View allAll Photos Tagged existential
While chasing bubbles around my parent's garden over the holiday... Thoughts of mortality rise and burst all around me. Occasionally coating me with existential goo (detergent and sugar, in case you didn't know ;-)
Happy 2015 to you all....wishing you a year rich in photographic treasure, wonder and friendship.
Cheers and gratitude to all....
'Gifts and the Raft' by The Cave Singers: www.youtube.com/watch?v=eplsBWNT-Og
Agra (Inde) - Quand j’ai croisé la route de cet homme, je ne l’avais pas vraiment remarqué au premier abord. Il avançait dans la cohue de la circulation, en tirant son vélo lourdement chargé, tout en me regardant faire des photos. Jusqu’au moment où j’ai croisé son regard. Un regard perturbant et fascinant qui s’imposait à lui seul. Il exprimait une grande lassitude, proche de la détresse L’homme était visiblement épuisé et probablement fiévreux. Chose rare chez moi, j’ai hésité à faire la photo. Il y avait quelque chose d’indécent à capter l’image de ces grands yeux qui trahissaient un certain fatalisme sur sa condition. Tant d’émotions dans un simple regard. Alors comme pour me déculpabiliser, j’ai zoomé en une fraction de seconde, sans me préoccuper de l’environnement et encore moins de mon cadre. L’indécence aurait été d’esthétiser cette scène. J’avais aussi peur qu’en me posant des questions existentielles, l’intensité de ce regard ne s’estompe. J’ai donc laissé mon instinct reprendre le dessus.
En exposant ce regard, illustration d’un désespoir, j’ai le sentiment de rendre hommage à cet homme et à tous ses compagnons de misère. Mais j’ai aussi pour la première fois, la désagréable impression de lui avoir volé quelque chose. Même si après l’avoir remercié d’un petit geste de la main, l’homme a esquissé un rictus que j’ai interprété comme étant un sourire d’approbation.
- Le flou de l'arrière-plan n'est pas vraiment agréable. C'est étonnant car le 17-55 mm f : 2,8 est un excellent objectif. Insondables lois de l'optique.
All the misery in the world in a single look
Agra (India) - When I crossed paths with this man, I hadn't really noticed him at first. He rode through the rush of traffic, pulling his bike, heavily laden with bags, while watching me take pictures. Until the moment I met his gaze. A disturbing and fascinating look. He expressed great weariness, bordering on distress. The man was visibly exhausted and probably feverish. Rare thing for me, I hesitated to take the photo. There was something indecent in capturing the image of those big eyes that betrayed a certain fatalism about his condition. So much emotion in a simple look. So as if to rid myself of guilt, I zoomed in a fraction of a second, without worrying about the environment and even less about my frame.
The indecency would have been to aestheticize this scene. But by acting on instinct, I was also afraid that by asking myself existential questions, the intensity of this gaze would fade.
By deciding to expose this look, an illustration of despair, I have the feeling of paying homage to this man and to all his companions in misery. But looking at him, I also have for the first time the unpleasant impression of having stolen something from him.
: listen
My internal monologue
Is saturated analogue
It's scratched and drifting,
I've become attached to the idea,
It's all a shifting dream bittersweet philosophy
I've got no idea how I even got here
I'm resentful,
I'm having an existential time crisis
What bliss!
Daylight savings won't fix this mess.
Under-worked and over-sexed
I must express my disinterest.
The rats are back inside my head
What would Freud've said?
Put me on a pedestal and I'll only disappoint
You tell me I'm exceptional and I promise to exploit you
Give me all your money and I'll make some origami, honey
I think you're a joke but I don't find you very funny
The mirror no longer lies — it simply stopped caring. Where there was fire, there is now ash that remembers the shape of the flames. I wear this face like a costume I can never take off, painted over wrinkles that tell stories I never asked to carry. Where living and fading became the same thing, slow and without witnesses, where each dawn the hammer of a sentencing judge strikes and never absolves.
Others may have made peace with time — and I respect that silence, whatever it hides. But I cannot pretend something that does not exist inside me. This grief is mine alone, selfish and unapologetic, a pain I carry without the ability to disguise it or make it more bearable to look at. Age is not wisdom dressed in silver — it is a slow erasure, a dimming of the light I once was so certain would never go out. I look back and the road behind is longer than the road ahead, and somewhere in that arithmetic lives a darkness I have learned to call by name. The unmade.
