View allAll Photos Tagged forboding
I wish I could have gotten a better photo of this great sign, but it was not to be. I don't even remember where it is -- some town between Branson and OKC.
We were driving home from a great weekend skiing at Table Rock Lake, going to Silver Dollar City, and exploring area caves when my older son, Jack, aged six, decides that he's feeling a bit queazy -- just a few miles into our journey from Branson. So, we stop to let his stomach settle a bit and take some medicine to pass him out -- always the best remedy when we're in a car for a long time and he's not feeling well.
After a few minutes, Jack says he's better and we're back on the road -- a windy country road with miles between stops and an ever-darkening, forboding sky accompanying us. Can you tell that pretty things are not about to happen?
We're driving along and after a few minutes of complete silence from Jack (something that NEVER happens with my chatterbox son), I hear my younger son, Will (aged four), scream the words I've been dreading for the last 30 minutes, "Jack's getting sick all over himself!" "EEWWWW!!!," Will is hollering in disgust; Jack is white-faced and hurling his breakfast (pancakes and sausage) all over his lap; my husband starts retching at the smell of it all; and at that exact moment, the sky finally opens and sheets of rain begin to pour.
Lovely.
Chuck pulls the car over to the narrow shoulder because there is no place to stop for miles, and we brave the downpour to help Jack, who is now crying as hard as he was throwing up a minute ago. We strip the poor lad down to his underwear and try to clean up the mess as much as we can until we hit the next town, a whopping 20 miles away.
Back on the road, the stink in the car is so overwhelming that we brave the pelting rain and roll down all of the windows so that we won't be overcome by the fumes. We drive like this until we arrive at the next town and, thank God, find hose at a gas station that we can use to rinse everything, including a nearly naked and now-shivering Jack. We buy some trash bags in which to dump rinsed but still smelly clothing, floor mats, towels, etc., then we're on our way again.
Back on the road -- and only one hour into our long, six-hour journey -- we think that all is well until I look back at Jack and see an ashen face that matches the gray and gloomy sky. Oh no! Not again....
Sure enough, he didn't get all of his breakfast out the first time and proceeds to projectile vomit all over himself and the floor, devoid of floor mats this time. Will thinks it's a joke this time and starts hysterically laughing, but Jack looks like he's going to die right there on that lonely country road out in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain.
Jack (looking like he's gasping his last breath, he's so gray now): "U-u-g-h-h!"
Chuck (stopping the car as fast as he can on a wet road -- luckily, there is no one else around to run into): "Damnit! Stick your head out the window, Jack. The car. We just got it cleaned up! *&%#! #%#@!"
Me (calming my sick child, or my husband -- I can't tell which.): "It's okay, baby. You're okay. Everything will be fine."
Will (now trying to calm everyone, including himself -- or just traumatized by it all and going off into his own world): "You know, Jaws is just a big fish, that's all. Just a big fish. Nothing to be scared of." (He has just gone through an obsession with sharks and is terrified of them.)
We've used all of our towels and supplies cleaning up the first wave of sick, and we have nothing left to clean this doozie of a mess but the clothing we wore over the weekend. So, we pile through our suitcases looking for something absorbant and find a few shirts and a skirt we can use to wipe up the floor, door, seat, carseat, and Jack himself. After 10 minutes of erasing up every last bit of gunk and putting Jack in his last clean pair of underwear, we pile back in the car, give Jack an old cup to hold in case he needs to barf again, and are once again on our way.
At the next town -- 30 miles down the rainy road this time -- we luck out and find a car wash, scrub everything down one more time, find Jack a bigger cup in case he needs it (he does), and try it all again.
Somewhere along the way on this nightmare journey, I miraculously had the presense of mind to spot this great sign and snap it. I wish I could have stopped and taken a better photo of it, but by this time, I just wanted to hurry and get home and into a fresh-smelling environment.
If anyone has any idea of where this sign is located, I'd be interested to know.
This whimsical, forboding, erotic wall tile is by Bremen, Germany-based ceramicist Gerhard Liebenthron (1925-2005). Topless lady in a barrel surrounded by flowers is being watched by some voyeurs, this is likely a depiction of the biblical story Susannah and the Elders. It is hand-marked GL 77.
Posing outside the pavilion of some friends that happens to match my colors by no small coincidence.
Despite my forboding about the weather, the heavens smiled upon us this past Saturday. Perfect weather really, so I got a chance to go full-bore on the kit except for the great helm. I really enjoy reenactment events. Nobody cares if you draw your sword and wield it for patrons as I am doing in this photo.
