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Whoa. A lot of realization has happened in the past day or so. Some of my close friends and I were talking about Instagram, Flick, etc. and it was brought up how negatively I use them with all my rantings and such. As much as I'd like to deny it, I have to agree. It seems as if I'm never happy, so I owe all you guys a big apology. I'm still not as satisfied with my work, along with this photo, but instead go whining about it, I need to evaluate what I'm doing wrong and fix it next time. For example, this picture has a wacky composition. The angle I shot at is way off. What I'm getting at is I now know the steps I need to take in order to improve and get the quality shot I'm hoping for.
Also, sorry for a late post. As soon as I came home from shooting I took a nap and didn't wake up till 9 pm.
Name: Liège-Guillemins Railway station
City: Liège / Luik
Architect(s): Santiago Calatrava
Realization: 2008
This was my 3rd visit to this spectacular building designed by the architect Santiago Calatrava. I finally made some images that I think are good enough to put online.
Image info: 17mm, f8, 120 seconds using a ND110 B+W filter
This railway station was opened in 2008 and replaced a post-war building from the 1950's. One reviewer described the building as a railway cathedral - and it is true. The building seems to be a modern interpretation of the classic stations built during the industrial revolution. Calatrava's dome has equal grandeur and similar dimensions (200m long, 35m high). The extensive use of white makes the station look not only more chicque than its 19th century predecessors; it gives the structure an airy, light-weight and almost delicate appearance. Apart from its structure, one of the most surprising aspects is the station's nearly-complete openness towards the city centre. Where most other stations know a clear division between inside and outside, this station extends the public square right into its heart.
(text: mimoa.eu)
all architecture images: www.flickr.com/photos/martino_/collections/72157623978500...
Sassanid Palace, Sarvestan, Iran.
In 9 kilometers southwest from the city of Sarvestan in Fars, in the middle of a vast plain and on the rout of Nazarabad village, there is a historical monument called Sassanid Palace. This huge building is made up of stone and plaster and has several domes, terraces, rooms, and corridors. Different opinions exist on the date of its construction; probably this building is one of the works of Bahramgur or The fifth Sassanid Bahram. Archeologists attribute it to the 5th century. This 25 hectares complex in comparison with other Sassanid architectures has a more complex and diverse style of building, and has the oldest brick dome in Iran. The approximate dimensions of the palace are 43 by 37 meters and its main facade is towards southwest. It has 3 terraces that behind the central terrace there is a square hall with domed brick ceiling and it has access to new routes from four directions. Some researchers of Sassanid architecture with regard to the advanced technique in the design and details of the building think that it belongs to the late Sassanid period, and they believe that the construction of this building was one of the first steps towards a special construction style of which the gothic architecture can be seen as its ultimate realization.
Realization broke into a grin on the soldier's face. "Really? Then I am really, really happy for you. This day has been a long time coming. And I bet you've also been holding in that 'late' line for a while."
Liza grinned as well, the euphoria of her completed task bubbling through her tranquil mood and coming out with a laugh.
"You have no idea how hard it was to get this assignment before I leave. Eventually I persuaded Gikhor that we could celebrate the royal wedding by freeing Mythron of a corrupt politician and the Organization of rogue debtor at the same time."
Sven nodded. "Well, if you can tell the story as we walk, Dame Assassin, the Krak lies waiting for the morning tide to take you to Consord, and my cabin is a more comfortable place to spend the night than any tavern in this port. Shall we?"
"We shall."
Taking Sven's arm and beginning a recap of her day's adventures, Liza continued on through the celebrating city.
The sudden cut of loss and realization is painfully sharp.
Acceptance and understanding is elusive; the suffering deeper still.
Late Sunday afternoon I went to Seymour Mountain. On each anniversary of my accident, I try to visit and go for a walk. After just missing sunset at the parking lot I took my headlamp and camera gear for a hike to Dog Mountain. Not much snow but plenty of quiet time to revisit my fall, 7 years ago now.
January 17, 2007
Simon and I went for a snowshoe hike around the east side of Seymour and went up Runner Peak. During the traverse back, about 1/2 hour from the ski runs, I fell. A long way. 600 feet below I ended up at Theta Lake. My backpack & coat ripped from my body, never to be found again. One boot and snowshoe gone. Broken shoulder, missing teeth and a neck fracture. Blood. Disorientated and cold. Though truth be told, I was very lucky to be in such good condition.
Nearly impossible to hike down but Simon makes it halfway regardless. Relieved to hear me alive, he manages to call for help. Somehow within 40 minutes and moments before dark sets in, a helicopter comes in and drops off 2 men. I clearly remember their headlamps coming towards me. I'm pretty sure I was mumbling and yelling, wondering why the helicopter had gone away. One of them told me to shut up. I had just met Tim Jones.
It took about an hour to reach the viewpoint at the end of the trail. Most of the fog below had disappeared so I sat down and decided to wait for a bit. Maybe the colder night air would bring the low cloud cover back. Besides, just sitting there gave me a chance to look up at the stars and check things out in my head.
January 18, 2007
Tim & Gord had wrapped me up within a heated blanket. They kept me alive. I think Tim's outer layer was a garbage bag with arm holes cut in it. How they had kept warm overnight I have no idea. I didn't know it at the time but Tim has been involved in over 1,500 rescues during his time with NSR since 1987. I couldn't have been in better hands.
