View allAll Photos Tagged tangible
My other half is a doctor, which means the effects and consequences of his work are tangible. It's a bad day when someone in his charge dies; it's a better day when, given limited time and resources, he's able to give his patients something approaching decent care. This palpability, this definiteness, was among the factors which led me to have a mini existential crisis about the value of my own career and work to the wider world.
I've written before that the educational choices I've made in my life were driven by the literally selfish desire to understand who I am and what it means to be me. This led me to interests and studies in psychology, philosophy and - the subject of my degree - literature. I discovered that I learned much more about myself by reading stories about other people. These choices disappointed my teachers in mathematics and the sciences, and my career in photography has surprised old schoolmates who assumed I would become a lawyer or else justify their designation of me as 'most likely to be elected to parliament.'
When I was around eleven I saw Dead Poets Society, and was so moved by a monologue delivered by Robin Williams' character that it imprinted on me a love and appreciation for the value of art. "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering: these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love: these are what we stay alive for."
It's easy to forget art's value, difficult to feel it day to day, even for - perhaps especially for - those who work in the arts. The first moment of doubt that I remember with any vividness was in a literature tutorial at university when, as we sat round a table discussing a novel by C.S. Lewis, the thought struck me: "What are we doing? Why the fuck are we sitting here talking about a children's book like this!?" And although I consider some small parts of my studies to have been pseudo-intellectual nonsense, I knew on a deeper level that what we were doing was important.
I don't even consider my work to be 'art': it certainly doesn't set out to challenge anyone or anything, or even to convey any deep meaning or message. Like this little essay, it's self-indulgent. I photograph the things that move me, surprise me and interest me, and if that can make someone think or discover something new - or even if they just enjoy looking at it - then that makes me happy. I'm encouraged by the occasional emails I receive from people I don't know which tell me of how my work has inspired their own, or of how it has made them realise the beauty of a city they've lived in for years; or, very occasionally - and most surprising and even frightening of all - of how it has affected the decisions they've made about their own lives.
And this is what art is for: to teach us how to be human beings, to teach us how to be here. In Other Colours, Orhan Pamuk writes about the importance of reading novels, but his words can be applied to other arts: "Reading was central to my efforts to make something of myself, elevate my consciousness, and thereby give shape to my soul. What sort of man should I be? What was the meaning of the world?…With the knowledge I gathered from my reading, I would chart my path to adulthood."
Glasgow, 2012.
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The Inscription of Breath: When Darkness Unveils the Being
Like a heartbeat suspended in the timeless, a frozen moment where shadow and light merge in a fragile balance. The gaze, piercing yet imbued with an unspeakable softness, captures something beyond the visible—an echo of the soul, a whisper from the universe.
The hair escapes like an expanding wave, a living matter where each curl is a filament of thought, a fractal of memory suspended in time. Between the strands, the skin seems to be the last stronghold of the tangible before sinking into an obscure abstraction, a space where the body fades into the formless.
The intensity of the composition lies in this duality: the sharpness of a face that defies the surrounding blur, the anchoring in a gaze that both questions and reveals. It is a figure oscillating between embodiment and dissolution, between presence and disappearance.
This portrait is not merely an image; it is a breach in reality, a silhouette caught in dying light, a reflection of the invisible that now gazes back at us.
resurrection
part of the tangible project
for snacky.
modified polaroid SX-70
the impossible project PX-70 COLOR SHADE Test Film
double exposure
join us at the tangible project
The greatest things in life are not tangible. They are the things that elude us, like a spark we try to freeze as it explodes through its brief existence. Just as we try to grasp it, dazzled by its energy, it dissolves in a wisp of smoke. But life only exists in the movement and change. It is precisely the intangible, the moments of indescribable quality slipping through our fingers, that give us the greatest meaning. Like the knowing smile of a friend or the squeeze of your lover's hand. Like the soothing sound of raindrops above you, or misty layers of mountains surrounding you. We know it can't last, but in that second, it is everything.
A life well lived is not tangible. It is not defined by the things we purchase and hoard. It is not the biggest house you can buy. Or the money in the bank. Or the status of your job. A life well lived can never be measured, or bought, or won, or competed with.
A life worth living is one of moments, appreciated and embraced, and relationships, nurtured and loved. The special moments move quickly. Slow down to see them go by.
Sunrise with the bison in Yellowstone National Park.
