View allAll Photos Tagged uncomfortable
I'm uncomfortable. Something doesn't suit me. And when something like that
happens, I tend to choose not to see. Not to be seen.
To ignore.
Precisely because it doesn't suit me or makes me uncomfortable.
And then I choose not to see.
I ignore what bothers me and try to move on.
And then?
Does what bothers me disappear just because I don't see it?
Or maybe I'm making myself disappear?
Until what bothers me becomes so much
that I must wake up.
And then I will find myself.
If it’s not too late.
Ignorer
Je ne suis pas à l’aise. Quelque chose ne me convient pas. Et quand
cela arrive, j’ai tendance à choisir de ne pas voir. De ne pas être vu.
D’ignorer.
Justement parce que ça ne me convient pas ou me dérange.
Et alors je choisis de ne pas voir.
J’ignore ce qui me dérange et j’essaie d’avancer.
Et ensuite ?
Est-ce que ce qui me dérange disparaît simplement parce que je ne le vois pas ?
Ou peut-être que c’est moi que je fais disparaître ?
Jusqu’à ce que ce qui me dérange prenne tellement de place
que je doive me réveiller.
Et alors je me retrouverai.
Si ce n’est pas trop tard.
After tumbling over the weir, the Hutt River roars through a myriad of solid rock and boulders - an uncomfortable reminder that the Wellington Fault Line runs right down the Hutt Valley, along the western side of the harbour, under a major Inter-Island ferry terminal, beneath the Wellington railway terminal, and under the city's CBD before dipping into Cook Strait...!
Most of the time, this fault line is below the surface and out of sight, but just every now and again, it broaches the surface - and immediately below this weir lies a reminder of the danger that lurks below...!
One thing is certain: the next time this fault line ruptures, we'll know about it...!!!
Continue to keep well everyone, and a big "Thank You" for taking the time and the trouble to leave a Comment...! It's always nice to hear from you, and your comments are always greatly appreciated...!
Monday, 4 May 2020: our temperature just after noon is +5C (windchill +1C). Sunrise is at 6:02 am, and sunset is at 9:04 pm. Windy, and we are supposed to get rain today, with more rain this week. Makes a change from seven or so months of snow : )
Like many people, I am having to post photos from my archives as I have been basically staying home, away from everyone and everything (apart from food shopping and maybe three or four short drives out of the city over the last few weeks).
I can't add any information about the crisis the whole world is in right now, as Flickr has threatened to terminate my account. This is because I was adding information about the present situation in the descriptions under the photos I am posting from my archives! I still don't understand why this was "wrong" and I have not heard back from Flickr after I sent an Appeal email to them. When I post archive photos, I add the descriptions from previously posted photos, taken on the same outings, to remind myself of where I went and what I saw. Stay safe and well, everyone!
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"This photo was taken at the Calgary Zoo on 26 June 2018. My visit only covered about half the Zoo, as I usually spend a lot of time in the Conservatory, enjoying the plants and tropical butterflies. My daughter had taken a photo of a gigantic lily pad, Victoria Water Lily / Victoria amazonica, and I really wanted to see it. There were three or four of them in a tiny pool. I love the pattern on the underside of the upturned edge of each lily pad, I didn't see a huge variety of butterfly species that day, but there were enough to keep me happily clicking.
My intention had not been to visit the Panda family, as I was sure there would be an extremely long line-up. However, I was able to just walk in, which was great. How lucky we are to have these four amazing animals visit our Zoo. They were in an inside enclosure, full of plants - and Bamboo, of course. I'm not sure how many hours a day these animals sleep, but two of the three that could be seen slept for part of the time I was there. Had to smile at the very uncomfortable positions in which they slept. There was no glass in front of one of the Pandas, but two other Pandas, including the one in the previous photo, were in a glassed-in part of the enclosure. Almost impossible to get photos without the reflections of the crowds of people.
