View allAll Photos Tagged introspective
Self portraits of me are generally few and far between. They may exist, and other photos of me in general, in quite an abundance, but public display is another thing. Frankly, unless there's a good reason, all you assembled viewers of Flickr and other mediums would much rather be looking at some handsome chap with a six pack or a lady blessed with ample curves. Be honest.
The thing is about self portraits, as many of you Flickr viewers will know, is I've really quite taken to following the work of many of you who do self portraits regularly. I've become quite taken by numerous 365 projects, Brent (stateofthenation) and his flash portraits (strobist is a phrase born of the American desire to call everything a different name surely?) and Miss Aniela's delightful self examinations springing to mind. Aniela's work has also, through a certain level of snooping opened up a whole raft of people here on Flickr practising 365 self portraiture who's work I'm really enjoying following and feeling quite inspired by.
Yet this manipula sudonym and username, and ultimately the images I take are not of the same ilk as these self portraiture artists, and I think, despite kinda having a longing inside to join the bandwagon, it sits at odds with what I've spent about ten years of my life becoming.
And it's this looking at others work, those years, and the general soaking up of internet photography culture that's resulted in this. I am really hacked off, and completely disillusioned with photography currently.
I see these female self portrait artists on here, and as a guy looking at a picture of a girl, I instantly feel the need to have to justify it. The fact remains that Flickr is obviously a domain in which perverted, predatory males lurk in order to get their rocks off over pictures of girls. I was looking at some images earlier of two lesbian lovers, and I'll be quite honest, I thought they were fantastic, but was afraid to click that 'comment' button because I knew I would be seen as yet another predatory man looking at girls. And you know what it's not true. Not all guys out there are looking at these images trying to get their rocks off, in the same way not all of these female artists aren't shooting their images as a way of attracting attention to themselves to fuel their egos.
And then we get to internet forums. I'd wager anyone who's on Flickr will have experience with a forum of some form. I'm a member of several photography forums and I am finding that the medium that makes photography so accessable is killing it slowly and woe betide you if you dare to say anything of the sort. Digital photography and posting it to the internet so some dude who you'll never meet can slap you on the back and give you a metaphoric rub of the groin and massage of the ego is not the reason we should be shooting images.
And making photography accessible shouldn't result in one mindless sheep after another jumping on whatever bandwagon is the latest craze. Witness psychadelic HDR photography, panoramics of absolutely nothing, selective colouring, the 'fake' tilt shift movement, ring flashes and off camera flash (though I conceed to liking these two it's getting a bit overdone), fisheye lenses for extreme sport, motorsport photographers who can't shoot anything that hasn't been seen aproximately ten zillion times before.
Models are another one. I've been privileged to have worked with some truly wonderful models, women (and men) who I'd quite happily hang around with away from a camera. In some cases this has proven to be the point. But picking up a camera to shoot a model for whatever reason it may be seems to be attracting more and more legal implications, more and more pre-madonnas with high and mighty attitudes, and greater and greater assumptions to claims on the images you shoot. Frankly I shoot people and models because I love showing people to the world in a way other people can access and feel a part of. I don't do it as a way of engaging myself into mind games and angst. It's enough to make you want to not bother...
So, photography, the internet and the sh*tty assed associations that come with it, I'm taking a break from. If I am looking at your photo of your perfectly formed ass, then my work should speak enough for itself to show I'm not there for the thrills. If your work is follow the leader fashion, and no substance, I reserve the right to say so without getting my ass handed to me on a plate by a moderator.
Photography is about you, and appreciation of others, and it should be as without boundaries as our own imagination.
Rant over.
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Living in Transit: The Thinkers of a World in Turmoil
War looms over Europe, uncertainty seeps into everyday life, and the weight of history presses upon the present. The world is burning, and yet—there are those who seek understanding, those who bury themselves in the quiet refuge of books, the dim glow of libraries, the solitude of knowledge.
This series captures the introspective minds of young academic women—readers, thinkers, seekers. They wander through old university halls, their fingers tracing the spines of forgotten books, pulling out volumes of poetry, philosophy, and psychology. They drink coffee, they drink tea, they stay up late with ink-stained fingers, trying to decipher the world through words.
They turn to Simone Weil for moral clarity, Hannah Arendt for political insight, Rilke for existential wisdom. They read Baudrillard to untangle the illusions of modernity, Byung-Chul Han to understand society’s exhaustion, Camus to grasp the absurdity of it all. They devour Celan’s poetry, searching for beauty in catastrophe.
But they do not just read—they reflect, they question, they write. Their world is one of quiet resistance, an intellectual sanctuary amidst the chaos. In their solitude, they are not alone. Across time, across history, across the pages they turn, they are in conversation with those who, too, have sought meaning in troubled times.
