SONY E !
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Photo No. 6 of Study No 4 for 2023, Black and White photos. Because of the very strong winds this winter many trees or branches have fallen this season. I lost a cedar in my own backyard. Even sadder than climate change, I feel it's people's refusal to believe it is happening.
Schwalbenschwanz - Swallowtail (Papilio machaon) | 05-2022 | Ticino | Switzerland
If anyone can identify the grasshopper, that would be helpful, thank you!
More TICINO/TESSIN Wildlife Photos (all taken in my garden in Monteggio/Ti, Switzerland): it.lacerta-bilineata.com/ramarro-occidentale-lacerta-bili... (the website exists in ESPAÑOL, FRANÇAIS, ITALIANO, ENGLISH, DEUTSCH)
My latest ANIMAL VIDEO (warning, it's a bit shocking): www.youtube.com/watch?v=4T2-Xszz7FI
THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO:
The wild garden around my vacation home in Ticino, where all the photos you can see in my Flickr gallery are from (well, some have been taken a couple of meters outside, but that still counts in my book 😉), had been a cause of contention between me and my mom for some time.
At the root of the conflict was the upper part of the garden, which originally had been conceived by my dear mother as a vegetable patch, but, left to its own devices by me after I "inherited" it, had developed into a marvelous oasis of pure botanic chaos teeming with insect life.
Mom was not amused. Although she - like all in our family - is very much in favor of letting nature roam freely around the house, and she loves all creatures big and small, she (unlike me) does draw a line somewhere. That line was the vegetable patch.
And she let her disapproval be known, and very clearly; she kept pestering me about my unwillingness to pluck the weeds (my response: "What weeds - there are no weeds: I'm creating a functioning ecosystem here, mom!") for several years, until my stubborn refusal made her reach her breaking point. She'd finally had enough.
My mom is a cunning old lady of nearly 80 years (79 to be precise), the matriarch and evil genius of our family (make no mistake: that house and garden are still HERS - and forever will be, regardless what it says on some sheet of paper), and so like a James Bond villain plotting revenge, she hatched a diabolic plan.
One day, when I was gone for a couple of weeks, she let me know via e-mail she had decided to turn this ugly weed jungle of mine into a flowery meadow. There was nothing I could do as she had already ordered a local gardening company to level that part of the garden, and once that was accomplished, as she described with obvious relish, the gardener would plant the most beautiful wild flowers and turn this ugly mess of mine into a colorful paradise.
I was not amused by this at all, as you might imagine, but there was nothing I could do to save my gorgeous oasis of chaos, so I grumpily accepted "my" garden's fate. After that, my mom avoided me whenever she could, and when she couldn't, she wouldn't mention the garden at all. This didn't strike me as odd, since I assumed she might feel at least a little bit guilty about her sneaky move (at this point, I hadn't seen the "improved" version of the garden yet).
Cut to a few weeks later, when I went back to Ticino and finally DID see the "flowery meadow" and "colorful paradise" my dear mother had ordered. My jaw dropped. But in shock - not in awe of flowery beauty of any kind: as there were NO flowers of any kind. What there was, was sod. Plain, ugly sod, completely devoid of any insect (or other animal) life, already turning into a brownish yellow due to a lack of rain in the past weeks.
You see, my mom's Italian is not very good (in fact, it's so far from good that it could be argued she doesn't speak it at all) and as it turned out, there had been a "slight" misunderstanding. Instead of planting gorgeous wild flowers, the local gardener (whose Italian is impeccable by the way), put turf rolls down after he'd leveled my oasis; turf rolls of the kind that is usually used for sterile football fields.
OK (you, dear reader, might say at this point); sad story, bro - but what does it have to do with the swallowtail in the photo? The answer is: everything. The past autumn and all through spring this year I've been planting wild flowers in that garden like a mad botanist; I've planted field scabiouses and red clover, ox-eye daisies, echium, salvia and thyme and lavender as well as plants for the caterpillars of the in Switzerland rare swallowtail butterfly such as fennel and wild carrots.
This was my desperate attempt to undo the damage and terrible devastation my mother's wrath had brought upon the earth (well, my garden's earth anyway) and turn this sod-desert into an oasis of pure botanic chaos and a colorful paradise teeming with insect life once more.
And it worked! Ever since those plants started flowering my garden has been an attraction for all kinds of butterflies and generally insects, even rare ones - and, obviously, my dearest guest and visitor that you can see in the photo above: the swallowtail.
These gorgeous butterflies are now steady guests, and they even laid their eggs on the fennel (which is now a nursery for cute swallowtail caterpillars). So in the end, my mom's will prevailed (as is always the case with the wills of all moms all over the world - don't kid yourselves, kids 😉). My weeds are gone, there now is indeed a flowery meadow - and there's even vegetables (although the fennel is strictly for the swallowtails 😊).
I have a creeping suspicion maybe my mom's Italian is better than she lets on...
Be determined, not stubborn.
Determination is positive, feels light and will take you far. It´s a willingness to change as needed, keeping an open mind.
Stubbornness is a heavy feeling, a refusal to budge. A negative, closed mind and will hold you back.
[I´m working on that, I was the most stubborn person you can imagine...;)]
Taken at mystical Natthimmel which is closing today for redecoration.
I am running very late, partly due to football, partly due to the obstinate refusal of this shell to want to be anything but orange.
I thought it should have a blue tone, more in line with the sea, but it won't have it. This is one of two bought shells (who knows why as I have so many shells in the house, but I guess I just liked them) and I put it on a frosted glass lamp shade, using it as a light box to make the shell look transparent and bring out the fine patterns. So far so good, but because the middle is dark it didn't look good and I used one of my presets. Now I am stuck with it. Nothing else looked good, not even bw. So I give up and post it as it is.