SAR personnel had mobilized and were sent in to assist. The first group of 5 made it in before the worsening weather and terrible snow conditions forced everyone else to turn back for their own safety. Thank you Jeff, Bruce, Doug, John & Rollie. We were badly in need of help. The snow continued to fall. At one point a loud rumble headed down towards us, stopping within throwing distance. Unable to see what had happened I asked what was that. Tim replied, "Mother Nature". That avalanche forced the group to move base camp. They dug a snow cave and put me inside. I spent the next 14 hours within the hole. There was no getting home today. They all suffered worse than me I'm sure.
After realizing that only a few lingering clouds would make their way back over the city, I took this photo and packed up. No one else was out here. I headed back just before 7pm. When I passed First Lake I was surprised to hear what sounded like people above. Seemed unusual to me. Later along the trail I bumped into 3 paramedics who were on their way to help with a cardiac arrest near Dinky Peak. I gave them a hand carrying some of their heavy gear. I thought about asking if Tim was up here, as I hadn't seen him in a while, but it seemed inappropriate as they were on an emergency call so it never came up. [Tim Jones is an advanced life-support paramedic and paramedic-in-charge for the B.C. Ambulance Service in North Vancouver] On the way, they were told via radio, that another group were bringing the subject down the mountain. So we returned to the parking lot, where I left them and all the other many rescue personnel.
January 19, 2007
There was talk of a insane 10+ hour rope rescue to lift me out of this bowl if the deep clouds continued to prevent an air rescue. But finally a small opening appeared in the afternoon, and a helicopter popped in. They basically tossed me in while it hovered just above the frozen lake. Inside the helicopter and on the way to the hospital, I was laying down on the legs of Curtis Jones, Tim's son.
I simply would not have survived had his father not risked his life to rescue me. Words cannot not express the gratitude my family continues to feel towards him. I don't recall ever hearing Tim or any of the others complaining, even though none of them could have been comfortable. These volunteers are heroes in my books.
After giving a Mexican hitchhiker a ride down the mountain I received a shocking text telling me who had died on Seymour that night. The facts all tumbled into place. Tears began to fall. And the local outdoor community was devastated. Tim Jones had passed away from a heart attack.
Tim had an amazing spirit and strength. Determined and passionate. He was a larger-than-life leader of North Shore Rescue. I know he will be missed deeply by his team, friends & co-workers.
My deepest condolences to his family. I can't imagine the grief you must be feeling right now.
So. I came to a realization today that my build wasn't going to work in SL as it is now. The physics were just too taxing on the sim. So, it's gone into my inventory until Havok 4 and perhaps mono are released on the main grid, that's where it will live. Until then, I'm working on something fun, and imaginative... and it all starts with this one, lonely, pink tree.
Posted by Second Life Resident Strawberry Holiday. Visit prodigiosus II.
I was at a stop light when I saw this guy next to me with this beret, just when I was taking the picture he turned around, so now it looks like it was a planned shot!
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“It turns out we were some people
which has been chosen by God to be happy in a different way
# beggars”
― ys sroyer
I was walking down the Mirpur - Gabtoli Road, Dhaka with some of my friends as i was going to capture photos of a client. While crossing the road of Asad Gate, this old man drawn my attention, sitting beside the road, looking at endless running of the life's.
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FOR THE REALIZATION OF THIS PHOTOGRAPH, WE HAVE USED A SIMPLE REAL LASER (FOR ASTRONOMY)...
A raygun is a science-fiction directed-energy weapon that releases energy, usually with destructive effect. They have various alternate names: ray gun, death ray, beam gun, blaster, laser gun, laser pistol, phaser, zap gun, etc. In most stories, when activated, a raygun emits a ray, typically visible, usually lethal if it hits a human target, often destructive if it hits mechanical objects, with properties and other effects unspecified or varying.
Realization through a flash positioned at 90 degree and triggered simultaneously shooting at or strawberry into milk.
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Canon EOS 5D Mark III
Canon EF Objectif 50 mm f/1.4 USM
Tripod Manfrotto MT055XPRO3
Flash Canon Speedlite 430 EX II
Post processing Aperture 3.
The forest of Anor Lass is well known for very rich floral growth, consisting of thousands and thousands of different herbs that can be found amongst its trees. Herbalists from all over the realm venture into Anor Lass to collect herbs for their potions and alchemical concoctions. Some of them have built small wooden houses there, in case they need to spend the night to collect some rare night or early morning plants.
Gedion, one of the oldest herbalist in town, witnessed something very unusual one night.
"The Moon was young and the sky was clear so I took the opportunity to collect some fallen leaves of Moonskin tree. With every full moon the tree makes room for new leaves on it and sets free old ones. They are very hard to see during the day and even harder yet during the night. But when the moon is young and not obscured by the clouds, edges of fallen leaves glow shyly and that make them easier to spot. Tea made from those leaves helps you stay awake and if you lose track of the cups you drank, your eyes can adjust to dark much more easily.
I was just picking up the third leaf and suddenly the earth started to tremble. The shakes were getting stronger and the noise scarier. It was coming from the direction of my house, and just as I realized that the treetops were glowing with a faint red hue, out of nowhere, my house was among the treetops. As I saw that, everything stopped immediately - except the red light. I was scared and I wanted to run, but being 71 years old, that was not an option, so I just hid myself in a bush by the road. After some time I heard my horse, so I went back there to see if is it hurt or in trouble.Goddamn horse, bringing me nothing but trouble! When I got back to the house, I saw it high on a big black rock, and some man holding on to his head with one hand and some strange hat and staff in other. When he saw me, he went in my direction and asked me "Is that your house?" Being scared at the moment, I told him that I will let my dog Ando on him if he came any closer, so he stopped right away and said that he means no harm. That was actually quite good because God knows where Ando was at the time. To hell with the dog to, he is no better that that horse. Strange man put his even more stranger hat on his head and introduced himself, but I forgot his name right away. He asked me again if that was my house and I said yes. He started apologizing and apologizing and mumbling something in god knows which language, and then started saying that he got overexcited and that this was an accident and that he will fix everything. After quite a long apology, he said that he will be back before the sky turns blue and that I should wait for him. I said nothing for that whole time and as he turned away, I just saw him disappear in the dark.