--------------------------------------------------
Der Spiegel lügt nicht mehr — er hat lediglich aufgehört, sich zu kümmern. Wo einst Feuer war, liegt nun Asche, die sich noch an die Form der Flammen erinnert. Dieses Gesicht trage ich wie ein Kostüm, das sich niemals ablegen lässt, übermalt von Falten, die Geschichten erzählen, um die ich nie gebeten habe. Dort, wo Leben und Verblassen zu ein und demselben wurden, langsam und ohne Zeugen, wo mit jedem Morgen der Hammer eines urteilenden Richters niedergeht und niemals freispricht.
Andere mögen mit der Zeit Frieden geschlossen haben — und ich respektiere dieses Schweigen, was immer es verbergen mag. Doch ich kann nicht vortäuschen, was in mir nicht existiert. Diese Trauer gehört ausschließlich mir, eigensinnig und ohne jede Entschuldigung, ein Schmerz, den ich weder verbergen noch erträglicher gestalten kann. Alter ist keine in Silber gekleidete Weisheit — es ist ein langsames Auslöschen, ein Verblassen jenes Lichts, von dem ich einst sicher war, dass es niemals erlöschen würde. Ich blicke zurück, und der Weg hinter mir ist länger als der Weg vor mir, und irgendwo in dieser Arithmetik lebt eine Dunkelheit, die ich gelernt habe, beim Namen zu nennen. The unmade
"Should it happen that all tradition in the world were cut off with a single blow, the whole mythology and history of religion would start over again with the succeeding generation."
- C.G. Jung, 1912.
This photograph contains a parable on which human civilisation might live or die.
Previously I have mentioned the new library at MONA which is called Phrontisterion. This means essentially a "thinking shop". One could argue that is in fact the purpose of the entire gallery, and this original installation is a case in point.
The creator of MONA, David Walsh (interestingly enough he used to have a car parking space at MONA labelled 'GOD'), is a genius at mathematics. This is how he has made his fortune, designing an algorithm that makes money on the betting and stock markets. He has ploughed this money back into MONA to the tune of over $400 million dollars since it opened in 2012. But reading his autobiography, A Bone of Fact (2014), makes it abundantly clear that Walsh is immensely interested in the most fundamental existential questions of life and death.
So the artworks collected here reflect the desire to make people think. And often you need to SHOCK people to actually get their brains in gear. We are slaves to habitualised forms of thought (and this is one reason why people are susceptible to cults and authoritarian structures of thinking). Lacan knew this, and so does one of the most interesting philosophers of the age, Slavoj Žižek.
This is why I write all my own descriptions and put all my photographs into context - whether people want to read about it or not. This is why I work in themes or series. If photography is just about pretty pictures, then frankly I'm NOT interested. For me the camera is a tool to learn about and instruct people in the art of living.
If humans are to survive as a species then we need our full intellectual capabilities. We must be sharp, and that's why I am a Luddite when it comes to Artificial Intelligence. The dumbing down of society is a real thing. It makes people compliant and accepting of otherwise outrageous things that do untold harm to the earth.
So think damn it! (that's what David Walsh would say, and I agree).
Well this White Library might be the most radical work of art at MONA. Designed by Cuban conceptual artist, Wilfredo Prieto, it shows a library in which all books are completely empty. It is as if something has erased every record of previous human civilisation. Now think about this parable for a moment.
We are living through a time when the President of the United States (who has hardly read a book in his life and certainly had a ghostwriter write his own) orders the august Smithsonian institution to take down all its history of slavery and anything that might be deemed negative to his view of America. Tech companies and billionaire oligarchs are buying up media institutions and engaging in radical censorship of views they deem "dangerous" (frankly these are the only views I consider worth thinking through, the rest turns the mind to mush!). Our historical record is being erased and rewritten, something George Orwell warned us about before he died.
So is there hope we can turn this situation around before it's too late? Well, certainly yes, but ONLY if we start to think for ourselves and guard history and its wisdom lessons with a passion. This is a moment when the very soul of humanity is at stake. Lose this battle and the earth would be much better off without us. And frankly most other animals species would breath a sign of relief.