Well hello Flickr, it's been awhile. A combination of work and travelling has encouraged me to take a bit of a break from Flickr for a while, which I have approached with mixed feelings. On one hand the pressure caused by constantly producing work makes me feel like I should do something with it, on the other hand being busy enough to not have the appropriate amount of time I would like to put into making posts on here causes me to balk at the practice of just throwing images up for the sake of posting. But I'm going to try to work myself back into the habit, which means posting along with some degree of writing, because it is the two together that I honestly enjoy. Sidenote: I have a week off coming up in October and while I intend to use some of that for day trips to see some fall color, I also intend to use some of it to sit down and work on a more tangible photo project (wishing myself luck).
Anyway, I just returned from a trip to Singapore. It all sort of came together obliquely. Southeast Asia has been a goal of mine for a couple of years now, but I expected it to be Japan. Tokyo and Kyoto are still top of my list, but I recently had a museum in Singapore reach out and request the exhibition of four of my images for inclusion in a larger exhibit on the intersection of humankind and technology. So when a planned trip to Japan was rescheduled, Singapore became a destination of opportunity.
I'll write more about Singapore in a later post or four, but for this one I wanted to talk a bit more about bridges. Going into a foreign city is always tough. It is not so much the foreign aspect as it is the unfamiliar nature of the new location. And tough in the sense that I think as a photographer it is always tricky to go into somewhere you are not familiar with and be able to speak with your own personal voice. It is easy to go somewhere and make the standard touristy photos. All you need for that is a few hours on Google or Instagram to find your locations. That type of photography is easy, and can be fun in the sense that the spots photographers gravitate toward are cliche for good reason. Find the right location, wait for some good light, and you have the formula for quick and nice photos, even if they tend to be a bit generic in variety and not necessarily indicative of your own personal voice.
But the alternative, making photos that are more unique to you, is also much more difficult. Generally to do so you need either time to get to know the area you are visiting so that you can speak with more familiarity, you need to do your research not just on locations but everything you need to know such as culture, history, etc so that you can speak with greater insight and authority, or you need to go into that location with a specific topic with which you have spent time working and developing. For me, that has been bridges. While my knowledge of Singapore's bridges is surface level only, and I will supplement that with further research, my familiarity in photographing bridges all over the world gives me a foundation to build on even when I am in an unfamiliar city. It definitely helps me to look at even oft-photographed bridges, such as the Helix Bridge in Singapore, in a variety of ways.
When I first started this bridge project in my hometown of Portland, Oregon about a decade ago I never expected that one of its benefits would be this notion I could carry with me as I traveled, giving me a direct when the newness of the area left me feeling a bit visually overwhelmed.
On a different, but still related note, I did not take my Hasselblad with me on this trip. For reasons I'll not bother explaining I chose instead to use my Pentax 6x7, a decision I am not regretting at all. I love that camera. But all my bridge work has been done on my Hasselblad, thus it is all square. I actually intend to keep it that way, so I had to compose my images imagining a square viewfinder with the intent to crop down later. I found this really difficult to do since I compose so intuitively with the scene through the viewfinder. I really push back against the notion of having "extra" stuff in the frame I am exposing that I am going to crop out later. Weirdly enough, if I had just taped in a square mask in the finder itself, it would have solved this mental problem for me. But I had not expected to struggle with this so much. I am kind of meticulous in my framing and not being able to see exactly where the edges of my imagined square frame would be threw me a bit. This image is one example. I shot it with the intent to crop it square, but I still composed it to fit the 6x7 frame. I am curious to see how well it crops down and whether such a crop bugs me. We shall see.
Anyway, Singapore is a cool city and one I would definitely recommend to anyone wanting to head to Southeast Asia. It is an easy city to travel in and through. Super safe and clean. Photogenic. Hot, but photogenic. My exhibit comes down on the 20th, so if you are reading this and heading in that direction soon, you'll likely miss it. But it apparently will be getting a second run starting in December or January. So if you are passing through Singapore early next year, look up the Red Dot Design Museum (it's right down in the waterfront area right next to Marina Bay).
Pentax 6x7
Kodak TMax or Tri-X
I'm apart of creative team in my youth group to help teens get tangible ways of seeing things different and remembering a night a youth group about the sermon instead of it being just words, so I personal thought of this idea for what was talked about...
balloons..at my youth group
we talked about healing of the heart and letting go of pain, or resentment or whatever else that keeps us from moving forward in life or hinders us and giving it to God. Because in truth, sometimes we hold on to things that only hurt ourselves, and we don't even realize it.
We wrote down whatever we personal wanted on a little piece of paper, tied it to the balloons then we went outside and let them go.
"Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." Hebrews 12:1
Afterward [God] added: “I want to show you something of my power.” And immediately the eyes of my soul were opened, and in a vision I beheld the fullness of God in which I beheld and comprehended the whole of creation, that is, what is on this side and what is beyond the sea, the abyss, the sea itself, and everything else. And in everything that I saw, I could perceive nothing except the presence and the power of God, and in a manner totally indescribable. And my soul in an excess of wonder cried out: “This world is pregnant with God!” Wherefore I understood how small is the whole of creation—that is, what is on this side and what is beyond the sea, the abyss, the sea itself, and everything else—but the power of God fills it all to overflowing.
-Angela of Foligno, “The Memorial: The Stages of Angela’s Inner Journey,” in Angela of Foligno: Complete Works, ed. Paul Lachance (New York: Paulist Press, 1993), 169–70
/************
. This is the problem in a nutshell. To use another image: bare “facts” swirl chaotically through the universe in their billions. If no one organizes or interprets them they remain garbage, pure informational garbage. This informational trash has nothing to do with “history,” not in the least. The so-called fact is a prior level, a partial element, but it is not yet history. Thousands of facts, in and of themselves, are not history. History is interpreted event. Historical knowledge organizes and interprets the infinite chaos of facts.
-Jesus of Nazareth Gerhard Lohfink Jesus of Nazareth What He Wanted, Who He Was Translated by Linda M. Maloney
On my way to run a few errands after work today, I decided I needed to walk beneath sculptor Alexander Calder's "Flamingo" in the John Kluczynski Federal Plaza.
This Chicago icon was one of the landmarks I had first wanted to see upon my relocation to this wonderful city.
Standing beneath its curving forms, I reached out both of my hands to touch this magnificent work of art - and in that moment, I felt connected to this city I have adopted and have called my own for over a decade.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flamingo_(sculpture)
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Calder
Downtown, The Loop, Chicago, Illinois.
Friday, May 3, 2019.
Two tangible objects representing something immense and fantastic. Love.
P.S. she was wearing a shirt
Light on Shell Study #03378, single non-direct window light from right, no reflectors, WB in CS6 only with no color correction, preservatives or additives
Commentary.
Probably derived from “Withy-combe” or “Willow Valley,”
Widecombe-in-the-Moor epitomises the remote upland villages of Dartmoor.
Renowned for its annual “fair” and the accompanying folk-song, “Uncle Tom Cobley and All,” this scene, including the grounds of the Parish Church of St.Pancras, otherwise known as “The Cathedral of the Moor,” due to its disproportionate size, in such a small and under-stated village, is so typical of this moorland landscape.
Widecombe Valley crowded by broadleaf trees gives way to the green patchwork of pasture for sheep and cattle, embroidered and edged by the ever-present tall Devon hedgerows and trees.
Steep lanes climb steadily in gentle undulations between the “Tors,” at the highest points.
From one to two thousand feet up, depending on aspect, the green swathe of fields, in turn, transforms into the reddish-brown bracken and heather of the high moorland.
The yellow of dense Gorse is also clear to see.
This almost tan-brown and purple autumn carpet contrasts sharply with the broken, shattered, grey piles of granitic boulder called “Tors,” that peak on the horizon.
Many visitors and locals scramble to these other-worldly, jumbled, irregular stone piles, from which, miles of sweeping moorland, fades into the distance.
An awesome and spiritual place that stays long in the memory, none more so, than when the mists descend and the legends and fears of “the Great Swamp,” as the locals often refer to it, become very uncomfortably tangible!!!
Keystone 60 Second Everflash
669 Film (exp. 1995)
This was my take on the Tangible Project's "Resurrection" theme for March. Dan (abdukted1456) was the recipient of this original polaroid and I encourage everyone to check out the Tangible Project and consider joining so you too, can receive original polaroids in the mail!
The sea resurrects itself over and over again in each and every wave that surges up upon the shore.
Jupiter Inlet Light
Taken on May 2/2010
Jupiter, Florida, USA
Nikon D5000
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When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."
─John 8:12
The Crabb Family ~ The Light House
History:
The Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse was completed and first lit on July 10, 1860. It is the oldest existing structure in Palm Beach County. The Lighthouse stands on an ancient Indian shell mound, dated around 700 AD, and is 156 feet tall with 105 steps from the base to the top. The Lighthouse itself is 108 feet high while the mound is 48 feet high. The light was produced by a first order Fresnel lens made by the Henry-Lepaute Company in Paris. The rotating lens flashes (burst of light when bulls-eye passes viewer's line of vision) is 1.2 seconds, eclipses (darkens) 6.6 seconds, flashes 1.2 seconds, eclipses 21 seconds, and then repeats the cycle. The light can be viewed approximately 20 miles out at sea.
