View allAll Photos Tagged uncontrollable
Life is short.
break the RULES
FORGIVE quickly,
KISS slowly, LOVE truly,
LAUGH uncontrollably,
and NEVER REGRET
anything that made
you SMILE.
Details on my Blog along with additional showing more of the poses.
I Never Wish Death Upon Those Who Wrong Me.
I Wish Sudden, Explosive Diarrhea With Frequent Uncontrollable Sneezing While Stuck In A Traffic Jam.
- Quote:
“Your face is marked with lines of life,
put there by love and laughter, suffering and tears.
It's beautiful.”
- Lynsay Sands
Canon EOS 6D - f/13 - 8sec - 100mm - ISO
200
- for challenge Flickr group 'Macro Mondays', theme: 'Defining Beauty' + quote
- depicted part of the ball: ca. 2.5cm
- My granddaughters lost bouncing ball, and after more than 2 years found again in the garden.
Now beautiful - not her opinion ;-) - weathered and cracked.
Diameter of the ball 3.5cm
- I think nature did take excellent revenge on this uncontrollable bouncing ball by making cracks in it.
Why revenge? Because, before I banished granddaughter and ball from house to garden, it did crack a glass vase with flowers.
Cow and bulls faced unwanted vaccinations and disgusting feeds, all for the pleasure of human consumption. All of them are traceable by the tags on their ears in accordance to EU laws which is affiliated to the world governing body, WHO. The words, "traceable" made it palatable to human greed as a result of the voracious tongues. Hence, people are unable to control their senses, just like the reins on horses when it is uncontrollable.
These gentle animals are so amiable and willing to aid human society. Cow providing milk, ghee, butter, yoghurt and bulls plowing the lands. No! It is not enough! Meat, offal, marrow, et cetera are wanted. Again! Not enough! Human greed has led to their diseases on these poor animal through antibiotics, vaccinations, unwanted tags and their freedom is taken also away.
Do you know all cow and bulls in the western world must be traceable, "by law", because of diseases ? Diseases caused by humans in the first place. How come their distance relatives in Asia do not have the same treatment like all of them ? And those that does not have to go through this hellish seem to be healthy. Ever thought why ?
Are we led to believe what we are told or just of our own stupidity in believing ?
Nikkor F=300mm 1:4 ED
Image shot as it is with a bit of constraints. Otherwise, they would have smiley faces and better quality for the pic.
Alentejo, Portugal
November 2022
Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that made you smile!
Robert Doisneau
HMM! Words Matter!
witch hazel, 'Wisley Supreme', sarah p duke gardens, duke university, durham, north carolina
Cow and bulls faced unwanted vaccinations and disgusting feeds, all for the pleasure of human consumption. All of them are traceable by the tags on their ears in accordance to EU laws which is affiliated to the world governing body, WHO. The words, "traceable" made it palatable to human greed as a result of the voracious tongues. Hence, people are unable to control their senses, just like the reins on horses when it is uncontrollable.
These gentle animals are so amiable and willing to aid human society. Cow providing milk, ghee, butter, yoghurt and bulls plowing the lands. No! It is not enough! Meat, offal, marrow, et cetera are wanted. Again! Not enough! Human greed has led to their diseases on these poor animal through antibiotics, vaccinations, unwanted tags and their freedom is also taken away.
Do you know all cow and bulls in the western world must be traceable, "by law", because of diseases ? Diseases caused by humans in the first place. How come their distance relatives in Asia do not have the same treatment like all of them ? And those that do not have to go through this hellish seem to be healthy. Ever thought why ?
Are we led to believe what we are told or just of our own stupidity in believing ?
Nikkor F=300mm 1:4 ED
Image shot as it is with a bit of constraints. Otherwise, they would have smiley faces and better quality for the pic.
Alentejo, Portugal
November 2022
Elf-like creature, a frightful allegory of evolution, bearing unspeakable suppressed human anxieties shoots forth from the primeval forest of our obscure past to instant stardom on the screen, but with a menacing grimace expressing the inherent horror of this progress, both dazzling and uncontrollable.
