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Another image from a very famous place
Do we need another image from Tunnel View in Yosemite National Park? One could argue that after Adams took his iconic "Clearing Winter Storm, Yosemite National Park" in 1944 there has been little need to recapture the public's imagination with the view of this grand valley from a simple roadside pull-out. Yet there is rarely any shortage of photographers and nature lovers peering out over the stone wall making memories and photographs of the valley's major features laid out in such stunning symmetry. So then, what is the reason for snapping away (see below for proof of just how many people bore witness to the grandeur represented in this photograph)? Do we need more nature images of landscapes thoroughly inhabited and (theoretically) protected? Why is a culture so hell-bent on consuming and utilizing every natural resource possible even interested in nature photographs, especially of landscapes which have been (at least temporarily) spared from mining, drilling, clear-cutting and development? I have two answers to these questions - the general and the personal.
The Wellspring
The valley called Yosemite, and a few other spots on Earth, have served as the nursery for ideas. These ideas were the basis for a series of successful and unsuccessful marches in the name of conservationism and environmentalism. The valley was the gray-walled and sand-floored crib of Muir's preservationism. If Muir loved the wilds before (and he certainly did) he came to Yosemite, he got so near to the heartbeat of the Earth that he wanted for the rest of his life to try and get nearer. The valley was the luminous, storm-ravaged epic landscape of Adams' classic photograph - laid out like some glamourous nude, covering just enough with a lacy veil of fog and snowcloud to elicit excitement and inspire others to the same end as Ansel. Camp 4 was the cradle of the American love affair with rock climbing and the first rungs of Rowell's ladder from a poor mechanic to influential photojournalist and world-explorer. Perhaps too The Valley has been the nursemaid to our love of hiking and exploring the wilder places of America as something, if not vocation, then more dear than avocation. Thomas Jefferson famously wrote, "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is it’s natural manure." Conservationism did not die as some antiquated nineteenth century ideal, but it too must be refreshed from time to time. It's night-soils were the words of Muir, the photographs of Adams, Rowell, and others. There is much yet in this world, and even in the Yosemite Valley, that needs protecting and conserving. I don't know that my photographs will change anyone else's mind about how to behave in the valley or in their own backyards, but I do know the process of taking photographs of this place has fixed in my mind the value of this wonderful place. The argument, therefore, is that ideas need expression and the continual flow of nature imagery is an effort to convince the apathetic and timid of the great value inherent in conservation. Great photography is a call to action, it draws the breath from our lungs and the blood from our hearts for a moment only to rush it back two-fold and inspire us to do more (by doing less) than gnaw with an axe at old, pine-perfumed gardens. Maybe Ansel's was just an aperitif to some great and yet-unmade masterpiece more completely encapsulating the million-fold images, emotions and experiences that are Yosemite. Not all of us are going to make these still epics, however, and the reason to justify our personal photographic efforts are perhaps subtly different.
Making memories and photographs
The process of taking photographs is more about what is not in the photograph than what makes it into the frame. This is true in the compositional sense - often exclusion of extraneous elements and isolation of subject is the key to a successful photograph (a lesson I must constantly learn and a tree that is continually refreshed by the "manure" of deleting photographs poorly executed). This statement is also true in the figurative sense. These photographs are about more than their subject. They are about an amazing light show as dessert to a full meal of hiking and camping, they are about sitting at what seems like the top of Eden and enjoying a simple cup of hot soup as the blood-crimson of sunset gives way to steel-blue of twilight and finally to soot-black of night. They are about the fan-blade whoosh of ravens' wings over the Pines campground and the long light of drawing winter skies in the high country of the Tuolumne Meadows - sundogs and all. The act of photographing is an act of personal education and change.
What I've learned in my time as photographer hobbyist is that you cannot collect or consume nature images. This is where I think most of us who aspire to wonderful amateur photography fail. There is an oft-considered difference amongst photographers between "taking" a photograph, like a vacation snapshot or a record shot of some event, and "making" a photograph through careful composition, consideration, patience and thought. So too there is a difference between remembering things and making memories. Stopping at a roadside pullout and clicking away at even the most gorgeous and tumultuous light shows of our Earth, only to pop back into the car and head out along a drab ribbon of asphalt is to take a snapshot in your mind's eye and does disservice to the photograph, no matter how grand. If I could have told something to my younger self when looking to learn about how to make photographs, I would have told myself "Sit the $&#@ down and absorb the world you're trying to photograph - you can't photograph something you don't understand and you won't understand it until you let it in." I say all this because the photograph above of the valley from the famous Tunnel View pullout was populated with an enormous number of photographers, each very earnest and very serious and very talented. I counted at least two workshops going on and quite a bit of knowledge seemed to be in the offing. By the time I took the second photograph - my wife and I were alone. We had been alone for an hour by the time I took the fourth photograph on this post.
