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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.
Tomorrow I'm going to feast on seafood with gym friends. It was an absolute coincidence this project was due to be finished today. Actually, I should have had this ready for Summerfest earlier last month but I had to go through my annual existential crisis. My fitness coach is returning to his province in Lucban, which apparently is six hours south and then east of Manila? I've never even heard of the place until a few days ago. Me and a handful of his weight-lifting loyals insisted on spoiling the man before we probably never see him again and when asked what he wanted to eat, he said seafood. So tomorrow, we FEAST on SEAFOOD. You'd think in the Philippines seafood, in general, would be a super common everyday commodity but besides from the market tilapia, it's as rare a delicacy as it is in New York City. At least in the middle of Luzon, it is, which is a ways away from the ocean. Google Map may say the ocean is an hour away by car but in the Philippines, that's an hour plus ten with traffic.
This was a fun project. Whenever or wherever you get a chance to feast on seafood again in first life, I hope you enjoy this virtual seafood feast until then! As always, you don't have to buy it to try it at the event. Eat as much as you virtually want at equal10 starting July 10th at midnight! I mean, will the scripts lag and cause delays in your munching? Maybe. But the virtual satisfaction is worth it. Seafood for your Soul, youknowwhatimsayin'?
"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.
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
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
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 -
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.
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]
The difference between reality and illusion is often only a simple twist of fate. Life can change in a moment.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
I got some great bluebell thickets like this one, last year, especially nice in shafted and diffused sunlight.
It might be the timing of things this time, or luck, or the weather, or the general existential malaise, but I haven't seen much this time around.
I have been off flickr for a few years. I am trying to revive this account in order to better organize, archive my various photography/printing projects. So pardon the “work in progress” as I clean up and get things updated. I’m excited to see everyone’s work again :-D and I hope I will be motivated to keep this up! I’m still on insta, but it just doesn’t cut it when it comes to archives and organization.
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.
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 have been one acquainted with the night
i have walked out in rain and back in rain
i have outwalked the furthest city light
i have looked down the saddest city lane
i have passed by the watchman on his beat
and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain
i have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
when far away an interrupted cry
came over houses from another street
but not to call me back or say good-bye
and further still at an unearthly height
a luminary clock against the sky
proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right
i have been one acquainted with the night
-Robert Frost "Acquainted with the Night"
I usually prefer to write my own description, but I felt this poem was perfect for the image.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
As individuals traverse the later stages of life, the effects of ageing often manifest in a complex interplay between cognitive decline and emotional evolution. While the accumulation of years frequently fosters a profound sense of wisdom, allowing one to view life’s challenges with greater perspective, this is often accompanied by an increasing sense of urgency regarding the lack of remaining life. This existential awareness can paradoxically contribute to a growing impatience with trivialities or time-wasting, as every remaining moment is perceived as increasingly precious. Simultaneously, the natural progression of memory loss may complicate these experiences, sometimes creating a frustrating disconnect between the depth of one's accumulated knowledge and the ability to access specific recollections, ultimately reshaping the contours of an individual's personality in their twilight years.
In the magical realm of advertising, everyone wakes up looking flawless, families never argue, and a single cup of herbal tea can solve all of life’s existential crises.
Meanwhile, back in reality, the rest of us are just trying to remember where we left our keys and why the washing machine is making that ominous rattling noise.
OK, tell me again how buying that "one" moisturiser will transform my entire existence, and that lottery ticket is bound to win.
life in the real world - Wellington, Somerset, UK.
"Dawn in Twilight"
(oil on canvas, 50x40 cm)
(Traditional Painting Meets AI)
Image made using Grok - is a free AI assistant designed by xAI to maximize truth and objectivity.
This is a darkroom print 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.
although I know that Fungi and Shrooms are the existential basis of all life, they often appear to me like beings from outer space.
all rights reserved. use without permission is illegal.
In another time, when I was a different human altogether, I used to drive all night between upstate New York and Chicago listening to Radiohead’s Kid A, OK Computer, Amnesiac and Modest Mouse’s The Moon and Antarctica. It was a time I couldn’t even possibly conceive of photographing both bands as I drove all night on the thruway and across the winding curves of Cleveland hoping to not fall asleep and become part of a circle. And so, I’ve changed, the bands have changed, the cities have changed. But, did you know, just like a body turns into a new self after 7 years, so does a city? I came to Chicago 20 years ago and it’s about to completely change over for the third time (Math is fun, don’t you think, Karma Police?) Anyway, on a macro level, we’re all seeing the bulldozers and razed buildings, the rent increases, the humans being kicked to the curb like they never mattered. We all internalize this stuff like an infestation about 100x more detrimental and insidious than Coronavirus. And, on the microlevel, we can feel it too. It’s in all the elements of ourselves and the places we visited, the shows we went to, the restaurants we ate in, the people we bonded with who may not be still breathing. We’re still drinking drinking drinking Coca Coca Cola and we’re still heading down that road. We aren’t going to stop changing, a slow evolution or de-evolution until we die.
