View allAll Photos Tagged existential
“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.
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.
“One does not become fully human painlessly.”
-- Rollo May
American existential psychologist (1909 – 1994)
the light carves a sharp question mark on the old asphalt. he steps into it, a figure caught between the vast, consuming dark and an uncertain path ahead. his gesture is an unspoken plea, a silent weighing of invisible burdens. where the shadows end, and the journey begins anew, he stands. a solitary soul at a crossroads of time and choice, the city's indifferent hum his only witness. it is a moment of profound, quiet decision.
The Kurukshetra is the great, apocalyptic field of battle in India's massive epic poem ( the longest in world literature ), "The Mahabharata". Two clans of a family, in dispute over the succession to the throne and the rulership of the land, square off in one of most violent and bloody battles ever rendered in verse. The tragedy of it is that it was family members destroying each other in the most unthinkable ways over this dispute. Few survived and to this day, the site of the Kurukshetra, which is known, is still remembered for not only for the war but also as the site of "The Bhagavad Gita", a story set within the events of "The Mahabharata".
The "Gita" begins as the Pandavas gather across from the Kauravas on the plain of battle, the brave Pandava warrior, Prince Arjuna, is paralysed the existential dread. How can he and the Pandava go to war and slaughter their relatives? His chariot driver is none other than the god Krishna in human form. As Arjuna loses his resolve over his deeper questions, Krishna begins a dialogue with him that is one of the great existential/spiritual teachings of the ages.
Abstraction from straight photographs. Created July 19, 2022.
Zoom in for a more detailed and immersive view.
Explore Aug 23, 2022.
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© 2022, Richard S Warner. All Rights Reserved. This image may not be used or copied or posted to another website in any form whatsoever without express permission of the creator of this work, with whom the sole copyright resides.
Instagram: Richard S Warner.
This is a close-up photo of a beach stone. I am looking at this image as a visual metaphor for the Great Longing, the higher feeling longing of the human heart for a spiritual oneness with God.
Hunger. Desire. Spiritual longing.
As human beings, we are existentially blessed with suffering incompleteness - physically, emotionally and in our consciousness.
It is an undeniably cool thing to have photographed trains all over the country already this year. From the eastern Appalachians, to the CA mountains, I am fortunate and grateful to capture some amazing scenes. Sunset seat is located just north of San Diego, and on our last night in CA, Kasey wanted to check off jumping in the Pacific ocean from her bucket list. Once she did, we made our way up to this spectacular vista. The low clouds provided an amazing backdrop as a southbound Surfliner cruised by in a beautiful golden hour scene. These are the nights that make us all existentially happy as photographers, bearing witness to these amazing scenes, so we can tell the story.
This photo was taken by Sophie, during her recent visit to this wonderfully sprawling philosophy bookshop in Rome, Italy.
Sophie tells me that "the bookshop's resident cat was very helpful and recommends Kierkegaard for existential crises".
It's the same frame, but I pulled out some Retrobrom paper from the closet that's been sitting there for about five years
Foma Retrobrom 151 in Moersch SE5
A + B + H2O = 40+35+1000
Lith Ω - 20 sec
Kentmere 400@800 in Ilford Microphen 1+0
📷 Holga 120GN
The Drakensberg Mountains are the largest and most impressive Mountain Range in Southern Africa. They constitute a 'natural' border between South Africa and Lesotho, and majestically straddle both countries. They are renowned for their multiple microclimates and for their spectacular summer thunderstorms. The Lesotho highlands which they surround are critical to the provision of water to Gauteng and the Highveld- including Johannesburg, the economic epicentre of sub-Saharan Africa. Theoretically, the greater Johannesburg-Gauteng industrial and postindustrial megalopolis should not exist - but the combination of ingenious hydraulic engineering and water affairs planning on the one hand, and natural bounty from Lesotho on the other renders this vast, dry, megalopolis (sometimes a little precariously!) viable. Good summer rainfall is existentially imperative.