"Letting it in" is something different for everyone and I probably couldn't teach it to my younger self, let along a stranger. It's something like how Buddha can't share enlightenment, but can only share the "way." It is a balancing act between imaging, imagining and observing. Compare the difference in the quality of the light between the photograph that leads this post with the one below (taken just a moment apart). The conservationists problems would quickly end if only he or she could bring all the skeptics, miners and misers to Tunnel View for a late-fall light-show and therein lies the dichotomy.
The Dichotomy of the Valley
Tunnel View is famous because it presents the major aspects of the valley so harmoniously. Yosemite's scale seems to grow in proportion to its distance from the viewer. Half Dome is distant but towering, El Capitan is accurately represented as an impossibly sheer and impossibly beautiful slab of granite, some titanic slab table laid on its side, and nearest of all is the Bridalveil spilling fresh mountain run-off from the high country into a flower garden of amber- and ocher- and scarlet-leaved trees. The valley has just overcome the crisis of its birth, trees new and the cataclysm so near that water has not yet had time to erode its way, crashing instead from precipitous heights and providing our only clue of the impossible scale involved. I had made the pull-out having just hiked 12 miles of the valley floor trail that day and the complementary 10 miles the day before. In that hike I was struck with the out-of-place luxury of the guest resorts within the valley. To me there is something idealogical irreconcilable between a luxury hotel and a preservation of wilderness like Yosemite. I had many thoughts rattling around in my head while I took this last 16-minute exposure. I was thinking about originality, documentation, and the value of an image. The idea I wanted to convey was the dichotomy inherent to these national parks of ours. Yosemite village has a gift shop that sells purses and t-shirts and other trinkets designed to separate bused-in tourists from their money. The shop has a large plaque decrying how many plastic water bottles were consumed in Yosemite the year previous. The plaque is hung above a display selling plastic water bottles. Forever increasing pressure from the outside world to bring more visitors, to consume more wilderness, is one aim of these parks. In stark opposition is the initial, Muir-esque ideology of the parks - a preservation outside of development and the mar of humanity. So I waited for the last rays of twilight to fade and I left my shutter open for what seemed like an eternity, capturing the light pollution of a parade of cars, thundering past Tunnel View, casting their headlamps on the bows of nearby pines and then, on the valley floor, weaving through the gathering fog along the park road between the Pohono bridge and the northern park destinations; I imaged behind it all and above the valley the collected pollution casting a red pall on the sky like the representation of distant war by some Renaissance master.
Originality
To take a step back, and to put an end to my ramblings, it is hard not to take a good photograph from Tunnel View, or for that matter, of the valley. In two trips, I have been able to produce what I think are two rather unique images of the place (at least to the degree that any photographic act is one of creation or uniqueness): "The Dichotomy of the Valley" (above) and "We are Killers" (below). Far more importantly I spent two unforgettable evenings trying to absorb a bit of the grandeur in the thin and chilly mountain air. Had I to boil down the thesis here at play I would simply say that what is lacking in poor photography when compared to great photography are ideas and the successful expression of those ideas. The world is full of information easily found about how to successfully express a photographic idea, but often woefully short of fresh ideas themselves. This is why there was only one Muir, one Adams and one Rowell and why there is only one you. The reason that we need more images of nature, of Tunnel View, of the valley is that no two images are the same, they are all products of their respective creators and our thirst for brilliant creators is never quenched though the wellspring of Yosemite has provided amply. The trick isn't to represent Tunnel View, but to represent yourself through Tunnel View.
Memories of summer evenings.
A secluded and quiet bay located at the end of a very rough unmade road. A small car park gives access to one of the loveliest beaches near Hartland.
Some of the lanes to get here are quite narrow but it is worth the effort.
Sandy from mid tide onwards, it also offers some excellent rock pools
A pair of unidentified 37's cross the Dovey just having left Dovey Junction in late July or August 1987. The rain looks like it has settled in for the day and the photographer has found some shelter under the trees.
The track in the foreground is the line to Aberystwyth and this is the unmade road down to the junction accessed from Glandyfi.
Identity options from the notes I have are:
25-7-87 37240 with 37427
15-8-87 37003 with 37426
22-8-87 37196 with 37430
29-8-87 37257 with 37431
Part of the Tom Derrington Collection. I suspect the photographer is local as they have seemingly known their way around and taken some of the less obvious angles.
Any information on photographer or loco identities gratefully received.
Ref: img456 CBN
I am one of those people that have to make my bed before I can leave the house. So if you see an unmade bed, it is a sure bet, I am having a #Lazy weekend. That was my thought this morning when I peeked in my room and glimpsed this. Yep, I'm being #Lazy, so I will capture this moment for Flickr Friday!
