not tangible. It is not defined by the things we purchase and hoard. It is not the biggest house you can buy. Or the money in the bank. Or the status of your job. A life well lived can never be measured, or bought, or won, or competed with.
A life worth living is one of moments, appreciated and embraced, and relationships, nurtured and loved. The special moments move quickly. Slow down to see them go by.
Sunrise with the bison in Yellowstone National Park.
---- Matera (Italy), beginning of October, 2019 -----
---- Matera (Italia), inizio d’ottobre, 2019 -----
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click to activate the icon of slideshow: the small triangle inscribed in the small rectangle, at the top right, in the photostream;
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;
Qi Bo's photos on Flickr Hive Mind
www.fotografidigitali.it/gallery/2726/opere-italiane-segn...
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A trip to…Matera: it is an Italian city of Basilicata, its origins are very ancient, remote; Matera is characterized by the so-called "Sassi", they are a complex of districts consisting of Houses-Caves dug into the rock; in the past these houses-caves were evacuated (in 1952) by order of the then government, to prevent the Sassi from being a tangible manifestation of a poor and backward southern Italy, with the simultaneous construction of districts made up of new houses. Currently things have changed, the Sassi have been rediscovered and enhanced, they host B & Bs, restaurants, museums, exhibition halls in which to find exhibitions of modern art, and, thanks to their rediscovery, the Sassi have been recognized by UNESCO, heritage of humanity, and moreover, Matera has also been elected Capital of Culture of 2019.
The Sassi of Matera are therefore districts that constitute the oldest part of the city, there is the Sasso Barisano, there is the Sasso Caveoso, which are separated from each other by a Big Rock on which there is the "Civita", which is the central part of the old city, on top of which is the cathedral and noble palaces. In ancient times the inhabitants of the Sassi, exploiting the friability of the calcareous rock, created a complex system for conveying water into canals, which led to a network of cisterns, thus water, a precious element for those lands, immediately became available.
The Patron Saint of Matera is the Our Lady of Bruna, whose denomination has uncertain origins (there are various theories), I have photographed Her icon, visible in the Mother Church, and the Her statue with the Little Jesus in Her arms, which is carried in procession. The Sassi, due to their landscape features, were very often chosen to set a large number of films, just to mention a few, "the roaring years" by Luigi Zampa, "the Gospel according to Matthew" by Pier Paolo Pasolini, "Christ stopped at Eboli" by Francesco Rosi," the Passion of Christ" by Mel Gibson.
In my wanderings among the Sassi, I met many Street Artists, among them the artist Benedict Popescu, I also met a very nice Capuchin friar with a passion for photography, some sweet girls, Koreans, Beneventans and of Matera.
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Una gita a…..Matera: essa è una città italiana della Basilicata, le sue origini sono antichissime, remote; Matera è caratterizzata dai cosiddetti “Sassi”, sono un complesso di rioni costituiti da Case-Grotte scavate nella roccia; queste Case-Grotte in passato furono evacuate (nel 1952) per ordine dell’allora governo, per impedire che i Sassi potessero essere una manifestazione tangibile di una Italia meridionale povera ed arretrata, con la contemporanea realizzazione di rioni costituiti da case nuove. Attualmente le cose sono cambiate, i Sassi sono stati riscoperti e valorizzati, essi ospitano B&B, ristoranti, musei, sale espositive nelle quali trovare anche mostre di arte moderna, e, grazie alla loro riscoperta, i Sassi sono stati riconosciuti dall’UNESCO, patrimonio dell’umanità, ed inoltre, Matera è stata anche eletta Capitale della cultura del 2019.
I Sassi di Matera sono quindi rioni che costituiscono la parte più antica della città, c’è il Sasso Barisano, c’è il Sasso Caveoso, i quali sono separati tra di loro da una rocca sulla quale c’è la Civita, che è la parte centrale della città vecchia, sulla cui sommità si trova la cattedrale ed i palazzi nobiliari. In epoche remote gli abitanti dei Sassi, sfruttando la friabilità della roccia calcarea, si ingegnarono nel realizzare un complesso sistema di convogliamento delle acque in canali, che conducevano in una rete di cisterne, in tal modo l’acqua, elemnto preziosissimo per quelle terre, diveniva immediatamente disponibile.