The Bactrian Camel had recently given birth to a baby, named Gobi - such a cute little thing, that they have named Gobi. No sign of the Red Pandas when I passed their enclosure. One of the birds I love to see - though these birds tend to hide! - is the amazing Himalayan Monal. The male, especially, takes my breath away each time I see it.
A few hours well spent happily clicking. Hopefully, it won't be almost three years before my next visit, though the west entrance does close each winter. It felt so good to once again be back in a place full of colour and interest."
It makes me uncomfortable to admit, but I was somewhat dissapointed about how photogenic London was. Who decided not to illuminate the corner (right) of this astonishing building? It influenced the photo I eventually took. Yes, it was a little late, so this long exposure could have been much better.
The Palace of Westminster is the meeting place of the House of Commons and the House of Lords, the two houses of the Parliament of the United Kingdom. Commonly known as the Houses of Parliament after its tenants, the Palace lies on the Middlesex bank of the River Thames in the City of Westminster, in central London. Its name, which derives from the neighbouring Westminster Abbey, may refer to either of two structures: the Old Palace, a medieval building complex that was destroyed by fire in 1834, and its replacement New Palace that stands today. For ceremonial purposes, the palace retains its original style and status as a royal residence.
The first royal palace was built on the site in the eleventh century, and Westminster was the primary London residence of the Kings of England until a fire destroyed much of the complex in 1512. After that, it served as the home of Parliament, which had been meeting there since the thirteenth century, and the seat of the Royal Courts of Justice, based in and around Westminster Hall. In 1834, an even greater fire ravaged the heavily rebuilt Houses of Parliament, and the only structures of significance to survive were Westminster Hall, the Cloisters of St Stephen's, the Chapel of St Mary Undercroft and the Jewel Tower.
The subsequent competition for the reconstruction of the Palace was won by architect Charles Barry and his design for a building in the Perpendicular Gothic style. The remains of the Old Palace (with the exception of the detached Jewel Tower) were incorporated in its much larger replacement, which contains over 1,100 rooms organised symmetrically around two series of courtyards. Part of the New Palace's area of 3.24 hectares (8 acres) was reclaimed from the Thames, which is the setting of its principal façade, the 266-metre (873 ft) river front. Barry was assisted by Augustus W. N. Pugin, a leading authority on Gothic architecture and style, who provided designs for the decoration and furnishings of the Palace. Construction started in 1840 and lasted for thirty years, suffering great delays and cost overruns, as well as the death of both leading architects; works for the interior decoration continued intermittently well into the twentieth century. Major conservation work has been carried out since, to reverse the effects of London's air pollution, and extensive repairs took place after the Second World War, including the reconstruction of the Commons Chamber following its bombing in 1941.
The Palace is one of the centres of political life in the United Kingdom; "Westminster" has become a metonym for the UK Parliament, and the Westminster system of government has taken its name after it. The Elizabeth Tower, in particular, which is often referred to by the name of its main bell, "Big Ben", is an iconic landmark of London and the United Kingdom in general, one of the most popular tourist attractions in the city and an emblem of parliamentary democracy. The Palace of Westminster has been a Grade I listed building since 1970 and part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987.
Bar Botanique - Café Tropique
Amsterdam, March 2024
Model: Kim
All of my photographs are under copyright ©. None of these photographs may be reproduced and/or used in any way without my permission.
© NGimages / Nico Geerlings Photography
I have my father’s blue eyes, his olive skin and curly hair. I have his mother’s two crooked teeth, exactly as hers were. I have his nose, not quite a Jewish nose but something in between. His family was Jewish with over 100 family members killed in the Holocaust. One branch of the family escaped to England and then a boat took them to Australia, eventually leading to me.
My mother’s great grandfather took another boat from England to Tasmania but this was at the request of Her Majesty, as a convict. No heart-warming story about stealing a loaf of bread to feed his family. He was convicted for petty larceny- stealing from a hawker, (brooches, spoons, boots, slippers, gun powder and gun caps). He met his wife, another convict, eventually leading to my mother and then me.