This is a series about thought in transit—about seeking, reading, questioning, about the relentless pursuit of knowledge when the world feels on the brink.
Where the Thinkers Go
They gather where the dust has settled,
where books whisper in the hush of halls.
Pages thin as breath, torn at the edges,
cradling centuries of questions.
They drink coffee like it’s ink,
trace words like constellations,
follow Rilke into the dusk,
where solitude hums softly in the dark.
Outside, the world is fraying—
war threading through the seams of cities,
the weight of history pressing forward.
Inside, they turn pages, searching
for answers, for solace, for fire.
And somewhere between the lines,
between time-stained margins and fading ink,
they find the ghosts of others who
once sought, once wondered, once read—
and they do not feel alone.
Three Haikus
Night falls on paper,
books stacked like silent towers,
thoughts burn in the dark.
Tea cools in the cup,
a poem lingers on lips,
war rumbles beyond.
Footsteps in silence,
the scent of old ink and dust,
pages turn like ghosts.
ooOOOoo
Reading as Resistance
These young women do not read passively. They underline, they take notes, they write in the margins. They challenge the texts and themselves. They read because the world demands it of them—because, in a time of conflict and uncertainty, thought itself is an act of resistance.
Their books are worn, their pages stained with coffee, their minds alive with the urgency of understanding.
1. Political Thought, Society & Liberation
Essays, theory and critique on democracy, power and resistance.
Chantal Mouffe – For a Left Populism (rethinking democracy through radical left-wing populism)
Nancy Fraser – Cannibal Capitalism (an urgent critique of capitalism’s role in the destruction of democracy, the planet, and social justice)
Étienne Balibar – Citizenship (rethinking the idea of citizenship in an era of migration and inequality)
Silvia Federici – Caliban and the Witch (a feminist Marxist analysis of capitalism and gender oppression)
Didier Eribon – Returning to Reims (a deeply personal sociological reflection on class and identity in contemporary Europe)
Antonio Negri & Michael Hardt – Empire (rethinking global capitalism and resistance from a leftist perspective)
Thomas Piketty – Capital and Ideology (a profound analysis of wealth distribution, inequality, and the future of economic justice)
Mark Fisher – Capitalist Realism (on why it’s easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism)
2. Feminist & Queer Theory, Gender & Body Politics
Texts that redefine identity, gender, and liberation in the 21st century.
Paul B. Preciado – Testo Junkie (an autobiographical, philosophical essay on gender, hormones, and biopolitics)
Judith Butler – The Force of Nonviolence (rethinking ethics and resistance beyond violence)
Virginie Despentes – King Kong Theory (a raw and radical take on sex, power, and feminism)
Amia Srinivasan – The Right to Sex (rethinking sex, power, and feminism for a new generation)
Laurent de Sutter – Narcocapitalism (on how capitalism exploits our bodies, desires, and emotions)
Sara Ahmed – Living a Feminist Life (a deeply personal and political exploration of what it means to be feminist today)
3. Literature & Poetry of Resistance, Liberation & Exile
European novels, poetry and literature that embrace freedom, revolution, and identity.
Annie Ernaux – The Years (a groundbreaking memoir that blends personal and collective history, feminism, and social change)
Olga Tokarczuk – The Books of Jacob (an epic novel about alternative histories, belief systems, and European identity)
Édouard Louis – Who Killed My Father (a deeply political and personal exploration of class struggle and masculinity)
Bernardine Evaristo – Girl, Woman, Other (a polyphonic novel on race, gender, and identity in contemporary Europe)
Maggie Nelson (though American, widely read in European academia) – On Freedom: Four Songs of Care and Constraint (a poetic, intellectual meditation on freedom and constraint)
Benjamín Labatut – When We Cease to Understand the World (a deeply philosophical novel on science, war, and moral responsibility)
Michel Houellebecq – Submission (controversial but widely read as a dystopian critique of political passivity in Europe)
4. Ecology, Anti-Capitalism & Posthumanism
Texts that explore the intersections of nature, economics, and radical change.
Bruno Latour – Down to Earth: Politics in the New Climatic Regime (rethinking ecology and politics in a world of climate crisis)
Andreas Malm – How to Blow Up a Pipeline (on the ethics of radical environmental resistance)
Emanuele Coccia – The Life of Plants: A Metaphysics of Mixture (rethinking human and non-human coexistence)
Isabelle Stengers – Another Science is Possible (rethinking knowledge and resistance in an era of corporate science)
Kate Raworth – Doughnut Economics (rethinking economic models for social and ecological justice)
Donna Haraway – Staying with the Trouble (rethinking coexistence and posthumanist futures)
The Future of Thought
These are not just books; they are weapons, tools, compasses. These women read not for escapism, but for resistance. In a time of political upheaval, climate catastrophe, and rising authoritarianism, they seek alternative visions, radical possibilities, and new ways of imagining the world.