La Santa Patrona di Matera è la Madonna della Bruna, la cui denominazione ha origini incerte (vi sono varie teorie), io ho fotografato sia la sua icona, visibile nella chiesa Madre, sia la statua con in braccio il Bambinello, che viene portata in processione. I Sassi, per le loro caratteristiche paesaggistiche, sono stati molto spesso scelti per ambientare numerosissimi film, solo per ricordarne alcuni, “gli anni ruggenti” di Luigi Zampa, “il Vangelo secondo Matteo” di Pier Paolo Pasolini, “Cristo si è fermato ad Eboli” di Francesco Rosi, “la Passione di Cristo” di Mel Gibson.
Nel mio peregrinare tra i Sassi, ho incontrato molti Artisti di Strada, tra essi l’artista Benedict Popescu, credo unico nel suo genere, ho incontrato inoltre, un gentilissimo frate cappuccino con la passione della fotografia, delle dolcissime ragazze, Coreane, Beneventane e di Matera.
土耳其－Kars省－阿尼遗址－荒原上的圣母大教堂
The Cathedral, also known as Surp Asdvadzadzin (the Church of the Holy Mother of God), situated in ancient Armenian city of Ani, a UNESCO World Heritage Site located in Kars province, Eastern Anatolia, Turkey, next to the closed border with Armenia.
The construction of the Cathedral was started in the year 989, under King Smbat II. Work was halted after his death, and was only finished in 1001 (or in 1010 under another reading of its building inscription). The design of the cathedral was the work of Trdat, the most celebrated architect of medieval Armenia. The cathedral is a domed basilica (the dome collapsed in 1319). The interior contains several progressive features (such as the use of pointed arches and clustered piers) that give to it the appearance of Gothic architecture (a style which the Ani cathedral predates by several centuries).
The city of Ani is located on a triangular site, visually dramatic and naturally defensive, protected on its eastern side by the ravine of the Akhurian River and on its western side by the Bostanlar or Tzaghkotzadzor valley. The Akhurian is a branch of the Araks River and forms part of the current border between Turkey and Armenia.
Between 961 and 1045, Ani was the capital of the Bagratid Armenian kingdom that covered much of present-day Armenia and eastern Turkey. Called the "City of 1001 Churches", Ani stood on various trade routes and its many religious buildings, palaces, and fortifications were amongst the most technically and artistically advanced structures in the world. At its height, the population of Ani probably was on the order of 100,000.
Long ago renowned for its splendor and magnificence, Ani was sacked by the Mongols in 1236 and devastated in a 1319 earthquake, after which it was reduced to a village and gradually abandoned and largely forgotten by the seventeenth century. Ani is a widely recognized cultural, religious, and national heritage symbol for Armenians. According to Razmik Panossian, Ani is one of the most visible and ‘tangible’ symbols of past Armenian greatness and hence a source of pride.
© All rights reserved. You may not use this photo in website, blog or any other media without my explicit permission.
In life, you just never know.
When my mother-in-law went into memory care during Fall 2016, we adopted her cat named Emmy. Since we already had an Emmy of our own that was a black cat, our new kitty became Gray Emmy. She was a great addition to the family - very affectionate and quiet. After my mother in law passed on in April 2017, Gray Emmy was a tangible reminder of her legacy to us.
I had no idea when I snapped this photo of Gray Emmy that it would become a very poignant image. Exactly two weeks after this photo was taken, we lost Gray Emmy. After a day of lethargy, we took her to the vet when she was laboring to breathe. Upon examination, they found that Grey Emmy had a massive tumor that was constricting her cardiac function. She passed away not long after she arrived at the vet's office.
It was quite a shock for us. Since my wife's late father picked out Gray Emmy at the shelter, we really are feeling her loss. Animals never lose their innocence, and so their passing hits very hard.