George Gordon Meade, a Lieutenant at the Bureau of Topographical Engineers and later the general who defeated Robert E. Lee at Gettysburg, designed the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse. Work began on the mound in 1853, but slowed when the inlet filled with silt, the Third Seminole War erupted from 1855 to 1858, and the purgatory of heat, humidity, and insects bore on the workmen.
After the light was lit in 1860, a group of Confederate sympathizers, including some of the Lighthouse Keepers, sneaked into the tower and removed enough of the lamp and revolving mechanism to make it unserviceable. Throughout the war, the light remained dark.
After the war, sections of the lens assembly were returned, and the light once again beamed on June 28, 1866. Captain James Armour became the lighthouse keeper and would serve for forty-two years.
A telegraph signal station was added to the lighthouse grounds in 1898. The original keeper's dwelling burned down in 1927. The light station was electrified in 1928 and damaged by a hurricane later that year. During the storm, the top of the tower was reported to have swayed up to 17 inches. Several windowpanes were broken at the top of the tower and one of the bulls-eyes sections of the lens was shattered.
During World War II, the lighthouse was dimmed through the use of a low-wattage bulb. Several ships were sunk offshore, and the sad duty of recovering the bodies as they washed ashore fell to the Lighthouse Keepers.
In 1959, the two-story Lighthouse Keeper's dwelling was torn down and new quarters were built. In 1973, the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse was put on the National Register of Historic Places. For a number of years, the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse was painted a "firehouse" red, but during the 1999 restoration, the tower's color was returned to the natural red brick. The work on the tower took 8 months and cost $850,000.
The Loxahatchee River Historical Society administers the Jupiter Inlet Lighthouse. The lighthouse is owned and maintained as an active maritime aid to navigation by the U.S. Coast Guard.
Source: Loxahatchee River Historical Society
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Textures by:SkeletalMess: Square-63, Biblical Clouds & woodplanks. Thank you very much Jerry!!
PLEASE: Do not add your picture (even a miniature) or Flickr river link with your comment, it will be removed.
The Art of Investment: William Stone Images & Beyond
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Please do qoute the unique reference below.
WS-119-91948472-232665822-6723084-2842024230902
for "The Tangible Project" - theme WATER: www.flickr.com/groups/thetangibleproject/discuss/72157624...
this pola will go to: www.flickr.com/photos/mindblob/
Minolta Instant Pro Polaroid
Image Softtone film
part of the Tangible Project
the recipient of this polaroid is dfuster74
When I saw that the first theme of the Tangible Project was water, I immediately thought of the sea and knew I would do something with that. Water for me, almost always conjures up visions of sea or rain and as there was no rain at the moment, the sea it was. Water is wave, is foam, is the edge of the horizon that blends sea and sky until the two are almost indiscernible and you don’t which is which but for clouds and rocks that anchor sky to sky and sea to sea. For me, this is water - this is all there is, because the city I live in is nothing more than an island surrounded by smaller barrier islands, and water is all around me, is a part of me. I cannot escape it except by bridge or boat. Water is everywhere and it is everything and this is my vision of water, the tide at morning, coming in and going out, all at the same time.
tangible bags - greifbare taschen - weavings, Mexico
Explore 05-19-08
i was out yesterday (first time in 5 weeks) and walked around 8 blocks.... in my monster-ous walking-boot - - - uooaaaa... i "saw" so many things ((((((;
“At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.”
-Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters on Cézanne
“Things aren't all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life”
- Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
A hundred years into the future, Lord Satanus sits upon a twisted metal throne in the ruins of metropolis. His sister rules by his side. The world is fire, pain and blood. The world is theirs. Ten years in the future, Lord Satanus leads a legion of demons through hell; their hissing and screaming and chanting carves a bloody swath through the inferno to behead the Demon lord known as Neron.
Twenty years in the future, Lady Blaze will usurp Lord Satanus’s then-immense power, and leave him for dead, a withered, aching husk. Stripped entirely of his former glory, and cast into the abyssal wastes to fend for himself among the lesser demons.
Today, she is his only hope.
Lord Satanus sits, powerless in his cell. The vibrations on the dampeners boring into his head. He attempts to meditate, to find some kind of inner calm, but fails. A figure sulks towards his glass enclosure.
Blaze: Brotherrrrr . . . I have come.
Satanus: Wicked Sister! You are my salvation! Release me from this bondage, and we shall engulf this prison in flames.
Blaze: Yes, brother. We shall feast, and this pit will become our own!
Blaze conjures a ball of fire and attempts to destroy Satanus’s cell and power dampeners. They refuse to budge, or even char. Somewhere, Niles Caulder smiles.
Blaze: Satan’s breath. Rest easy, brother, I shall free you, yet.