This comment on reenactment events may seem rhetorical. My point is to contrast them with Renaissance Festivals where security guards affectionately known as "the white shirts" will descend upon you with walkie-talkies blaring should you dare to draw steel within the festival grounds. I have been chastized plenty in the past. Yes, I am a bad boy; always wanting to whip my sword out:)
That paternoster with the coral red beads on my belt is the latest addition to the kit; the medieval ancestor of modern rosary beads that would have been worn as display of religious devotion by all classes in the middle ages.
This is the Michigan Central Train station. I took this shot while on a great adventure with my best friend Derek (check out his outstanding work.....DetroitDerek). He was showing me some editing techniques and we came up with this, which I thought turned out fantastic :) The station was built in 1913 and was abandoned in 1988.
Happy Monday Blues!!
These are some flights which change colour near Waterloo station, London. I snapped this whilst walking past. Looks like a Pink Floyd Album Cover. sooo.
Disclaimer: the following are SONG lyrics. Photocillin does not advocate psychosurgery unless it is Tuesday.
The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path
The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
Ill see you on the dark side of the moon
The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me till Im sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
Theres someone in my head but its not me.
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band youre in starts playing different tunes
Ill see you on the dark side of the moon
The dunes are covered in sea oats throughout the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge. Overhead a storm rolls through.
Armed for the muster. Despite my forboding about the weather, the heavens smiled upon us this past Saturday. Perfect weather really, so I got a chance to go full-bore on the kit except for the great helm. I really enjoy reenactment events. Nobody cares if you draw your sword and wield it for patrons as I am doing in this photo.
This comment on reenactment events may seem rhetorical. My point is to contrast them with Renaissance Festivals where security guards affectionately known as "the white shirts" will descend upon you with walkie-talkies blaring should you dare to draw steel within the festival grounds. I have been chastized plenty in the past. Yes, I am a bad boy; always wanting to whip my sword out:)
That paternoster with the coral red beads on my belt is the latest addition to the kit; the medieval ancestor of modern rosary beads that would have been worn as display of religious devotion by all classes in the middle ages.
Shot in the RAW format using a Tamron 11-17mm lenas on a Nikon D200. all post processing using Capture NX
We had beautiful weather up to the long weekend in October. The clouds started to move in on Monday and the wind was icy cold on the Icefield Parkway. Light snow started to fall.
Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada
This is for the "Fight against censorship" group.
Sometime in the month of May, 2007, a german television show did an "expose" piece where a "reporter" dressed up as a Loli, and went looking for sex. He set it up and recorded it, and put it on German television, complete with a tiny, cutesy little Loli and a big fat unshaven, distorted face paedofilic griefer looking male (think "Bluto, from the Popeye cartoon). Word got out and Linden Labs web nuts! They started banning any AV that looked like it was less than 20 years old from every event possible, while pretending they weren't and trying to look "fair".
The fact of the matter is that they chose to act free of the encumbrances of common sense or of courage, for that matter.To this day we still live with the some of the decisions made in those times. At the time many Lolis and people who dress up as kids protested. Incensed at LL's stupidity I joined in and created the following poster.
The little girl that you see in the poster was my AV at the time, standing in solidarity with decent Lolis and child AVs everwhere. (So is the large forboding male boot, for that matter.) This was not the final version, but the one I liked best. Had I the original, I would have changed the headline to "Blame ALL Little Ones!".
File was timestamped at 2007-05-19
Roger Waters US + THEM Tour
Xcel Energy Center
199 W Kellogg Blvd, St Paul, MN 55102 US
"Brain Damage"
The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path
The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
"I can't think of anything to say except...
I think it's marvellous! HaHaHa!"
This is the entrance to Bird Cage Walk, where visitors to Clifton who died there were interned, never to leave....."The fear of the Lord is a fountain of life." Had a few hours to kill on Saturday night whilst in Bristol. I spent a good afternoon and evening revisiting my old haunts, having lived and worked there for six years in the 80s. Run for your life........best on black if you dare to go there.
Demonstrating some basic medieval sword and shield technique for some interested listeners.
Despite my forboding about the weather, the heavens smiled upon us this past Saturday. Perfect weather really, so I got a chance to go full-bore on the kit except for the great helm. I really enjoy reenactment events. Nobody cares if you draw your sword and wield it for patrons as I am doing in this photo.