Three big crystals rumbled the earth and popped out of it. Very pleasant for the eye and warm when touched, they were the source of the red light. After I finished observing them, I looked up and saw that my house is not on some big black stone but on a giant black hand. The realization made my sight blurry, and the next thing I remember was someone poking me with the stick and asking me if I am allright. And it was him - the man who ruined my house! In my 71 years of life, this was the most unpleasant awakening, and also first time to see my house from way down below. He helped me to get up while mumbling apologies, but then I start yelling that sorry will not fix my house and bring it down from that horrible demon hand. And that was when he showed me my "new" house. The damage done to it was gone and it was looking as it was brand new. The rumbling and quaking must have changed the course of some underground stream because now there was even a spring of fresh water flowing underneath it.To be honest, it looked even better than before, but I could not admit that to this asshole. The only thing that was truly different was that now I had a stairway up to my front door. How in fourteen worlds does that fool think that a 71 years old man can walk that many stairs? So I started yelling on him again, but he just calmly walked to the stairs and started doing something with his staff and a bag of something strange that he unhooked from his belt. After a few moments some dust come out from the bag and started climbing up to the stairs, sinking into the stones on the stairs and giving them a faint glow. He said "There! On these stairs you will never be tired, you will never slip, you will always see where you are going and it will never freeze. Here. Try it!". And try it I did. Honest to all four gods, I never felt more rested while climbing. On the middle way up I turned to ask him what kind of a stone that was but he was already gone and I never saw him again. That was probably good, because who knows where would my house could end up with our next meeting.
To this day people are coming from the city to see my house on the giant hand with its magical stairs. Once a thief tried to steal the stones from the stairs but he could not move them at all. Heh, stupid thief.
One winter passed since that quite unordinary day and the stairs are still here, as you can see, and house still looks brand new. The crystals lost their glow after few full moons, and over time even started losing their red color. Still, they look nice and they are ever warm to the touch. I think that is the complete story of how my house got up in the sky. Now, would you like a cup of tea?"
“Mesmerized.
Whisked away by her eloquent gaze;
Her breath caressed my cheek like poetry.
The realization came;
My heart was mine no more;
Stolen as most precious things eventually are.
Left clutching to this feeling;
Much like a child with a lonely past would.
Unthinking.
Frightened not by the whirlwind at our backs,
With your hand in mine we are weightless.
A perpetual feeling has sparked inside,
Running wildly just as the hands on my time piece.
Fiery winds carry away embers of the past;
As trumpets beat within blossoming hearts.
If there is no tomorrow and only temporary affairs will thrive
Then we must run forever to keep this dream alive.
Fleeting.”
--Ryan Closson
This shot was an adventure in itself. I had an idea of what I wanted to capture but I decided I just had to do it near a volcano, and, what do you know I found one. We packed up my camera gear, grabbed a couple sleeping bags and drove on into the night towards Flagstaff, AZ. 5 hours later 11pm came and we were roughly an hour north of Flagstaff essentially in the middle of nowhere trying to find this old dirt road that supposedly will take us to this volcanic crater through google maps. The GPS was fading in and out, there was a storm coming in from the east and it was kind of creepy out with no light to guide us. We traveled down this rough dirt road for a while and submit to our tired bodies and parked the truck throwing our sleeping bags in the bed and tossing a large tarp over us in case rain was to come. After a couple hours of being asleep I woke up to the light of light sprinkling rain drops on the tarp that was draped over our faces, lol but when I looked up I found the most amazing stormy sky I had ever seen! The clouds were dark and gritty, yet opaque in nature and a large moon was shinning bright from behind them, in the foreground I realized that we had made it to our intended destination, I faced three giant silhouettes of these old cinder cone volcanoes! I laid back and watched the moon peak in and out of the hypnotizing clouds above. This was a great moment. A couple more hours later we woke to beat the sun to work, and we did. <3
Prescott, Arizona Photographer
Ryanclossonphoto.com
First afternoon off work because I felt like it...upon arrival...the realization that idle time is a burden set in...the mind wanders...there was only one solution...take a walk with the MKIII and the 100-400mm. After about 15 minutes in the still 85 Deg F heat I was done...my first thoughts on what to call this shoot was "Butterflies & B.S." A Variety of Things Seen.
The Butterflies are next.
Please do not use without my explicit permission
© All Rights Reserved
Walter C Snyder
The realization the Delicate Arch is in shadow at sunrise. Ha ha! Still, it was cool watching the light slowly creep and open up the Winter Camp Wash (canyon) below a little later.