Blaze merges with the barely-tangible shadows of the hallway and floats down the corridors, past all manner of incarcerated, monstrous people. Psycho Pirate sneers as she goes by. Prometheus cowers in the corner of his cell. Other villains, long forgotten by the public, watch with silent eyes as Blaze shifts around the corner.
Christopher Hackett, twenty three, is newly married. His wife Ellen and he expect a baby within the month. Thanks to Blaze, Ellen will be a single mother.
Blaze tears open the shaft of the service elevator at the end of the hall and floats down it, gentle as a leaf despite her armor, gnarled and heavy, and tears the doors open to the basement. She can feel a great surge of power emanating from this room. Her brother has been stripped of this power, she deduces, releasing it will release him.
Ted Manalo is a single father. After tonight, his daughter will go into the custody of his ageing parents. She will learn to grow up far too quickly. Billy Logan is the only sibling left of three, and the only one who cares for the elderly Mrs. Logan. After tonight, she will have no one.
Blaze approaches the box of power. She can smell the fumes of it, feel energy radiating off it. She drinks a little, makes a sound not unlike a purr, then in one swift movement slashes it to ribbon. It explodes in a fireball of sparks, then dies like Christopher, Ted, Billy and Jerald.
Jerald Parker works the nightshift. He’s here filling in for another man. He wasn’t even supposed to be here today. He won’t survive the afternoon. There is no one to mourn him.
On the floors above, An alarm begins to sound. Blaze courses swiftly back to Satanus’s cell, the doors behind her swinging open as she goes.
“Grodd’s Balls, you filthy chain-smoking Layabouts! Get down to detention block S immediately!” shouts Michael Patten to Digger Harkness and Floyd Lawton. He sends a distress signal to Amanda Waller. Waller is in Washington, there’s nothing she can do.
Digger, withdrawing Boomerangs: Another day in paradise eh?
Floyd, still not looking at him: Another day.
Answer: I’m sure it’s not in your vocabulary, but I advise you to be as non-lethal as possible. You both know how the boss likes her toys broken.
Systematically, the doors start swinging open. The guards begin grapping weaponry. Some suit up in light armor, though generally, they know it wont help. They all grab tranquilizers, Emps, sonic rifles and other non-lethal neutralizers. They’ve been through the training, they know the drill.
Dave Rebor, married father of two, will die despite the training.
If the guards had it their way, they would kill their prisoners on-sight in this situation, but that’s not what they’re being paid for. Floyd Lawton is no guard, and Floyd Lawton is not having a good day, mentally. Even before he pulled his mask on, the world was red around him, the walls coated in blood, and a bullet hole placed neatly between the eyes of everyone around him. One freak, smiling toothily, breaks free of his cell and begins to sprint down the hall. Deadshot shoots him through the neck. They’re all dead to him anyways, today, what’s a few more. Captain Boomerang runs ahead, dodging and weaving through the chaos, scoring hits where he can. Deadshot just walks casually, firing through the riot. Wading through the dead.
Prometheus seizes the opportunity and sprints to the monitor room. In a time like this, who’s to stop him from lifting all of Belle Reve’s secrets and making a nice profit off of them.
Ben Smith and Jerry Cawse do not see tomorrow thanks to him.
Prometheus slams open the door to the monitor room, and basks briefly in it’s low, glaring light. Only one man stands in his way.
Answer: Not now, man! Can’t you see there’s a god damn riot on! It’s like the 1960’s all over again and you’re up here, gnashing at me like a wildebeest!
Prometheus, preparing a fight stance: I hope you have your house in order. *He lunges forward.*
Answer, in one swift motion, spins his chair, grasps his cane and ignites a flashbulb within it, blinding Prometheus for a moment. He swings the cane and jabs Prometheus in the stomach, then grabs the back of his helmet and smashes it on the monitor. Prometheus crumples to the floor.
Answer: This is my house, bitch.
Black Orchid, sitting on the far end of the monitor, smiles widely.
Answer: Flower, baby, you should probably get out there and crack some skulls. Maybe bring me back one to gnaw on.
Orchid nods, kisses his forehead, brushes his chin a second, then flies out of the room and into the fray. Randy Miller, John Beckel, and Lance Henry see tomorrow because of her. Another man, Mike Derry, will be saved at the last minute by Bito Wladon, not wanting to seem dishonorable. No one will live or die because of Angelo Bend, sitting patiently in his cell until Wladon comes to speak with him.
Satanus exits his cell, his power grows. He breathes in the screams and carnage.
Satanus: Sister, you have done well. This structure shall soon be ours.