I'm apart of creative team in my youth group to help teens get tangible ways of seeing things different and remembering a night a youth group about the sermon instead of it being just words, so I personal thought of this idea for what was talked about...
balloons..at my youth group
we talked about healing of the heart and letting go of pain, or resentment or whatever else that keeps us from moving forward in life or hinders us and giving it to God. Because in truth, sometimes we hold on to things that only hurt ourselves, and we don't even realize it.
We wrote down whatever we personal wanted on a little piece of paper, tied it to the balloons then we went outside and let them go.
"Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." Hebrews 12:1
On my way to run a few errands after work today, I decided I needed to walk beneath sculptor Alexander Calder's "Flamingo" in the John Kluczynski Federal Plaza.
This Chicago icon was one of the landmarks I had first wanted to see upon my relocation to this wonderful city.
Standing beneath its curving forms, I reached out both of my hands to touch this magnificent work of art - and in that moment, I felt connected to this city I have adopted and have called my own for over a decade.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flamingo_(sculpture)
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Calder
Downtown, The Loop, Chicago, Illinois.
Friday, May 3, 2019.
Two tangible objects representing something immense and fantastic. Love.
P.S. she was wearing a shirt
Light on Shell Study #03378, single non-direct window light from right, no reflectors, WB in CS6 only with no color correction, preservatives or additives
4 O'clock in the morning, shooting from a floating wooden bridge, so carefully not to step on the clouds
about the lake: the lake locates somewhere in the middle of Inner Mongo, a province of China, very remote, use to be the preserved place for ancient emperors to do summer hunting around, but now, very forgotten and solitary
this is the original shot, no crop, no noise reduction, little PS adjustment(contrast ), I composed the split in center intentionally, and with the mist bluring most part of the dark mountain line, to create the visual effect for how heaven and mundane world can be so close, so alike, so tangible all together to a peaceful soul, I really can't recall any composition rules at that breathtaking moment.
Commentary.
Probably derived from “Withy-combe” or “Willow Valley,”
Widecombe-in-the-Moor epitomises the remote upland villages of Dartmoor.
Renowned for its annual “fair” and the accompanying folk-song, “Uncle Tom Cobley and All,” this scene, including the grounds of the Parish Church of St.Pancras, otherwise known as “The Cathedral of the Moor,” due to its disproportionate size, in such a small and under-stated village, is so typical of this moorland landscape.
Widecombe Valley crowded by broadleaf trees gives way to the green patchwork of pasture for sheep and cattle, embroidered and edged by the ever-present tall Devon hedgerows and trees.
Steep lanes climb steadily in gentle undulations between the “Tors,” at the highest points.
From one to two thousand feet up, depending on aspect, the green swathe of fields, in turn, transforms into the reddish-brown bracken and heather of the high moorland.
The yellow of dense Gorse is also clear to see.
This almost tan-brown and purple autumn carpet contrasts sharply with the broken, shattered, grey piles of granitic boulder called “Tors,” that peak on the horizon.
Many visitors and locals scramble to these other-worldly, jumbled, irregular stone piles, from which, miles of sweeping moorland, fades into the distance.
An awesome and spiritual place that stays long in the memory, none more so, than when the mists descend and the legends and fears of “the Great Swamp,” as the locals often refer to it, become very uncomfortably tangible!!!
Jupiter Inlet Light
Taken on May 2/2010
Jupiter, Florida, USA
Nikon D5000
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When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."
─John 8:12
The Crabb Family ~ The Light House
History:
The Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse was completed and first lit on July 10, 1860. It is the oldest existing structure in Palm Beach County. The Lighthouse stands on an ancient Indian shell mound, dated around 700 AD, and is 156 feet tall with 105 steps from the base to the top. The Lighthouse itself is 108 feet high while the mound is 48 feet high. The light was produced by a first order Fresnel lens made by the Henry-Lepaute Company in Paris. The rotating lens flashes (burst of light when bulls-eye passes viewer's line of vision) is 1.2 seconds, eclipses (darkens) 6.6 seconds, flashes 1.2 seconds, eclipses 21 seconds, and then repeats the cycle. The light can be viewed approximately 20 miles out at sea.