Their books are annotated, their margins filled with questions, their reading lists always expanding. Knowledge is not just power—it is revolution.
All Saints, Alburgh, Norfolk
It was one of those intensely hot days at the start of August 2018, and the cool shade of the over-bowering trees along the narrow lanes was a blessing. You don't have to get far from the Waveney and the busy A137 taking the traffic through to Lowestoft and Great Yarmouth to find peace. Here in the folding ridges to the north are secret villages linked by lonely, jinking roads. I had just come from Denton, its church hidden in the trees in a dip and reached only by a bridge and a track through the grounds of the Hall. And now it was a short distance from there to the larger village of Alburgh, and I caught my first sight of the curiously narrow top of Alburgh church tower appearing above the trees and the barley-stubbled rises. Soon, I came down into civilisation, and there was the church, its tower towards the road.
Not a spectacular church at all, but it has a special connection for me as someone I was very fond of came from here. I was back after twelve years away, but that visit was still clear in my mind, not least because of what I had felt about it then. When I'd got home, I had written: 'Coming down Norfolk by a different road, I came out into a landscape that I knew. It was early spring, and five years before I had explored the Suffolk side of the Waveney valley at the same time of year. Here in Norfolk were the same rolling, secretive meadows, the copses that seeped and spread between the fields, the quiet, scattered parishes with mere hints of village centres. Introspective hamlets, not talking to each other, the narrow lanes that connected them veering and dipping as if trying to shake them off.
At a crossroads, an old Methodist chapel sulked under the indignity of conversion. And there were wide pig farms and ancient silage heaps and faded bottle banks outside the village hall. No commuters here, no holiday cottages or weekend homes. Everyone except me was here because they had to be. This was where they lived, where they worked. They were the modern equivalents of the blacksmith, the carter, the wheelwright. The Waveney valley is the heart of rural East Anglia, perhaps the last truly insular place in the south-east of England. I was glad to be here.
Alburgh is not a place I have ever thought of often. But now, in the crisp air, I stood in the graveyard and looked across the country at the scattered village and its setting. Beyond the houses was the ancient field pattern, the beech trees on the ridge and the rooks wheeling above them. I thought of a song of the early eighties, Pete Wylie's Story of the Blues, and his declaiming, towards the end, the words of Kerouac's Sal Paradise: the city intellectuals of the world are divorced from the folk-body blood of the land, and are just rootless fools. I had been born in a place like this, tiny and remote in the Cambridgeshire fens, a world away from now in the 1960s. But we moved to Cambridge when I was two, and I had lived in urban areas ever since. I was a city intellectual, and I stood now and looked around at the land, a rootless fool.
I first heard of Alburgh more than twenty years ago. I was living unhappily in Brighton at the time, learning to teach, finding out how little I actually knew about anything. I would cycle out to the University through the stinking traffic on the Lewes road, and often arrive cold, wet and battered by the wind from the downs. At first, I knew nobody, and I spent most evenings in my attic room listening to music and feeling sorry for myself. In the bitter-sweet autumn sunshine of the weekends I would cycle around the downs, searching for old churches, repopulating the hamlets and lanes of East Sussex with characters from Hardy and Trollope.
I hardly went into town at all. Everybody seems to love Brighton, and they can't understand it when I say that I don't, but perhaps I was too often miserable there. In my memory I still associate Brighton with debt, and with the transience of being a student. And then, extraordinarily, a brief, doomed relationship, a love affair, became the one vivid thing, a brief, sweet memory of my year in that brash town.
She came from Alburgh, and at first I thought she meant Aldeburgh in Suffolk, and she said it again, Ar-brer, and showed me on a map. How narrow was the single bed we shared, how intense those brief few weeks. And she loved me more than I could possibly have loved her, for I had already met the woman who would become my wife. And so it was messy, and then it ended. But Alburgh still existed, of course, and so coming here I remembered.
If that had been all there was, then I wouldn't have thought it worth mentioning, but there was also the Kerouac quote, and I had recently gone back to the village where I was born. It was a tiny hamlet, off of the Cambridge to Ely road. My mother had been born there, my parents married in the Church there. I was baptised there, and so were my brothers.
At one time there had been three farms, a shop, a railway halt, a pub, a school, a church and a chapel. I'm not looking this up in some mid-19th century White's Directory, I remember them from the 1960s and 1970s. Now, they were nearly all gone. The farms had been built over, the pub, shop and chapel converted to houses. To stand beside the railway line, you'd need a vivid imagination to guess that the halt had even existed, as the expresses screamed through at over a hundred miles an hour.