The lines on my face are my mother’s and her mothers. I have the exact same deep furrows, especially one that curves like an upside down frown above my right eye.
As with many of my parent’s generation, they had hard lives growing up. My father was an only child. His father died when he was 13 leaving my grandmother, a single mother during difficult economic times. She was a seamstress and walked the streets with a suitcase, traveling from house to house to sell the clothes she’d sown or mended in a tiny backroom of their Californian Bungalow.
My mother’s father was an alcoholic and a violent man. Her mother suffered mental illness and was committed to a mental institution just when my mother was reaching adolescence. She later died at 52 without ever coming out. The children were split up and sent to live with relatives. My mother was the only girl in her aunt’s household and thus became the maid to the family. She was often sent to school without shoes. She rarely spoke of her past. I learnt most of this after she died but she told me once that her school mates called her Little Orphan Annie. Love was not overflowing in that household.
I had a relatively happy childhood where there was much love but there are things, looking back I understand more clearly now.
I do look back at these stories and although I did not live their lives, I wonder how much of their silent sadness and harshness of the past is carried within my DNA and weaved into my own life and that of my children.
I made this image primarily because I wanted to play with some Photoshop techniques and really it was all about that scarf! I didn’t really intend to show my face but I decided I would be brave for once. This morphed into something else as it is confronting to work on your own face. I have promised myself I will do more because I need to be brave and not care what others think.
I have softened some of the lines, those under the eyes and on the forehead but they are mostly still there.
After-all, they are part of the uncomfortable stories of my DNA.
For my children.
(My description). The long description is of a man banishing the world around him as he tries to come to terms with trauma everywhere. Work by Hannah Kidd
This makes me uncomfortable to look at.
I cannot tell you how many times it's happened. Go to grab my coffee.. Luca is in the tub. He gets a little excited about baths.
Posting something quick/simple today. I'm shooting a family session this afternoon and playing catch-up the rest of the day.
To be completely caught up with processing, emails, orders... now THAT is true freedom. Though as long as I have children, I will probably never experience this ;)
© Leanne Boulton, All Rights Reserved
Posed street portrait taken for my 100 Strangers project in Glasgow, Scotland.
This picture is #26 in my 100 strangers project. Find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers at the 100 Strangers Flickr Group page
Martin is a familiar face in Glasgow and is often to be seen sitting under the archway to Royal Exchange Square with an empty cup in his hand. He is one of very few such people that I have given spare change to previously because he never asks for money, he just sits there and always politely greets me when I walk past, often asking how I am. In fact it was such an exchange of words that left me talking to him for quite some time on this occasion.
We had not long exchanged pleasantries when two police officers, on bicycle, arrived to have a cautionary word with Martin and ask him to move on his way. Whilst this exchange was under way I stood nearby and fought an internal dialogue of moral dilemma. Firstly I didn't want it to be seen that I was exploiting Martin in any way by asking for his portrait in this project because, to be honest, I had given him some loose change earlier in the day. I obviously didn't want him to feel in any way obliged to agree to the photograph on that or any other basis, however the overriding motivation I had to taking his portrait was because I really wanted to tell a small part of his story, one that moved me to tears while we were talking for quite some time. During our conversation Martin asked me what I was taking photographs of as he sees me every time that I am in the city, I explained that I was documenting the people of Glasgow and how they socially interact, mostly through candid shooting but with some portraits too and Martin exclaimed that he felt it was a very cool idea. I asked if I could include him in order to tell a small part of his story and he agreed, this meant a great deal to me because although I am including Martin in my 100 Strangers project, the reason I wanted to photograph him is to document that small part of his story.