HSoS, sort of belatedly!
Do not love half lovers
Do not entertain half friends
Do not indulge in works of the half talented
Do not live half a life
and do not die a half death
If you choose silence, then be silent
When you speak, do so until you are finished
Do not silence yourself to say something
And do not speak to be silent
If you accept, then express it bluntly
Do not mask it
If you refuse then be clear about it
for an ambiguous refusal is but a weak acceptance
Do not accept half a solution
Do not believe half truths
Do not dream half a dream
Do not fantasize about half hopes
Half a drink will not quench your thirst
Half a meal will not satiate your hunger
Half the way will get you no where
Half an idea will bear you no results
Your other half is not the one you love
It is you in another time yet in the same space
It is you when you are not
Half a life is a life you didn't live,
A word you have not said
A smile you postponed
A love you have not had
A friendship you did not know
To reach and not arrive
Work and not work
Attend only to be absent
What makes you a stranger to them closest to you
and they strangers to you
The half is a mere moment of inability
but you are able for you are not half a being
You are a whole that exists to live a life
not half a life”
- Gibran Khalil Gibran
"Ho letto millanta storie di cavalieri erranti,
di imprese e di vittorie dei giusti sui prepotenti
per starmene ancora chiuso coi miei libri in questa stanza
come un vigliacco ozioso, sordo ad ogni sofferenza.
Nel mondo oggi più di ieri domina l'ingiustizia,
ma di eroici cavalieri non abbiamo più notizia;
proprio per questo, Sancho, c'è bisogno soprattutto
d'uno slancio generoso, fosse anche un sogno matto:
vammi a prendere la sella, che il mio impegno ardimentoso
l'ho promesso alla mia bella, Dulcinea del Toboso,
e a te Sancho io prometto che guadagnerai un castello,
ma un rifiuto non l'accetto, forza sellami il cavallo !
Tu sarai il mio scudiero, la mia ombra confortante
e con questo cuore puro, col mio scudo e Ronzinante,
colpirò con la mia lancia l'ingiustizia giorno e notte,
com'è vero nella Mancha che mi chiamo Don Chisciotte..."
( da"Don Chisciotte" di Francesco Guccini)
Ritratto Street - Un passo indietro nel tempo, fino al Medioevo.
Volterra AD 1398 è una delle più belle e apprezzate rievocazioni storiche italiane medievale.
La città si anima di un passato mai sopito e i visitatori sono trasportati, come per magia, indietro nel tempo e fanno rivivere per incanto il misterioso medioevo di Volterra.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I have read a thousand stories of wandering knights,
of businesses and victories of the righteous over the bullies to stay still closed with my books in this room
like an idle coward, deaf to all suffering.
In the world today more than yesterday injustice dominates,but we have no news of heroic knights;
for this reason, Sancho, there is a need above all
of a generous impetus, were it also a crazy dream:
go get me the saddle, that my daring commitment
I promised it to my beauty, Dulcinea del Toboso,
and I promise you Sancho that you will earn a castle,
but I don't accept a refusal, come on saddle the horse!
You will be my squire, my comforting shadow
and with this pure heart, with my shield and Ronzinante,
with my spear I will strike injustice day and night,
how true is it in the Mancha my name is Don Chisciotte..."
(from "Don Chisciotte" by Francesco Guccini)
Portrait Street - A step back in time, until the Middle Ages.
Volterra AD 1398 is one of the most beautiful and appreciated medieval Italian historical re-enactments.
The city comes alive with a never dormant past and visitors are transported, as if by magic, back in time and revive the mysterious Middle Ages of Volterra by magic.
Volterra, Pisa Italy AD 1398
f00614
Even today, travelers to Greece can still find many hidden treasure destinations which retain their almost unspoiled beauty, such as the island of Trizonia.
As hard to believe as it may be, because Greece has such a long coastline, as well as almost innumerable islands, there still are a wealth of locations which would make one think that these places are off the map.
One such island without a doubt, is Trizonia, located in the Corinthian Gulf just 400 meters (1,312 feet) off the southwestern coast of the region of Fokida.
The island is said to have been named for the sound of its crickets, which you can always hear singing away while you are there.
This is the famed island which, after visiting it in the 1960’s, Greek shipping tycoon Aristotle Onassis attempted to buy — lock, stock and barrel — from the local people who lived there by offering them an enormous lump sum of money.
The locals refused, famously saying that this specific paradise was not for sale. Minas, a local restaurateur, shared with the Greek Reporter that occasionally the thought does cross his mind that “it would have been good if Onassis had bought it.”
The islanders’ refusal is what led Onassis later to buy the island of Skorpios in the Ionian Sea, which he made into his own personal Eden.
The island of Trizonia has been called by many a miracle of nature. While staying on the island, which is just 2.4 square kilometers, or barely one square mile, travelers can forget everything from the outside world, including cars, motorbikes, noise — and stress.
Trizonia is also an island garden of sorts, boasting almond, prickly pear, eucalyptus, holly, plum, and olive trees, as well as pine and cedar trees throughout.
The island only has 40-50 residents in the winter. However, Minas maintains that “in the winter it’s a bit difficult, it gets a bit cold, but if you have good company, good wine and good food, everything is fine.”
With a natural, unspoiled landscape that amazes visitors, its lacework of interconnected, continuous beaches, and sapphire waters, Trizonia and its singing crickets beckon to the discerning visitor who needs a break from the modern world.