Something as small as a morning sunrise is enough to make a day. My life is the sum of its small occurrences me thinks--some are more influential than others.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
"Jyoti C. Singh Deo is a Bangalore-based multi-disciplinary artist. Her solo show titled "Existential Dichotomy" is a mirror to the stark realities of life. "
When your shadow follows you and also precedes you, you're probably approaching the abyss. It's nice when you have a partner to explore it with.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
What makes a lighthouse truly beautiful isn’t the smooth, pristine exterior - it’s that it endures. It watches. It's there night after night regardless of whether anyone sees it or thanks it. That kind of devotion isn’t flashy, but it’s deeply moving.
In our lives, we often measure worth by appearance - how polished we seem, how well we keep up the illusion of composure. But like a lighthouse, our real beauty lies in our vigilance. In how we keep going, keep showing love, keep protecting what matters - even when we feel weathered or unseen. The cracks in the surface don’t lessen the value. They bear witness to the storms we've already survived.
So, whether your tower feels a little worn or your light flickers now and then—it doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you're alive. You’re watching. You’re keeping the path lit for someone else, maybe even for yourself. And that is luminous.
www.instagram.com/p/CAC1X7foDp4/
it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ettore_Sottsass
Dernière photo de la journée-Chez mon styliste personnel
Trying on dresses by designer Barbara Berghino / essayer les robes de la créatrice Barbara Berghino
How Do You Keep the Music Playing
Retardé suite au gel de certains aiguillages à la sortie du Pont Victoria, le CN 529 (NS 31T/CPKC 929) vient de traverser le Canal Lachine et roule à vive allure en direction du triage de Taschereau avec une EMD SD70ACC en tête. Même si une vingtaine de secondes m’ont suffit pour photographier le train, mes mains se sont gelées et j’ai du serrer les dents jusqu’à la station de métro pour me réchauffer et me poser des questions existentielles.
Delayed following frozen switches just out of the Victoria Bridge, CN 529 (NS 31T/CPKC 929) has just crossed the Lachine Canal and runs at track speed towards Taschereau yard with an EMD SD70ACC leader. Even though it only took me about twenty seconds to catch the train, my hands froze and I had to grit my teeth until I got to the metro station to warm up and ask myself some existential questions.
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.
These days,
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do,
And all the times I had a chance to.
-Jackson Browne
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
"The strength of certain elements / is they are able to unite"
assemblage, 6x4x4 cm
(c) Drager Meurtant, 2020
The time has come,' the Walrus said,
To talk of many things:
Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax —
Of cabbages — and kings —
And why the sea is boiling hot —
And whether pigs have wings.'
--Lewis Carroll
Image imagines in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
the tree has no opinion about time. it grows in both directions through both moments - roots down into what we call future, branches up into what we call past, or perhaps the reverse. we are the ones who need sequence, who need to know which way time flows. but the water holds no such certainty. it reflects without interpretation, showing that warm and cool, ending and beginning, memory and anticipation exist in the same instant. perhaps this is what stillness teaches: that time is not a line we travel but a point we occupy, that every moment contains all moments, that the only direction is now. the tree already knows this. it has always known.
In the High Arctic, where isolation is measured not just in miles but in megahertz, aging satellite ground stations like this one—once lifelines to southern Canada via the ANIK satellite cluster—now represent a fragile tether to the outside world.
As infrastructure decays and signal reliability falters, communities face growing risks: delayed medical evacuations, disrupted weather data, and fractured emergency coordination. The problem is further exacerbated by a growing population and a greater reliance on high speed communication with the South.
The vulnerability isn’t just technical—it’s existential. In a region where climate, sovereignty, and survival intersect, the erosion of communications capacity threatens both resilience and autonomy. This station, nestled in snow and silence, is more than a relic—it’s a warning.