The church and the school survived, but only because this was now a commuter village. Every morning, hundreds and hundreds of white-collar workers left their identical modern houses and piled up the A10 to Cambridge and Ely. I knew nobody there any more - my grandmother was dead, and all my relatives had left, or were lying under the frozen turf of the little cemetery. It made me sad. I thought that perhaps this was what growing old was, seeing change and resenting it. And so I liked Alburgh because it appeased my sense of loss, as if something might survive after all.'
All this then, gentle reader, was in my mind as I returned to Alburgh after twelve years away. The tower I had seen from Denston churchyard, and which bobbed its head above the copses and the rolling fields as I approached it, stands tall and proud, four-square to the road, the aisleless nave and chancel disappearing into the narrowing churchyard beyond. An imposing sight, though not a huge tower, merely large in proportion. The bulk of it is probably 14th century, but the bell stage with its enormous bell windows is later, a late medieval addition. It looks awkward, because the new building technology no longer required that the buttresses should continue up the bell stage. But the effect is unfortunate, I think, like the unnaturally small head of a large man. The buttressed pinnacles on the four corners are a more recent confection, for the very top of the tower collapsed in 1895, and what we see at the top now dates from the dawn of the new century.
The west front must have been rather grand once, with large niches flanking the window, but the canopies of the niches have gone, either vandalised by protestants or more likely worn away by the passing of the centuries. In proportion with the nave, the south porch seems bigger than it is. A 1463 bequest for the porch by the Wright family is recorded, but it now looks all of its Victorian restoration.
And so, I am afraid, does the inside of the church, a big 19th century barn with a lot of the anonymity you'd expect of this date. And yet, there are neat, local, rustic touches, and the pride of the early 20th Century parish in the boys who went off to war and never came back is still evident, great lists of names rather haunting in their context. Surprisingly, the roof is old, and it spreads impressively across the wide nave. A beautiful gilded rood screen dado is almost defiant in the face of all the restoration. There are pretty little gilded gesso saints in niches on the buttresses along the front, but I think the colour is wholly modern.
Echoing it, perhaps inspired by it, insipid apostles flank the altar and its simple reredos, a William Morris-style hanging. Turning back, the tower arch lifts tall and dreamily, light from the west window flooding the reset font below, the space becoming an echo of the wide chancel arch at the other end of the great roof. There's a pleasing harmony to the whole piece, and perhaps the Victorians should not be blamed for too much.
And so, that was all, my return to Alburgh. Just another church, and yet, like all medieval parish churches, a place full of stories, and memories, hopes, fears, regrets, embarrassments, delights, hungers, desires, agonies, beginnings and endings. Here, I sensed around me a building that was a touchstone down the long generations, and a beacon across miles and oceans. Just another church, but always and everywhere and forever. Think of the millions of people who can trace atoms of their being back to this place! Think of the lives touched by people who stepped out from this parish! And that's true of anywhere of course.
I went back outside and pottered around the graveyard. The heat was stifling after the coolness inside the church. A large dragonfly buzzed around my head and then veered away on the currents rising from the long grass. I sat down on a bench facing towards the newer headstones, and placed on the arm of the bench I found to my surprise a painted flintstone.
It had a message painted and lacquered onto it. On one side was a pink heart, and the words 'I ♥ Norfolk'. On the other side, the artist had painstakingly lettered in tiny writing 'congratulations on finding a Norfolk Rock', and asked the finder to 'either take me or rehide me'. It was extraordinary.
I slipped it into my pocket, not sure if this counted as taking it or rehiding it, possibly both, and thinking to myself that it felt like the goal of a pilgrimage. I wandered over to take a look at the more recent graves, which included a number in the last twenty years with her surname on. It is a common one in this village, but I wondered if any of them could have been her parents, who I had not known. I thought that she had probably been married in this place, if she had ever married, and so I said a silent prayer for all the people I have ever known and lost touch with, wherever they may be in the world, whether or not they remember me, or think of me, or are even reading this now.
I stood for a while, thinking of the years, and then got back in the saddle, shaking off a maudlin veil which was beginning to settle over me. I kicked off into a rush of heat lifted by the sudden breeze of my movement. A long stretch lay ahead of me now through delicious rolling back lanes with melting tarmac, zigzagging down into Harleston.
The veil that attracts attention - but remains impenetrable to outsiders. Thoroughly recommended for the shy and introspective, like me!
Betty Brooklyn aka Betty Blade aka Betty Sword
@ The Art Students League of New York
original painting by Robin Smith / Gheno
I meant to take something really creative and introspective for today, my 50th day. But, alas, I was working on day two alone with both boys. And it was diaper laundry day. And suddenly it was 11:00pm and I hadn't snapped a picture yet. Then the dryer buzzer went off. And there you have it.
