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Bikini Thoughts - Kneeling: Godox V1 rear left and right with umbrellas. Godox AD200 in octogonal softbox above left for main light, above right in 30x120 softbox for fill.
"Whatever makes an impression on the heart seems lovely in the eye"
Saadi Shirazi<---TtA.
© copyright by lilion. All rights reserved.
This is a painting from my life drawing which explores both the human physique and the psychological experience of being observed in such an intimate way - the depiction of thought process within the figure. It is wood on panel.
Today my peaceful country was the victim of a terrorist attack. My thoughts goes out to the victims and their families.
Taken with the Casio exilim ZR-100
A woman stands deep in thought below the pedestal of Auguste Rodin's famous bronze sculpture "The Thinker". The Thinker is today a commonly recognized symbol of philosophy and learning. It is thought to represent knowledge or the attainment of knowledge. First exhibited in 1904, it is an iconic piece of work that still inspires artists to this day.
Photographed at San Francisco's 'Palace of The Legion of Honor'.
I posted my two "Strangers in the Atacama" Sets to quite a few groups a while back. I will not post all the images again tothose groups, but I am re-posting this one image to a few selective groups along with an invitation to read the story again because I have expanding the ending quite a bit and have taken the story further. For new groups I have just joined, you get the whole treatment ;>)
For folks who did not have a chance see the two sets and read the story the first time, I invite you to have a look. The begins on the set thumbnail page: www.flickr.com/photos/retrorocketrick/sets/72157627217616...
The treatment effects that were not in the original unaltered image (which are included in this set), are mine, for better or for worse, and were done in Photoshop Elements 7.
There was at least 10 layers to this scene, and about 8 hrs work in this one image, before I hit the "merge" button. (whew!)
I would really enjoy substantive comment. So often we, as Flickr members, post only one or two words about someone's efforts, or posts one of those pre-made "awards" which really says nothing, nor provides any human feedback.
I challenge those that take the time to read these words, to come up with some subnative comment(s) that says "Wowzer" about you and your imagination. If you would like to expand, or add your own thoughts to the story just post it in the thread's comment box. Sooooo here is a chance to dust off your creative neurons and let them roam freely around in your three-shelled cranium. Come on, don't be chicken!
Reading the story on the set thumbnail page can be rather tedious so I would suggest you copy and paste both parts into whatever word processor you are using. Print a copy use it, as you look at the applicable set images.
Thanks,
~retrorocketrick
**************** By the way:
--The background desert is the Atacama in Peru/Chile. - been there and have the tee shirt to prove it!
--A lot of the building were taken from my photos of Casa Mila in Barcelona.
-- The cliff I lifted from a photo I took in the Paracas National Reserve in Peru
-- and the lone survivor, sitting there licking his wounded hand, was lifted from an photo I took in the Mangrover Forests of Peru.
--The shack was in the original photo. In this first set, at the end I have include photos of our actual train ride through the Atacama.
In Atacama Desert of Chile
#Human #Umbrella #Rural_area #Bank #Grassland #Reservoir #Wetland #Fluvial_landforms_of_streams #Cottage #Floodplain #Paddy_field #Rain #NikonD800
How many times have we said to ourselves -I'll do it once I'm done with this or this is the last time ... ?
So the leaf thought - "Once I'm free from the tree ...". Guess what ? Now it is struck again ...
I thought the atmosphere of this one made it worthwhile posting. This was not a pleasant time to be driving home. The heavy traffic on Queens Road uually keeps it clear of falling snow, but the blizzard was so heavy, the road could not cope with the sheer volume. I gained a strange enjoyment from being out in such extreme conditions!
I thought I’d flash some cleavage, but a slender girl like me doesn’t have a lot to work with! Still, if you look closely you may be able to enjoy the Tits in the garden
Man from a Nuba tribe smoking a traditional pipe.Nuba are one of the largest non Arabic tribes in Sudan.They are by origin from Jebel(mountain)Nuba)in central Sudan.Nuba are famous by wresttling..
Taken in Northern Sudan.
A moment of rest - such an unusual thing to see with these tiny birds. I am so looking forward to being able to take some brighter, "warmer" photos!
FREE SPEECH
By Neil Goodwin
I decided to have another go at Section 132 of the Serious and Organised Crime and Police Act 2005. I didn’t buy that whole ‘inappropriate’ line from my previous brush off with the law. Section 132 and I were made for each other.