Edward Blaquiere, a former lieutenant in the Royal Navy and a well known philhellene of his time, visited Trizonia in 1825 and he mentions a ruined village. He also mentions the excellent harbour of the island which is sheltered from all winds. The Greek military leader and politician Andreas Londos came to Trizonia in 1827 with 500 soldiers. In the ensuing battle with the 2000 Ottomans who were there at that time, the Greeks under the guidance of Londos won, causing great damage to the Ottoman army.
www.flickr.com/photos/keramitzis/51546058396/in/dateposte...
www.flickr.com/photos/keramitzis/50799731737/in/album-721...
www.flickr.com/photos/keramitzis/41206068192/in/album-721...
greekreporter.com/2021/07/25/trizonia-the-uknown-greek-is...
en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trizonia_island
"Ho letto millanta storie di cavalieri erranti,
di imprese e di vittorie dei giusti sui prepotenti
per starmene ancora chiuso coi miei libri in questa stanza
come un vigliacco ozioso, sordo ad ogni sofferenza.
Nel mondo oggi più di ieri domina l'ingiustizia,
ma di eroici cavalieri non abbiamo più notizia;
proprio per questo, Sancho, c'è bisogno soprattutto
d'uno slancio generoso, fosse anche un sogno matto:
vammi a prendere la sella, che il mio impegno ardimentoso
l'ho promesso alla mia bella, Dulcinea del Toboso,
e a te Sancho io prometto che guadagnerai un castello,
ma un rifiuto non l'accetto, forza sellami il cavallo !
Tu sarai il mio scudiero, la mia ombra confortante
e con questo cuore puro, col mio scudo e Ronzinante,
colpirò con la mia lancia l'ingiustizia giorno e notte,
com'è vero nella Mancha che mi chiamo Don Chisciotte..."
( da"Don Chisciotte" di Francesco Guccini)
Ritratto Street - Un passo indietro nel tempo, fino al Medioevo.
Volterra AD 1398 è una delle più belle e apprezzate rievocazioni storiche italiane medievale.
La città si anima di un passato mai sopito e i visitatori sono trasportati, come per magia, indietro nel tempo e fanno rivivere per incanto il misterioso medioevo di Volterra.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I have read a thousand stories of wandering knights,
of businesses and victories of the righteous over the bullies
to stay still closed with my books in this room
like an idle coward, deaf to all suffering.
In the world today more than yesterday injustice dominates,
but we have no news of heroic knights;
for this reason, Sancho, there is a need above all
of a generous impetus, were it also a crazy dream:
go get me the saddle, that my daring commitment
I promised it to my beauty, Dulcinea del Toboso,
and I promise you Sancho that you will earn a castle,
but I don't accept a refusal, come on saddle the horse!
You will be my squire, my comforting shadow
and with this pure heart, with my shield and Ronzinante,
with my spear I will strike injustice day and night,
how true is it in the Mancha my name is Don Chisciotte..."
(from "Don Chisciotte" by Francesco Guccini)
Portrait Street - A step back in time, until the Middle Ages.
Volterra AD 1398 is one of the most beautiful and appreciated medieval Italian historical re-enactments.
The city comes alive with a never dormant past and visitors are transported, as if by magic, back in time and revive the mysterious Middle Ages of Volterra by magic.
Volterra, Pisa Italy AD 1398
“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot,
Nothing is going to get better. It's not.”
― Dr. Seuss, The Lorax
www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JBHyE18L3o
DwHc Punishment RP Mask - Paper Face
RKKN Quilted Leather Jacket
Krimpenerwaard (NL), 8 november 2015
Schubbige bundelzwam (Pholiota squarrosa)
Beschrijving
Hoed gewelfd tot uitgespreid, Ø 5-15 cm, stro- tot goudgeel, met fijne en ruige, opstaande, roodbruine schubben en een ingerolde rand.
Lamellen dicht opeen, bleekgeel tot kaneelbruin.
Steel 5-15 cm x 10-25 mm, met een gladde, bleekgele steeltop, onder de gescheurde, vliezige ring met opstaande, roodbruine schubben, de basis roodbruin, soms witviltig. Vlees taai, gelig tot roodbruin. Smaakt naar radijs. Geurt naar stro.
Voorkomen
In bundels op loofbomen, zelden op naaldbomen, in bossen, parken en plantsoenen.
Parasitair.
Status
Algemeen, Meetnet.
Extra informatie
De Kale inktzwam (Coprinus atramentarius) wordt in combinatie met alcohol niet verdragen. Zij bevat de stof coprine, die een vergelijkbaar effect heeft als het bij de behandeling van alcoholisme gebruikte medicijn Refusal of Antabus. Deze stof is ook in de Schubbige bundelzwam aangetroffen.
Bron: Soortenbank
.
-breath is a beautiful refusal to become anything less than infinite-
Happy Tuesday, thanks for take time and look at my Tulip, much appreciated ;-)
Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom.. but we hope it, we know it.
This shot features, and is for, one of my close friends and one of the best designers I know - Charlotte Bartlett.
When faced with the bleakness of my work being ripped, my fruit tree felt bare.. but Charlotte's strength and refusal to give in, gave me hope of seeing blossoms once again.
