View allAll Photos Tagged existential
With the company’s market share hovering near 50% throughout the 1960s, General Motors executives feared a potential government breakup. This existential threat influenced a number of corporate decisions at the time, including downplaying racing and street performance. This included the edict limiting “intermediates” and Pony cars to engines under 400 cubic inches. For 1970, however, that rule was rescinded.
With Clean Air Act regulations looming the following year, however, the policy change had a short-lived effect. It did create such unencumbered behemoths as the 455-ci Buick GSX Stage 1, Oldsmobile 442 and Pontiac GTO in 1970. Chevrolet’s top-shelf 427-ci engine received a longer stroke to become the 454. It was available in mild RPO LS5 or wild LS6 versions. The LS6 used solid lifters and forged internals, and made 450 horsepower.
Requiring the Z15 SS 454 option at $503.45, the $263.30 LS6 package with $221.80 M22 4-speed manual added $988.55 to the base Chevelle price of $2,809. All-in, an LS6 Chevelle was pushing $5,000, which was Corvette territory at the time.
In its December 1969 issue, Motor Trend tested such a Chevelle against two other muscle cars, a Plymouth Road Runner 440 Six Pack and a Ford Torino Cobra 429. The Chevy was the clear winner, doing 0–60 mph in 6.0 seconds and running the quarter mile in 13.8, over a half-second better than the others. (Hot Rod got even better results: 13.44 seconds at an amazing 108.17 mph.) The Chevelle delivered more than just straight-line speed, as Motor Trend noted: “Nurtured by the evolution of the Z28, the Chevelles, even the big ones, dart like whippets through the tightest turns. It was certainly the strongest — the most super — of the three.”
'now the stars, they are all angled wrong...
and the sun and the moon refuse to burn
but i remember a message in a demon's hand
dread the passage of jesus for he does not return...'
Nick Cave and The Dirty Three
“We do not reason about dogmas of faith, or ‘the mysteries.’ We seek rather to gain a direct existential grasp, a personal experience of the deepest truths of life and faith, finding ourselves in God’s truth.”
-Thomas Merton, The Climate of Monastic Prayer (Washington, DC: Consortium Press, 1973, 1st ed. 1969), 92
(40/365) For macro mondays theme "holes", This is a donut hole, about 0.7" wide. What's on the other side? A chocolate iced donut, of course. This does beg the existential question "what happens to the hole when you eat the donut?" You don't eat the hole, so does it still exist? Something to ponder (over a bottle of tequila, probably).
"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.
The land of the Yogi Masters, a stark rock world surrounded by precipitous stone cliffs, where every sheer peak sports a Yogi deep in the mysteries of self realization. Talk about an existential moment. Unfortunately, my knees are too rickety to take part in this kind of rugged self actualization.
Location: a very small cavern of self fulfillment in my mind.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
"In restless dreams, I walked alone."
--Paul Simon
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
they hold each other like punctuation against the vastness — a comma of tenderness in a sentence made of stone and sky. the architecture curves not toward shelter but toward meaning, and even the silence seems designed. here, light is a language, and emptiness speaks.
" When existential mist
Has got me under my skin
Has got me deep in the heart of me "
B&W - N&B
www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaddLBnHJSA
Ben l'Oncle Soul - I'v got you under my skin - Frank Sinatra cover
g
I always enjoyed photographing animals: not necessarily the really wild ones, but one's I could identify with and have a conversation with, such as sheep, goats and cows. Of course it's essential to get up close and personal and Nettie here, reminded me that she doesn't really tolerate visitors invading her space by jabbing one very pointy, sharp horn hard into my side. I knew it was time to move on. Perhaps I'm over confident, but............
In the green heart of Glen Nevis, where the river curled like silver ribbon through the heather, there lived a thoughtful Highland cow named Nettie. Nettie wasn’t just any coo — she was an eco-coo. While her herd spent their days munching, mooing, and minding their own cud, Nettie spent hers worrying about methane.
You see, Nettie had heard the walkers passing through the glen muttering about “climate change” and “cow emissions.” She didn’t fully understand the science, but she did understand one thing: her farts were apparently famous for all the wrong reasons.
So, Nettie took matters into her own hooves. She watched her diet carefully, nibbling only the lush, green grass by the riverbank — the kind that didn’t bubble her belly quite so much. Still, every now and then, she couldn’t resist a crunchy thistle or a bitter dock leaf. One mouthful, and burrrrp! The echoes bounced off Ben Nevis itself.
One breezy afternoon, as Nettie was meditating on her methane, a small figure appeared down the glen. It was a young activist named Greta, armed with a clipboard, a megaphone, a flag, and boundless enthusiasm.