I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all
Joni Mitchell
www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cBf0olE9Yc
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
The sail slips past the waves like a whispered promise,
and the gulls cry secrets the sea has long forgotten.
Behind the glass, a cactus leans toward light,
brave in its stillness.
The flowers nod - purple sentinels of fleeting beauty.
Somewhere between the lighthouse and the living room rug,
a soul watches quietly,
not searching, not hiding,
just existing in that rare, golden pause
before what comes next.
-MD
At first glance, it could also be a landscape in France or Germany, but only at first glance ...
Personally, I love cultural landscapes much more than natural ones, as they are much more diverse and interesting, and they all have a historical character that documents the progress of humanity and should be protected for the long term ...
It is not “France, Italy, Germany, America First” that will save us, but “Climate First”.
This is a matter of existential importance that concerns us all, and is a matter of great urgency !
Deutsch
Auf den ersten Blick könnte es auch eine Landschaft in Frankreich oder Deutschland sein, aber nur auf den ersten ...
Ich persönlich liebe Kulturlandschaften viel mehr, als naturbelassene, da sie viel vielfältiger und interessanter sind und alle eine Geschichtsprägung haben, den Fortschritt der Menschheit dokumentieren der nachhaltig geschützt werden müsste ...
Retten wird uns nicht "Frankreich -, Italien -, Deutschland -, Amerika First", sondern "Klima First".
Das ist sehr existenziell, geht uns alle an und zwar sehr dringend !
_MG_1897_09_pt3
It's been wet in the Foothills and is forecast to get significantly wetter. It's a godsend for those who have shelter and warmth as the land was dry and parched after an abnormally hot summer. Not so much for the lonely displaced people who wander the streets. Only the lonely wander about on cold, rainy, windy nights.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
As much as I love the ocean, I don't get in it! Sure, I enjoy walking in the surf, but I draw the line at knee level. I'm not a strong swimmer and the thought of losing touch with the ground beneath me triggers a shiver of existential terror!
This coast is not a region for ocean swimming anyway. Nobody does it except for the occasional oblivious tourist, who won't stay long in the 45-degree water (7 C). Only the rugged surfers in wet suits are sometimes seen in the water, and I admire their courage and strength.
I stand at the edge of this danger and look at the dark sea that could quietly swallow me. For a moment, like in a dream, I seem to grasp the reality of existence that we all share. The ocean teaches deep respect and awe.
We came across this derelict in the desert in the middle of nowhere in Arizona at the junction of the highway we were travelling on and the famous Route 66 - just after visiting the 'Petrified Forest' back in 2015. Like most Canadians now, the USA is no longer on our list of places to visit not because it isn't beautiful but because their government has become an existential threat to Canada as an independent nation. Who would have thought our best friend would become our worst enemy in just a few short months? To my many American friends, I wish it were otherwise, stay safe and sane during these bizarre times.
- Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Arizona, USA -
My grandfather always told me, "when you have a huge decision to make, it's best to sleep on it." I guess that's why I ponder. My wife calls it procrastination.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2 and Lightroom Classic.
Therese sits alone. The Mediterranean winds snake around her. Strands of her hair are lifted upon their fingers and gently tousled,warm and soft, like the breath of a lover dancing over her bared shoulders. Sun kissed. She sinks into her chair, slips off her shoes and closes her eyes, the azure Agean sea replaced with the sunrise glow of her closed lids.
The waiter's voice rouses her from this private quietude, presenting her with a herbaceous glass of lavender and bay, rich and ripe. She sips her ambrosia awaiting her meal. In such a place as this, time slips away like pearls on a rosary. Minutes elongate into millennia. Empires could rise and fall in the blink of an eye.
