View allAll Photos Tagged memory
This image is of a bench sitting close to and looking over a pleasant curve in the Bow River, near the town of Canmore, in Alberta, Canada.
There are several such benches in this general area, each positioned to allow repose and support contemplation. But there is something else. Almost all of them feature a small bronze sign bearing a message that typically begins with "In memory of," and then provides the name of an individual, their birth and death dates, and what this environment meant to them, and through them, to others.
A little touch of humanity, warming on a cold winter day.
“You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you.
Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.
Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again.
Whenever it rains you will think of her. ” Neil Gaiman
© 2016 Patrizia Ilaria Sechi All Rights Reserved
It caught fire but one of the firemen who stayed at the scene until I arrived home later became my husband. The fire occurred on Hallowe'en, October 31, which was also his birthday.
This photo was taken on October 23rd, 2005, on the last day of my first trip to New York city. A huge leap of faith, one of the largest I had ever taken. It was indeed a trip that was to forever change my life. And with each subsequent trip there, more opportunities to travel - 2006 to Seattle, 2007 to Detroit, and many more trips to the city that never sleeps. And on each journey I met fellow photographers who would touch my soul and heart in such a profound way, life and self discovery expanded at exponential speed. I was no longer afraid of who I was, what my art had to say, what i wanted to be, where i wanted to go. That period was not without tears, pain, loving and letting go, but within that vulnerability I drew strength and courage. I felt alive. It all felt right.
It's odd, how our perceptions of the world around us, as well as the perceptions we have of ourselves change over time.
This image once symbolized unapologetic vulnerability and delicate fearlessness, but looking at it again, 4 years later, I see melancholy, reservation and fearful naiveté. It is me, has always been me, but what is different? When I look in the mirror, I don't see this same woman. Something in the eyes has shifted, been displaced, lost in the shuffle of daily struggles. Life in New York, Seattle, Detroit has moved on, but i feel as if I am frozen in time, my life, hyphenated, struggling to find balance again, to be inspired, to find my way back to my passion, purpose, simple things that once made me very happy.
My camera has now become a utilitarian machine, serving no other purpose than to document the world around me. I ask myself every day - will i ever find that inspiration again? That passion to create, the courage to be fearless?
Mom goes in for her next scan at the end of the month, and then a subsequent meeting with her oncologist on the 4th of December. There are two ways this could turn out - the cancer can come back, or she can be free of cancer. Two ways our Christmas could turn out - a white happy Christmas, or a grey sad one. We pray for the best, hope for recovery but prepare for the worst.
Perhaps that is what is happening now with my photography - I'm praying for inspiration, hoping for discovery but preparing for creative closure.
Perhaps these wounds I have collected over these past 4 years need time to heal, but it also makes me realize the necessity of finding a way back to a medium that once helped me process the world around me, and that this might be the only way to make sense of the world again. But there is fear. Fear of what i will see in the next self portrait; but is a leap of faith I must take one more time.
For the Crazy Tuesday challenge: Childhood Memories. The fact that I have childhood memories of loving to play marbles likely dates me a bit but I loved it way back then. Happy Crazy Tuesday!
Are the bright soft feminine forms in the background just passersby, or an old man's memories? 40 years from now, maybe both.
Addendum Feb 2021: Just saw Fa Ho’s “Remembrance”, which juxtaposes an old man’s pensive face with bokeh woman & child. Same device, have to admit he did it better.
Fiddler at the Irish Session, Shore Stage, 40th New Jersey Folk Festival. Douglass Campus of Rutgers University.
130v 22f 7c
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bc6QYffsYE
,Shi Raven Hair
Genesis Lab Bento
Maitreya
Texture: Sand - Google Images
This tiny leather bound album contains the memories of my mother's 80th birthday - photographed and prepared by my very talented sister in law!
This is in loving memory of my Uncle Billy- my Mom's brother and only sibling. He was a great and kind man, could always make you laugh. He passed away this afternoon. God bless his soul.
Once an adventurous woman, Grandma Lila had grown tired and found solace in the quiet moments of life. One day, as she was sitting in her rocking chair, she realized that her most cherished memories were slipping away from her. She knew that she needed to do something to preserve them before they were lost forever.
She decided to pickle all her best memories in jam jars. She spent hours in her kitchen, carefully selecting the best ingredients for each jar - a sprinkle of laughter, a dash of love, a pinch of adventure, and a spoonful of warmth. She sealed each jar with a loving kiss and placed them on a shelf in her pantry.
As the days passed, Grandma Lila found herself returning to her memories, unscrewing a jar and taking a whiff of its contents. She marvelled at how each jar held a unique aroma, each scent taking her back to a different time in her life.
The jar labelled "Summer Days" smelled of fresh-cut grass and the sound of children playing. The jar labelled "First Love" smelled of roses and held the flutter of a young heart. The jar labelled "Family Gatherings" smelled of warm apple pie and carried the sound of laughter around the dinner table.
Through the jars, Grandma Lila was able to relive her happiest moments, savouring each memory as if it were a precious gift.
Years went by, and Grandma Lila grew older. But the jars remained, preserving her memories for generations to come.
For more AI inspired micro stories please visit neural-narrative.blogspot.com/
Canon P canon28mm/f2.8 TriX ASA800 コニド－ルファイン1：1 24℃ 8min OpticFilm8200
今の大阪城は旅行客でにぎわっている・記録としての写真は当時考えもしなかった・・・
アルバムも見てください・・・
I can dream of the old days
Life was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again.
Lyricist: Trevor Nunn
Real People Series
With no photography trips happening this year due to having to get some things fixed up around the house, which is the downside of buying an older home as I suppose eventually the chickens come home to roost, I decided to take some mental vacations and go through a few shots that didn't get posted back then.
This is a shot from the Hungry Horse Dam area of Montana.