Casa Zapata Museum
Casa Zapata is a beautiful complex residence, whose realization was ordered by the Zapata noble family as from the end of the XVI century. Family’s members arrived in Sardinia in 1323 together with the infant Alfonso to conquer it and in 1541 they bought the Barony of Las Plassas, Barumini and Villanovafranca, becoming landlords and then barons of these lands until the abolition of the feudalism. Among the various buildings being part of this residence stand out: a beautiful building with an elegant garden, built between the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century to become the feudal lord house and Baronial Home, and two other bodies pertaining to agricultural buildings, accomplished since the early 1900s, used as storehouses, stables and farmer’s house overlooking a large open court that allowed the free movement of people, goods and animals. In front of “Casa Zapata” is located the Parish Church entitled to the Blessed Immaculate Virgin Mary, whose construction was probably commissioned by the same noble Aragon family.
Today the Spanish residence is the seat of the so-called “Casa Zapata” Museum organized into three sections.
Polo museale casa zapata
“Casa Zapata” è una meravigliosa e complessa residenza fatta erigere dall’antica e nobile famiglia aragonese degli Zapata a partire dalla fine del XVI secolo. I membri di questa famiglia giunsero in Sardegna nel 1323 al seguito dell’Infante Alfonso che si preparava alla conquista dell’isola, si stabilirono, quindi, a Cagliari (una delle Città Reali) e nel 1541 acquistarono la Baronia di Las Plassas, Barumini e Villanovafranca, divenendone signori e poi baroni, e arrivando ad amministrarla fino alla soppressione del regime feudale. Tra i diversi edifici che costituiscono la residenza si distinguono: uno splendido palazzo, con elegante giardino annesso, realizzato tra la fine del XVI e gli inizi del XVII secolo per divenire Sede Baronale e dimora del feudatario, e altri due corpi murari di pertinenza agricola, realizzati a partire dai primi anni del 1900, utilizzati come magazzini, stalle e casa del fattore aperti su una grande corte che consentiva il libero movimento di uomini, merci e animali. Innanzi a “Casa Zapata” è ubicata la Parrocchia della Beata Vergine Immacolata, la cui costruzione fu probabilmente commissionata dalla stessa nobile famiglia aragonese.
Oggi la residenza spagnola è sede del cosiddetto Polo Museale “Casa Zapata” organizzato in tre sezioni.
fondazionebarumini.it
I celebrate Halloween more than any other holiday. Probably because it syncs up so well with my artistic vision. One that attempts to extract beauty and poignance from dark and eerie backdrops. It's a balancing act, and at its best captures the odd juxtaposition of light and dark, either literally or metaphorically (or preferably both). Autumn marks the transition of lightness fading to black, as summer dies a slow death. And Halloween serves as the perfect bookend. And so the trappings of Halloween seem to celebrate that death, itself a weird juxtaposition for in life, death is not something to be feared rather than celebrated. It's just fun to let go sometimes. Most of like a good scare, so long as no real danger is involved. I simply love seeing the extent to which people decorate their yards with symbols of the macabre. All manner of ghosts, skeletons, fake cemeteries, jack-o-lanterns, and on and on. Creepier the better is my motto. I find myself going up and down the Halloween aisles, much like a kid, inspecting all of the merchandise and imaging what horror they will come upon with next. However when it came tome to decorate my yard, none of that store-bought stuff seemed appropriate. So I set about making my own spirits. One of them took the form of this ethereal looking ghost woman. Truly a case of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts. A simple combination of chicken wire and cheesecloth and a cheap Cosplay wig. Yet it seems so animated as it floats over my front yard, free to react to the wind. It spins about, the arms waving at times, and the hair and loose bits of wispy cloth billowing out. It's the perfect realization of the kind of thing I imagine as I wander about in dark places, conjuring spirits in my mind.
after years, I've come to the realization that no picture can paint a thousand words. not with everything there is. with the emotion, the atmosphere, the feeling ... and I guess that will never change.
so today was the day. I don't know why this feeling already crept into my head and what to think about that. after just a week, I felt empty. not in the sense of having no inspiration, not in the sense of close to giving up; I was convinced this was not the end yet, but with this day, with this time, I did not know what to do. I felt as if all the ideas I've had had this morning where suddenly wiped out right after I came home from school. and I just didn't know what to do about it. I just decided to do what I have to do and as I was done with baking something for school tomorrow, I suddenly realized; you can't carry on like this. you've got to rip yourself together and just focus on your inside and what is there.
and I think it somehow helped. I don't know why, but I am so happy about how this turned out. How it is nothing like any of my other work and there is barely any depth of field ... I shall try out more different things like this. It's way to appealing.
(day nine)
Sometimes, the realization of our dreams unfolds in ways we never anticipated. This is keenly illustrated by an abandoned relic of the Cold War: a former monitoring and broadcasting station for Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (RFE/RL), now lost to time.
Formed by the National Committee for a Free Europe (NCFE) and the American Committee for the Liberation of the Peoples of Russia, RFE and Radio Liberty initially had different target audiences but the same goal: to broadcast uncensored news to communist countries. By 1976, both stations were operating out of Munich and eventually merged into one entity.
The photograph you see captures one of the critical technical facilities of RFE/RL, the Monitoring and Broadcasting Station located at Oberschleißheim Airport. From 1953 until its abandonment in 1995, this station was the ears and voice of free Europe. Its mission was both simple and Herculean: to break through the Iron Curtain using state-of-the-art technology.
But as history turned its pages, the winds changed. The Warsaw Pact dissolved in 1989, the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, and the station's mission seemed fulfilled. Yet the aftermath brought its own challenges. RFE/RL found itself an expensive relic in a changed world. The transition wasn't smooth for everyone. Many employees who specialized in Russian broadcasts found themselves jobless and directionless.
The station was eventually deserted in 1992, and since then, it has been deteriorating, left with no purpose or future.