This image was taken in RAW and processed in Linux using RawTherapee.
Back in the late 1950s or ealy 1960s I made up one of these kits and it is superb. It was originally made by Renwal.
I have acquired an unmade Renwal verson and will be building this again sometime in the future.
Well I'm gonna do some smokin' / I'm gonna smoke all that good stuff that I can / Well I'm gonna do some tokin' / I'm gonna smoke all that best stuff across this land / Cause I'm a drinkin', smokin', nighttime ramblin' kinda man (Hank III)
Just a few days left. And believe me THERE IS A TIME FOR THIS: Unmade beds at the ZustandsZone from April 3rd til May 2nd. Make sure to be there on Friday 3rd at 6. Meet gentle people at the heart of Friday night. Right there. Right here. Hamburg. Come over, have a drink or two ... I'll be there each Friday from 6 to 8.30.
see the original photograph on www.hobokollektiv.net
© THERE IS NO TIME FOR THIS, Berlin, 2015, Florian Fritsch
Dinorwic Quarry employed over 3000 men at its peak and many of these workers lived locally or caught the quarry train on the Padarn Railway to work each day. However men from Anglesey, in particular, required to lodge or barrack at the quarry each week. They left home early on a monday morning and returned on saturday afternoon. Provisions for the week were carried on their journey. One of their homes for the week was the Anglesey Barracks high up in the quarry. Anglesey Barracks consists of two identical blocks of 11 units facing each other across an unmade street. Each unit has a living room with a fireplace and a bedroom with space for four men. Amenities were few - no electricity, soft mattresses, toilets or running water, just basic furniture and little else. Windows were provided only onto the street. This way of life survived until 1948 when an unannounced visit by the local Public Health Inspector saw the barracks condemned as unfit for human habitation. After that the quarrymen from Anglesey travelled daily by bus.
Past the end of the Barracks, and round the side of the mountain to the left are more groups of houses spread around the edge of a 'village green', a beautiful spot in the sunshine with a stunning view out across the lake and the rows of Snowdonia's finest mountains.
With these Dinorwic shots I've done my best to place them accurately on the map: best if you pick the satellite or hybrid version. (if you can't find the flickr map click on where it gives the location on the right of this page)
Another image from a very famous place
Do we need another image from Tunnel View in Yosemite National Park? One could argue that after Adams took his iconic "Clearing Winter Storm, Yosemite National Park" in 1944 there has been little need to recapture the public's imagination with the view of this grand valley from a simple roadside pull-out. Yet there is rarely any shortage of photographers and nature lovers peering out over the stone wall making memories and photographs of the valley's major features laid out in such stunning symmetry. So then, what is the reason for snapping away (see below for proof of just how many people bore witness to the grandeur represented in this photograph)? Do we need more nature images of landscapes thoroughly inhabited and (theoretically) protected? Why is a culture so hell-bent on consuming and utilizing every natural resource possible even interested in nature photographs, especially of landscapes which have been (at least temporarily) spared from mining, drilling, clear-cutting and development? I have two answers to these questions - the general and the personal.
The Wellspring
The valley called Yosemite, and a few other spots on Earth, have served as the nursery for ideas. These ideas were the basis for a series of successful and unsuccessful marches in the name of conservationism and environmentalism. The valley was the gray-walled and sand-floored crib of Muir's preservationism. If Muir loved the wilds before (and he certainly did) he came to Yosemite, he got so near to the heartbeat of the Earth that he wanted for the rest of his life to try and get nearer. The valley was the luminous, storm-ravaged epic landscape of Adams' classic photograph - laid out like some glamourous nude, covering just enough with a lacy veil of fog and snowcloud to elicit excitement and inspire others to the same end as Ansel. Camp 4 was the cradle of the American love affair with rock climbing and the first rungs of Rowell's ladder from a poor mechanic to influential photojournalist and world-explorer. Perhaps too The Valley has been the nursemaid to our love of hiking and exploring the wilder places of America as something, if not vocation, then more dear than avocation. Thomas Jefferson famously wrote, "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is it’s natural manure." Conservationism did not die as some antiquated nineteenth century ideal, but it too must be refreshed from time to time. It's night-soils were the words of Muir, the photographs of Adams, Rowell, and others. There is much yet in this world, and even in the Yosemite Valley, that needs protecting and conserving. I don't know that my photographs will change anyone else's mind about how to behave in the valley or in their own backyards, but I do know the process of taking photographs of this place has fixed in my mind the value of this wonderful place. The argument, therefore, is that ideas need expression and the continual flow of nature imagery is an effort to convince the apathetic and timid of the great value inherent in conservation. Great photography is a call to action, it draws the breath from our lungs and the blood from our hearts for a moment only to rush it back two-fold and inspire us to do more (by doing less) than gnaw with an axe at old, pine-perfumed gardens. Maybe Ansel's was just an aperitif to some great and yet-unmade masterpiece more completely encapsulating the million-fold images, emotions and experiences that are Yosemite. Not all of us are going to make these still epics, however, and the reason to justify our personal photographic efforts are perhaps subtly different.