Well Section 132 was actually made to get rid of Brian Haw, who for the past four years had turned Parliament Square into an unsightly bloody mess as a shocking indictment of the unsightly bloody mess that Britain and America has turned large chunks of the Muslim world into. And it’s extremely powerful stuff. Covered in words like ‘GENOCIDE’ and horrendous images of mutilated and deformed children, the kind of cruel and grotesque visions of war that our media willingly self-censors and sanitises every day, Brian’s display runs right across the front of the green, making it impossible to ignore.
As Brian commented as far back as November 2004: ‘The Government doesn’t want people to hear what I’m saying and to see the pictures of tortured and bombed innocent children which I have on display here.’
According to Section 132 -
‘Any person who –
(a)organises a demonstration in a public place in the designated area, or
(b)takes part in a demonstration in a public place in the designated area, or
(c)carries on a demonstration by himself in a public place in the designated area,
is guilty of an offence if, when the demonstration starts, authorisation for the demonstration has not been given…’
But what happened was that Section 132 was so hastily and shoddily concocted that the one person that it was designed to silence somehow slipped through the net, ironically becoming the only person who could then legally protest near Westminster, while (hopefully!) waking the rest of us up to the further erosion of our civil liberties.
Edmund Burke once wrote that ‘Bad laws are the worst kind of tyranny’. But bad laws are also the best indication that a political system is quite frankly going completely barking mad. As some bright spark once observed – ‘Power corrupts. And absolute power corrupts absolutely’. And like the Tories before them, ten years of absolutism has made New Labour look more than a little frayed round the edges, Tony Blair’s frenzied gaze, now so reminiscent of Margaret Thatcher’s steely glare, sinking ever deeper into his skull, his manic smile betraying a progressively unhinged state of mind.
The fact that any act of dissent within sight of Westminster, however trivial, is now labelled as a Seriously Organised Crime shows just how much the Government is losing it. People are being leant on for the silliest of things. For dressing up as clowns, teddy bears, Mary Poppins. For eating iced buns, for pity’s sake! In truth, one of the first things to go under a dictatorship is a good sense of humour.
It had been a weird few weeks. Everywhere you looked the idea of Free Speech was being called into question, the boundaries of acceptability explored. First, Nick Griffin, leader of the British National Party, was cleared of inciting racial hatred (clearly a case of someone not reading the instructions on the packet). Then a bunch of demonstrators, one of which was dressed like a suicide bomber, took to the streets calling for the beheading of some cartoonists who had dared to depict the Prophet Mohamed. And finally Abu Hamza, the firebrand Muslim cleric, was banged-up for seven years at the Old Bailey for inciting murder and racial hatred.
So on my second visit to Westminster, ‘Free Speech’ was it, or at least the idea of it, because as I would once again become Charlie Chaplin, it would have to be mulled over, not uttered. So I cut out a thought bubble (courtesy of Microsoft), which contained the words ‘FREE SPEECH’, and I nailed it to a wooden handle.
Thursday February 9th 2006
Upon leaving the house as Chaplin, you are immediately and permanently on stage, and there’s always this awkward phase while you battle to get into character. You’ve thrown away the cloak of anonymity. You stand out like a sore thumb. Dogs seem to detest you for some reason, and people unexpectedly call out your name, laugh or blow their horns. Everything is given this weird context. An announcement on the platform warns passengers to be on the lookout for ‘suspicious behaviour’.
Before I went to Parliament Square, I decided to take a stroll around the West End. I paid homage to Chaplin’s statue in Leicester Square, giving his shoes a quick wipe before going on to The Cinema Store on St. Martin’s Lane, where I found a shelf devoted to Chaplin DVDs. There was a Special Deal ‘: 2 for £20. I took particular interest in ‘The Great Dictator’, Chaplin’s attack on authoritarianism. I had recently learned that Chaplin was not only born the same year as Hitler, but the same week.
Next, I strolled down to Trafalgar Square, where I was approached by two so-called Heritage Wardens who warned me that under local council by-laws, I couldn’t make any political speeches. Which was just as well. I had bigger fish to fry. But before I left, I passed a gang of youths, who interpreted my ‘Free Speech’ as support for the embattled cartoonists of Denmark.