Piana, Falanthos, Arcadia, Peloponnesus peninsula, Greece.
Following a mountain path from the village Piana, in 15 minutes, you reach the cave of the god Pan. This is the cave of the scary god Pan, whose sacred mountain is the Menalon Mountain. The name of the god inspired the Greek word “panikos”, which means “panic”, the sudden, uncontrollable fear that leads people into irrational behavior. As a matter of fact, Pan is a peaceful god. He is the god of the wild, shepherds and flocks, nature of mountain wilds and rustic music. He has the hindquarters, legs, and horns of a goat, in the same manner as a faun or satyr and enjoys the companion of the beautiful nymphs! He is a cheerful, carefree, flirtatious god whose main occupation is music and well-being. But Pan may cause PANIC, terror and fear to people, in case his restlessness and sleep is disturbed. So be careful when you are near this place of the photo. Especially in the noontime, Pan is taking his nap after playing his wonderful music. If you wake him up he will spread panic!
The view from the Pan’s cave is stunning!
Today it has been one of the hardest days for me, missing my mother so much :(
www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4XKzkDsb0g
Today I felt so lost
so lonely
I was in pain...
the greatest pain I had felt since you been gone.
and mother, I cried.
I needed someone to be with me
because I felt afraid to be alone with this pain...
I search high and low for an open ear to listen,
and I found that kindness in a stranger.
I talked to her about you,
about how beautiful you were
and how much you loved life
and about how much
I
miss
you...
and mother,
she listened
then she talked to me
and for that moment
I didn't feel alone.
Her kindness touched my heart so deeply
and I thanked her
and walked away...
I went and set under the sakura tree
where I go to every time I am sad
and then I cried mother so hard
so uncontrollably
and I knew I just had to let all the tears out
... all the pain.
I miss you my beautiful virita
I miss you so much.
Blog Post
fromthecenterofmyheart.blogspot.com/2017/07/remember-lily...
John was a survivor of the apocalypse, but his heart was heavy with the weight of the tragedy that had befallen the world. He had lost everything he had ever known and loved in the blink of an eye, and was left to wander the ruins of Necropolis alone. The once-bustling city was now a barren wasteland, with crumbling buildings and piles of rubble serving as the only reminders of the world that once was. John had lost count of how many times he had been close to death, whether from starvation or from the mutated creatures that roamed the ruins. But what weighed on John the most were the memories of his family, who had perished in the nuclear blast that had brought the world to its knees. He had been out of town when it happened, and had returned to find nothing but devastation and death. He searched for days, hoping against hope to find some sign of his wife and children, but found only piles of bodies and bones scattered throughout the city. John's heart was broken, and he often found himself weeping uncontrollably as he lay huddled in his makeshift shelter. He wondered why he had been spared when so many others had perished, and why he had to bear the burden of such immense loss. But despite the pain that consumed him, John knew that he had to keep going. He had to keep fighting to stay alive, if only to honor the memory of those he had lost. And so he trudged on, through the ruins of Necropolis, with the weight of his sorrow heavy upon his shoulders.
Bing Image Creator (powered by Dall-E)
Love. That uncontrollable and impressive power that drives the world since ancient times. The inspiration of all romances that history has portrayed. The uncontrollable emotion, the impulsive feeling that attracts us when we are close to a certain person. Not just anyone, but one person. It is a sign from the Universe that we are close to a special being that completes us, that makes us understand why. Which why ? Well, all the whys. Because there is no reason of bearing to live without that reason. Without that person. Indispensable person. A unique been capable of making us one with existence. It's when two become one, and the only possibility for math to agree.
Feel the Sun - Twin Peaks youtu.be/qWefaPEd6cU?si=Wi9rPtWqzDGP70oC
This was taken from the top of Mam Tor hill in the peak district, this image is not the image I actuallly planned to take, the shot I wanted involved me being in the same place until well after dark which would have been fine were it not for the constant wind, I managed to stay up there for 2 hours and then had to call it a night as I was shaking uncontrollably from cold.