Imagine the world before the most invasive and destructive species in the known universe emerged from the mists of time. It was once called "The Garden of Eden".
Two figures sit motionless on a splintered bench, backs to the camera, facing a body of water that reflects none of the light. The sky above them churns with a thick, oppressive mass of clouds, less of a storm, more a reckoning. The distant town across the water appears frozen, its palm trees stiff against the windless void, as if bracing for something that’s not weather but consequence.
There’s no conversation between the seated pair. No movement. Just the kind of silence that comes after decisions have been made and before outcomes arrive. The monochrome palette strips away warmth, leaving only the stark geometry of despair and stillness. It’s not clear whether they’re watching the end of something or waiting for it to begin.
This is not a peaceful scene. It’s a quiet surrender.
My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.
Reading through this article about the benefits of Machine Learning,
www.datacamp.com/blog/what-is-machine-learning
I've learned that Machine Learning (ML) is a branch of artificial intelligence (AI) enabling AI to imitate the way that humans learn, gradually improving it's accuracy.
The following statement particularly caught my attention in the article:
'In the 21st century, data is the new oil, and machine learning is the engine that powers this data-driven world. It is a critical technology in today's digital age, and its importance cannot be overstated.'
I have also learned throughout the article the many ways machine learning is beneficial for me personally: it helps me to see what I'd like to see, shows me what I'd like to buy, listens to me, tracks my behaviour and feeds my mind it's daily dose of information.
And from there I can see the benefits of me being in a perfectly round digital world with all my favourite things and thoughts circulating around me, I just need make sure that no one will ever come close to me with their strange worlds and disturbing opinions, unless they want to see my existential fear being properly activated...
To be fair with the article, it does mention one actual benefit to humanity; it states that machine learning is used widely in health care. Google's DeepMind Health for example is working with doctors to build machine learning models to detect diseases earlier and improve patient care. And I would like to think that there are many other areas as well where the application of ML is implemented by goodwill and in faith of a better future for us, not driven by greed, power or any other sinister agendas.
I believe regardless of what is the original intent of creating a tool/machine/algorithm, once created, you will have the moral choice to use it and aim towards what's right, or to use it and aim towards what's wrong, or don't even care at all, just use the tool and see what happens, in any ways, there is always a price to pay.
We've yet to see what is the ultimate price to pay for releasing and so desperately trying to finalize an 'all knowing' machine god above us, and I can only hope that while we are still in control, human goodwill will always outweigh human greed, and we can still remain to be compassionate individual human beings seeing each other in the warm light of the sun, and not turning into some cold numbers on a blue screen as part of a soulless database.
...
I do understand the importance of science and economics, but I don't want to live in a 'data-driven' world...
I want to live in a love-driven world.
If only machines could 'deep learn' love, and mass generate it into the world... that I could call Progress.
Image taken at Bikás Park Underground Station, Budapest, Hungary.
Fomaton MG 131 24x30cm in Moersch SE5
A + B + H2O = 40+35+1000
Lith Ω - 1 min
Kentmere 400@800 in Ilford Microphen 1+0
📷 Holga 120GN
Alberto Giacometti was one of the most important sculptors of the 20th century. His work was particularly influenced by artistic styles such as Cubism and Surrealism. Philosophical questions about the human condition, as well as existential and phenomenological debates played a significant role in his work. Around 1935 he gave up on his Surrealistic influences in order to pursue a more deepened analysis of figurative compositions.
Between 1938 and 1944 Giacometti's sculptures had a maximum height of seven centimeters (2.75 inches).[7] Their small size reflected the actual distance between the artist's position and his model. In this context he self-critically stated: "But wanting to create from memory what I had seen, to my terror the sculptures became smaller and smaller". After World War II, Giacometti created his most famous sculptures: his extremely tall and slender figurines. These sculptures were subject to his individual viewing experience—between an imaginary yet real, a tangible yet inaccessible space.
La douleur.
Le fil barbelé pique et blesse.
Les épines de la rose piquent aussi.
Dans l’art, on les utilise souvent pour symboliser la beauté mêlée à la douleur
Métaphore existentielle
On peut aussi voir :
la fleur comme l’individu
le fil barbelé comme les contraintes sociales, politiques ou psychologiques
Ainsi, l’image devient une métaphore : l’être humain qui cherche à s’épanouir malgré les limites qui l’entourent.