La prima scultura che incontriamo già prima di salire sul molo è la "Colonna di Cristallo", foto che avevo postato nel 2011 e che era stata una delle 14 richieste da "Getty Image" e che, dopo il mio rifiuto, mi è costata l'esclusione eterna da "explore"
(Qui l'ho "trattata" leggermente per non lasciarla uguale a quella già postata 14 anni fa)
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
The first sculpture we find even before getting on the pier is the "Crystal Column", a photo that I posted in 2011 and that was among the 14 requested by "Getty Image" and that, after my refusal, cost me eternal exclusion from "explore"
(Here I "treated" it slightly so as not to make it totally the same as the one already posted 14 years ago)
as resistance training :-)
Author Unknown
HDT!!HGGT!!
blue dasher dragonfly, sarah p duke gardens, duke university, durham, north carolina
Glencoe
Scotland
West Highlands
Massacre of Glencoe, (February 13, 1692), in Scottish history, the treacherous slaughter of members of the MacDonald clan of Glencoe by soldiers under Archibald Campbell, 10th earl of Argyll. Many Scottish clans had remained loyal to King James II after he was replaced on the English and Scottish thrones by William III in 1689. In August 1691 the government offered an indemnity to all chiefs who should take an oath of allegiance before January 1, 1692. “Letters of fire and sword,” authorizing savage attacks upon recalcitrants, were drawn up in anticipation of widespread refusals; the chiefs, however, took the oath. Alexander MacDonald of Glencoe postponed his submission until December 31, 1691, and was then unable to take his oath until January 6 because there was no magistrate at Fort William to receive it. Sir John Dalrymple, William’s secretary of state for Scotland, thereupon issued an order under the king’s signature for military punishment of the MacDonalds. More than 100 of Argyll’s soldiers, who had been quartered amicably upon the MacDonalds for more than a week, suddenly attacked them. Many of the clan escaped, but the chief, 33 other men, 2 women, and 2 children were killed. John Campbell, earl of Breadalbane and Holland, a neighbour and an enemy of the MacDonalds, was widely suspected of planning the attack but was not its main instigator; his imprisonment in 1695 was for earlier involvement with the Jacobites.
Coughton Court Church part of the history of Coughton Court.
The Coughton estate has been owned by the Throckmorton family since 1409. The estate was acquired through marriage to the De Spinney family. Coughton was rebuilt by Sir George Throckmorton, the first son of Sir Robert Throckmorton of Coughton Court by Catherine Marrow, daughter of William Marrow of London. The great gatehouse was dedicated to King Henry VIII by Throckmorton, a favourite of the King who spent most of his life rebuilding Coughton. Throckmorton would become notorious due to his almost fatal involvement in the divorce between King Henry and his first wife Catherine of Aragon. He favoured the queen and was against the Reformation. In 1549, when he was planning the windows in the great hall, he asked his son Nicholas to obtain from the heralds the correct tricking (colour abbreviations) of the arms of his ancestors' wives and his own cousin and niece by marriage Queen Catherine Parr (see gallery drawing). The costly recusancy (refusal to attend Anglican Church services) of his eldest son, Robert, and his heirs restricted later rebuilding, so that much of the house still stands largely as he left it.
After Throckmorton's death in 1552, Coughton passed to his eldest son, Robert. The family were practicing Catholics and so the house at one time contained a priest hole, a hiding place for priests during the period when Catholics were persecuted by law in England, from the beginning of the reign of Elizabeth I of England. The Hall also holds a place in English history for its roles in both the Throckmorton Plot of 1583 to murder Queen Elizabeth, and the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, although the Throckmorton family were themselves only indirectly implicated in the latter, when some of the Gunpowder conspirators rode directly there after its discovery
Information by Wikipedia.
Texture's & Effect's by William Walton & Topaz.
Embarking upon any adventure for Marc, is like a ‘hero’s journey’ as used in the structure of many a story.
Starting from a point of essential routine and safety. Home. The status-quo is upset by my announcing our plans to leave his safe area and travel to somewhere new. Unknown fears and threats are conjured up in his mind. Initially, refusal is common but following considerable reassurances, answers to questions and his fears dispelled, he accepted that this call to adventure cannot, and should not, be refused.
Who will he meet? What will he see and experience? Will there be additional challenges which have not yet been revealed?
This year, embarking upon this, his hero’s journey, has been a significant challenge and yet, my pride in Marc as he has overcome each fear to go along is significant. His enemies are not monsters or people or other things that lie in books, but his illness. His allies, I, Mrs F and Lady Bronte bring him comfort and constant reassurance. Mentoring him every step of the way.
Once upon his journey, new experiences, new sights and new memories to look back on are his reward for embarking upon such a trip.
As we pass over Lake Windermere on the little car ferry, Marc became afraid of drowning if we should fall in the water. I was able to distract these fears as I helped him recall the time many years ago when he came here with a special educational school and expert tutors who helped him canoe and sail and have a wonderful time. He was more able in those days and his memory brightened his thoughts to enjoy the short crossing.
I taught ChatGPT to write prompts in the way I learned from the great Techhalla.
After ChatGPT understood, I gave the following instruction:
Now create four prompts on four topics on which I invite you to act completely freely. A refusal is not accepted, make an effort.
Topic 1: something I have never seen before
Topic 2: something you have never seen before.
it worked:
Topic 3 and 4 will follow very soon.
today the 4 results of topic 2
here are the MJ prompts ChatGPT created:
IMAGE: Enigmatic | GENRE: Fantasy | MOOD: Mystical, Enchanting | COLOR: Jewel tones | BACKGROUND: Magical forest | SCENE: Mythical creature emerging from a hidden portal | DETAILS: Intricate patterns and symbols, mystical artifacts | RENDER: Whimsical and ethereal | LIGHTING: Soft, magical glow | COMPOSITION: Intriguing and mysterious | SHOT: Medium shot | CAMERA: Nikon D3 | LENS: 50mm lens | TAGS: Fantasy, mythical creature, magical forest, hidden portal --ar 16:10 --v 5.1 --style raw
Besides the obvious, there are certain benefits to being what some of my former colleagues would refer to as "careful" with money. The more kindly former colleagues that is, I should add. Others wasted no time in coming up with rather more abusive terms for my steadfast refusal to throw away my hard earned on fast cars, champagne lunches and visits to Monte Carlo, but I would just smile and remind them that they'd still be working long after I'd retired. That tended to either stop them in their tracks with dumbstruck expressions, or had the opposite effect of exacerbating the tirade. Still, I'd just smile as I opened my home made cheese salad while whichever friend it was lavished another fiver on a disappointing looking sandwich and an overpriced coffee.