That's right, random people viewing this picture. We cloth diaper. No. It's not gross. No. It's not a lot of extra work. No. They don't leak everywhere. (In fact, they're better with leaks than the most expensive disposables we were previously using with big brother.) We use a mix of pockets (brand Fuzzi Bunz) and fitteds (Goodmamas, Mutts and SOS) with covers (Thirsties). Beyond the fact that they're reusable and thus not filling up a landfill...
dang they're so much cuter!
Project365: 50/365!
Charles Leplae, (Leuven, 1903 - Uccle, 1961), was a Belgian sculptor and draftsman. Experimented initially in an expressionist style, but evolved towards a more traditional view. He often sculpted female nudes, which he regularly imparted a reserved, thoughtful, introspective attitude. He was also a known medalist. Hoping to restore the true meaning and character of the art of medal making, he went back to ancient techniques by engraving the patterns directly into the metal of the matrix with a chisel.
Title of the work: Two pregnant woman
This work of art can be admired at the Middelheim open air museum at Antwerp: www.middelheimmuseum.be/en
Charles Leplae, (Leuven, 1903 - Ukkel , 1961), was een Belgische beeldhouwer en tekenaar. Experimenteerde aanvankelijk in een expressionistische stijl, maar evolueerde naar een meer traditionele opvatting. Hij beeldhouwde vaak vrouwelijke naakten, die hij regelmatig een gereserveerde, peinzende, introspectieve attitude toedeelde. Hij was ook een gekend medailleur. In de hoop de ware betekenis en het karakter te herstellen van de kunst van het maken van medailles, ging hij terug naar oude technieken door de patronen rechtstreeks met een beitel in het metaal van de matrix te graveren.
Meer over dit werk: search.middelheimmuseum.be/details/collect/148140
Dit werk kan bewonderd worden in het openlucht museum Middelheim in Antwerpen: www.middelheimmuseum.be/nl
Charles Leplae, (Louvain, 1903 - Uccle, 1961), était un sculpteur et dessinateur belge. Initialement il expérimentait dans un style expressionniste, mais plus tard évoluait vers une vision plus traditionnelle. Il sculptait souvent des nus féminins auxquels il assignait régulièrement une attitude réservée, réfléchie et introspective. Il était également un médailleur connu. Dans l'espoir de restaurer le vrai sens et le caractère de l'art de la médaille, il est revenu aux techniques anciennes en gravant les motifs directement dans le métal de la matrice avec un ciseau.
Titre de l'œuvre: Deux femmes enceintes
Cette œuvre peut être admirée au musée en plein air Middelheim à Anvers: www.middelheimmuseum.be/fr
Charles Leplae, (Leuven, 1903 - Uccle, 1961), was a Belgian sculptor and draftsman. Experimented initially in an expressionist style, but evolved towards a more traditional view. He often sculpted female nudes, which he regularly imparted a reserved, thoughtful, introspective attitude. He was also a known medalist. Hoping to restore the true meaning and character of the art of medal making, he went back to ancient techniques by engraving the patterns directly into the metal of the matrix with a chisel.
Title of the work: Two pregnant woman
This work of art can be admired at the Middelheim open air museum at Antwerp: www.middelheimmuseum.be/en
Charles Leplae, (Leuven, 1903 - Ukkel , 1961), was een Belgische beeldhouwer en tekenaar. Experimenteerde aanvankelijk in een expressionistische stijl, maar evolueerde naar een meer traditionele opvatting. Hij beeldhouwde vaak vrouwelijke naakten, die hij regelmatig een gereserveerde, peinzende, introspectieve attitude toedeelde. Hij was ook een gekend medailleur. In de hoop de ware betekenis en het karakter te herstellen van de kunst van het maken van medailles, ging hij terug naar oude technieken door de patronen rechtstreeks met een beitel in het metaal van de matrix te graveren.
Meer over dit werk: search.middelheimmuseum.be/details/collect/148140
Dit werk kan bewonderd worden in het openlucht museum Middelheim in Antwerpen: www.middelheimmuseum.be/nl
Charles Leplae, (Louvain, 1903 - Uccle, 1961), était un sculpteur et dessinateur belge. Initialement il expérimentait dans un style expressionniste, mais plus tard évoluait vers une vision plus traditionnelle. Il sculptait souvent des nus féminins auxquels il assignait régulièrement une attitude réservée, réfléchie et introspective. Il était également un médailleur connu. Dans l'espoir de restaurer le vrai sens et le caractère de l'art de la médaille, il est revenu aux techniques anciennes en gravant les motifs directement dans le métal de la matrice avec un ciseau.