Blaze: Brother, it alrea-
Her sentence is cut short by Orchid’s fist, plowing squarely into her face. Blaze hits the ground hard, and Black Orchid continues to pummel her. Satanus grabs Orchid by the throat, lifts her bodily, and stares.
Satanus: Child. . . I smell . . . The Green on you. *he pulls her closer to his face* Curious.
Black Orchid goes limp, and Satanus tosses her aside bodily.
Satanus: Rise, sister. This is no place to fall.
Blaze smiles, rises, and arm-in-arm, the two begin to stroll casually through the violence.
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She's fine. She's okay. She's fine . . .
.
Once again, thanks to Elizabeth Hudson for letting me post my edit of one of her photographs. The orignal photograph of Faye is a remarkable image that portrays this woman as both beautifully ethereal and yet tangibly real. A rare combination.
Previously: regarding an angel regarding you
photography - Elizabeth Hudson © 2012
edit by Tim Lowly
A being appears suspended between the tangible and the ethereal, encircled by metallic rings that evoke an alien gravity, a movement defying weight. The body, fragile and almost translucent, blends into a dreamlike scenery where flesh and steel merge, where mist intertwines with the organic. The model’s expression, half-dreamy, half-tormented, suggests an inner meditation, a surrender to the vertigo of the void.
The duality between raw matter and the immaterial asserts itself in a striking contrast: the hardness of the metallic rings seems to imprison the being, yet simultaneously elevates it to a higher plane, a silent ascension through an undefined space. The black and white tones amplify this tension, giving the scene a haunting timelessness. Is this a ritual of dissolution, or a metamorphosis into another form of existence?
The placement of the image within a contemporary interior reinforces the idea of a confrontation between art and living space, between contemplation and the mundane. The artwork acts as a portal, a rupture in reality, a call toward the unknown.
This classical Japanese restaurant was built in 1927 and is a registered tangible cultural property. It keeps the view of the Showa period.
Usually by the time I arrive at most destinations in rural Saskatchewan, the inevitable unfolding is completely in progress, the descent is equally tangible and hardly random….here pioneer residents are living out their final chapters. The emotional dialogue in your head is always a haunting reminder of the only constant we are assured of becomes change.
Only by connecting with willing folks are important details shared. Such was my time spent with Guy, the friendly owner of "Guy's Lunch and Grocery" in Vanguard, SK.
With his children enjoying the fruits of college and university success, I was sympathetic to the hard work required for tuition and support, the hours needed to keep this iconic grocery store running many a year, the determination for his children to enjoy successful careers. My entrance into the story books is shortly after the doors closed. I found it difficult to reconcile the town hub shutting down in this tiny community. Was I witnessing a final chapter.
Yet Guy remained superbly optimistic, for each morning he'd drive over an hour each direction into Swift Current with his wife early in the morning for coffee and breakfast. He'd think nothing of a quick drive to Calgary on weekends to visit children five hours away. A new chapter was beginning within the cocoon of retirement, and I the recipient of a unique farewell and home grown experience.
I'd like to thank many for their encouragement while I attended the Frame by Frame PhotoForum 2012 three day workshop in Regina, SK. I managed to catch some rural gems along the Hwy 13 route. Caution, leave the sports coupe at home.
The Regina Shutterbugs pulled off the unimaginable, bringing together such notable photographers such as Freeman Patterson, George Webber, Dennis Fast, Larry Easton, Mike Grandmaison, and many others. One theme kept running throughout the presentations, camera gear is fairly insignificant, and developing a coherent body of work could open many doors. Refine the subject which you enjoy most.
With some brainstorming, I'll have much to share with our local club. Some great books also slipped underneath my arms. The renewal is undeniably refreshing, the archives are filled.
*Please view LARGE for best rural detail
**Textures courtesy of various sources on Flickr
***Thank You for your generous support, visits, comments, favourites, and galleries.
****Founded in 1912, the village of Vanguard, Saskatchewan is located in the southwest corner of Saskatchewan on Highway 43 close to Notekeu Creek. It is located in the rural municipality of Whiska Creek. Its prime economic driver is agriculture: chick peas; lentils; red, spring, hard and durum wheats are grown here.
The photo above is a scan of an actual, tangible object. It is the only one in existence. Years from now, when the zeros and ones that exist on some server, allowing you to view it, have been deleted, I'll still be able to see, smell, and feel it.