I often earned similar brickbats for refusing to join in the incessant charge along the highways and byways, driving at a benign pace rather than hammering along the outside lane at eighty-five miles an hour. I prefer to watch the fuel consumption reading rather than the speedometer you see. When I was younger, and very probably heading for a midlife crisis, I owned a white Vauxhall Astra GTE. It was very fast and it made me drive like a fool. It also used a lot of petrol. Now I have a modest Skoda that can get halfway across the country and back to Luton Airport without me having to refill the tank.
So there are aspects of Iceland that suit me, despite the fact that things are generally quite expensive in comparison to where I live. The jaw dropping landscape is something of course that very much ticks my boxes, but while many visitors seem to struggle with the fifty-five miles per hour speed limit, I don't. I simply pop the rental car into cruise control, set the speed and steer contentedly through the beauty around us - trying to concentrate on the road of course - the scenery can be distracting.
Other aspects of Iceland can be a trifle worrisome though. Last time we were here, we parked freely and quite legitimately on a patchy pull in, before walking the short distance to the triple waterfall of Kirkjufellsfoss. It was close to midnight under the twenty-four hour daylight glow, and only a small number of togs were around to compete for position with. On the other side of the pull in was another bit of scrubby ground beside the beach where we could also have parked for free. But three years on, things have changed. A brand new car park with number plate recognition cameras awaits the visitor, and swiftly relieves them of a thousand krona, regardless of how long they're planning to stay for. Needless to say, the waterfall was surrounded by a large number of visitors, many of them armed with tripods and cameras, all after that classic shot of Kirkjufell that looks so familiar. Admittedly there was still a pull in nearby, but there was also a sign that suggested our car might get towed away if we parked there, so we didn't stop for long.
But on the plus side, this aversion to parting with money for no good reason eventually added some unexpected shots to the catalogue, including my previous post, "Night Traffic." Our irritation at the prospect of coughing up the cash had taken us to a generous lay-by overlooking the sea. From there it was a leisurely fifteen minute amble along a footpath back towards the waterfall, and directly past the lake, where Kirkjufell gives away mirrorlike reflections on still days without charging a bean. And when the sky is doing interesting things at the end of a wet and grungy day, that seems like a reward worth grabbing with both hands.
We took a number of shots here, starting well before sunset and pushing on into the blue hour. I'd had a plan to revisit a patch of marshy ground I'd found the previous evening, but the presence of a growing number of togs along the bank of the lake appealed to my better nature as I wondered how easily they'd be able to clone me out of their sunsets. So here I stayed, enjoying the fact that I hadn't paid a thousand crowns for the privilege. It wasn't a bad spot from which to watch the day ebb away.
New-Delhi (Inde) - Les marchés à travers le monde sont des mines d’opportunités pour les photographes coloristes. Cependant, certaines populations sont plus ou moins accueillantes. En Amérique centrale comme en Amérique du Sud, mieux vaut être discret pour prendre ses photos. Le photographe est plutôt mal vu. En revanche, dans toute l’Asie, il n’est pas rare de se faire héler par un vendeur qui souhaite être photographié. Sans contrepartie. Juste pour le plaisir d’être « immortalisé ». Et si c’est vous qui le demandez, rares sont les refus.
Pour plus de naturel, je ne demande généralement pas la permission. Surtout pour des plans larges. Il y a toujours possibilité de ruser. Mais la photo prise, même si la personne ne s’est rendue compte de rien, je lui montre le résultat sur l’écran de contrôle. Avantage pour le numérique sur l’argentique sur ce point.
Pour cette photo, il fallait que je me place à la hauteur du commerçant. Pas d’autre solution de que lui demander la permission. Heureusement, il est resté dans la même position. Seule différence avec une photo « volée », il me regarde. Ce qui ne me dérange pas. En tout cas son accord m’a permis de travailler un minimum mon cadre.
Waiting for the customer
New-Delhi (India) - Markets around the world are a wealth of opportunities for color photographers. However, some populations are more or less welcoming. In Central America as in South America, it is better to be discreet to take your photos. The photographer is rather frowned upon. On the other hand, throughout Asia, it is not uncommon to be hailed by a seller who wants to be photographed. Without counterpart. Just for the sake of being "immortalized". And if you are the one who asks for it, few are the refusals.
For more naturalness, I don't usually ask permission. Especially for wide shots. There is always the possibility of cunning. But the photo taken, even if the person did not realize anything, I show him the result on the control screen. Advantage for the digital on the silver on this point.
For this photo, I had to place myself at the height of the shopkeeper. No other solution than to ask his permission. Fortunately, he remained in the same position. Only difference with a "stolen" photo, he looks at me. Which doesn't bother me. In any case, his agreement allowed me to work a minimum on my frame.
allows it to stab you in the back:-)
Dr. Idel Dreimer
prunus mume, white japanese flowering apricot, 'Tojibai', j c raulston arboretum, ncsu, raleigh, north carolina
More testimony to my stubborn refusal to accept the widely offered advice to cull non-keepers, this image was taken more than two years ago, on 1/25/19. I was wandering through the old stuff and stumbled across it, and made a pretty good run at processing it. I like the lines, textures, and subtle colors, and I hope you do too.
I taught ChatGPT to write prompts in the way I learned from the great Techhalla.
After ChatGPT understood, I gave the following instruction:
Now create four prompts on four topics on which I invite you to act completely freely. A refusal is not accepted, make an effort.