“I’m gonna mash you up,” Threatened one. But then thought better of it. Which was just as well, I didn’t relish the idea of having to fend him off with my thought bubble.
My plan was to walk down the length of Whitehall, past Horse Guards and the Ministry of Defence, and hangout at Downing Street. As I mentioned before, Tony Blair made this speech at the Iraq War Summit in Texas, 2002, when he’s quoted as saying: -
‘When I pass protestors every day at Downing Street… I may not like what they call me, but I thank God that they can. That’s called Freedom.’
I wasn’t calling him anything rude, so in theory he’d doubly ‘thank God’ that he could pass me every day. So I’d stuck his quote onto the back of my thought bubble, in the vain hope that if I did finally get hitched to Section 132, he could be best man at my trial.
Downing Street must be one of the darkest and most dismal neighbourhoods in London, and, judging by all the security precautions, certainly one of the most paranoid. By the look of the guns and concrete tank traps, you’d be forgiven for believing that London has grown into a much more dangerous place. Although for a long time I’ve had the sneaking suspicion that this is exactly what the Government wants us to believe. A sneaking suspicion that the whole thing is one big protection racket designed to steal our money and civil liberties, and that Britain is really in the business of manufacturing and exporting real danger elsewhere.
It was mighty cold at Downing Street, so I decided to move on to Parliament Square and visit Brian Haw’s protest, where I was soon approached by two community coppers. There I was, surrounded by placards and banners and horrendous photographs of mutilated children, with words like ‘Genocide’, ‘Murder’ and ‘Greed’ screaming out left, right and centre. There I was, standing there with one simple thought on my mind: Free Speech’, an essence of Brian Haw’s protest, and these two wannabe cops are telling me that I can’t protest in the designated zone without permission. “What about all this, then?” I gestured.
I showed them Blair’s quote, to which they replied: “We’re not here to argue with you.” Luckily, I’d written my details down on a scrap of paper, so there could be no complications with obstruction. It seemed that Section 132 was finally in my grasp. I’d have my day in court. But the two pretend cops needed backup from the real thing, which arrived ten minutes later, huffing and puffing a touch more authoritatively.
I was given thirty minutes to leave the area, which was a total gift. Wow! Half an hour to relax and jolly about, and unleash a wave of seriously organised crime on a bunch of unsuspecting tourists, after which I could then go off to the nick for a spot of lunch and a nap. So I crossed the road.
Ten minutes later, this man wandered up to me in fancy dress. He looked like a town crier, with a three-pointed hat, a red coat covered in golden buttons and opulent feathery white ruffles, and funky-buckled shoes. He was carrying a large bell. I got the feeling that it was his job to ring the lunchtime bell for all the kids at Parliament. For a few seconds we stared at each other – exact opposites in many ways. Him: big, booming and colourful. Me: skinny, silent and black and white. Both: walking tourist attractions, London icons on parade.
“What’s all this about, then?” He huffed, looking me up and down. He was clearly taken aback by encountering another freak on his rounds. I wanted to shout: “Behind you!” But silently gushed and showed him the quote from the Head Master Mr Blair, which seemed to excuse my presence outside the school gates. He walked off without saying another word.
Then this lady appeared with a large painting of Jesus hung round her neck handing out prayers. She told me that the police didn’t seem to mind her praying for ‘Divine Mercy’, unlike the display opposite, which was essentially ‘praying’ for the same thing. I put a thought into Jesus’ mind.
I finally got to meet Brian Haw, who came over to take some pictures. Here is a man who has spent the last few years living in the ultimate Big Brother house, watched every minute of every day by scores of CCTV cameras, in one of the most security conscious neighbourhoods in the land. His protest, arguably the only substantial and public objection to Britain’s complicity in the Iraq war currently in existence. Because sad to say, without Mr. Haw’s efforts, there would be no visible day to day opposition to Britain’s disastrous, costly and highly immoral crusade in the Middle East. Without his screaming banners and placards, all would appear rosy in the English garden, and the thousands of tourists that visit the Palace of Westminster every day could only assume that the British people are totally ‘up for it’. Hence Section 132, the Government’s botched attempt to prune the roses and spray the aphids.