Making memories and photographs
The process of taking photographs is more about what is not in the photograph than what makes it into the frame. This is true in the compositional sense - often exclusion of extraneous elements and isolation of subject is the key to a successful photograph (a lesson I must constantly learn and a tree that is continually refreshed by the "manure" of deleting photographs poorly executed). This statement is also true in the figurative sense. These photographs are about more than their subject. They are about an amazing light show as dessert to a full meal of hiking and camping, they are about sitting at what seems like the top of Eden and enjoying a simple cup of hot soup as the blood-crimson of sunset gives way to steel-blue of twilight and finally to soot-black of night. They are about the fan-blade whoosh of ravens' wings over the Pines campground and the long light of drawing winter skies in the high country of the Tuolumne Meadows - sundogs and all. The act of photographing is an act of personal education and change.
What I've learned in my time as photographer hobbyist is that you cannot collect or consume nature images. This is where I think most of us who aspire to wonderful amateur photography fail. There is an oft-considered difference amongst photographers between "taking" a photograph, like a vacation snapshot or a record shot of some event, and "making" a photograph through careful composition, consideration, patience and thought. So too there is a difference between remembering things and making memories. Stopping at a roadside pullout and clicking away at even the most gorgeous and tumultuous light shows of our Earth, only to pop back into the car and head out along a drab ribbon of asphalt is to take a snapshot in your mind's eye and does disservice to the photograph, no matter how grand. If I could have told something to my younger self when looking to learn about how to make photographs, I would have told myself "Sit the $&#@ down and absorb the world you're trying to photograph - you can't photograph something you don't understand and you won't understand it until you let it in." I say all this because the photograph above of the valley from the famous Tunnel View pullout was populated with an enormous number of photographers, each very earnest and very serious and very talented. I counted at least two workshops going on and quite a bit of knowledge seemed to be in the offing. By the time I took the second photograph - my wife and I were alone. We had been alone for an hour by the time I took the fourth photograph on this post.
"Letting it in" is something different for everyone and I probably couldn't teach it to my younger self, let along a stranger. It's something like how Buddha can't share enlightenment, but can only share the "way." It is a balancing act between imaging, imagining and observing. Compare the difference in the quality of the light between the photograph that leads this post with the one below (taken just a moment apart). The conservationists problems would quickly end if only he or she could bring all the skeptics, miners and misers to Tunnel View for a late-fall light-show and therein lies the dichotomy.
The Dichotomy of the Valley
Tunnel View is famous because it presents the major aspects of the valley so harmoniously. Yosemite's scale seems to grow in proportion to its distance from the viewer. Half Dome is distant but towering, El Capitan is accurately represented as an impossibly sheer and impossibly beautiful slab of granite, some titanic slab table laid on its side, and nearest of all is the Bridalveil spilling fresh mountain run-off from the high country into a flower garden of amber- and ocher- and scarlet-leaved trees. The valley has just overcome the crisis of its birth, trees new and the cataclysm so near that water has not yet had time to erode its way, crashing instead from precipitous heights and providing our only clue of the impossible scale involved. I had made the pull-out having just hiked 12 miles of the valley floor trail that day and the complementary 10 miles the day before. In that hike I was struck with the out-of-place luxury of the guest resorts within the valley. To me there is something idealogical irreconcilable between a luxury hotel and a preservation of wilderness like Yosemite. I had many thoughts rattling around in my head while I took this last 16-minute exposure. I was thinking about originality, documentation, and the value of an image. The idea I wanted to convey was the dichotomy inherent to these national parks of ours. Yosemite village has a gift shop that sells purses and t-shirts and other trinkets designed to separate bused-in tourists from their money. The shop has a large plaque decrying how many plastic water bottles were consumed in Yosemite the year previous. The plaque is hung above a display selling plastic water bottles. Forever increasing pressure from the outside world to bring more visitors, to consume more wilderness, is one aim of these parks. In stark opposition is the initial, Muir-esque ideology of the parks - a preservation outside of development and the mar of humanity. So I waited for the last rays of twilight to fade and I left my shutter open for what seemed like an eternity, capturing the light pollution of a parade of cars, thundering past Tunnel View, casting their headlamps on the bows of nearby pines and then, on the valley floor, weaving through the gathering fog along the park road between the Pohono bridge and the northern park destinations; I imaged behind it all and above the valley the collected pollution casting a red pall on the sky like the representation of distant war by some Renaissance master.