Topic 1: something I have never seen before.
Topic 2: something you have never seen before.
Topic 3: something extremely surreal.
... And today...
➡️ Topic 4: A mixture of Topic 1, Topic 2, Topic 3
And I was impressed:
This is the finale of the experiment
here are the MJ prompts ChatGPT created:
IMAGE: Unprecedented Fusion | GENRE: Experimental | MOOD: Intriguing, Unsettling | COLOR: Unexpected color palette | BACKGROUND: Mixture of cosmic and abstract elements | SCENE: Hybrid creature interacting with futuristic technology | DETAILS: Blending of organic and mechanical elements, intricate textures | RENDER: Unique and boundary-pushing | LIGHTING: Dynamic and unconventional lighting sources | COMPOSITION: Visually complex and thought-provoking | SHOT: Close-up shot | CAMERA: Canon EOS R8 | LENS: Focal length 35mm | TAGS: Experimental, hybrid creature, futuristic technology, cosmic elements, abstract fusion --ar 16:10 --v 5.1 --style raw
IMG_1637 2023 03 26 file
a tulip bud in a bouquet of tulips that was smaller than the others and refused to open........captured against my computer screen
The afternoon edition of Montana Rail Link's twice-daily Gas Local winds along the south bank of the Flathead River on MRL's scenic but sparsely utilized 10th Subdivision between Perma and Paradise, MT. The fuel carried by this move bridges the missing link of the Yellowstone Pipeline, an operation rendered necessary by the Salish and Kootenai tribes' refusal to resign land lease agreements with the pipeline owners after several spills occurred in the mid-1990s. MRL's services are needed between Missoula and Thompson Falls, MT, over protected land where the pipeline is not permitted.
Canon EOS 6D - f/18 - 6 sec - 100 mm - ISO 200
- challenge Flickr group: Macro Mondays, theme: Contained
- crystal salt cellar with sterling silver rim
- diameter of this salt cellar is 4 cm
- Not a good start of 2020 ???
- A superstition in Western cultures holds that spilling salt is an evil omen.
The European belief in the ill luck that comes from spilt salt is quite old, going back to ancient Rome. The 1556 Hieroglyphica of Piero Valeriano Bolzani reports that "salt was formerly a symbol of friendship, because of its lasting quality. For it makes substances more compact and preserves them for a long time: hence it was usually presented to guests before other food, to signify the abiding strength of friendship. Wherefore many consider it ominous to spill salt on the table.
This may not be the actual explanation since salt was a valuable commodity in ancient times and, as such, was seen as a symbol of trust and friendship. A German proverb held that "whoever spills salt arouses enmity". According to Charles Nodier, among "savages", the "action of spilling salt ... indicates among them the refusal of protection and hospitality from such strangers as they may have reason to suspect are thieves and murderers."
One widespread explanation of the belief that it is unlucky to spill salt is that Judas Iscariot spilled the salt at the Last Supper and indeed Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper depicts Judas Iscariot having knocked over a salt-cellar.
This is often taken as a questionable explanation because spilling salt was generally considered a bad omen already and indeed the imagery predates da Vinci's usage.
I taught ChatGPT to write prompts in the way I learned from the great Techhalla.
After ChatGPT understood, I gave the following instruction:
Now create four prompts on four topics on which I invite you to act completely freely. A refusal is not accepted, make an effort.
Topic 1: something I have never seen before.
it worked:
Themes 2, 3 and 4 will follow very soon
today the 4 results of topic 1
here are the MJ prompts ChatGPT created:
IMAGE: Imaginative | GENRE: Science fiction | MOOD: Wonder, Astonishment | COLOR: Neon and metallic tones | BACKGROUND: Celestial landscape | SCENE: Extraterrestrial creatures communicating with intricate patterns of light | DETAILS: Intriguing alien architecture, unknown technology | RENDER: Visually stunning | LIGHTING: Ethereal and glowing | COMPOSITION: Dynamic and otherworldly | SHOT: High angle shot | CAMERA: Canon EOS R3 | LENS: Fisheye lens | TAGS: Science fiction, extraterrestrial, celestial landscape, alien communication --ar 16:10 --v 5.1 --style raw
You'll never believe it, but my first response was an inward groan. Although I wasn't asleep yet, the descent into dreamland was most definitely in my immediate plans as I made one last languid scroll on the back of my camera through the evening's adventure at Eystrahorn, just a few miles along the road from our cottage. Jumping out of the warm cosy bed in which I was so snugly cocooned to rush from my generously heated bedroom outside and into the subarctic night was by no means on the agenda. Not one bit. Not even slightly. We'd had a long and successful day and now it was bedtime - 12:30am kind of bedtime at that too. But then again there had been that knock on my bedroom door, accompanied by an urgent and excited announcement from Lee. "It's started again," he sang through the door. Seconds later I heard the front door opening. He was already out there, disappearing into the night.
An hour earlier it had been my turn. Lee had already headed to bed, while Mr Night Owl here was finding sleep harder to come by and had resorted to uploading the day's images into the cloud to ensure that even if the plane went down and I had to involuntarily surrender my cameras to the icy Atlantic waters, at least I'd be able to work with their legacy on my return home. Once we'd been picked up by a lonely trawler with an extra large hold of course. As I made my final foray to the kitchen for a glass of water, I looked through the window into the inky black night. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me as it took a few moments to realise that a patch of sky that was neither inky nor black might just be the icing on the day's already richly decorated cake. "Lee, wake up," I threw over my shoulder as I headed for the front door. "I think it's the Aurora."