At last, a plate is delivered. She smiles. Beads of jewelled garnets sprinkled in a malachite salad, glistening in their leafy bed as they titillate upon soft pillowy pearls of feta. And yet these gleaming, sweet stabs of pleasure denoted a betrayal. A binding. The seed of Hades – a gift to Persephone. A curse. Her curse. Whispers of the dark things, hiding in the depths of the underworld. Drops of blood, that cleave her to the night, to the winter, to the depths. A woman's lot. Like Eve or Lilith. Red for the feminine innocence deflowered. For wickedness. Temptation. And yet these seeds, a trick. Such miniscule bursts of innocent pleasure, which adorn her plate. Almost too beautiful to consumed. Like femininity, itself. Like girlhood. Like womanhood. And yet.... and yet it is to be consumed. That is the point. She will admire them for a moment and then, like Persephone, she will scoop them up; a flash of silver, the bursting of ruby upon her tongue – yes, She will consume them without another thought. She will hand her money over, and consume. This is, after all, what we all do, isn't it? We gorge ourselves on a system that binds. That binds us all. And we yet still we, consume. And consume and consume.
Therese finishes her meal and leans back in her seat, wine-full and food-engorged, her gaze sliding back to the mesmerising Agean sea. Watching as it dips and swells, stirring a froth of mounting white-stallions upon its surface. She feels the fingers of the warm winds caressing her hair, and the glow of her skin as the sun leaves its rosy stain upon her. Ancient elements that have witnessed the rise and fall of empires in no more than a blink of an eye. She feels the call of the stoney earth beneath her soles and she feels … sated. Satisfied. At one with it all that has gone before and all that is yet to come. In awe of the cycles and the seasons and the existential undulations of humanity. She inhales deeply and is present. Just being.
Story: VLS
he didn’t look back. maybe there was nothing to see. maybe everything was waiting ahead, swallowed by the white. the hallway echoed his steps like a half-forgotten memory – long, metallic, empty. but the shadow on the wall whispered something else: that even when we walk away, a part of us stays behind, watching.
a bridge, lines fading into the sky. the silhouette of a person, just an outline, without a face, without a name. walking alone, wrapped in shadows and light, a wanderer between worlds. the city in the background blurs, unreal, as if it were just a memory. here, on this bridge, time doesnât exist, only the step into the unknown. the path is clear, the destination hidden.
Taken with Sony Alpha 7.
In the heat dome of a late morning I've found the oppurtunity to realize a the paradoxon of the eye, which can be both seeing and still be blind.
If we can't trust our highest sense (eyes), how to trust our reason?
How does one gain insight into the truth of things? What is the essence of knowledge? And what is this ‘being’ anyway? My thirst for philosophy began with fundamental epistemological and ontological questions. I have written numerous poems on this subject, indeed, at times even with the pride of a bearded man. But lately I have found the moment of the cave-dweller so fascinating and moving – not the one who, as in Plato’s account, emerges from the cave ‘just once’ (in truth, he must even return time and again, as it is his duty to help people reach the true ideas), but rather the moment of the cave-dweller who goes back time and again to forget ‘the true ideas’. For it is painful and uncomfortable to encounter people like Socrates, as history also teaches us. Yet something happens – let us call it an existential awakening – and he can no longer deny that he is blind and must start from the very basics. Even seeing is something that has to be learnt all over again.
//
Dank deinen grünen Augen
Es war, als hätte ich erst
bei Deinem Anblick begonnen zu leben -
Ein Hauch von Dir brachte das Sein zum Beben.
Erst durch Deinen Mund habe ich
die Augen geöffnet bekommen.
Mit Deinen Gedanken habe ich
die Sonnenstrahlen erklommen.
Die Zeit begann als ich die Sekunden
zur Ewigkeit wachsen sah
Und mit jedem Staunen
die Philosophie ihre Zündung nahm.
Du warfst den Stein ins Wasser
und sagst die Wellen seien nicht echt
und das erste Mal suchte ich nach dem Wahrem
und wurd' verblendet, ihr Knecht.
[angefangen im März 2026, am 28. Juni beendet]