My own life was profoundly shaped by the fall of the Soviet Union. Growing up in Kiev, I wished for the communist regime to end, not for political reasons, but for a more materialistic future. When the Union did collapse, my family and I found ourselves destitute in the new capitalistic society that emerged. Despite gaining access to a world of material goods, we were left with empty pockets.
This station, like my personal history, stands as a testament to the unpredictability of fulfilled dreams. While its walls may be crumbling, the stories they contain—of geopolitical shifts, of personal tragedies and triumphs—remain as relevant as ever.
The Skyrim Nord Funko Pop meets Samurai Boba Fett action figure and they start talking about their adventures.
As they share their epic deed the Nord says:
“I used to be a figure like you, then I took an arrow in the knee.”
Boba knows it is impossible the Funko Pop was ever a figure like him but he enjoyed many hours playing Skyrim and so he gives the Nord his little moment of glory.
The Funko Pop’s line is a reference to The Elder Scrolls Skyrim Fantasy role play video game :)
If you played the game you already know what I mean, if you didn’t play it I’ll quickly explain the reference :)
In the game there a catchphrase frequently spoken by cities and villages guards when the player character walks near them that says:
“I used to be an adventurer like you, then I took an arrow in the knee.”
The catchphrase became so famous it went beyond the video game community. It’s probable you have heard of it even if you never played the game. I remember it was once even quoted in an episode of NCIS Tv series, for example :)
The Funko Pop is not actually a Nord from Skyrim video game but from the multiplayer The Elder Scrolls online game. However I spent so many hours playing Skyrim I wanted to make this photo a little tribute to the game :)
Samurai Boba Fett is the amazing Ronin Boba Fett action figure made by Bandai for their Tamashii Nations Movie Realization line.
I have to say I was quite surprised when I got that Funko Pop Nord. I expected it to be like all the other Funko figures I got, namely with the “pop” bubble head, but instead it has a head without any “popping” sound but that can rotate.
I hope you like this photo :)
Watch out for arrows, protect your knees and May the Force be with You :)
(From .......A photo story in progress.......maybe the last episode?)
At that moment we looked at each other and came to the same cosmic realization.......This "story" was going nowhere fast ........or maybe, as we rearranged the "chairs on the decks of the Titanic", this story was going in the most dangerous direction possible! We asked ourselves: What would we do if we saw our nation going fascist?
(A photo story in progress www.flickr.com/groups/85044792@N00/)
What would you do if you saw your nation going fascist?
By Gary G. Kohls, MD
Online Journal Contributing Writer
Mar 28, 2006, 01:23
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Okay, so you call yourself a patriot. But what exactly do you think that word means?
Is it the patriotism that says, “My country, right or wrong?” Is it the patriotism that says, Might makes right? Is it the patriotism of Samuel Johnson who defined it as “the last refuge of the scoundrel?”
Is it the patriotism of the 16th century Protestant “reformers” who believed that every leader of any “Christian” nation was ordained by God, no matter how much that leader promoted the satanic mass slaughter of fellow children of God, and, therefore, Christians were to be unconditionally obedient to that leader? (See Psalm 137.)
Or are you the type of patriot that loves your country so much that you won’t let tyrants or the super-rich or the mega-corporations take it over out of their greed for more power and wealth? Are you the type of patriot that is willing to have a lover’s quarrel with your beloved country that may be temporarily under the control of those that are close to being indicted as international war criminals?
In order to find out which type of patriot you might be, you should read the following “hypothetical” situation; and then you can judge for yourself.
Suppose you are a white, God-fearing, church-going citizen in a country that prided itself on its inventiveness, its literacy, its art, its culture, its glory in past wars and its superpower status, and suppose you saw your democratic institutions and the human rights of your neighbors being degraded by the lawmakers of your nation.
Say that you saw a bunch of powerful legislators and corporations, who lied consistently to enrich themselves and who were obsessed with the desire to wage aggressive war. Say that they started to grab control of our country’s legislature, judiciary and military. Say these cunning politicians, with the support of ruthless financiers, gained control of the highest office in the land -- without winning the majority vote in any fair election -- and started taking away, in rapid succession, the rights of many of its minority citizens, declaring left-wing peacemakers traitors, purging anti-fascists and other resistance groups from their positions of power, eviscerating its democratic institutions, silencing the “liberal” sectors of the press, working to weaken and eventually violently destroy all political opposition, censoring or usurping the open-minded media and marginalizing and silencing the artists, the poets, the writers and the creative thinkers.
You would be in 1930s Germany and the tyrants would have been Adolf Hitler’s cunning henchmen. And what would you have done in that situation?
If you were an average white, affluent, employed citizen, with all the privilege and power granted to you by that majority status, you would have said virtually nothing in opposition, even as the rights of the Nazis targeted minority groups were legally being taken away, disappearing into the gulag of prison and mental institutions.
As an average Bible-believing Christian, you would probably have obeyed your German war-supporting bishops or pastors, almost all of whom had pledged a solemn oath of loyalty to the Fuhrer, duty-bound to follow him instead of their “Lord and Savior,” the nonviolent Jesus of Nazareth. Because of an out-of-context single passage in the Epistle to the Romans you, as an obedient German Christian would have been inclined to obey St. Paul and therefore the existing rulers in Berlin in the time of crisis rather than courageously and faithfully following Jesus, who forbade homicidal violence, said that all are equal in the eyes of God and that the followers should love -- instead of kill -- their enemies.