And that's exactly what it was. Faint but distinctly green patterns covered a small area of the sky to the east and north, shifting in and out of the blackness. Never more than a small patch of the night was filled with green at any one time, but we knew this might be it as we raced out into the dark long grass in front of the cottage, hastily assembling cameras onto tripods and trying to remember the lessons we'd learned about night time photography in the long gone days of occasionally entertaining ourselves with star trails. "Aperture wide open, ISO high as you dare, and remember the five hundred rule so the stars don't blur." Fifteen minutes later we'd agreed that the show was over, and returned to our beds, content that for the first time ever, we'd witnessed the Northern Lights; that afterthought we'd written down on the Iceland trip masterplan along the lines of "Watch the app, and stay alert at night, just in case."
But this time it was Lee who'd stayed alert and peered through his window at the back of the cottage towards the north. This time I was the one who was dragged from his bed as a welter of belated enthusiasm overcame that initial refusal to budge from underneath a warm duvet. Throwing my coat over my pyjamas and pulling my boots onto bare feet, I followed him out into the night once more, where I was greeted by a sight that took stole my words and stopped me in my tracks. Where before there had been the odd green streak, there were now huge drifts, filling large areas of the sky with dancing and glowing magnificence. At least the camera settings were still in situ from an hour earlier, but where had the buttons on my head torch gone? Realising that in my haste I'd put it on upside down I tried to switch it on, selecting the right hand button to engage a pointless pair of red flashing lights instead of the solid white beam I needed to see the controls on my camera. As I moved over the unlit grass I almost tripped over my tripod, the legs of which had remained extended from episode one. Calm and controlled? I'll let you be the judge. Strangely, the one thing I can't remember was whether or not it was cold out there.
We needn't have panicked though. The night was on our side, giving us a display that lasted for more than half an hour, the sky becoming ever more filled with the mysterious green light, hanging in ethereal curtains over the mountains behind us like a gateway to another world, moving subtly from one part of the sky to next without us noticing. Fading almost to blackness and then rebuilding brightly, it seemed as if they were softly breathing as they gazed down at us like gods upon mortals in silent benevolence. What a surreal experience to stand beneath the stars, wearing your jimjams in a land whose story was built upon the sagas handed down over more than a thousand years, where your imagination can roam across those mountains into a universe that you thought only existed in the writings of Tolkien, CS Lewis and Philip Pullman. In a place like this, at a moment like this, the distance between fiction and reality can become blurred to the point that you no longer know which is which. Very much in the same way that you no longer know which button operates which light sequence on your head torch when you put it on in a terrible hurry.
Just after one o clock, exhilarated and beyond any hope of getting meaningful sleep, we took one final look at the sky, where the greens had receded once more and given way to the stars on the black and indigo canvas in front of us. We'd hadn't come to Iceland with any real hope of seeing the Aurora, but here in this remote farmstead, more than twenty miles from the nearest small town, we'd had our moment. Although the show was forecast to return more strongly the following night, we never saw it again. But it didn't matter. I'd taken photos in my jimjams and seen a night sky I'd remember forever. What more could we ask for on this fantastic adventure that seemed to get better and better with every passing day?
I taught ChatGPT to write prompts in the way I learned from the great Techhalla.
After ChatGPT understood, I gave the following instruction:
Now create four prompts on four topics on which I invite you to act completely freely. A refusal is not accepted, make an effort.
Topic 1: something I have never seen before.
Topic 2: something you have never seen before.
Topic 3: something extremely surreal.
... And today...
➡️ Topic 4: A mixture of Topic 1, Topic 2, Topic 3
And I was impressed:
This is the finale of the experiment
here are the MJ prompts ChatGPT created:
IMAGE: Unprecedented Fusion | GENRE: Experimental | MOOD: Intriguing, Unsettling | COLOR: Unexpected color palette | BACKGROUND: Mixture of cosmic and abstract elements | SCENE: Hybrid creature interacting with futuristic technology | DETAILS: Blending of organic and mechanical elements, intricate textures | RENDER: Unique and boundary-pushing | LIGHTING: Dynamic and unconventional lighting sources | COMPOSITION: Visually complex and thought-provoking | SHOT: Close-up shot | CAMERA: Canon EOS R8 | LENS: Focal length 35mm | TAGS: Experimental, hybrid creature, futuristic technology, cosmic elements, abstract fusion --ar 16:10 --v 5.1 --style raw
I taught ChatGPT to write prompts in the way I learned from the great Techhalla.
After ChatGPT understood, I gave the following instruction:
Now create four prompts on four topics on which I invite you to act completely freely. A refusal is not accepted, make an effort.
Topic 1: something I have never seen before
Topic 2: something you have never seen before.
it worked:
Topic 3 and 4 will follow very soon.
today the 4 results of topic 2
here are the MJ prompts ChatGPT created:
IMAGE: Enigmatic | GENRE: Fantasy | MOOD: Mystical, Enchanting | COLOR: Jewel tones | BACKGROUND: Magical forest | SCENE: Mythical creature emerging from a hidden portal | DETAILS: Intricate patterns and symbols, mystical artifacts | RENDER: Whimsical and ethereal | LIGHTING: Soft, magical glow | COMPOSITION: Intriguing and mysterious | SHOT: Medium shot | CAMERA: Nikon D3 | LENS: 50mm lens | TAGS: Fantasy, mythical creature, magical forest, hidden portal --ar 16:10 --v 5.1 --style raw
Italia, Toscana, Viareggio, Inverno 2023
Il Carnevale di Viareggio si tiene ogni nella città toscana di Viareggio, in Italia. E' considerato tra le più rinomate feste di carnevale in Italia. La sua caratteristica principale è data dalla sfilata dei carri allegorici e maschere, di solito fatta di cartapesta, raffiguranti caricature di personaggi popolari, come i politici, personaggi dello spettacolo e sportivi. La sfilata si svolge sul viale di Viareggio che si trova lungo la spiaggia. La prima sfilata di Carnevale di Viareggio si è svolta nel 1873, quando alcuni ricchi borghesi decisero di organizzare una sfilata di carri decorati con fiori una parte di loro, in segno di protesta, decise di indossare maschere come segno di protesta per le tasse elevate sono stati costretti a pagare. La mascotte ufficiale del Carnevale di Viareggio è Burlamacco ed è stato ideato nel 1931.