It is clear, visually, that Martin has had a difficult life. In talking with him about my photography I explained that he wouldn't see me around for some time as I was due to have an operation on my ankle on the coming weekend. It was then that Martin grimaced and said, very quietly, that he was having an operation soon too. Martin explained that he had been to see his doctor a few weeks back with a persistent cough and a pain in his chest, after a couple of courses of antibiotics that had no effect they took an x-ray and found a shadow on his right lung. He then went for a bronchoscope with some biopsies that revealed that he had carcinoma of the lung. He told me that they felt that it had been caught early and he was soon going to have those parts of his right lung removed surgically - something that shot a look of pure morbid terror across his face.
Martin then went on to tell me that it was almost 15 years to the day that his mother had died of lung cancer and at that time, with him being the youngest of 4 children, the doctor had said that there was a high likelihood that one of her children would die of the disease too. His mother died with that worry in her mind. It was not long after his mothers death that his father, who already suffered with coronary artery disease, started smoking and drinking far more heavily than he ever had before and died of a stroke. Martin was absolutely, and deservedly, petrified of the coming surgery and that he may well die himself. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
After Martin had agreed to allow me to document this small part of his story I simply moved him to one side of where he normally sits in Glasgow, I wanted to keep the context of the damp grimy walls that are, for much of the time, his home in the city, within the shot. I took this on shutter speed priority at 45mm f/2.8 1/200th second with fill-in flash (via flashgun) set at -1 1/3 compensation. I played with tonality, contrast and clarity in post-processing to emphasise the character of Martin's appearance and the walls that keep him out of the wind during the day. Martin was a little uncomfortable in front of the lens so I asked him to look away for a few shots and allowed him to forget about the lens for a short time, I then asked him to look right at me and it was that instant in which I got the shot that I was aiming to achieve.
Martin is a genuinely nice young man who will most likely never get to see this photograph of him, though I shall print a copy and take it with me the next time I make it into town so that he can have a copy of it as soon as I see him. I have to thank Martin for allowing me to take this photograph but, more importantly, for telling me such painful and intimate details about his life. I spent a good 45 minutes with Martin and felt very privileged to have been confided in at such a difficult and painful time in his life. I thanked Martin and wished him all the very best that I could for his coming surgery - I told him that I felt that he would come through it fine and reassured him of the successfulness of this treatment when the cancer is caught early. I walked away with tears in my eyes and can only hope that this small portrait shot does justice to the small part of his life story that he shared with me.
Thank you Martin and my fingers are crossed for your surgery and recovery.
It's been a while since I took a picture of a vulture. I'm not sure why. This one was standing in the rain, forlorn and dismayed.
I caught a glimpse of this dog's face and then I saw he was wearing some kind of fitted shoes on his paws. No wonder he was looking so unhappy. Only under special and rare circumstances should dogs wear shoes! This young woman was crazy to put her poor dog through this torture
The famous couple, together forever.
In later years, Santa and Rudolph gradually had grown disillusioned with one another, Santa realizing Rudolph was something of a prima donna and Rudolph increasingly unhappy with the minimal royalties he received for all the marketing and merchandising done with his image.
Rudolph was very uncomfortable with the Pepsi deal, but it wasn’t until Santa agreed to endorse a chemical company that had poisoned countless reindeer on the Lapp tundra that he confronted Santa and stormed off in a rage.
Each resolved never to work with the other again. But as the years went by, each realized how much he missed the other, despite all that had gone down.
Yet … neither would take the first step, and call to apologize.
Then one cloudy afternoon, as a cold wind blew across upstate New York, Santa was backing out of a bakery with his arms full of doughnuts. Rudolph was rooting around with his beacon nose trying to find a contact lens he’d dropped nearby. And they literally bumped into each other.
The two stepped back, stared at each another for a long moment, and then Rudolph said, “Come here, big guy!” Santa dropped his pastries and ran to embrace his old friend.
It was then that I snapped this photo.
flickr is really uncomfortable that the words flickr and censorship are being jammed together (post from Heather)? They don't like to be called censors?