George Gordon Meade, a Lieutenant at the Bureau of Topographical Engineers and later the general who defeated Robert E. Lee at Gettysburg, designed the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse. Work began on the mound in 1853, but slowed when the inlet filled with silt, the Third Seminole War erupted from 1855 to 1858, and the purgatory of heat, humidity, and insects bore on the workmen.
After the light was lit in 1860, a group of Confederate sympathizers, including some of the Lighthouse Keepers, sneaked into the tower and removed enough of the lamp and revolving mechanism to make it unserviceable. Throughout the war, the light remained dark.
After the war, sections of the lens assembly were returned, and the light once again beamed on June 28, 1866. Captain James Armour became the lighthouse keeper and would serve for forty-two years.
A telegraph signal station was added to the lighthouse grounds in 1898. The original keeper's dwelling burned down in 1927. The light station was electrified in 1928 and damaged by a hurricane later that year. During the storm, the top of the tower was reported to have swayed up to 17 inches. Several windowpanes were broken at the top of the tower and one of the bulls-eyes sections of the lens was shattered.
During World War II, the lighthouse was dimmed through the use of a low-wattage bulb. Several ships were sunk offshore, and the sad duty of recovering the bodies as they washed ashore fell to the Lighthouse Keepers.
In 1959, the two-story Lighthouse Keeper's dwelling was torn down and new quarters were built. In 1973, the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse was put on the National Register of Historic Places. For a number of years, the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse was painted a "firehouse" red, but during the 1999 restoration, the tower's color was returned to the natural red brick. The work on the tower took 8 months and cost $850,000.
The Loxahatchee River Historical Society administers the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse. The lighthouse is owned and maintained as an active maritime aid to navigation by the U.S. Coast Guard.
Source: Loxahatchee River Historical Society
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Textures by:SkeletalMess: Square-63, Biblical Clouds & woodplanks. Thank you very much Jerry!!
PLEASE: Do not add your picture (even a miniature) or Flickr river link with your comment, it will be removed.
Afterward [God] added: “I want to show you something of my power.” And immediately the eyes of my soul were opened, and in a vision I beheld the fullness of God in which I beheld and comprehended the whole of creation, that is, what is on this side and what is beyond the sea, the abyss, the sea itself, and everything else. And in everything that I saw, I could perceive nothing except the presence and the power of God, and in a manner totally indescribable. And my soul in an excess of wonder cried out: “This world is pregnant with God!” Wherefore I understood how small is the whole of creation—that is, what is on this side and what is beyond the sea, the abyss, the sea itself, and everything else—but the power of God fills it all to overflowing.
-Angela of Foligno, “The Memorial: The Stages of Angela’s Inner Journey,” in Angela of Foligno: Complete Works, ed. Paul Lachance (New York: Paulist Press, 1993), 169–70
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. This is the problem in a nutshell. To use another image: bare “facts” swirl chaotically through the universe in their billions. If no one organizes or interprets them they remain garbage, pure informational garbage. This informational trash has nothing to do with “history,” not in the least. The so-called fact is a prior level, a partial element, but it is not yet history. Thousands of facts, in and of themselves, are not history. History is interpreted event. Historical knowledge organizes and interprets the infinite chaos of facts.
-Jesus of Nazareth Gerhard Lohfink Jesus of Nazareth What He Wanted, Who He Was Translated by Linda M. Maloney
a tangible daydream, Upper Peninsula, Michigan - March 10 2023
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the unexpected result of a recent conversation with one of my oldest best friends. she had never used it and it was just sitting around for the last 13 years. it's definitely not new nor is it fancy but for me it's just a little bit closer to something I'd only daydreamed for the longest time.
for "The Tangible Project" - theme WATER: www.flickr.com/groups/thetangibleproject/discuss/72157624...
this pola will go to: www.flickr.com/photos/mindblob/
Is God There?
