View allAll Photos Tagged existential
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.”
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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
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.
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?"
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.
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.
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?
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.
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**
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.
Adrenaline runnin' through my veins
I'm a skeleton when you say my name
And the high, no, it never goes away
Like jumpin' out an airplane to swimmin' with the sharks
That existential feelin' when you're starin' at the stars
There's a hurricane in my head, but the lightnin' in my heart
Makes it worth it
Yeah, I still get nervous
When you walk through the door and you look in my eyes
Yeah, it feels, yeah, it feels like the very first time
I can fall for you forever, I'm certain
'Cause I still get nervous
When your lips hit my lips and the fireworks fly
Sendin' sparks through the air, like the Fourth of July
I can fall for you forever, I'm certain
'Cause I still get nervous
Every time, every time we touch
It's like paradise, fell down from above
And the high, even too much ain't enough, nah, no
Like flyin' in the fast lane, no headlights in the dark
That existential feelin' when you wonder what you are
Got a wild wind in my head, but the butterflies in my heart
Make it worth it
Yeah, I still get nervous
model: Alessia
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thanks for the visit but no awards please
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.
he sits alone, hand shading eyes against light that isn't there. the bench holds him. the sea stretches beyond. what he searches for on that horizon remains between him and the water. portixol, palma, 2026.
“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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beneath a sky stitched with fading light, a lone figure stands at the world’s edge, cradled by silence. between sea and sky, where all journeys end and begin, he carries the quiet weight of becoming.
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.
This is an image from my project Aftermath.
Aftermath is a photography series I created during the pandemic, using a range of experimental techniques to explore the human condition in times of crisis. By employing methods such as film soup, developing color film with black-and-white chemistry, and innovative and alternative darkroom printing, I aimed to reflect the uncertainties and disruptions of the era. The work delves into themes of resilience, vulnerability, and the broader existential challenges posed by capitalism, offering a layered social commentary on our shared experiences during turbulent times.
It's just another day in the sum of all the days. It's nice to have a loving friend to pass the time with.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
Blue Heron Musings at Sunset...
I was walking around a local natural area at sunset, when I spotted this Great Blue Heron perched at the top of a dead cottonwood tree. It just seemed deep in thought, pondering about life as it watched the end of the day with a glowing orange sky as backdrop.
Do you ever wonder if birds spend time thinking about life -or if they are capable of having any type of existential thoughts?
Here is a link to an article about bird brains with some cool facts that you will probably enjoy:
www.scientificamerican.com/article/bird-brains-are-far-mo...
“Every sunset is also a sunrise; it all depends on where you stand.”
– Karl Schmidt
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Thank you for taking the time to visit and comment!
he walks with the weight of years in his posture, swallowed by a city that looks away. light finds him, but it offers no warmth â only the outline of existence. in this frame, time folds inward and forgets to move.
“The darker the world gets, ... the more art we should create, the more music we should make. It is literally a tool of mental emotional survival. For me, at least, I can say it becomes more and more existential.”
~Igor Levitt, Classical pianist, Professor, Hanover University of Music, Drama and Media (German: Hochschule für Musik, Theater und Medien Hannover, abbreviated to HMTMH)
The watching faces above hover between spectacle and survival, reminding us that time does not shout. It observes. It records. It waits. They know that death rarely looks like the figure below—rarely arrives dressed, named, or understood. More often, it passes quietly while attention is elsewhere.
Death is loud but hollow.
Life is quiet but heavy.
And time, carved into faces above, watches both with equal patience.
© Dan McCabe
We might ask existential questions all day. Such as, why does this ice have this texture? Or, why have i never seen ice like this before?
But this photo is not about existentialism (well, maybe it is a little). It is simply about where two blocks of ice meet above a pool of water, reflecting both of them.
The surface texture of this ice shows the typical scalloped textures that I saw over and over again while in Iceland. It must be fairly common, but I've never seen it before and find it so attractive.
This composition was realized on the Diamond Beach.
To Prologue of the Story "The Doors"
♫♫Klangkarussell - Home (Lyrics)♫♫
In the stillness of the moment, amidst the chaos of life, we often forget how to slow down and breathe the infinite here and now…to uncover the essence of what it means to be truly home.
Wandering in this universe through time and space once realizes that home, sweet home is not merely the four walls that shelter us or the bed that cradles our weary bodies, it is not the confining space of routines and societal expectations.
Instead, it is not something we can touch with our fingers at all but it's a sanctuary where our hearts find solace, where time stops and we can contemplate our true selves and delve deep into the nature of our existence.
I often encounter humans who clutter their lives with trinkets and possessions deemed valuable yet are ultimately useless, and labeling them as treasures of home, yet they remain tethered to a superficial sense of comfort that mistakes for a semblance of home.
Imagine sleeping on the floor, feeling the coolness of wood beneath you, gazing at the stars above, twinkling like forgotten dreams, and witnessing the vibrant colors of a rainbow that stretches across the horizon breaking through the storm.
In those moments, just outside of that swift current, beyond the hustle of life, forgetting about the rules and duties we stop, feel, and breathe ….. and a train from Romashkovo can symbolize our journeys — both physical and existential—reminding us that if we don’t take a moment to appreciate the dawn, we may very well be late for everything that truly matters.
All too easily, we can become blind to the moments that offer clarity, the ones that urge us to inhale deeply, to cherish the now. Life unfolds in layers; in the interplay of tension and release, in the dance between longing and fulfillment.
So let us choose to savor these moments, to simply breathe and rejoice in the beauty of what we hold dear, in the here and now.
(to be continued...)
Devoted to my Ronnie, a talented and amazing musician who touched my heart deeply with Love ღ
296/365
I have quite a few bottles that I want to put lights into, but I am struggling to know what colour lights to put in them. I have a couple of blue bottles that I feel would work well with crisp white, and I have a tree-shaped bottle especially for Christmas for which I need to find lights. I am currently thinking 40 green micro LEDs with 20 crisp white micro LEDs because I think our tree has crisp white LEDs - the only problem is that I cannot quite remember what colour lights our tree has. I know that the lights around the house are warm white and that the tree's colour theme is ice blue and silver, but I cannot remember whether the lights on the tree are white or blue. I think I am going to have to take a gamble and say that they are white.
This all sounds very trivial, but in my mind, it is what is bothering me most today. I have days where I can spend hours grappling with big, existential and metaphysical questions, and then days where all I can think about is the colour of a couple of fairy lights.