I looked across the road towards the green. One of the community coppers was staring at me. He tapped his wrist, as if to warn me I was running out of time. I swivelled round to check Big Ben. I had ten minutes, and held up ten fingers. He shook his head, and signalled five. Either way, I wasn’t fussed. I wasn’t going anywhere. I was just giving him the illusion that he had some kind of power over me. Lifting him up for the inevitable fall. Poor man. And he wasn’t even a real copper, just another guy in fancy dress.
When the time came, the community copper came over and told me that he was going to report me to the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) for infringing Section 132. While I stood ‘thinking’ about Free Speech, he filled out a statement and then got me to read and then sign it (which I probably shouldn’t have done). And then he left.
So on my second outing to Westminster - a huge anti-climax. No cheese and pickle sandwiches down the Charing Cross nick. No formal charge of Section 132. I wasn’t even leant on by a real copper. But I did get the opportunity to stand there for a further two hours, my thought clamped to the side of my brain, pulling funny faces and posing for pictures with hundreds of tourists.
And then I waddled-off, over Westminster Bridge and along the South Bank, where I bumped into Kat, an old housemate of mine, who spends his days standing totally still beneath The London Eye, completely covered in Black and White stripes. At his feet sat a cap sprinkled with about a pound’s worth of coins – the afternoon’s takings. My friend, Dee, suggested that I also take up a spot of busking on the South Bank, if nothing else to help pay for the bus fare, or my eventual fines. But I’m not too sure. Money changes the dynamic. Tourists seem to expect you to be able to execute fancy mimes. And perhaps some things are just not for sale.
One thing’s for sure. I was becoming more and more smitten with the character of Charlie Chaplin. Generally speaking, people appear friendlier towards you. I enjoy making people smile. My mobility problems, which often attract concerned looks in the street, seem to have found their spiritual home in Chaplin’s clown-like gait. Dressed as Chaplin I could now celebrate my stiff joints, enjoy the awkwardness - a state of mind that relaxed my body as a whole. As Chaplin observed, ‘Laughter is the tonic, the relief, the surcease of pain.’ And I was sure responding to treatment.
I entered the National Film Theatre, which was showing a season of Buster Keaton films, and ordered a hot chocolate. As I sat in the café, a group of teenagers came up to the window and gestured skywards, and proceeded to bow down to me in prayer. I was touched but the mock adoration, but it wasn’t until I left that I realised that I had been sitting directly beneath a large photo of The Little Tramp.
My daughter overthinking her own thoughts and dreaming away. It is taken by daylight with the use of a refelection screen. #portret #younggirl #blackandwhite #50mm #daylight
The Thought Economics' 30-minute interview podcast and transcript just dropped ==> video
"Most investors are focused on making money, full stop. If that’s your goal, you’re going to be like all the other investors — maximising sort term opportunities to make money. Taking a long-term strategy usually involves some larger, iterative process of learning about how to differentiate yourself from everybody else by knowing more than them in any given domain before that domain gets overinvested. We make money is a by-product of investing in the best entrepreneurs who are going to change the world. Our singular filter is to find the people, projects and opportunities that we think are going to be game-changing for humanity. If you succeed at doing that, you’ll make plenty of money"
"The long arc of human advancement — of progress — is from cultural and technological advancement. The human body is identical today to the body we had 2,000 years ago. Biological evolution hasn’t changed us, yet we are ‘smarter’ and ‘wiser’ — that’s cultural evolution. It’s the ideas, science and methods that we have used to accumulate wisdom over time. We put bad ideas aside and accumulate the ones that are helpful and true, allowing us to do the amazing things that we do. Every one of us is a contributor. And I would say I want to contribute to that as much as I can. Because I realise that’s the vector of progress. It's not staying where we are. It's not studying the past to keep it perpetuating. The past is a steppingstone to the future, and our legacy must be: how can we help facilitate human flourishing, advancement and happiness for the most people possible."
Thoughts
created with Jen Maddocks Artful Marks Monsieur 2 Bundle
www.digitalscrapbookingstudio.com/digital-art/bundled-dea...
#promotion
Our ideas are like the ocean, and thoughts like the drops which make up the ocean.
If you don't think clear enough, your idea will be hazy just like these drops.
A chain of thought in reverential silence will always reveal more than Chinese whispers. No muddied words; instead a shared space for imagination to soul search. The uninterrupted freedom of thinking.