Reflections on Exodus
At times in my life, I see evidence of God’s presence beyond any doubt. Passages of Scripture light up with meaning, and prayer flows easily. Worship brings me joy as I reflect on how palpably God keeps his hand over my circumstances. Walking with God seems tangible during these times, as if he is physically beside me, and my love overflows in easy obedience. But then there are times that it seems God has gone on vacation. The same passages of the Bible seem devoid of life; I trudge through prayer and push myself to worship. Why does God sometimes feel so distant?
When we look at the life of Israel, we find the same apparent ebb and flow of God’s presence that we feel in our own lives. The opening chapter of Exodus depicts God’s fulfillment of his promise to Abraham for numerous descendants—a nation grown large enough to incite Pharaoh to enslave them out of fear and vengeance (1:8–14). Distanced from the land and favor God had promised them, the Israelites must have struggled to understand their God. Why would he increase their numbers only to allow Pharaoh to drown their newborn boys in the Nile (1:22)? When would God deliver them?
Generations pass before God spares Moses and raises him up in Pharaoh’s own house. When Moses flees Egypt and wanders the plains of Midian, God reveals himself through a burning bush. He acts on behalf of Israel, manifesting his presence through miracles, plagues on Egypt, and the parting of the Red Sea. God leads Israel through the wilderness, as a pillar of cloud by day and a cloud of fire by night. His voice thunders from a mountain, his holiness overcoming the Israelites until they fear for their lives. Wanting to remain among his people, God commands them to construct a tabernacle, which serves as his dwelling place until the temple in Jerusalem is completed hundreds of years later. His presence among the Israelites is overwhelming.
Yet even with so many memories of his glory, the Israelites forget God’s nearness and care for them. With the Egyptians advancing on them before the Red Sea, they complain that Moses brought them out of Egypt only to die in the wilderness (14:11–12). After a three days’ walk, they find no water, their food stores run out, and they despair (15:22; 16:3). And while Moses spends 40 days and nights atop Mount Sinai, receiving instructions from Yahweh, the Israelites even build and worship a golden calf, attributing their deliverance from Egypt to a false god (32:1–6). At the first sign of hardship or confusion, the Israelites assume God has left them.
Although the Israelites doubt God’s presence throughout the book of Exodus, his protection and provision for them is obvious to us, since we have the whole story: God was near Israel at all times. His presence and care were constant, though the evidence seemed sparse from the perspective of the Israelites. Even when their babies were in danger, the writer of Exodus tells us that God honored the obedience of the Hebrew midwives who allowed the babies to live (1:20). He heard the people groaning under slavery, remembered his covenant, and took notice of Israel during their hardest years (2:23–25).
What about us? What truths do we hold to when God seems distant and far off? We know that God’s presence among humanity reached its fullest expression with the advent of Jesus. John’s Gospel states, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). In Greek, the word for “dwelt” literally means “pitched his tent.” In Jesus, God came near—not just in a tent like he did in the tabernacle, but now in flesh. And today, rather than looking for God in pillars of cloud and fire, the Hly Spirit dwells in Christians who carry God’s presence with them. Although he often goes unperceived, that won’t always be the case. In John’s vision of the new heaven and new earth, he describes everything made new, and a loud voice from the throne proclaims, “He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them” (Rev 21:3, emphasis mine).
AUBRY SMITH
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BIBLE STUDY MAGAZINE NOV–DEC ‘14
BIBLICAL REFERENCES FROM ESV
Aubry Smith, “Is God There?,” in Moment with God: A Devotional on Every Biblical Book (ed. John D. Barry and Rebecca Van Noord; Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2014).
Keystone 60 Second Everflash
669 Film (exp. 1995)
This was my take on the Tangible Project's "Resurrection" theme for March. Dan (abdukted1456) was the recipient of this original polaroid and I encourage everyone to check out the Tangible Project and consider joining so you too, can receive original polaroids in the mail!
The sea resurrects itself over and over again in each and every wave that surges up upon the shore.