If you were an average white lawyer, physician or psychiatrist, you would have joined the Nazi Party, for doing otherwise would have jeopardized your practice. And you would have kept your mouth shut when witnessing the anguish of your Jewish, Slavic, Gypsy, socialist, liberal, or gay clients as they were forced to march toward -- and disappear into -- the concentrations camps and gas chambers.
But the question remains -- would you have been a good patriot? Or would you have been on the wrong side of justice by being obedient to the Fuhrer (“Leader”) and to the cloth flag (swastika) that symbolized his rule?
Knowing that any German citizen seen helping the “enemies of the state” was guilty of treason, on whose side would any of us have stood? Would we have taken the side of the innocents -- those oppressed or outcast -- or would we have stood with the fascists?
Knowing that revering the flag was regarded as a crucial act of patriotism would we have saluted along with the victimizers or would we have resisted?
On whose side would we have been, the freedom-fighting groups (labeled “terrorists” by the State) who were courageously and patriotically trying to save their beloved nation from fascism, or would we have been on the “safe” side with the militarists and corporatists and right-wing politicians who looked like they were going to be the winners? Our answer will reveal our politics -- and our theology.
Now fast forward to America 2006 . . . but that shouldn’t be necessary, for the point has been made.
Dr. Kohls is a Duluth, Minn., physician and a peace and justice activist who has an aversion to human slaughter, for any reason, in times of war or in times of “peace.” He is also a member of the faith-based peace organization, Every Church A Peace Church.
Copyright © 1998-2006 Online Journal
Another realization of MultiOutLiners project www.lightpainters.com/archive/lpwa/publication/115/index.htm
Wanna draw with light alike pen on paper? Check link above :)
Background lighting by Nikolay Trebukhin @yo_hoho
#lpwalliance #lpwapro #lightpainting #multioutliners
B)eSketch 2011. Poster design study created for my friend Debbie from Chicago. She always says "Think Outside the Box". Thanks my friend for the inspirational words. B))
limited editon print
info about this print on my blog:
jenniferdavisart.blogspot.com/2010/04/prints.html
"Dark Art"
A group show of limited edition fine art prints by Carles Gomila, Jennifer Davis, Jesse Leroy-Smith, Kevin Earl Tayor, Natalie Shau, Russ Mills, Sylvia Ji, Zoe Lacchei at vidrART in Ciutadella de Menorca, Spain.
Nov 27-Dec 31, 2009.
more info about the show here:
jenniferdavisart.blogspot.com/2009/11/dark-art-group-show...
"Art is creative for the sake of realization, not for amusement. For transfiguration, not for the sake of play.”
~Max Beckmann
23.04.15
Today I had a bit of a realization. Lately I've been feeling a little paniced before I go to work. At first I thought it was because of my new job. But that didn't make sense because I love this job and the people I work with. Today I finally understood that these panic feelings are because of this project. Right now I'm working closing shift so by the time I get off it's already dark. I personally prefer shooting in the evening. And without a vehicle to use during the day I've been limited to locations within walking distance. I personally want to be creating my best, but I don't feel like I have. I'm glad I had most of the day to reflect on this. Now that I understand a bit more of myself right now I think I can find a way to change those feelings up. Even so there is always a reason for me to go shoot, to keep moving forward, I don't let something so silly and trivial get in my way of creating. And hey all of you lovely faces are the biggest push around the corner to keep me going. I really don't say this enough, but thank you. Thank you sooooo much! You might not know how much every single one of you effect my life, and I can't even beging to explain it. And a simple thank you isn't great enough. But it's all I can say right now.
Thank you!
(Also if any one you want to her my nit picky problems with this one keep reading, if not have a great night. Today I spent almost two hours walking in the forest and couldn't even find the right location for this concept. Which is all fine and dandy, I actually love walking in the forest. BUT I WORE THE WORST PANTS FOR IT! I should have worn my blue jean. I just should have :p I wanted a bit of a colder look ya see, and these pants, which out thinking, made it impossible. So instead I made it a lot warmer and happy and it all worked out.)
Night :)
There are certain things, or many things in life that when captured on a photograph, hold a significant meaning but the person witnessing that moment feels the true feeling surrounding that particular event.
The Triton Fountain is located in Rome in Piazza Barberini. The realization of the "public ornamentation of the city" was entrusted to Gian Lorenzo Bernini, the favorite artist of the pontifical court of Urban VIII; the Tritone fountain, on the whole, conveys an explicit message of dynastic exaltation of the Barberini family, to whom the Pope belonged: the Bernini designed in 1642-43 for Piazza Barberini one of its most successful fountains, the Triton fountain. The latter contributed to restore the decoration to the area, previously used for the cultivation of the vineyard, being located at the edge of the Strada Felice route; in this way, the area began to be animated by a very lively cultural life, so much so that since then Piazza Barberini (with its "fountain of the Triton sounding", as it began to become known due to the hissing emitted by the gush) became the favorite meeting place for many artists visiting Rome.
The columns and the railings that surround the fountain, creating a narrow area of respect, date back to the nineteenth century, when the square began to be subject to intense vehicular traffic. Between the nineteenth and early twentieth century, in fact, the urban structure of the area was distorted, leading to the construction of several multi-storey building complexes that abruptly broke the balance established between the seventeenth-century buildings, the Tritone and Palazzo Barberini.