What is censorship?
Censorship is defined as the removal and withholding of information from the public by a controlling group or body. (e.g. wikipedia)
Nothing else is what they do. They refer to the German laws. But censorship doesn't say anything about the reasons. So, sorry flickr. To me flickr=censorship.
This is not what I paid for the full price like every other pro accout user.
But what I'm really pissed of is the way the people of flickr/yahoo communicate (or better: don't communicate). If they would have announced this censorship and it's reasons first on their home page I think there wouldn't be such big huge alarums and excursions. But hiding this censorship within a proudly presented upgrade to new localization is definitively the wrong way.
"I know it should be simple but, it`s not. So don`t take my photograph, cause I don`t want to know how it looks to feel like this."
"Some things have got to change, although I`m lucky in a lot of ways,
so, why do I want more than what I have? Brace myself to hear the lies, and wonder if they know that I don`t get the jokes, but I just need to laugh"
From Newton Faulkner's "Uncomfortably Slow", which I've had on repeat the last day. I love it. Perfect revision music. Last night I was revising genetics for my biology, and I stopped for a minute or two, and really took time to notice things. Like the light reflecting through my icecubes in my diet coke and how darn beautiful everything was. The song was the perfect soundtrack.
Picture was fun to take, another abstract one with no reflection on my day, other than that I was cleaning my room and found a pair of tights... and voila! I did what any sane person does, put them on my head and took a photo.
Sometimes, it's good to feel uncomfortable because it's a small fraction of a glimpse of what others go through all their lives. I was relieved on Tues. night that Alabama didn't elect a pedophile but that was largely thanks to women and men of color who voted for Doug Jones. White people by and large still voted for the pedophile, Roy Moore.
The Women's Rights ancestry in this country has unfortunately a history of wanting rights for white women and excluding women of color. Susan B. Anthony herself was racist even when Frederick Douglass made an effort to reach out to her on a human level. And now, buried in the same cemetery at Mount Hope in the city where I grew up (Rochester, NY), I imagine them comparing notes on the revolution and progression of this country and how we're still held back.
Not all white people but many white people are still holding us back in a big way. They hold us back in the way they vote. They hold us back in their lack of kindness and empathy. They hold us back in how they pander and condescend to minority voters when they need them and throw them out like trash when it comes to actual policies that represent all of their constituents, not just the NRA lobbyists or the corporate billionaires. And, in doing so, they hold the vast majority of Americans back, regardless of race or gender and we all suffer.
I've gone to quite a few protests in my day. I was so excited to move to the big city of Chicago back in 2001 because I wanted to be able to see more bands play and go to more museums and be part of artistic communities. Then, 911 happened and I found myself spending most of my energy protesting the Iraq war. Do you remember My Grief Is NOT a Cry For War? Yeah, I was one of those people and still am. Remember Not in My Name? I still feel that way.
But, as someone who has been to both well attended and poorly attended protests against war, public education budget cuts, and racism, the Women's March of 2017 was a new high for me. I had never seen over 250, 000+ people gathered at the same time all to support women's' rights. And, although the movement may have taken awhile to gain momentum and we've certainly lost so many civil rights with the Trump administration for so many humans, the most recent call to action from women speaking out against sexual abuse, rape, and overall power tripping sexism and misogyny is honestly something I have never before seen in my lifetime. Suddenly, men, even politicians, are starting to be careful of what they say and do....we still haven't hold Trump accountable but I do believe it's coming.
So, I was elated when I walked in the streets with so many women from so many backgrounds in my city, all united with their male friends, fathers, brothers, and partners with them in support last January and I hope that it's even bigger this year because we have some things to celebrate but we also have some things to mourn and work still needs to be done.