Originality
To take a step back, and to put an end to my ramblings, it is hard not to take a good photograph from Tunnel View, or for that matter, of the valley. In two trips, I have been able to produce what I think are two rather unique images of the place (at least to the degree that any photographic act is one of creation or uniqueness): "The Dichotomy of the Valley" (above) and "We are Killers" (below). Far more importantly I spent two unforgettable evenings trying to absorb a bit of the grandeur in the thin and chilly mountain air. Had I to boil down the thesis here at play I would simply say that what is lacking in poor photography when compared to great photography are ideas and the successful expression of those ideas. The world is full of information easily found about how to successfully express a photographic idea, but often woefully short of fresh ideas themselves. This is why there was only one Muir, one Adams and one Rowell and why there is only one you. The reason that we need more images of nature, of Tunnel View, of the valley is that no two images are the same, they are all products of their respective creators and our thirst for brilliant creators is never quenched though the wellspring of Yosemite has provided amply. The trick isn't to represent Tunnel View, but to represent yourself through Tunnel View.
"All You've Left Me Is A Feather On An Unmade Bed"
*inspired by*
"It's Over" by Tom Waits
You must have brought the bad weather with you
The sky's the color of lead
All you've left me is a feather
On an unmade bed
It's always me whenever there's trouble
The world does nothing but turn
And the ring it fell off my finger
I guess I'll never learn
But it's over, it's over, it's over
I'm getting dressed in the dark
Our story ends before it begins
I always confess to everyone's sins
The nail gets hammered down
And it's over, let it go
So don't go and make a big deal out of nothing
Well it's just a storm on a dime
And I've always found there's nothing
That money can't buy
I've already gone to the place I'm going
There's no place left to fall
And there's something to be said
For saying nothing at all
And it's over, it's over, it's over
It's done forgotten and through
No one cares what it's all for
You'll be buried in the clothes
That you've never wore
So keep your suitcase by the door
It's over, let it go
No one cares what it's all for
You'll be buried in the clothes
That you never wore
So keep your suitcase by the door
It's over, let it go
You gotta let it go
Let it go, let it go
My boy cat Chico (left) and my girl cat Claudia sleep on my unmade bed. When my cats sleep, they’re serious about it.
I have loadsa Jo's from multiple visits, I must up some. We got some fantastic interaction from here on our last visit, as well as a helicopter escapement, the security man shouted after us "less of your cheek or I'll smash your f==king head in" delivered in the most beautiful Liverpool accent, in reply to my "we haven't broke in"
Good times :)
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were talking so brave and so sweet,
giving me head on the unmade bed,
while the limousines wait in the street.
Those were the reasons and that was New York,
we were running for the money and the flesh.
And that was called love for the workers in song
probably still is for those of them left.
Ah but you got away, didn't you babe,
you just turned your back on the crowd,
you got away, I never once heard you say,
I need you, I don't need you,
I need you, I don't need you
and all of that jiving around.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
you were famous, your heart was a legend.
You told me again you preferred handsome men
but for me you would make an exception.
And clenching your fist for the ones like us
who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,
we are ugly but we have the music."
I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best,
I can't keep track of each fallen robin.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
that's all, I don't even think of you that often.
Leonard Cohen - Chelsea Hotel 2
Let me tell you bout this girl I know, she got blue eyes and a ways to go / She got a head full of I don't knows, she's crazy in the head ya know / She's a lot like this one horse town, it's like a hand full that's come unwound / It's like a lost case of being found, so baby roll your window down (Scott H. Biram)
UNMADE BEDS // Fotografien von Florian Fritsch
vom 03.04. bis 02.05.2015 in der ZustandsZone, Königstr. 16, 22767 Hamburg
see the original photograph on www.hobokollektiv.net
© Königstr., Hamburg, 2015, Florian Fritsch
Bodywork on this bus is Marshall B33D.
For several weeks during 1979 route 211 was diverted eastbound in Molesey to run via Church Road, Wolsey Road and Bridge Road, rejoining the official route at Hampton Court Bridge. This was apparently in response to complaints about a bus stop on Riverbank, that road having no pavement along its northern edge so that passengers had to stand on unmade ground (i. e. mud).
Tracey Emin, CBE, RA (born July 1963) is an English artist known for her autobiographical and confessional art(work. Emin produces work in a variety of media including drawing, painting, sculpture, film, photography, neon text and sewn appliqué. Once the "enfant terrible" of the Young British Artists in the 1980s, Tracey Emin is now a Royal Academician of the Royal Academy of Arts.
In 1997, her work Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995, a tent appliquéd with the names of everyone the artist had ever shared a bed with was shown at Charles Saatchi's Sensation exhibition held at the Royal Academy in London. The same year, she gained considerable media exposure when she swore repeatedly in a state of drunkenness on a live discussion programme called The Death of Painting on British television.