I chose October to resume this series for a reason. The main reason is this…it’s scary. Disaster Capitalism is the ghost who never stopped living and who you would never invite into your home on purpose, right? You want to avoid the devastation because it’s hard to function without welcoming all the misfits in your city into your home and calling it a day. You know you are a misfit, too. And, there’s a lot of peeling of surfaces, a lot of taking away from the original form. You know there’s a secret tension between those human made constructions and the others-the trees, the grasses, the nature that will also swallow us whole if given a chance. Just like…you know there’s a secret self who went to hundreds of protests to actively resist fascism when Trump was a more than an existential idea threatening all of human kind. It is terrifying to see all the layers. The more you look, the less able you will be to stop looking. And, it’s still happening. Just look at that abortion ban.
And so, if you see me on the street, my long red hair a chaotic tumble around my camera, please know that I am not insane as I crouch low and high on tip toe, capturing all the urban monsters inside ourselves. We may never be reconstructed because we’re not potential high end real estate. Maybe I’m crazy but, then again, what will that make the rest of this world?
Don’t forget to Refuse Fascism today! It’s never too late…
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3EA5b3FNI4w
**All photos, poems, rambles, etc are copyrighted**
taken at the banksy museum in madrid. a child reaching for a balloon just out of reach, mirroring the painted girl who tries to hold on to something already lost. reality and art blend seamlessly, creating a timeless dialogue about innocence, longing, and the things we can’t keep. a silent story of hope and heartache.
the existential struggle of Sartre
photograph by the great Antanas Sutkus
www.ananasamiami.com/2011/04/photography-by-antanas-sutku...
Tribute to Cesco Dessanti
Tra pochi giorni ricorre l’anniversario della scomparsa, avvenuta un anno fa, del geniale Artista pittore espressionista e poeta Cesco Dessanti. Voglio ricordare e rendere omaggio, per quanto mi sarà possibile, con 7 fotografie che aiutino a comprendere questo grande Artista , particolare persona che ha sempre vissuto con la schiena dritta ed enorme coerenza pagando spesso in prima persona questo difficilissimo percorso esistenziale ed artistico.
PER MAGGIORI INFORMAZIONI VEDERE L 'ALBUM “ Tribute to Cesco Dessanti”
In a few days the anniversary of his death, which took place a year ago, the brilliant artist expressionist painter and poet Cesco Dessanti. I want to remember and pay tribute, as much as I possibly can, with seven photographs that help to understand this great artist, especially someone who has always lived with your back straight and enormous consistency often paying firsthand this very difficult existential and artistic journey.
FOR MORE INFORMATION SEE THE ALBUM "Tribute to Cesco Dessanti"
The term "the blues" is associated with feeling down or sad due to a combination of historical and cultural reasons. The colour blue has long been linked to sadness and melancholy in various contexts, and phrases like "blue devils" (referring to depression and hallucinations) and "blue Monday" (a term for the sadness of the start of the work week) solidified this association. The blues, as a musical genre, also reflects feelings of loss, loneliness, and existential emptiness, further reinforcing the connection between the colour blue and negative emotions.
Minehead, Somerset, UK.
When your lost, it's much easier to find your way home, if somebody leaves the lights on for you.
Image imagined in MidJourney AI and finished with Topaz Studio 2.0 and Lightroom Classic.
golden, hazy sunrise over the Lofoten islands, here on our way to Henningsvaer. This was a true moment when one feels filled to the maximum with awe and wonder.
Berber camp for a magical night. Somewhere near Tangier, Morocco.
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"... In the desert everything silences and surprises. Night happens sudden, profound, unfathomable and a massacre of doubts alerts us to become a magical thrilling.
A place with no name that feels as a heart and dresses us with an inviolable, magnanimous solitude, to give character to our existence. Here everything is absolute.
Life is always provisional and seems improvised and loaded on the shoulders of the enchantment of an imortal instant .
Without compromises, everyone is just and only himself.
Thousand ways... all invisible, unsuspected, without traces or footprints pursue routes without hours lost in the restlessness of the dream, in the thrill of the existential own will. Here the soul grows up. As the desert itself.
Eloquence and splendor of the Earth's last secret ... "
Alda Cravo-Saüde, in 'Diário das Águas' ( 'Diary of Waters')
subversolivros.blogspot.pt/2012/05/diario-das-aguas-alda-...