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10. Mai 2018
Photo by Hagen Hoppe . www.hagenhoppe.com
More Larp-Photos: www.exploregraphy.com/category/stories/larp/
Nutzungsrechte: Creative Commons BY-NC-ND
10. Mai 2018
Photo by Hagen Hoppe . www.hagenhoppe.com
More Larp-Photos: www.exploregraphy.com/category/stories/larp/
Nutzungsrechte: Creative Commons BY-NC-ND
A dilapidated house on the way home from work. I stopped to see how close I could get in the evening light and still make it compelling or interesting. Only a small portion of the house was getting sun so I concentrated on that small portion.
Does it work? Is it interesting, does it capture what the house is about?
This isn't 100% my usual style, but it isn't as far off as the bear yesterday. I'm a little meh about the composition.
PP was a contrast bump selective sat/desat - not full B&W just a little bump to make the sunlight pop.
I got out the 28-135 since it is very hard to find good places to pull off the road to take pictures (with the snow piled up), interestingly, in this case, I found a good place to pull off and take pictures so I didn't need the extra length.
10. Mai 2018
Photo by Hagen Hoppe . www.hagenhoppe.com
More Larp-Photos: www.exploregraphy.com/category/stories/larp/
Nutzungsrechte: Creative Commons BY-NC-ND
leamon kiss
oil painting
sorry for the bad photo
one saved painting from the broken angel house there are many like it that will not be save if the DOB gets its way
A broken ballast wagon sits in the sidings by the Upperton Road bridge, Leicester. 1999. This was formerly the GCR goods yards, later famous when it was the home of Vic Berrys scrapyard.
I am a little clumsy at times. While shooting wine glasses, I dropped one. I hope my roommate doesn't mind.
Strobists: flash fired at wall behind subject.
I wanted to try one of these things, but I'm not sure if it's "my thing".
I'm definitely better at other editing, haha.
Whatever.
I love Flickr, so much.
Tumblr!
A random link failed. Perhaps it was weak from the string-in-the-rear-wheel incident, who knows. The string in the rear wheel meant I was going to have to have the rear derailleur rebuilt. Now it will have to be replaced.
Man all of a sudden every thing on my bike is literally dropping to bits with in the space of days! Next up came on a decent townsend mountain bike, not sure if it was original or not. Unknown history, I used it for approx 2000 miles. I'm amazed what happened, whilst out on a ride I noticed when I lifted the bike up over a stile that the saddle rattled a little, checked to to see what it was as I don't recall it being loose or at least not this much and every thing seemed sound so I just thought oh it's fine, rode all the 8 mile home and put the bike away, every thing normal. Next day I went to lift the bike away from the wall to go for a ride and ping! little bent black piece of metal fell to the ground. Can't believe it fell off then and not when in use! I seem to be pretty jamy when it come to things like this. It must have snapped most of the way through at some point and held on by a little piece for a short while. So the question is would you still dare ride it as is?
Luckily our excellent mechanic was able to fix the problem faster than I could taxi back from the run-up area. We had a nice flight up to Napa and Yolo and some excellent scenery.
Story here: jeremy.zawodny.com/blog/archives/008957.html
"You saw my pain, washed out in the rain.
Broken glass; saw the blood run from my veins.
But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart.
And you knelt beside my hope, torn apart."
I cleaned the glass. I cared
that much, just enough
to wipe clean the sharp clarity
before painting in vivid scarlet with its tip on bare sinner’s skin.
And I wonder often why I did, when so few months later I became so set on throwing it all away.
That clean crystalline shard was a promise; who for,
what to? I’m sure I’ll never know. Lots of things
were taken out of my hands in those days {and I mean that in every single way}.
I fed on every raindroppromise like I was starved for earthly light. That day,
sweltering southern July
on a hill, on a mountain
by the house that smelled of figs
its stairways lined with dolls with glassy, soft eyes that I counted {68 total}
136 eyes
For my 200 or so scars, just those 3 months.
There’ll never be enough hearts, of dolls or otherwise to save
to heal every last one, and that’s only me.
Promise me we’ll be alright?