In 1999, Emin had her first solo exhibition in the United States at Lehmann Maupin Gallery, entitled Every Part of Me's Bleeding. Later that year, she was a Turner Prize nominee and exhibited My Bed – a readymade installation, consisting of her own unmade dirty bed, in which she had spent several weeks drinking, smoking, eating, sleeping and having sexual intercourse while undergoing a period of severe emotional flux. The artwork featured used condoms and blood-stained underwear.
Emin is also a panellist and speaker: she has lectured at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, the Art Gallery of New South Wales in Sydney (2010)] the Royal Academy of Arts (2008), and the Tate Britain in London (2005) about the links between creativity and autobiography, and the role of subjectivity and personal histories in constructing art. Emin's covers a variety of different media, including needlework and sculpture, drawing, video and installation, photography and painting.
In December 2011, she was appointed Professor of Drawing at the Royal Academy; with Fiona Rae, she is one of the first two female professors since the Academy was founded in 1768.
Emin lives in Spitalfields, East London.
I realized that this unmade bed was symbolic of my own inability to focus. I DID make the bed after sketching it :-)
Sketched last summer with watercolor pencils in square handbook journal.
Acordemos uma vez que seja. Deixa lá
fora do lugar, a cama desfeita,
esquece as horas. Só a pausa existe.
(...)
(Rosa Alice Branco, in "Lábio vertical em si", O mundo não acaba no frio dos teus ossos, Quasi, Vila Nova de Famalicão, 2009)
-----------------------------------------------------------
(rough translation)
Let us wake up at least for once. Leave it
out of its place, the unmade bed,
forget about the time. Only the lapse exists.
(Rosa Alice Branco)
Abandoned and derelict Anglesey Barracks, Dinorwic Slate Quarry
Dinorwic Quarry employed over 3000 men at its peak and many of these workers lived locally or caught the quarry train on the Padarn Railway to work each day. However men from Anglesey, in particular, required to lodge or barrack at the quarry each week. They left home early on a monday morning and returned on saturday afternoon. Provisions for the week were carried on their journey. One of their homes for the week was the Anglesey Barracks high up in the quarry. Anglesey Barracks consists of two identical blocks of 11 units facing each other across an unmade street. Each unit has a living room with a fireplace and a bedroom with space for four men. Amenities were few - no electricity, soft mattresses, toilets or running water, just basic furniture and little else. Windows were provided only onto the street. This way of life survived until 1948 when an unannounced visit by the local Public Health Inspector saw the barracks condemned as unfit for human habitation. After that the quarrymen from Anglesey travelled daily by bus.
Past the end of the Barracks, and round the side of the mountain to the left are more groups of houses spread around the edge of a 'village green', a beautiful spot in the sunshine with a stunning view out across the lake and the rows of Snowdonia's finest mountains
This track is near to Badbury Rings and it was the warm colours of the track contrasting with the almost monochrome cold grey sky that caught my eye.
"Quienes pobres y andrajosos y con ojos cavernosos y altos se levantaron fumando en la oscuridad sobrenatural de los departamentos con agua fría flotando a través de las alturas de las ciudades contemplando el jazz"
Allen Ginsberg.
lomo smena 8
Parked up on the unmade road outside the chapel in Beamish Museum's colliery village are two of Northern General's earliest vehicles - one a restored original and one a replica.
In front is a beautifully restored 1928 Northern General SOS QL ("Queen"-class, Low) bus. The Friends of Beamish Museum have spent well over twenty years restoring this magnificent "Queen"-type bus, No.338 (UP 551) of the Northern General fleet. The 37-seat bus is of a BMMO design by Brush and was the first of 65 supplied to Northern General Transport. It remained in service until 1950.
Northern General was one of the few companies outside the West Midlands to use this BMMOC-built vehicle in significant numbers and, in 1928, was the largest user of SOS buses other than Midland Red itself.
Bringing up the rear is a replica of J-2503, a 1913 Daimler CC motorbus in the livery of the owners of the original (in 1913), Northern General. This replica as built about thirty years ago from drawings of the original twenty similar buses purchased by Northern General when they first started operating in 1913 between Low Fell tram terminus and Chester-le-Street. Sadly the originals were requisitioned by the Government to serve in the Great War and did not return.
Copyright © 2020 Terry Pinnegar Photography. All Rights Reserved. THIS IMAGE IS NOT TO BE USED WITHOUT MY EXPRESS PERMISSION!
Working down the Andes Mountains, Chile, is the local bus (Bottom left if you havent seen it) from the high plain settlements to the lower Towns.
The bus is driven by the same man for over 40 years - maybe nobody else has the guts to do it?