Titre de l'œuvre: Deux femmes enceintes
Cette œuvre peut être admirée au musée en plein air Middelheim à Anvers: www.middelheimmuseum.be/fr
Charles Leplae, (Leuven, 1903 - Uccle, 1961), was a Belgian sculptor and draftsman. Experimented initially in an expressionist style, but evolved towards a more traditional view. He often sculpted female nudes, which he regularly imparted a reserved, thoughtful, introspective attitude. He was also a known medalist. Hoping to restore the true meaning and character of the art of medal making, he went back to ancient techniques by engraving the patterns directly into the metal of the matrix with a chisel.
Title of the work: Two pregnant woman
This work of art can be admired at the Middelheim open air museum at Antwerp: www.middelheimmuseum.be/en
Charles Leplae, (Leuven, 1903 - Ukkel , 1961), was een Belgische beeldhouwer en tekenaar. Experimenteerde aanvankelijk in een expressionistische stijl, maar evolueerde naar een meer traditionele opvatting. Hij beeldhouwde vaak vrouwelijke naakten, die hij regelmatig een gereserveerde, peinzende, introspectieve attitude toedeelde. Hij was ook een gekend medailleur. In de hoop de ware betekenis en het karakter te herstellen van de kunst van het maken van medailles, ging hij terug naar oude technieken door de patronen rechtstreeks met een beitel in het metaal van de matrix te graveren.
Meer over dit werk: search.middelheimmuseum.be/details/collect/148140
Dit werk kan bewonderd worden in het openlucht museum Middelheim in Antwerpen: www.middelheimmuseum.be/nl
Charles Leplae, (Louvain, 1903 - Uccle, 1961), était un sculpteur et dessinateur belge. Initialement il expérimentait dans un style expressionniste, mais plus tard évoluait vers une vision plus traditionnelle. Il sculptait souvent des nus féminins auxquels il assignait régulièrement une attitude réservée, réfléchie et introspective. Il était également un médailleur connu. Dans l'espoir de restaurer le vrai sens et le caractère de l'art de la médaille, il est revenu aux techniques anciennes en gravant les motifs directement dans le métal de la matrice avec un ciseau.
Titre de l'œuvre: Deux femmes enceintes
Cette œuvre peut être admirée au musée en plein air Middelheim à Anvers: www.middelheimmuseum.be/fr
Charles Leplae, (Leuven, 1903 - Uccle, 1961), was a Belgian sculptor and draftsman. Experimented initially in an expressionist style, but evolved towards a more traditional view. He often sculpted female nudes, which he regularly imparted a reserved, thoughtful, introspective attitude. He was also a known medalist. Hoping to restore the true meaning and character of the art of medal making, he went back to ancient techniques by engraving the patterns directly into the metal of the matrix with a chisel.
Title of the work: Two pregnant woman
This work of art can be admired at the Middelheim open air museum at Antwerp: www.middelheimmuseum.be/en
Charles Leplae, (Leuven, 1903 - Ukkel , 1961), was een Belgische beeldhouwer en tekenaar. Experimenteerde aanvankelijk in een expressionistische stijl, maar evolueerde naar een meer traditionele opvatting. Hij beeldhouwde vaak vrouwelijke naakten, die hij regelmatig een gereserveerde, peinzende, introspectieve attitude toedeelde. Hij was ook een gekend medailleur. In de hoop de ware betekenis en het karakter te herstellen van de kunst van het maken van medailles, ging hij terug naar oude technieken door de patronen rechtstreeks met een beitel in het metaal van de matrix te graveren.
Meer over dit werk: search.middelheimmuseum.be/details/collect/148140
Dit werk kan bewonderd worden in het openlucht museum Middelheim in Antwerpen: www.middelheimmuseum.be/nl
Charles Leplae, (Louvain, 1903 - Uccle, 1961), était un sculpteur et dessinateur belge. Initialement il expérimentait dans un style expressionniste, mais plus tard évoluait vers une vision plus traditionnelle. Il sculptait souvent des nus féminins auxquels il assignait régulièrement une attitude réservée, réfléchie et introspective. Il était également un médailleur connu. Dans l'espoir de restaurer le vrai sens et le caractère de l'art de la médaille, il est revenu aux techniques anciennes en gravant les motifs directement dans le métal de la matrice avec un ciseau.
Titre de l'œuvre: Deux femmes enceintes
Cette œuvre peut être admirée au musée en plein air Middelheim à Anvers: www.middelheimmuseum.be/fr
British postcard by Santoro Graphics Ltd., South Yorks, no. C350. Photo: publicity still for My Own Private Idaho (Gus Van Sant, 1991).
Keanu Reeves (1964) is a Canadian actor, producer, director and musician. Though Reeves often faced criticism for his deadpan delivery and perceived limited range as an actor, he nonetheless took on roles in a variety of genres, doing everything from introspective art-house fare to action-packed thrillers. His films include My Own Private Idaho (1991), the European drama Little Buddha (1993), Speed (1994), The Matrix (1999) and John Wick (2014).