The Carnival of Viareggio is a carnival event yearly held in the Tuscan city of Viareggio, in Italy. It is considered amongst the most renowned carnival celebrations in Italy. The parade of floats and masks gives its main characteristic, usually made of paper pulp, depicting caricatures of famous people, such as politicians, showmen and sportsmen; the parade is held on the Viareggio avenue located alongside the local beach. The first Viareggio carnival parade was born in 1873, when some wealthy middle-class men decided to organize a parade of floats adorned with flowers and part of them, as a sign of protest, then decided to put on masks in order to show their refusal of high taxes they were forced to pay. The official mascot of the Viareggio carnival is Burlamacco and it was first depicted in 1931.
“Sometimes, when people have a low opinion of their own worth—or, perhaps, when they refuse responsibility for their lives—they choose a new acquaintance, of precisely the type who proved troublesome in the past. Such people don’t believe that they deserve any better—so they don’t go looking for it. Or, perhaps, they don’t want the trouble of better. Freud called this a ‘repetition compulsion.’ He thought of it as an unconscious drive to repeat the horrors of the past—sometimes, perhaps, to formulate those horrors more precisely, sometimes to attempt more active mastery and sometimes, perhaps, because no alternatives beckon. People create their worlds with the tools they have directly at hand. Faulty tools produce faulty results. Repeated use of the same faulty tools produces the same faulty results. It is in this manner that those who fail to learn from the past doom themselves to repeat it. It’s partly fate. It’s partly inability. It’s partly … unwillingness to learn? Refusal to learn? Motivated refusal to learn?” Jordan B Peterson
This is a new image that I have posted today. A previous image that I posted three years ago has been published in articles in Milan.
The Galleria is often nicknamed il salotto di Milano (Milan's drawing room), due to its numerous shops and importance as a common Milanese meeting and dining place.
As of 2013, the arcade principally contains luxury retailers selling haute couture, jewelry, books and paintings, as well as restaurants, cafés, and bars. The Galleria is famous for being home to some of the oldest shops and restaurants in Milan, such as Biffi Caffè (founded in 1867 by Paolo Biffi, pastry chef to the monarch), the Savini restaurant and the Art Nouveau classic Camparino in Galleria.
In 2012, a McDonald's restaurant was prevented from renewing its tenancy, after 20 years of occupancy. The restaurant contended that it was the only tenant to be denied the right of first refusal on its new lease, and that the public tender to replace it was "unfair". McDonald's sued the landlord—the city of Milan—for €24 million in damages, alleging that the loss of the lease will deprive McDonald's of €6 million per year in sales. During its last few hours of operation, the restaurant offered free food and drink to over 5000 customers. The McDonald's restaurant was replaced with the gallery's second Prada store. McDonald's renounced its suit against the City of Milan after receiving the opportunity to open a new restaurant in a nearby area.
PFW_3251-2
I taught ChatGPT to write prompts in the way I learned from the great Techhalla.
After ChatGPT understood, I gave the following instruction:
Now create four prompts on four topics on which I invite you to act completely freely. A refusal is not accepted, make an effort.
Topic 1: something I have never seen before
Topic 2: something you have never seen before.
it worked:
Topic 3 and 4 will follow very soon.
today the 4 results of topic 2
here are the MJ prompts ChatGPT created:
IMAGE: Enigmatic | GENRE: Fantasy | MOOD: Mystical, Enchanting | COLOR: Jewel tones | BACKGROUND: Magical forest | SCENE: Mythical creature emerging from a hidden portal | DETAILS: Intricate patterns and symbols, mystical artifacts | RENDER: Whimsical and ethereal | LIGHTING: Soft, magical glow | COMPOSITION: Intriguing and mysterious | SHOT: Medium shot | CAMERA: Nikon D3 | LENS: 50mm lens | TAGS: Fantasy, mythical creature, magical forest, hidden portal --ar 16:10 --v 5.1 --style raw
Henschiengården is a protected cultural monument in Lillesand, and is today better known as Lillesand town hall. The first house we know of that stood where Lillesand Town Hall stands today, was built in 1734 by Danish Christen Kjøbmand. Shortly afterwards, he moved from the city, and the house was taken over by Justice and War Commissioner Falck. Falck's nephew, Jens, lived in the house for a while, and had children with a maid. The child was the later peasant rebel Kristian Lofthus.
Lillesand Town- and Maritime Museum (Norwegian: Lillesand by- og sjøfartsmuseum) is a museum of the cultural history of Lillesand.
The museum is located in the town of Lillesand in the municipality of Lillesand in Agder county, Norway. The museum, established in 1970, was formerly a part of the AAKS (the Aust-Agder historical center), but starting in 2012 it was back under the control of Lillesand municipality. Anne Sophie Hoegh-Omdal has been employed as the museum director since 1 May 2010.
The museum includes The farm in the town which is often called Carl Knudsen-gården (Carl Knudsen's farm) after the last owner's father. The last owner was Thyra Mercedes Knudsen, who died childless in 1963. She let Lillesand municipality have right of first refusal to the buildings on the property and it was converted into a museum.
A separate department of the museum is a customs museum in the old customs house, located in the harbor nearby.