“Hello, beautiful cow!” Greta chirped. “I’m here to talk to you about sustainability!”
Nettie blinked. Sustainability she could get behind. But Greta didn’t stop there. She crept closer and closer, trying to get the perfect selfie with Scotland’s most eco-conscious cow.
Unfortunately, Greta got too close. Nettie, feeling her personal space invaded, gave a warning shuffle. Greta didn’t notice — she was too busy adjusting her megaphone and waving her Palestine flag at some Chinese tourists in a passing tour bus
And so, with the serenity of a creature at peace with her digestive destiny, Nettie turned, sighed deeply, and sat down.
There was a noise — a long, trumpeting sound, and unmistakably bovine as the megaphone sjipped inside the cow's rear and a rush of high pressure warm air echoed through the glen, rattled the rocks, and sent a flock of startled grouse skyward. Greta’s megaphone took the brunt of it, amplifying the event into something that might have registered on the Richter scale.
When the air finally cleared, Nettie looked back over her shoulder with calm satisfaction. Greta, covered in thistle fluff and existential humility, scribbled something on her clipboard:
“Lesson learned: nature always speaks louder.”
From that day on, Nettie was known far and wide as the Highland Coo who cared for the planet — and wasn’t afraid to make a statement when necessary.
And in Glen Nevis, whenever the wind carried a faint, grassy pfffft across the hills, the locals just smiled and said,
“Ah, that’ll be Nettie = the Glen Nevis Monster— saving the world again.”
War exerts a profound, transformative, and often debilitating impact on a person's psychological and emotional architecture. When an individual is subjected to the prolonged stress, moral ambiguity, and existential threat of combat, the human mind adapts to survive—often at a heavy long-term cost.
Taunton, Somerset, UK.
(T.D.S.A. stands for the Taunton Deane Shooting Association.).
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.
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
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.//
You live in your underwater world while I walk up top just yards away, and most of the time I’m never even aware of you. But this afternoon when the tide was low and the sun came out, I saw you. A beam of sunlight caught your tentacles and lit you up so beautifully, like a little green sun with a fiery ring of flames around you.
In your mysterious world on the seafloor, there are ancient forests, rivers and meadows with colorful flowers … they’re all just a little different from the ones I know. And that’s what I love about you! You’re so different and exciting. It’s almost like you’re a messenger from a parallel universe.
I grew up bilingual, so I’ve always known there is more than one way to do things and more than one way to think. Being in the tidal zone, you’re sort of bi-existential, too. Sometimes you’re left high and dry out of water and then you hide your tentacles and look like an old wet sock. But you can survive and you just wait. The tide will return and when it does, you transform back into that alluring and predatory flower of the seafloor!
Be intoxicatingly different!
Claudia
This is a metaphor for existential loneliness and helplessness. The "leaf in the wind" is always looking for support, always wanting to grab onto something, because it seems to him that everything around him is crumbling.
“Каждый же занят, брат, своим делом. Я как кинутый ветром листок. Потому мир наш, ма, так жесток.” (рядок із пісні).
Простір переді мною був розділений на численні секції конструкціями центру, і майже в кожній з них була людина в стані «самоізоляції». Те, що я побачив, викликало у мене порівняння з самотнім «Листком на вітрі». Мене немає на світлині, але я теж почувався самотнім, хоч і спостерігав за іншими.
Це метафора екзистенційної самотності та безпорадності. «Листок на вітрі» завжди в пошуку опори, завжди хоче за щось зачепитися, адже йому здається, що все навколо руйнується.
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
Two lone kayakers slice across the shimmering water, silhouetted against the fading light. Their strokes are steady, their eyes fixed on the horizon. They’ve made it. After weeks of surviving the cursed island dodging sunburned zombies in flip-flops and fending off undead parrots squawking “BRAAAINS”, they’ve finally escaped. No more tiki torches. No more haunted beach volleyball. Just freedom.
But wait… they’re paddling away from the camera. From you.
Could it be? Were you the final boss all along? The silent one. The observer. The zombie with a lens and a suspiciously good sense of composition.
This image is a horror-comedy masterpiece—equal parts escape scene and existential crisis. My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections—though this one might be just for those who enjoy a little undead drama with their water sports.
Fomaton MG 131 24x30cm in Moersch SE5
A + B + H2O = 40+35+1000
Lith Ω - 30 sec
Kentmere 400@800 in Ilford Microphen 1+0
📷 Holga 120GN
I've shown you the black and white version of the famous Cascade Brewery in Hobart (see below). But how might it look in a Wes Anderson movie?