This comment on reenactment events may seem rhetorical. My point is to contrast them with Renaissance Festivals where security guards affectionately known as "the white shirts" will descend upon you with walkie-talkies blaring should you dare to draw steel within the festival grounds. I have been chastized plenty in the past. Yes, I am a bad boy; always wanting to whip my sword out:)
That paternoster with the coral red beads on my belt is the latest addition to the kit; the medieval ancestor of modern rosary beads that would have been worn as display of religious devotion by all classes in the middle ages.
Located in Mittagong, the Tooth and Co brewery has been abandonded since 1981, closed due to fire damage and rising costs. Inside the forboding exterior facade, the two remaining buildings have a number of floors, several of which are difficult to reach. Colourful graffiti covers many surfaces, and some stairs and entire floors are missing. Despite this, it was a delight to explore and photograph.
This was fun to texturize. The photo is of the bridge to the Catoctin Furnace over Route 15. I used a fun Lightroom preset by Bryan Wheeler and texture by Brenda Starr to give it a grunge old forboding/eery look. Few blending modes.
This got accepted into the Frederick Camera Clique's Juried Summer Show.
Thanks for looking:) Joelle www.joelleherman.com
i find the lines of the danish wind turbines to be very aesthetically pleasing. and with a dark and forboding sky, irresistible. but i wouldn't want to try to live in one...
This is the First Church of Christ - Scientist in Boston again. This shot was taken during the blue hour just before darkness fell. Rain was falling intermittently, the security guards were keeping a close eye on me. They were just out of the shot on the left during this sequence. Two different guards asked me what I was doing there. I told them I was enjoying the fine Boston weather and waiting for the bat signal to appear in the forboding clouds above.
Located in Mittagong, the Tooth and Co brewery has been abandonded since 1981, closed due to fire damage and rising costs. Inside the forboding exterior facade, the two remaining buildings have a number of floors, several of which are difficult to reach. Colourful graffiti covers many surfaces, and some stairs and entire floors are missing. Despite this, it was a delight to explore and photograph.
The enterance to "Goose Poop Park" as I like to call it. I took this shot with my iPhone, then spent considerable time editing it.
First straighting the horizon in Photoshop, then I loaded it into Luminar 4. With that app I made a bunch of tweaks and applied a lookup table. Next I denoised it using Topaz DeNoise AI. Finally I loaded it back into Photoshop, cleaned up a bunch of digital artifacts left by Luminar 4 and then adjusted the levels a bit more. It was a cold and forboding January day, and I wanted to convey that feeling.
Architect: Louis Kahn (1965)
Location: San DIego (La Jolla), CA
The dark, grey day today definitely gave this place a forboding air, so I tried to make my photos reflect that.
Slightly apocalyptic scene of a vineyard I visited in Argentina, Mendoza.
This has been quite heavily edited in CS3 by Sean "the whizz kid" Rogers but i feel it adds to the shot, as all of the grapes have clearly been harvested long, long ago.
Dedalo e Icaro
Andrea Sacchi, ca. 1645
Sacchi's painting is about the complex bond between a father and son: Daedalus attaches wings to his son's shoulders and anxiously gives him the final instructions for their joint flight. Tears flow down his cheek, as if he already has a sense of forboding about the tragic outcome. In vain he tries to make eye contact with Icarus. But his son is distracted, gazing up to heaven, full of youthful hubris and longing.
There was a weird atmosphere in the air this week, a forboding atmosphere that whispered promises of madness, evil and ... ooooohhhh ... bad things under your bed at night.
By Friday I was so gripped by it that all I wanted to do was get home from work, lock the doors, pull the curtains shut and prop myself up behind a mattress with a shotgun, waiting for zompires to break down the door.
It got me thinking about our purpose in the universe (not the zompires, the weird atmosphere) because let's face it, humanity's purpose surely isn't supposed to be as a zompire's luncheon.
So I thought. And I thought some more. And I came to the conclusion that, from the universe's point of view, humans serve no purpose. We contribute nothing to it. The universe itself is purposeless, it's all just stuff, whirling around, happening.
We're just creepy crawlies, slithering around on a rock somewhere in space, hoping that we don't get hit by an asteroid even as we fight amongst ourselves under the threat of weapons so powerful they could wipe us all out just as surely as an asteroid might.
We are, essentially, useless bugs (with the capability of mass nuclear destruction admittedly, but still, bugs in universe-sized terms).
This led me to thinking about my own personal ambitions and goals, and how completely inconsequential they are - since humans serve no purpose, I serve no purpose, so what's the point? We are pointless organisms with nothing to offer, sub-microscopic life that is here and gone in a blink of the universe's eye.