Pain.
Barbed wire pricks and cuts.
Rose thorns prick too.
In art, they are often used to symbolise beauty intertwined with pain
An existential metaphor
One might also see:
the flower as the individual
the barbed wire as social, political or psychological constraints
Thus, the image becomes a metaphor: the human being striving to flourish
A colossal structure stands like the skeletal remains of an ancient leviathan, reaching for a sky that has forgotten the sun. This massive web of steel and concrete isn't just a building; it's a testament to lost glory, a relic of a time before the endless twilight consumed the world. The dome looms above, its open framework allowing the melancholy of the clouds to seep through like an insidious poison, an open cage that has trapped the city beneath.
Below, the city struggles in vain. The ruby-red neon sign, "MOULIN ROUGE," burns with the desperate glow of a dying star—a fleeting reminder of forgotten pleasures in a world of inescapable gloom. Each light is a plea for life, easily swallowed by the deep, ravenous shadows that gather beneath the towering structure. It's a place where time has frozen, and the only constant is the crushing weight of existential despair, as if the steel cage itself is a vessel carrying the sorrows of a thousand generations.
Ho realizzato questo scatto perchè non capivo.
Riguardo il risultato e mi crea angoscia.
L’angoscia sperimentata a livello emotivo finisce per risultare paralizzante. Può farci sentire ansiosi, impauriti, e minacciati senza ragione. Può essere caratterizzata da un senso di vuoto esistenziale, o farci sentire un peso che rende difficile respirare.
I took this shot because I didn't understand.
I look back at the result and it makes me anxious.
The anguish experienced on an emotional level ends up being paralyzing. It can make us feel anxious, afraid, and unnecessarily threatened. It can be characterized by a sense of existential emptiness, or make us feel a weight that makes it difficult to breathe
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Promethéus, "colui che riflette prima"; è un personaggio della mitologia greca.
Prometeo rubò il fuoco agli dei per darlo al genere umano e la sua azione, che avvenne in antitesi a Zeus ed è posta ai primordi dell'umanità, rappresenta l'origine della condizione esistenziale umana.
Eng
Prometheus, "he who reflects first"; is a character in Greek mythology.
Prometheus stole fire from the gods to give it to mankind and his action, which occurred in antithesis to Zeus and is placed at the beginning of humanity, represents the origin of the human existential condition.
...just a real photography...
No artificial intelligence, no computer graphics...
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Absolutely no permission is granted in any form, fashion or way, digital or otherwise, to use my images on blogs, personal or professional websites or any other media form without my direct written permission.
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We become older
and are put out to pasture..................
we lose our beauty,
creases, folds, wrinkles cover the young innocence and smoothness
of our younger hedonistic days.
our mind slow downs
we think of the naivety of our youth
and how directionless they seem
the painful existential angst: to ponder our obsolescence, the passage of time brings on...................
that there isnt enough time to accomplish what we believe we should have or still can.
fear anxiety paralyzes many of us.
mistakes are not acceptable
the clock our worst enemy.
the hell that demonizes us.
Near Bantry.........
IRELAND
Photography’s new conscience
Some faces seem to carry entire lifetimes inside them.
The cigarette caught my attention first. Then the watch. Then the expression — not anger exactly, but something harder and more durable. A look that seemed shaped by years of surviving things that never fully leave a person. The kind of face that no longer asks life for fairness, only enough strength to continue.
Time was visible everywhere — in the lines of her hands, the hollows beneath her eyes, the cigarette burning down between her fingers, the watch quietly measuring another passing minute. And yet nothing about her felt surrendered.
She reminded me of people I’ve encountered all over the world. Men and women carrying invisible histories through ordinary afternoons. Lives marked by loss, disappointment, hard labor, loneliness, addiction, grief, endurance — and still somehow continuing forward.
There are people who move through life untouched.
And there are others who look as though life came at them with full force.
Sometimes survival itself becomes a kind of dignity.
eN-genes
Now more than ever you can be like a tree unaging In the mind,
with its diseased shadow squeezing a grave, squeezing me:
China bones and tendons in various degrees of separation,
floods and droughts ruining my heart now cold, eyes closed
over beliefs that held my life together, lying exposed, nameless
quaint fragments sitting below the mutilation of a sunrise.