I've known Polaroid since I was old enough to know anything. The family albums, going back into the 50's, are dominated by Polaroid photos, beginning with stiff peel-apart shots adhered to cardboard mounts, followed by pale SX-70 integral prints, and eventually giving way to the rectangular frame of Spectra shots. Judging by the familiar looks and smiles I get from people who notice the SX-70 or 250 I carry around, Polaroid is a significant part of many others' lives as well. I delightedly re-discovered Polaroid in recent years thanks to my then-girlfriend (now fiancee) and her Big Shot. I relive that pleasure every time I watch someone peel a print from the negative in amazement for the first time in decades or, perhaps, ever. It's sad that this unique component of American culture which I previously had taken completely for granted is in danger of being relegated to "The History of American Culture - 1940's to 2000's". I imagine I'll have to explain why these photos I have look so different than others if I have kids or grandkids although there's a distinct possibility they won't care without experiencing the magic first-hand, a thought that troubles me.
I took this photo of myself at a birthday party for my fiancee. We set up a photo booth using a tripod-mounted Spectra (dug out of a closet at my parents' house) and a Spectra wireless remote control we won at auction online. People went nuts when they saw the pictures coming out of the "booth" and loved that they could actually take the pictures home. Most of these people brought digital cameras with them but few, if any, digital pictures were taken that night, those being easily overshadowed by the visceral and social nature of the Polaroids. No substitute for this experience exists that is as accessible, even if it is currently less-so than in previous decades, and to lose Polaroid now will be hard to swallow.
That being said, I'll buy and shoot Polaroid until the last pack is sold and, perhaps, stash a few packs in hopes that they last long enough to some day demo that Polaroid magic for my kids one last time.
-Nick Zamora
If you do not press L their is no point watching at all
My award from you is a word or few, not a flashing/dancing/jumping or singing copy/paste item.
Please do not feel offended if I erase those comments.
The use of this photo is allowed only with written authorization of Svante Oldenburg
What lies in the time before twilight is a certain truth. It falls with a sureness soon to come, a tangible passage of time. Strange muted sighs from the distant rise of rolling hills, and all that hides in the valley between this South and that North Mountain. The impracticality of old cemeteries draws me out, imagining heavy stones and bodies borne up steep slopes. They don't plant people like they used to, searching instead for some flat field to make the mourning easier. But it seems to me that the wonder is worth it, building up a little beauty so the sadness has more meaning. Spires perched like birds in precarious position, heartfelt hilltop history, over my head and underfoot. When the bottom falls out of my memories, it's a six foot drop at most. But from the top of this slope, it's a sleepy descent, all the way down to the past.
April 30, 2020
Old Tremont Cemetery
Tremont, Nova Scotia
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Sheldon Jackson Museum, Sitka, Alaska
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Tangible visions : Northwest Coast Indian shamanism and its art
Author: Wardwell, Allen
Imprint: New York : Monacelli Press with the Corvus Press ; Enfield : Publishers Group UK [distributor], 2009
This volume presents the first comprehensive illustrated study of the various kinds of painted and carved objects that were carried and worn by shamans as they went about their duties.
In order to form alliances with animal spirits, Northwest Coast shamans deprived themselves of food, water, and sleep during long vigils in the wilderness. The spirits that came to them in dreams and visions at such times could then be summoned to assist in healing and divinatory seances.
Much of the ceremonial paraphernalia represents the helping spirits in the shaman's service. Certain examples which show complex juxtapositions of many animals and human figures depict the dreams or trance experiences of the shaman at the time he was forming his alliances.
This study places Northwest Coast shamanism in a world-wide context and demonstrates the ways its practices and beliefs are similar to those found elsewhere. Throughout the book are archival photographs - portraits of shamans and their decaying grave houses - as well as descriptions of their lives, exploits, and performances.
A discussion of the characteristics of shamanic art includes the meaning of the complex iconography, which includes such creatures as land otters, devilfish, oystercatchers, mountain goats, and drowning men.
The heart of the book is a catalogue of the objects - masks, amulets, storage boxes, drinking cups, clothing, drums, rattles, figure sculptures, soul catchers, staffs, crowns, and combs - employed by shamans.
More than five hundred photographs, a large number published here for the first time, show the finest examples of Northwest Coast shamanistic art in museums and private collections throughout the world."
library.bgc.bard.edu/catalog/ocn318673037
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The Sheldon Jackson Museum collections include objects from each of the Native groups in Alaska: Tlingit, Haida, Tsimshian, Aleut, Alutiiq, Yup’ik, Inupiat and Athabascan.
The collections strongly reflect the collecting done by founder, Sheldon Jackson, from 1887 through about 1898 during his tenure as General Agent of Education for Alaska.
Other objects were subsequently added to the collection, but in 1984 when the museum was purchased by the State of Alaska, the decision was made to add only Alaska Native materials made prior to the early 1930s.