And that's when I got the idea for this photo, which was a big relief and made me happy again.
And then I watched something funny on Netflix and everything was alright.
The end.
Strobist info: SB700 rear centre, full power into a softbox. SB600 camera left at half power. Fired by CLS.
A subtle moment of silence falls across the Indian River in Titusville, Florida.
Single Shot | Canon T3 (1100D) | 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6 | MeFoto Tripod | Adobe Photoshop CC | Adobe Photoshop Lightroom 5.3
A warning sign in a pathside pond at Sale Water Park, Manchester, England
Flickr Explore #200 - 8/5/08
I revisited Scala recently and no visit is complete without attempting another capture of the red stairs...
Previous attempt
view it larger: static.flickr.com/46/175837555_137edafd95_b.jpg I saw a dark-sky technique elsewhere on Flickr and thought I'd try it. In the old days you used a filter on your lense to get this effect plus some burning and dodging in the dark room. I did neither. I used PS. By the way this was taken at the Gulf of Mexico, down the road from Yankee Town, FL. You see the stacks of the Crystal River Nuclear Power Plant.
The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path
The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me 'till I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head but it's not me.
And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
there's a tube of meat down by the river. there's a tube of meat. there's a tube of meat down by the river. there's a tube of meat. it's a tube made of metal and meat flows through it like qi or like orthodontic exposure plates. you wear a lead gown and get zapped by the rays that they make from ground up cow-cud and metallic tasting coffee. just don't show, just don't show, just don't show who will be the main horse rider at the rodeo tonight. it's all right, it's okay, we all feel that way sometimes, with the bing-bong banger hittin' just right, below the knee makes the leg kick and all your dreams won't come true because they already are, your mental fluff freinds all filled with frosted marshmellows, swamp taters and greased pork thoughts like thighs of the empress, expressed in full payment on the 1st and 15th [pending] go on with your bad selfishnest your wallowhard dicklard foolhardy spamscasm, farm-e-suitical documentarian dessert walker, straw in mouth, straw in hat, bail the hay and mount the straps of armageddon near the palmistry waters, near the canal of the sunburst the one that hurts like potatoe cannon and striped dawn-peelers. a
sheer drop like eggdrop soup,
like fear of the plop,
like dawn at the gun shop,
we know don't go where to flow forward of this continent
according to platectonics
and battery opperated doctors of surgery, go live somewhere, just try it, let it fly, bombs away, hurray! say the mirthful kittens as they lap the warm milk from the teat of the farmer's toil as the look up into the camera lens with their big watery eyes and cute little milk beards awaiting the crushing hammer of death and blood and the anvil of sober contemplation of the bills due [pending]. show warp shop warned, worning in the morning near the clang of the trolley, the dry mouth hump that laps at the lake's shore, the dying ember of the solar's system center, galactic in a spastic spectaculate to imaginate and forbode the forbidden danceteric architecture. hell's sink is full of dirty water and i'm singin' the blues about my wherewolf wife and i'm singin' the blue about my vampire dog and i'm singin' the blues about not enough balogna in my sandwich form. don a nother cap and tail the donkey toward the trough of disappointment, don't worrying [pending] about the flowers failing the followers falling like rain blobs on the cornicopiatic indirectulicularical fractionoids near the earth's core, near the rim of your cup of coffee, near the cut finger, near the specks in the marble floor.
[e]
"The Stupa of Many Auspicious Doors" is named for the 84,000 paths to enlightenment that Buddha described. This stupa is part of the Karma Tryana Dharmachakra Tibetan Buddhist community in Crestone, Colorado. To me the Crestone area is like a "New Tibet", with high, deserty plains encircled by towering ranges of forboding mountains.
Standing on the crossroads of Boroughgate, Kirkgate, Piper Lane and Manor Square is the forboding frontage of the Black Horse Hotel, looking a bit dog eared these days and has not long re-opened, they could do with removing the bush as it does nothing for the place!!!
Built in 1901 to replace the original Black Horse.
That sounds quite forboding, doesn't it. But, it's a happy mistake. I T-A'd for Chris Leith (Eggemoggin Textile Studio) at Haystack doing Stitched Indigo Shibori - and actually received a compliment from S.K., director! But, I had a few pieces that I'd stitched and bound last winter (!!!) and popped them into the vat - now there's some instant shibori gratification! :-) The dark circle must have popped its binding before the last few dips.