Keanu Charles Reeves was born in 1964, in Beirut, Lebanon. His first name means ‘cool breeze over the mountains’ in Hawaiian. His father, Samuel Nowlin Reeves, Jr., was a geologist of Chinese-Hawaiian heritage, and his mother, Patricia Bond (née Taylor), was a British showgirl and later a costume designer for rock stars such as Alice Cooper. Reeves's mother was working in Beirut when she met his father. Upon his parents’ split in 1966, Keanu moved with his mother and younger sister Kim Reeves to Sydney, to New York and then to Toronto. As a child, he lived with various stepfathers, including stage and film director Paul Aaron. Keanu developed an ardor for hockey, though he would eventually turn to acting. At 15, he played Mercutio in a stage production of Romeo and Juliet at the Leah Posluns Theatre. Reeves dropped out of high school when he was 17. His film debut was the Canadian feature One Step Away (Robert Fortier, 1985). After a part in the teen movie Youngblood (Peter Markle, 1986), starring Rob Lowe, he obtained a green card through stepfather Paul Aaron and moved to Los Angeles. After a few minor roles, he gained attention for his performance in the dark drama River's Edge (Tim Hunter, 1986), which depicted how a murder affected a group of adolescents. Reeves landed a supporting role in the Oscar-nominated period drama Dangerous Liaisons (Stephen Frears, 1988), starring Glenn Close and John Malkovich. Reeves joined the casts of Ron Howard's comedy Parenthood (1989), and Lawrence Kasdan's I Love You to Death (1990). Unexpectedly successful was the wacky comedy Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure (Stephen Herek, 1989) which followed two high school students (Reeves and Alex Winter) and their time-traveling high jinks. The success lead to a TV series and a sequel, Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey (Pete Hewitt, 1991). From then on, audiences often confused Reeves's real-life persona with that of his doofy on-screen counterpart.
In the following years, Keanu Reeves tried to shake the Ted stigma. He developed an eclectic film roster that included high-budget action films like the surf thriller Point Break (Kathryn Bigelow, 1991) for which he won MTV's ‘Most Desirable Male’ award in 1992, but also lower-budget art-house films. My Own Private Idaho (1991), directed by Gus Van Sant and co-starring River Phoenix, chronicled the lives of two young hustlers living on the streets. In Francis Ford Coppola’s adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992), Reeves embodied the calm resolute lawyer Jonathan Harker who stumbles into the lair of Gary Oldman’s Count Dracula. In Europe, he played prince Siddharta who becomes the Buddha in Bernardo Bertolucci’s Italian-French-British drama Little Buddha (1993). His career reached a new high when he starred opposite Sandra Bullock in the hit action film Speed (Jan de Bont, 1994). It was followed by the romantic drama A Walk in the Clouds (Alfonso Arau, 1995) and the supernatural thriller Devil’s Advocate (Taylor Hackford, 1997), co-starring Al Pacino and Charlize Theron. At the close of the decade, Reeves starred in a Sci-fi film that would become a genre game changer, The Matrix (Andy and Lana Wachowski, 1999). Reeves played the prophetic figure Neo, slated to lead humanity to freedom from an all-consuming simulated world. Known for its innovative fight sequences, avant-garde special effects and gorgeous fashion, The Matrix was an international hit. Two sequels, The Matrix Reloaded (Andy and Lana Wachowski, 1999) and The Matrix Revolutions (Andy and Lana Wachowski, 1999) followed and The Matrix Reloaded was even a bigger financial blockbuster than its predecessor.