The Yup’ik and Inupiat objects are the most widely represented and have the broadest selection of materials but in no way provide a comprehensive picture of the cultures.
The collection of objects from Southeast Alaska is rich in objects made for sale around the late 1800s and into the early 1900s. Spruce root baskets, engraved silver objects, and bead work are important representatives of traditional skills and materials being used to make items for sale.
However, there is only a smattering of stone tools, fishing and hunting equipment and clothing in the collection. Many everyday utilitarian objects are missing.
Sheldon Jackson only traveled deep into the interior once in his career in Alaska. He or his representative collected only a dozen Athabascan objects during that time. Athabascan objects have been added but well over half of the 106 Athabascan objects came to the museum after 1960.
Aleut and Alutiiq materials are even more rare. By the time Jackson and his teachers began collecting in the Aleutian Islands and Prince William Sound, those cultures had been impacted by Western cultures for nearly 150 years.
Museums in St. Petersburg, Russia and Finland are rich in material culture from those areas. Jackson was able to purchase made-for-sale grass baskets, gut bags and model baidarkas, but little else in the way of materials representing the people of the Aleutians.
To better represent the cultures of Alaska, the Museum is seeking items relating to certain areas and subjects. The following is a partial list:
Tlingit spoon bag, spoon mold, digging stick, bentwood box with woven cover and other utilitarian objects.
Aleut/Alutiiq clothing, kayak bailer, wood carvings and utilitarian objects.
Athabascan masks and utilitarian objects.
Any objects collected by Sheldon Jackson.
Machu Picchu is tangible evidence of the urban Inca Empire at the peak of its power and achievement—a citadel of cut stone fit together without mortar so tightly that its cracks still can’t be penetrated by a knife blade.
The complex of palaces and plazas, temples and homes may have been built as a ceremonial site, a military stronghold, or a retreat for ruling elites—its dramatic location is certainly well suited for any of those purposes. The ruins lie on a high ridge, surrounded on three sides by the windy, turbulent Urubamba River some 2,000 feet (610 meters) below.
Scholars are still striving to uncover clues to the mysteries hidden here high in the eastern slopes of the Andes, covered with tropical forests of the upper Amazon Basin. Machu Picchu appears to lie at the center of a network of related sites and trails—and many landmarks both man-made and mountainous appear to align with astronomical events like the solstice sunset. The Inca had no written language, so they left no record of why they built the site or how they used it before it was abandoned in the early 16th century.
Landscape engineering skills are in strong evidence at Machu Picchu. The site’s buildings, walls, terraces, and ramps reclaim the steep mountainous terrain and make the city blend naturally into the rock escarpments on which it is situated. The 700-plus terraces preserved soil, promoted agriculture, and served as part of an extensive water-distribution system that conserved water and limited erosion on the steep slopes.
The Inca’s achievements and skills are all the more impressive in light of the knowledge they lacked. When Machu Picchu was built some 500 years ago the Inca had no iron, no steel, and no wheels. Their tremendous effort apparently benefited relatively few people—some experts maintain that fewer than a thousand individuals lived here.
Warszawa, Poland
Autumn
"We Have Never Met" project puts myself and another photographer together from anywhere in the world as we shoot one roll of the same film together...kind of....at a distance anyway. And then combinging the effort into a tangible photowalk of sorts.
Vol 2 is with a French photographer living in my own backyard, Warszawa...and we have never met.
You can find the entire series on my Behance profile. Hit me up if you are interested in participating. Thanks for watching!
. . . did I ever think I could have achieved this comfort level dressed en femme?
Sure, it was exciting and thrilling and fun, but how did I foresee my future?
Fact is, I don't know
kunst,museum,chaos
Wuchernde Formen bedecken parasitengleich die Wände, Materialberge docken wie Raumschiffe an, Farben erobern explosionsartig die Oberflächen. Der fremd gewordene Raum macht die Energie des Schöpferischen erlebbar und entwickelt eine neue Poesie.
Ongebreidelde vormen beschouwen de muren als het paradijs. stapels materiaal aangemeerd als ruimteschepen,kleuren explodeerden over de oppervlakken.de buitenaardse ordening ruim maakt de energie van het creatieve tastbaar en ontwikkeld een nieuwe poezie.
Rampant forms consider the walls like paradise .Piles of material docked like spaceships,colors exploded over the surfaces. The alien-ordening makes the energy of the creative chambre tangible and develops a new poetry.
Les formes rampantes considerent les murs comme un paradis.Des tas de materiaux amarres comme devaissaux spatiaux. Les couleurs explosaient sur les surfaces. l''espace etrangement agence rend tangible l''energie de la creation et developpe une nouvelle poesie.