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La fontana del Tritone si trova a Roma in piazza Barberini. La realizzazione del «pubblico ornamento della città» venne affidata a Gian Lorenzo Bernini, l'artista preferito dalla corte pontificia di Urbano VIII; la fontana del Tritone, nel complesso, trasmette un esplicito messaggio di esaltazione dinastica della famiglia Barberini, alla quale apparteneva il papa: il Bernini così disegnò nel 1642-43 per piazza Barberini una delle sue fontane di maggior successo, la fontana del Tritone. Quest'ultima contribuì a restituire decoro alla zona, precedentemente adibita alla coltivazione della vigna, essendo collocata ai margini della direttrice della Strada Felice; in questo modo, l'area iniziò a essere animata da una vita culturale assai vivace, tanto che sin da allora piazza Barberini (con la sua «fontana del Tritone sonante», come iniziò a divenire nota per via del sibilo emesso dallo zampillo) divenne il ritrovo preferito di molti artisti in visita a Roma.
Le colonnine e le inferriate che circondano la fontana, creando una stretta zona di rispetto, risalgono al XIX secolo, quando la piazza iniziava ad essere soggetta ad un intenso traffico veicolare. Tra l'Ottocento e i primi decenni del Novecento, infatti, venne stravolto l'assetto urbanistico della zona, portando alla costruzione di diversi complessi edilizi a più piani che spezzarono bruscamente l'equilibrio instauratosi tra gli edifici seicenteschi, il Tritone e palazzo Barberini.
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click to activate the icon of slideshow: the small triangle inscribed in the small rectangle, at the top right, in the photostream;
or…. Press the “L” button to zoom in the image;
clicca sulla piccola icona per attivare lo slideshow: sulla facciata principale del photostream, in alto a destra c'è un piccolo rettangolo (rappresenta il monitor) con dentro un piccolo triangolo nero;
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www.worldphoto.org/sony-world-photography-awards/winners-...
www.fotografidigitali.it/gallery/2726/opere-italiane-segn...
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Beach holidays were born in the 1700s in Great Britain, this social phenomenon was born in which bathers for the first time go to the beaches, certainly not as sunny as those bathed by the Mediterranean Sea, they are fully dressed; this "new fashion" is also encouraged by the belief of English doctors since the beginning of the eighteenth century (starting around 1720), that breathing the brackish sea air and bathing in cold sea water is healthy, invigorates the body and cure lung diseases (conviction even more strengthened by the discovery of oxygen by Antoine Lavoisier in 1778, which led to the greater diffusion and conviction of the theories on the health benefits of sea air, which was thought to be more oxygenated and pure), these theories push many people from Northern Europe suffering from severe lung diseases to spend long periods in southern Europe, often in the south of Italy, this explains why characters with extraordinary qualities come to Taormina to cure their tuberculosis. The photographer baron Wilhelm von Gloeden and the English lady Florence Trevelyan Trevelyan had the seawater brought with their mules from Isola Bella, but while W. Von Gloeden heated the sea water, the English noblewoman Lady Trevelian did not heat it, mindful of the teachings of the English medical school, this will cause her death from bronchopneumonia on 4 October 1907 (see my previous "photographic stories" about Taormina). In fact, "thalassotherapy" was born in Great Britain, together with the social and cultural phenomenon of frequenting bathing beaches (before the beginning of the 18th century, the sea and its beaches were lived, except for reasons of trade and fishing, in a dark and negative way, from the sea often came very serious dangers such as the sudden landings of ferocious pirates, or foreigners carrying very serious diseases could land). Thus the fashion of spending holidays by the sea was born in the English aristocracy and high bourgeoisie of the time, subsequently the habit of going to the sea spread to all levels of society, the railways that were built throughout Great Britain to 'beginning of the nineteenth century, made travel to the ocean accessible even to the lower classes, they too will frequent the seaside resorts, Blackpool becomes the first seaside resort in Great Britain completely frequented by the working classes thanks to the presence of low-cost bathing establishments; the great and definitive boom in seaside tourism will then take place in the 1950s and 1960s. This being the case, it should not be surprising to know that in Great Britain the beaches are more frequented than one might instinctively think due to a climate very different from the Mediterranean one, and that this socio-cultural phenomenon has been investigated at the photographic by photographers of the same Great Britain, of these I mention four names. An important photographer, who probably inspired subsequent photographers, was Tony Ray-Jones, who died prematurely in 1972, at the young age of 30, who was trying to create a “photographic memory” of the stereotypes of the English people; the famous photojournalist Martin Parr, who, although inspired by the previous one, differs from it for his way of doing “social satire” with his goal; finally, I would like to mention David Hurn and Simon Roberts, the latter with wider-ranging photographs, with photographs more detached from the individual. In Italy there are numerous photographers (I will mention only a few) who have made in their long career images captured in seaside resorts (generally we speaking of "beach photography" similar to "street photography"), photographs that are often unique in their style, such as that adopted by Franco Fontana, I mention Mimmo Jodice, Ferdinando Scianna (of whom I am honored to have known him personally), and Massimo Vitali, famous photographer (understood by some as "the photographer of the beaches"), especially for his beautiful photographs taken on the beaches (but not only), thanks to the presence of elevated fixed structures as a kind of mezzanine, built specifically in the bathing beaches for the realization of his photographs. This is my incipit, to introduce the theme I tackled, that of "beach photography", with a series of photographs taken on the beaches of Eastern Sicily, most of which are located near Taormina.