And then I saw the dream's dark spring / Hurricanes of jazz born from the underworld / "Saint Louis Gal with a diamond ring" / Danced with hoboes while the thunder swirled! (e.s.t., poem by Maxwell Bodenheim)
UNMADE BEDS // Fotografien von Florian Fritsch
vom 03.04. bis 02.05.2015 in der ZustandsZone, Königstr. 16, 22767 Hamburg
see the original photograph on www.hobokollektiv.net
© ZustandsZone, Hamburg, 2015, Florian Fritsch
Today was one of those days where I had great difficulty getting out of bed. I was woken by the wind howling outside, the rain falling hard on the windows. The waves of the sea looked like it was threatening to come all the way up the beach and flood our home.
I really wish I could have spend the day in bed. So that explains my 17:52.
It is always strange to have to leave a place (or places) you have enjoyed and made friends and to come ato a new place and wait to see what happens. We crossed east to Van, near the border with Iran and were greeted by dark clouds, patchy rain, unmade roads, police everywhere, including their armoured cars and it all looked a bit bleak. However, as is so often in Turkey, by the end of the day we could look back on a number of pleasurable meetings some of short duration, some longer. This was a shorter meeting up on the top of the Rock of Van overlooking the massive Lake Van, site of ancient civilisations from over 5,000 years ago. More pictures from here later.
y2o by Dominique Skoltz @ Arsenal Montreal...
synopsis
y2o navigue en eaux troubles, entre asphyxie et exaltation, entre dévoration et répudiation, entre oui et non, des deux côtés de la peau. Cette œuvre nous donne à voir un amour au bord de la dérive, cellule multimorphe diffractée en de multiples scènes. Chacune de ces scènes triture les nœuds émotifs qui se font et défont dans l’abrasion du quotidien et observe les polarités croisées dont sont faites les amours sans répit.
Dans cet espace-temps élastique, suspendu hors du réel, deux intériorités entrent en collision. Si lui ressent quelque chose, elle ne le ressent pas et vice-versa jusqu’au vide, là où l’on n’éprouve plus rien, à force d’émotions.
y2o trace son sillon dans l’intime, ce territoire hasardeux où l’on hésite sans cesse entre ce que l’on dérobe au regard de l’autre et ce que l’on choisit de montrer. L’un comme l’autre pourrait nous perdre. L’un comme l’autre pourrait nous mener à se retrouver.
y2o navigates troubled waters, between suffocation and exaltation, between consummation and relinquishment, between yes and no, from both under the skin and on its surface. This work allows us to see a love on the verge of drifting, a multimorphic cell that is scattered in multiple scenes. Each of these scenes pummels emotional nodes, which are made and unmade by daily abrasions, observing the crossed polarities from which relentless loves are composed.
In this elastic space-time, suspended outside the real, two inner worlds start to collide. If he feels something, she does not, and vice-versa until a void, where they feel nothing anymore, emptied by the force of their emotions.
y2o finds its rhythm in the intimate, the treacherous territory where we unceasingly hesitate between what we conceal from the other’s gaze and what we choose to reveal. Either could lead us to lose our self. Either could lead us to find our self.
Found object - From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
A found object (a loan translation from the French objet trouvé), or found art, is art created from undisguised, but often modified, items or products that are not normally considered materials from which art is made, often because they already have a non-art function. Pablo Picasso first publicly utilized the idea when he pasted a printed image of chair caning onto his painting titled Still Life with Chair Caning (1912). Marcel Duchamp is thought to have perfected the concept several years later when he made a series of ready-mades, consisting of completely unaltered everyday objects selected by Duchamp and designated as art. The most famous example is Fountain (1917), a standard urinal purchased from a hardware store and displayed on a pedestal, resting on its side. In its strictest sense the term "ready-made" is applied exclusively to works produced by Marcel Duchamp, who borrowed the term from the clothing industry (French: prêt-à-porter, lit. 'ready-to-wear') while living in New York, and especially to works dating from 1913 to 1921.
Found objects derive their identity as art from the designation placed upon them by the artist and from the social history that comes with the object. This may be indicated by either its anonymous wear and tear (as in collages of Kurt Schwitters) or by its recognizability as a consumer icon (as in the sculptures of Haim Steinbach). The context into which it is placed is also a highly relevant factor. The idea of dignifying commonplace objects in this way was originally a shocking challenge to the accepted distinction between what was considered art as opposed to not art. Although it may now be accepted in the art world as a viable practice, it continues to arouse questioning, as with the Tate Gallery's Turner Prize exhibition of Tracey Emin's My Bed, which consisted literally of a transposition of her unmade and disheveled bed, surrounded by shed clothing and other bedroom detritus, directly from her bedroom to the Tate. In this sense the artist gives the audience time and a stage to contemplate an object. As such, found objects can prompt philosophical reflection in the observer ranging from disgust to indifference to nostalgia to empathy.