I’m sporting an existential dark gray outfit with an elegance
to be the envy of Tiffany. And a prayer hiding beneath every curse.
On a stage without curtains publishing my fury in a fury of words.
With flowers dried to amber in one hand and a blade in the other,
into the flesh of trees; I convert this energy and this body’s hunger.
I’m an annotator; suffering is difficult to depict and I need paper.
So there it is, words gathering like birds on an empty clothesline,
hinting at implications in a blur of thoughts and old forgotten creeds.
Hear me out: “Let’s leave footprints deep as the ocean. Try it. Seriously.
One spring out of every century”. The edge of time makes a sound
and the music runs through the kitchen, through my bloodstream,
breaking the glasses as I cut onions, as I cut you out of everything.
June 20-2018-18.00
fat jon & styrofoam - Generic Genes
"but as you wait, i heard that there's a way to save some
collect everything that connects to the bass drum
we'll take a journey and venture back at a later date
no need to worry now, everything was saved to tape
control the medium, listen when the people speak
note the elements, even if they're incomplete
as it filters through..don't interrupt the code
no need to look around. there'll always be enough to load"
I was listening to "Marooned" by Pink Floyd while working on this image. One thing kind of led to another. An adult beverage may have been involved.
Here's the inspiration.
www.youtube.com/results?search_query=marooned+pink+floyd
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
Never mind that the video is black and white, the audio is silent, and the screen flickers like a bad horror movie. Rules say "bolts or other items without the matching socket will be removed"—but what about perfectly fitting connections that refuse to work?
This SCART-to-RCA adapter is a shining example of deception—it plugs in smoothly, yet the signals inside are having an existential crisis. The video signal screams in RGB, but the TV only understands composite, leaving us with a washed-out mess. The audio sits quietly, confused and alone, wondering why it wasn’t invited to the party.
But hey, it fits, so it stays! Even if it means your movie looks like a ghost story filmed in 1925.
Location: Visit Nature's Sillywood in Second Life
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In the cradle of spring, where life begins anew,
Blossoms unfurl, in the softest hues of dew.
The sun whispers warmth, the earth sighs in relief,
As life dances forth, from each bud and leaf.
Yet, in this rebirth, a silent echo we find,
Of cycles unending, of the most existential kind.
For each petal that blooms, must one day fall,
And the greenest of branches, in winter, stand tall.
Spring's breath is sweet, but carries a truth,
That life is a moment, fleeting and uncouth.
In the heart of each flower, lies the seed of demise,
And in the joy of birth, the shadow of goodbyes.
But fear not the end, for in death, life is sown,
And from the darkest of soils, new light is shown.
So let spring's feelings, of life and of death,
Teach us to cherish, each heartbeat, each breath.
Die Hoffnung hängt an Schläuchen - Hope hangs on tubes.
The formal challenge: how to express an existential feeling or a cardinal virtue in our times with means of photography,
A lone kayaker, dressed like Indiana Jones’s quieter cousin, glides across a grayscale lake with the intensity of someone who just discovered poetry. The water sparkles. The trees whisper. And somewhere, a Spotify playlist called “Soul Search Vibes” is playing.
This image is a masterclass in pretending you’re the main character while doing cardio.
My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.
For him, the existential question of God, experienced as an invincible question, is evidence enough of the presence and reality of God. “When all our mind is aglow with the eternal ques- tion like a face in gazing on a mighty blaze, we are not moved to ask: Where is God?” No, in that context we ask “Where are we?” and are moved to confess that “God is more plausible than our own selves.”
-Approaching God, The Way of Abraham Joshua Heschel, John C. Merkle
It was just standing there at the end of a parking lot. Silent, filled with an inherent presence.
The difference between objective reality and inherent existence is that the former refers to the fact that things exist, while the latter refers to a particular interpretation or understanding of how things exist.
My existential experience just occurred and was unattainable through effort or some accumulation of knowledge.
Presence is the field of attention in which objects arise, and thanks to which the objective appears.
Chinon Infrafocus 35F-MA
Kodak ColorPlus 200
It has been fundamentally a psychological and existential journey.