But, back to that photo...you know, the photo I was going to tell you about. It's the photo I deleted. The photo was of a Black Woman and she was holding up a sign she had written on and the sign said, in bold letters WHITE WOMEN VOTED FOR TRUMP. She wasn't the only one, either. I read an article about someone seeing this sign at either the same or a different rally. And, while there's an organization called Women For Trump headed by a white woman that for some reason CNN continues to interview, I wanted this day to be about empowerment and about women coming together. I wanted to give Susan B. Anthony the finger. I wanted to taunt her ghost. I wanted to tell her we'd come so far and that race no longer mattered, that women were stronger together, walking the streets.
Susan B. Anthony's ghost continues to laugh in my face. Even worse, I censored myself. I found that same woman in the 7,000+ photos I took during the march but I deleted the shot of her with that sign up because I felt that message was divisive and, to be blunt, it made me really uncomfortable. Why should I feel bad? I didn't vote for Trump! I support many children who are minorities! I give to charity every month! I wouldn't even vote for Hillary Clinton because she called Black People "Super predators" and I didn't want anyone like that in office. So, why should I feel bad? I felt bad because it's true, because I have white shame. And, over the months I've realized that Susan B. Anthony's ghost and I still will continue to spar. I've also come to terms with the fact that I do have white privilege and that it's ok to be uncomfortable and to be depressed because again, think of the men and women who have violence enacted on them every day by the system and by the police because of the color of their skin. My discomfort is laughable.
Tuesday, Susan B. Anthony was laughing again. She was laughing because white women continue to do the wrong thing. They continue to vote for pedophiles and against the progress of this country. The only people who really seem to want a truly great America are people of color and, if I could make a wish it is that we have only women of color in every government office position at every level for the next couple of hundred years. It's their time to be represented/ My guess is that America would be much better for it. We've already seen what the white man will do and it's pretty atrocious...isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? It's time to acknowledge our collective insanity. Even though I believe Russia interfered in our election, we have to acknowledge that there's a racist tumor in the heads of many Americans like a deadly snake and it is making our whole country suffer. There is a partial American flag visible in the top right hand of the frame and that's pretty symbolic because there's only a small fraction of Americans represented by their elected officials at this time.
So, to Susan B. Anthony, I still think Frederick Douglass was the better human than you and, perhaps even more so, Anna Murray-Douglass his wife deserves to be more famous than you ever became as an early civil rights activist.
It's hard to admit our heroes were racist but, then again, we can always get new heroes.
**All photos are copyrighted. Please don't use without permission**
I felt uncomfortable taking this shot. I walked past at first seeing the dead lamb on the beach. We had seen a lamb at the end of the beach a couple of days before with no mother in sight. I couldn't help thinking about the story here, how did it die and when. The drifting sand was starting to cover it over. In colour it blended in too much with the white sand of Kiloran Bay but it works better in B&W. I played around with the contrast a bit then put a radial filter over the lamb and inverted it making the surounding sand slightly darker and finally brushed the darker areas in the sand with the adjustment brush to bring out the texture and to draw lines back towards the lamb. This photo has made me question some of what I am doing in photography. I usually go for the spectacular, the beautiful, the amazing but its boring and life is not the lovely image we try to create its all been done before and much better than I can ever do. Perhaps I need to seek out the ugly, the sad and the painful. How about you are you in your comfort zone and do you need to push yourself to get out of it? RIP Lamb !
It was uncomfortably hot in many parts of Japan today. In both Tokyo and Kyoto, the real feel temperature crept up to 38-39°C (103°F) with humidity well above 50%. It was just nasty outside today. Looking at photos like this one, of the tiny garden belonging to the Misuyabari-ya needle shop in Kyoto is actually having a cooling affect on me.
This shot was taken in on April 3, 2016, at the height of the cherry blossom season. The founder of the shop was the exclusive needle supplier to the Kyoto imperial court and got his start in 1651 and was so good at what he did that the emperor allowed him to open a public shop in 1655 and even gave it the name "Misuyabari".