As an art form, found objects tend to include the artist's output—at the very least an idea about it, i.e. the artist's designation of the object as art—which is nearly always reinforced with a title. There is usually some degree of modification of the found object, although not always to the extent that it cannot be recognized, as is the case with ready-mades. Recent critical theory, however, would argue that the mere designation and relocation of any object, ready-mades included, constitutes a modification of the object because it changes our perception of its utility, its lifespan, or its status.
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crumpled sheets, unmade bed, dust bunnies, dead plant and earbuds. yup, a university student lives here.
the complete bookends set.
Maybe the last occupants overturned the bed before they left, or perhaps vandals left the room in disarray after they broke windows.
This image is part of Sanctuaries, a long-form photographic series I began in 2021. It is a meditation on the spaces we quietly inhabit when the world becomes too loud. These rooms often overlooked, rarely celebrated become sacred ground. They are places where we soften, break open, and rebuild ourselves without expectation or performance.
Titled “I Return to Myself Here,” this photograph holds one of those private moments: when the light has just entered the room, and everything is still. The bed is unmade, not out of carelessness, but because life is being lived in real time. This is the space where joy has been whispered into pillows, where grief has soaked into sheets, where dreams have been planned in silence, and where the body has learned to be both refuge and rebellion.
The series continues to grow two additional bodies of work have emerged from it, all circling around the core idea of the bedroom as a site of memory, transformation, and emotional labor. These images are not simply about physical spaces, but emotional terrains. They ask: What does it mean to come home to yourself? Where do we go when we need to be undone, loved, or held?
This work is an offering to all the versions of self we meet behind closed doors and the soft, unspoken rituals that bring us back home.
A must see if taking the rather steep Bloomfield Track. The road, unmade, was cut when the Queensland Government was thinking of opening up the Daintree to development until a very determined band of greenies and alternative types staged on-going demonstrations. Eventually leading to the area becoming a World Heritage site and development stopping.
We traversed the road leading to the Daintree via our 4WD Tour on the way back to Cairns.
"On assignment for Look magazine to photograph the movie star for its twenty-fifth anniversary cover, Douglas Kirkland shot Marilyn in the intimate confines of an unmade bed."
Tenth and last in a series of ten pictures by Douglas Kirkland, staff photographer for LOOK magazine, of Marilyn Monroe in 1961, a year before her death.
From the LOOK Collection at the Library of Congress
More MM | More pictures from the LOOK magazine collection
(?) The copyright status of this picture is uncertain.
R1299. 3ft gauge Peckett 0-6-0ST SCALDWELL arriving for preservation at the embryonic Narrow Gauge Railway Museum at Brockham in Surrey.
SCALDWELL was one of a pair built in 1913 and they worked on a short ironstone line at Scaldwell in Northamptonshire where they were used to transfer the iron ore from the quarry to a ropeway which then took the ore to the Northampton - Market Harborough line.
On the closure of the quarry SCALDWELL was saved for preservation but the other locomotive, LAMPORT, wasn't so lucky and met with a sticky end in April, 1964.
The Narrow Gauge Railway Museum was at Brockham near Dorking in Surrey but was hampered by being approached by an unmade road which had to cross the Guildford to Redhill line; this made access by the general public problematical and the museum had to close. All was not lost however, as all the stock, including SCALDWELL, was transferred to the Chalkpits Museum at Amberley in West Sussex.
21st March, 1964. Copyright © Ron Fisher.
We stopped by the side of the road as one of the Landcruisers had punctured. All the guides stuck together so when one of them got into difficulties the others would come to their assistance and vice versa. It was good to know they were all looking out for each other and ultimately us.
There were small dwellings all along the unmade roads. It didn't seem to matter where we were there was always someone to say hello to. This group of Kenyan boys looked on as we set about changing the deflated tyre. I suppose they saw traffic flying past their home all day long but assumed vehicles rarely stopped. This must have been a novelty especially when a group of pampered tourists got out to stretch their legs!
We gave them some small bits and pieces which they willingly accepted. One cheeky herbert made out he hadn't received anything whilst hiding his stash behind him. Kids are the same the world over :-)
Original jpeg straight from the camera with minor tweaking/cropping in photoshop. Fuji X-E2 with 18-55mm f/2.8-4, aperture f8, exposure 1/680 sec, ISO 800.
"On assignment for Look magazine to photograph the movie star for its twenty-fifth anniversary cover, Douglas Kirkland shot Marilyn in the intimate confines of an unmade bed."
Tenth and last in a series of ten pictures by Douglas Kirkland, staff photographer for LOOK magazine, of Marilyn Monroe in 1961, a year before her death.
From the LOOK Collection at the Library of Congress
More MM | More pictures from the LOOK magazine collection
(?) The copyright status of this picture is uncertain.