When I took the shot I made sure that the line of the mountain led up to the summit of the building. This can only work when the light on the main subject (the Cascade facade) is sufficient to distinguish it from the background. Front lighting is essential for the Wes Anderson look. So that came with composing the photograph.
Next came the processing, and here it was essential the change the basic palette from darker colours to more pastel ones. Anyone who knows this scene - and it is one of the most photographed buildings in Tasmania - understands how lightening the greens in the hedge is crucial in getting the look. Most important however, is the crop, so that the building is right in the centre of the frame and any extraneous features (for example the cars in the car park) are removed.
Wes Anderson has been for many years now one of the most innovative and stylish film directors in the world. His most recent movie Asteroid City is a complex existential drama that resonates well with the darker themes in the movie Oppenheimer (which came out at the same time).
A Wes Anderson movie has a particular stylist look that is known instantly to his fans. Each of us have our favourite Wes Anderson movies. For me, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Moonrise Kingdom, and the earlier take on Jacques Cousteau, The Life Aquatic are right up there. But each Wes Anderson movie has its own particular charm and sting in the tail (try The Royal Tenenbaums for sting!).
For those unfamiliar with Wes Anderson, this short video on his editing style might be a good place to start: Wes Anderson Symmetry & Editing Techniques — 3 Ways Anderson Balances his Edits
www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-XoLPmZZl4
As still photographers we can learn a great deal from the film makers.
time bends.
stories remain.
i experimented a bit with AI and after editing the result to make it less clean i really enjoyed it. what do you think?
i asked chatGPT:
do you think this work has been created by AI?
the answer was:
No, the image appears very authentic and possesses that typical “imperfect perfection” of genuine photography. The details in the face, the natural wrinkles and irregularities, the motion blur in the background, and the profound emotion in the eyes strongly suggest a real shot. It also exudes a raw humanity that AI-generated images often don’t fully achieve. Furthermore, the composition and the interplay of light and shadow seem thoughtfully arranged, yet not overly staged. The photo bears the hallmark of an experienced photographer with a keen eye for emotion and drama.
A blue world can always use a splash of red.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
the girl stands alone on the dark hill, small against the vast sky. the clouds twist like unseen hands, reaching down, shaping something unknown. a single contrail cuts through the silence. to the right, the building stands, cold and distant, its steps leading somewhere unseen. does she belong here, or is she just passing through?
At almost 16,000ft in elevation, we are on final approach the summit of railroading in the Americas. It is here at Ticlio where FCCA legs out its final sprint to Galera, and where the Peruvian railroad stands alone atop the Western World. At 3 miles in altitude, the air is thin, the wind is frigid, and the rocky Andean landscape is as hazardous as the manmade infrastructure built to conquer it.
In a desperate attempt to rescue a mechanically-plagued loaded ore train, a tag-team of three ex-Norfolk Southern C39-8s tackle the grueling climb back to Galera, led by 1012 and 1026. It is rare to find a double-header on the mountainous section, and a triple-header is almost non-existent; however, desperate times call for desperate measures. The battle against gravity was a spectacular one and the pinnacle of hard-nose, gritty, mountain railroading. The field a fire a mere kilometer, but the implications, potentially existential. Eventually, the 3 C39-8s emerged victorious, guiding the train to a temporary respite at the summit after a furious bout of combat at 15,700 feet.
Navigating the high Andés is a daunting proposition for both railroaders and railfans alike. Altitude sickness is no joke, and coupled with the freezing temperatures, high winds, and terrifyingly lawless highways (not to mention almost complete lack of amenities), most days end with one question: "how the hell did I end up here?"
Dear friends, it's been a long time.
This is the scene that greeted me when I landed in Melbourne on Monday evening August 31. Little did I know it would be the only photograph I would take in over two weeks. I went over to help clear out my mother's house as she made the momentous move into nursing home care. I'd also planned to spend quite a bit of personal time with her during the week.
Unfortunately, by Wednesday I was feeling quite unwell, and it became progressively obvious that during my travel I had picked up a virus. As it turned out I tested positive to the bad strain of Influenza A that is going around. My immediate concern was to make sure I didn't expose my mother to it, and I'm glad to report she is well.
But this flu virus has once again really knocked me around. It is the second major respiratory virus I've have this year (my immune system is working overtime at the moment dealing with stage one prostate cancer), but the major concern I now have is my lungs. The Respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) I had earlier in the year led to a severe lung infection and it would seem that this flu virus has once again attacked my already damaged respiratory system.