Now a major, bonafide box office star, Keanu Reeves continued to work in different genres and both in bid-budget as in small independent films. He played an abusive man in the supernatural thriller The Gift (Sam Raimi, 2000), starring Cate Blanchett, a smitten doctor in the romantic comedy Something’s Gotta Give (Nancy Meyers, 2003) opposite Diane Keaton, and a Brit demon hunter in American-German occult detective action film Constantine (Francis Lawrence, 2005). His appearance in the animated science fiction thriller A Scanner Darkly (Richard Linklater, 2006), based on the novel by Philip K. Dick, received favourable reviews, and The Lake House (Alejandro Agresti, 2006) , his romantic outing with Sandra Bullock, was a success at the box office. Reeves returned to Sci-fi as alien Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still (Scott Derrickson, 2008), the remake of the 1951 classic. Then he played a supporting part in Rebecca Miller's The Private Life of Pippa Lee (2009), which starred Robin Wright and premiered at the 59th Berlin International Film Festival. Reeves co-founded a production company, Company Films. The company helped produce Henry's Crime (Malcolm Venville, 2010), in which Reeves also starred. The actor made his directorial debut with the Chinese-American Martial arts film Man of Tai Chi (2013), partly inspired by the life of Reeves' friend, stuntman Tiger Chen. Martial arts–based themes continued in Reeves's next feature, 47 Ronin (Carl Rinsch, 2013), about a real-life group of masterless samurai in 18th-century Japan who avenged the death of their lord. Variety magazine listed 47 Ronin as one of "Hollywood's biggest box office bombs of 2013". Reeves returned as a retired hitman in the neo-noir action thriller John Wick (Chad Stahelski, David Leitch, 2014). The film opened to positive reviews and performed well at the box office. A sequel, titled John Wick: Chapter Two, is currently in production and is scheduled to be released in 2017. This year, he could be seen in the psychological horror film The Neon Demon is (Nicolas Winding Refn, 2016) and the romantic horror-thriller Bad Batch (Ana Lily Amirpour, 2016). Reeves’ artistic aspirations are not limited to film. In the early 1990s, he co-founded the grunge band Dogstar, which released two albums. He later played bass for a band called Becky. Reeves is also a longtime motorcycle enthusiast. After asking designer Gard Hollinger to create a custom-built bike for him, the two went into business together with the formation of Arch Motorcycle Company LLC in 2011. Reported to be one of the more generous actors in Hollywood, Reeves helped care for his sister during her lengthy battle with leukemia, and has supported such organizations as Stand Up To Cancer and PETA. In January 2000, Reeves's girlfriend, Jennifer Syme, gave birth eight months into her pregnancy to Ava Archer Syme-Reeves, who was stillborn. The strain put on their relationship by their grief resulted in Reeves and Syme's breakup several weeks later. In 2001, Syme died after a car accident.
Sources: Biography.com, Wikipedia and IMDb.
[Tehran, Iran] Wise old man in introspective book reading, a Persian miniature drawing by Farshchian at the Sa'ad Abad museum complex in Tehran.
©2016 Germán Vogel - All rights reserved - No usage allowed in any form without the written consent of the photographer
I swear, these are the last :P
Black White.
Up Down.
Left Right.
East West.
Call them as you want.
Here are my opposite poles.
What an incredibly introspective week it's been.
I've been busy doing some 'housecleaning.'
'Housecleaning of the soul' that is.
Life's been a whole lotta crazy in the last few years.
I guess I really didn't know how crazy it's been because I was kinda busy livin' it.
Reacting to it.
I stepped back in the last week and took a good hard look at how things were going.
I'll tell you what...
I feel really good right now.
There was a little business I hadda do with my soul and I did just that.
Body and soul have come to an agreement.
They're on the same page.
The craziness is gone.
The cause of all of that is far behind me and it has become irrelevant.
Yeah...
I've seen some things I wish I could 'unsee.'
But fuck it.
It ain't a problem no more.
I can only describe the last few weeks ago as spitting up a 'psychic hairball.'
That's about it.
You know how the cat makes those strange noises and does those convulsions?
You know it's gotta feel good to get rid of that hairball.
Really good.
It doesn't look too pleasant..
And it's probably not...
but you know the cat is feelin' good when that hairball is gone.
There was a 'hairball' in my life that's gone now.
And I can't tell you just how good that feels.
I didn't know what to do with myself right after all that passed I guess.
I'd been dealing with it for so long.
It had become a way of life.
It really consumed so much time and energy.
The 'hairball' is gone.
Not a problem anymore.
I spent the last week looking inward and asking myself a lot of questions.
How do I want to live?
What strategies will I implement to move towards making my dreams come true?
The energy that I put into that has paid off.
I feel like a freakin' new man.
I'm telling you it's that good.
It's time to make things happen instead of reacting to things that happen.
I feel really proactive.
My focus has returned.
My memory is sharpening.
The crazy dreams are all gone.
I've still got some work to do...
who doesn't?
But the foundation's been laid.
I want that sailboat.
I've got a plan and it's going to work.
A little more time and I'll hit the streets again.
I've missed them.
There's so much more I want to do.
And I want to do it better.
My soul stands strong.
My dreams are within sight.
I do believe it's time to set sail.
An introspective picture of an introspective gopher tortoise (Gopherus polyphemus), or at least one hiding from the big man with the tripod a few yards away. A tortoise trying to hide from the scary world around it in plain sight can, if you rationalize it right, serve as an excellent metaphor for the human condition. The photo was taken at Paynes Creek State Historical Preserve in Florida.
It was originally shot in color (I shoot everything in color) but I couldn't get the mood right with color, so I switched to b&w. I liked the mood that came out in b&w, but I didn't like the tone. Just before I decided I was being way to picky, I added a slight sepia tone and it all came together. Editing done in Adobe Photoshop CS5.