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Le vacanze al mare nascono nel ‘700 in Gran Bretagna, nasce questo fenomeno sociale nel quale i bagnanti per la prima volta si recano sulle spiagge, non certo assolate come quelle bagnate dal mar Mediterraneo, sono completamente vestiti; questa “nuova moda” è anche incoraggiata dalla convinzione dei medici inglesi fin dall’inizio del ‘700 (a partire dal 1720 circa), che respirare l’aria salmastra del mare e fare il bagno nell’acqua marina fredda sia salutare, rinvigorisca il corpo e curi le malattie polmonari (convinzione ancor più rafforzata dalla scoperta dell’ossigeno da parte di Antoine Lavoisier nel 1778, che portò alla maggiore diffusione e convinzione delle teorie sui benefici per la salute dell’aria di mare, che si pensava essere più ossigenata e pura), queste teorie spingono molte persone del Nord Europa affette da gravi malattie polmonari a trascorrere dei lunghi periodi nel sud Europa, spesso nel meridione d’Italia, questo spiega perché a Taormina giungono personaggi dalle qualità straordinarie per curare il proprio “mal sottile”, il barone fotografo Wilhelm von Gloeden e la lady inglese Florence Trevelyan Trevelyan si facevano portare coi muli l’acqua di mare proveniente dall’Isola Bella, però mentre W. Von Gloeden riscaldava l’acqua marina, la nobildonna inglese lady Trevelian non la riscaldava, memore degli insegnamenti della scuola medica inglese, questo causerà la sua morte per broncopolmonite il 4 ottobre del 1907 (vedi i miei precedenti “racconti fotografici” su Taormina). Infatti la “talassoterapia” nasce in Gran Bretagna, insieme al fenomeno sociale e culturale della frequentazione dei lidi balneari (prima dell’inizio del ‘700, il mare e le sue spiagge erano vissuti, tranne che per motivi di commercio e di pesca, in maniera oscura e negativa, dal mare spesso provenivano gravissimi pericoli come gli sbarchi improvvisi di feroci pirati, oppure potevano sbarcare stranieri portatori di gravissime malattie). Nell’aristocrazia e nell’alta borghesia inglese di allora nasce così la moda di trascorrere le vacanze al mare, successivamente l’abitudine di andare al mare si diffonde a tutti i livelli della società, le ferrovie che furono costruite in tutta la Gran Bretagna all’inizio dell’Ottocento, resero i viaggi verso l’oceano accessibili anche per i ceti più bassi, quelli più popolari e meno agiati, anch’essi frequenteranno le località balneari, Blackpool diviene la prima località balneare della Gran Bretagna completamente frequentata dalle classi popolari grazie alla presenza di stabilimenti balneari a basso costo; il grande e definitivo boom del turismo balneare si avrà poi negli anni ’50 e ’60. Stando così le cose, non ci si deve meravigliare nel sapere che in Gran Bretagna le spiagge sono più frequentate di quanto istintivamente si possa pensare a causa di un clima ben diverso da quello Mediterraneo, e che questo fenomeno socio-culturale sia stato indagato a livello fotografico da parte di fotografi della stessa Gran Bretagna, di questi cito quattro nomi. Un importante fotografo, che probabilmente ispirò i successivi fotografi, fu Tony Ray-Jones, scomparso prematuramente nel 1972, alla giovane età di 30 anni, il quale cercava di realizzare una “memoria fotografica” degli stereotipi del popolo inglese; il famoso fotoreporter Martin Parr, il quale pur ispirandosi al precedente, se ne differenzia per il suo modo di fare “satira sociale” col suo obiettivo; infine desidero menzionare David Hurn e Simon Roberts, quest’ultimo con fotografie di più ampio respiro, con fotografie più distaccate dal singolo individuo. In Italia numerosi sono i fotografi (ne cito solo qualcuno) che hanno realizzato nella loro lunga carriera immagini colte in località balneari (genericamente si parla di “beach photography” affine alla “street photography”), fotografie spesso uniche nel loro stile, come quello adottato da Franco Fontana, menziono Mimmo Jodice, Ferdinando Scianna (del quale mi onoro di averlo conosciuto personalmente), e Massimo Vitali, famoso fotografo (da alcuni inteso come “il fotografo delle spiagge”), soprattutto per le sue bellissime fotografie realizzate sui lidi (ma non solo), grazie alla presenza di strutture fisse sopraelevate a mò di soppalco, costruite appositamente nei lidi balneari per la realizzazione delle sue fotografie. Questo mio incipit, per introdurre il tema da me affrontato, quello della “beach photography”, con una serie di fotografie realizzate nelle spiagge della Sicilia Orientale, la maggior parte delle quali si trovano nei pressi di Taormina.
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HELIAR Vintage Line 50mm F3.5
フォクトレンダーのレンズです、昔は営業写真のレンズとして重宝されました。
オールドレンズの中でもあまりボケることなく現行レンズのようにスッキリ撮影でき、小さなレンズで軽く持ち運び便利。F３.５なのでピントも素早く来て嬉しいレンズです。撮影したい時、気付いた時にさっと撮影できるいい奴みたい。なぜかこのレンズをつけていると色々な人がこのレンズは何かと必ず聞いてくる人気者のレンズです
My thanks to Arindam Raha for his primate pic via Pexels. A big banana to aka Tman for his selfie and silliness. All transformations via Juxtaposer and Snapseed apps
"Your own self-realization is the greatest service you can render to the world." -Ramana Maharshi
I was amazed when I got back to edit this photograph to find that of the several variations I took every single one has a duplicate moon! I Googled to research about it and apparently it is a rare phenomena where elements in the atmosphere like temperature, moisture and dust need to be just right for it to occur. It's called a Ghost Moon. Truly divine.