Roger Ballen
Peace now!
witch hazel, 'Wisley Supreme', sarah p duke gardens, duke university, durham, north carolina
The Scream is an art composition created by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch in 1893. The Norwegian name of the piece is Skrik ('Scream'), and the German title under which it was first exhibited is Der Schrei der Natur ('The Scream of Nature'). The agonized face in the painting has become one of the most iconic images in art, seen as representing a profound experience of existential dread related to the human condition. Munch's work, including The Scream, had a formative influence on the Expressionist movement.
Munch recalled that he had been out for a walk at sunset when suddenly the setting sun's light turned the clouds "a blood red". He sensed an "infinite scream passing through nature". Scholars have located the spot along a fjord path overlooking Oslo and have suggested various explanations for the unnaturally orange sky, ranging from the effects of a volcanic eruption to a psychological reaction by Munch to his sister's commitment at a nearby lunatic asylum.
Munch created two versions in paint and two in pastels, as well as a lithograph stone from which several prints survive. Both painted versions have been stolen from public museums, but since recovered. In 2012, one of the pastel versions commanded the highest nominal price paid for an artwork at a public auction at that time.
Technology marks 100% of the device's energy, while I experience the emptiness of depression or, rather, disdain toward society.
And yet, the digital display and the biological body co-exist in the exact same instant. Being present does not necessarily mean being happy, active, or aligned with the outside world. It means inhabiting one's own weight, one's own flesh, and one's own dissent, without filters.
Demanding and difficult are closely related terms, but there is a fine distinction between the two. Exploring what distinguishes the merely difficult from the demanding will help us find the edge of our awareness where the aesthetic plunges down into existential depth...
Analyzing a piece of music according to all the intricacies of musicology is certainly more difficult than simply to sit back and listen with wholehearted enjoyment; yet, to listen deeply is more demanding than to analyze the structure. Analyzing takes knowledge and skill; true listening takes all of you. It might not seem difficult to give ourselves to the rapture of beauty. Yet, out of it emerges a Presence, a Voice, name it as you wish, that goes beyond aesthetics and makes existential demands; “You must change...”
-A Listening Heart-the Spirituallity of Sacred Sensuousness, Brother David Steindl-Rast
Just playing with trying to enhance the 'eye'.
Photography is wonderful because it captures things that we may not see. In the case of this photo when I was taking it I only saw some light haze coming up from the bottom of the frame.
I tilted the camera to try and eliminate most of it and took the image. When I checked the result I noticed the light halo that looks kind of like an eye. Which I think turns it into an existential artwork rather than just a star snap.
I recently finished reading a very interesting collection of short stories entitled Save Me Stranger, by Erika Krouse. The stories are pretty wild and go in all different directions with quite a large variety of main characters and settings. Many really made me think more deeply about life situations and reality.
In any case, the collection starts out with the following quote from Anaïs Nin:
"Stories are the only enchantment possible, for when we begin to see our suffering as a story, we are saved."
I've been thinking about that quite a bit and I immediately start thinking about how when you are going through a traumatic incident, it is sometimes helpful to picture yourself removed from your body, as if seeing it all from an existential distance.
How will we understand and tell our own stories with this huge change in history...this turmoil, these atrocities currently happening in our names. And, of course, the "winners" are the ones who get to write those stories but none of us are winning here. Some of us may be lucky to survive but that's about all. What we've all collectively lost is immeasurable, whether we write it down or not.
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"Many of us seem to carry time, all its weight,
into the present, see it not, call it our fate…”
-- William J. Jr. Atfield
"The flowers stand out against their background of rock and coral-red sand with what I can only describe as an existential assertion of life; they are almost audible."
Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire 1968
Frosts are due this week, and I suspect the last of the fall flowers will succumb for another season.
Sick transit
Stubborn ghosts, shy to the point of evaporation, propelled by the merciless invasion of light to their inescapable fate, a lamentable state of affairs comfortingly derided by the remnant of the red jeans alone.
*
Shortest curve
We wonder what kind of desperate determination can drive this existential march from nothing to nowhere in the midst of such painfully vivid clarity?
//These words suggested by the inscrutable links of friendship serve to add Janos Kepes’s personal verbal articulation to Richard Wohlfart’s photographs, a single if relevant item of an infinite set of possible resonances.//