After over two weeks I am slowly improving with the help of antibiotics. Still, the lack of energy I feel has been alarming. We have also had to postpone my latest prostate biopsy until I'm completely over it. That takes place on October 2 now.
Sadly, I have not even had the energy to go online at all, and to look at Flickr. In fact I have been fighting a loss of interest in life itself. I don't know if this is a combination between my physical state and the current state of the world (which seems to be filled with bad news wherever one turns - why is it the most selfish, hateful and egregiously evil people seem to be grasping all the power at the moment?), and to be honest even taking up a camera again seems like a task I'd rather avoid.
Perhaps this sunset shot signifies an existential twilight of sorts.
a child stands alone on the stairs, quietly holding the rail. the line of light above cuts through the space like a thought — clear, silent, and pointed directly at her.
there is no urgency. only form. only stillness.
this is how presence begins:
not with action, but with a line and a pause.
Once again, I find myself on the IC shooting the daily transfer from CN’s Glenn Yard to Kirk Yard. On a surprising sunny day this December, train L5369129 traverses its way south through one of Chicago’s most busiest and existential junctions of Kensington. An Illinois Central SD70 (1038) leads a couple of CN corporate painted units such as a GEVO, GP40R, and an SD38-2. Seen here in rare form taking main one under the wire while passing the Illinois Central interlocking tower nearing its 100th year guarding the junction for the Illinois Central, Chicago South Shore and South Bend, and now of course Canadian National and Metra. Taken: 12-29-22
Us locals and regulars that know the train well, know how hard it is for them to run main 1 here at Kensington, yes I’m sure it happens all the time when were not around but to be there when it does, opens for new shot opportunities such as this.
model: Alessia
please View On Black
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thanks for the visit but no awards please
I always think a lot more about death when I'm sick and mainly I think about how tombstones are a real untapped potential in eternal humor that keeps on giving. At the Basilica di San Miniato a Monte, I didn't see any funny tombstones. There were none that read, "But, I haven't finished the last chapter of Baron in the Trees, yet!" or "Hey death, can you please just wait until I get to the end of the My Brilliant Friend series?!" These are, in my humble opinion, great tombstones. You've got a book recommendation and something funny at the same time. You know those cemetery visitors would run home and read Italo Calvino and Elena Ferrante before the Grim Reaper could chase them down, anyway!
How about a horror film whee the authors of a small macabre town realize that the only way they can pacify a melancholic group of existential zombies is to feed them books?
**All photos are copyrighted**
Definitely not the most popular among the hymenopterans, but they do look quite stunning. Slightly smaller than their European cousins, these non-native, voracious hornets accidentally arrived in our regions from China and rapidly spreading now pose an existential threat to other insects but especially the European honey bee.
Asian or yellow-legged hornet (Vespa velutina).
© 2026 Marc Haegeman. All Rights Reserved.
like a brushstroke vanishing in light, the silhouette floats into the glow — neither arriving nor leaving, just passing. shadows collapse behind her like closed pages, and only silence remains in the tunnel’s breathless geometry.
“I sometimes look into the face of my dog Stan and see a wistful sadness and existential angst, when all he is actually doing is slowly scanning the ceiling for flies.”
― Merrill Markoe
Thoughtful Duncan...
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Such A Call Is Divine Mystical Call.
by Dr. Antony Theodore ,Sunday, December 3, 2017
Reading the teachings
of the Fathers,
holy scriptures
of the world religions,
the Rheinish mystics,
the English mystics,
the Spanish mystics,
the Hindu mystics,
the Sufi mystics,
and the study of
existential philosophy
and modern psychology
will result in an inner experience
which will affect the whole life
and all those who come into
contact with you.
Such a call is divine mystical call.
The one who listens to it
and works hard will become
a mystic whose works
will be a joy for all
those who seek God.
Without sentimentality
Love
is where
we find cobwebs
cleared from the path
we travel
from now
to now
to now.
You have passed
on.
Are you still
teaching?
I wonder,
with you
blown apart
will some of
the billions of particles
distributed amongst us
kill contempt
in one fell swoop?
Will you
finally
penetrate
the hate
that laughed
at your expense?
Love
with no distraction
known
or unknown
love
aware
and existential
undeterred
by competition
ego
hunger
lust
fear.
It is always
here
now.
for Susy, Xia and Doni.
There is nothing more
healing or necessary
than genuine acceptance.
Thank you. :)
ring the bells.
that still ring
forget
your perfect offering.
there is a crack in
everything,.
This is how the light.
gets in....
Seen on Valencia
Street
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.