Thank you for looking. I would really appreciate it if you could follow me on Facebook: www.facebook.com/shutterhive
During the brief visit to my mother for Christmas, which lasted just three days, we took the opportunity to go back to the beaches of the Calblanque Regional Park.
Seeing these rocks covered in algae, I decided to take a long exposure photo, which I hope you like.
Back at home, with my sights set on the end of the year, I take this opportunity to wish you some beautiful last days of this terrible 2021, which is already ending.
Take good care of yourself and take care of yours! Let's not let the virus spread uncontrollably again.
Press "L" to see more details.
Available in fineartamerica:
fineartamerica.com/featured/rocks-and-algae-calblanque-re...
________________________________
Rocas y algas, Parque Regional de Calblanque, Cartagena, Murcia, España
Durante la breve visita a mi madre por Navidad, de apenas tres días, aprovechamos para acercarnos nuevamente a las playas del Parque Regional de Calblanque.
Al ver estas rocas cubiertas de algas, decidí tomar una foto de larga exposición, que espero que os guste.
Ya de vuelta en casa, con la vista puesta en el fin de año, aprovecho para desearos unos bonitos últimos días de este terrible 2021, que ya va acababando.
Cuídate mucho y ciuda de los tuyos! No dejemos que el virus vuelva a extenderse descontroladamente.
Pulsa "L" para ver más detalles.
Disponible en fineartamerica:
fineartamerica.com/featured/rocks-and-algae-calblanque-re...
my life is layers and layers of letting go. i cling to identities, beliefs, and people. i want to control the uncontrollable. yet i see how this causes me to suffer. so inch by inch, i let go. it’s a difficult process, but i feel the freedom—letting go actually brings me alive.
[34:52, on the ground]
Carreg Cennen Castle at sunset.
Might be the last photo I post for a while. I just found out my Canon 40D will not power up! [sobs uncontrollably]
[Now fixed - see post below]
This was an unexpected night. As she laid there in her bed fast asleep alone. A demon came out of the shadow lurking in the corner watching her. Her heart beat was music to his demonic ears. Her blood smelt of fresh roses. He could not resist. He slowly inched closer to her roses filled the air . He was hypostasized. His rage grew uncontrollably. His breath hit her skin as he leaned over the unexpecting victim. He slowly parted his lips exposing his razor sharp teeth. In a instance he bit down on her flesh she moaned softly unaware of what was happening. Her body started to tingle as his essence flooded into her she was his.
*Working Towards a Better World
Enjoy life today,
Yesterday is gone
and tomorrow
may never come. - Anon
Life is short. Break the rules,
Forgive quickly, kiss slowly,
love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile. - Robert Doisneau
Nature never did betray the heart that loved her. -
William Wordsworth
Nature holds the key to our aesthetic, intellectual, cognitive and even spiritual satisfaction. - E.O. Wilson
We travel not to escape life,
but for life not to escape us. - Anon
I don't know where I am going,
but I am on my way. - Carl Sagan
Reflection
Looking back so that the view looking forward is even clearer. -
Anon
A circle is the reflection of eternity. It has no beginning and it has no end - and if you put several circles over each other, then you get a spiral. - Maynard James Keenan
Did you ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real, and you're just a reflection of him? - Bill Watterson
A single sunbeam is enough
to drive away many shadows. - St. Francis of Assisi
Wherever you go, no matter
what the weather, always bring your own sunshine. -
Antony J. D'Angelo
A bird doesn't sing
because it has an answer.
It sings because
it has a song. - Maya Angelou
In order to see birds it is necessary to become a part of the silence. - Robert Lynd
Thank you for your kind visit. Have a wonderful and beautiful day! xo❤️
Learn to love and to accept serenely (as the influence of a great loving power) those uncontrollable events which thwart your action—and you will see that you will come closer to peace…. my whole “religion” can be reduced to this active surrender to a World which I understand less and less in detail… but whose “divinization” or “personalization” seems clearer to me every day. That my existence has been as much as possible an act of fidelity to Life is the only thing that interests and reassures me from now on. (LTF, 83)
--Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, as quoted in: Teilhard's Struggle, Embracing the Work of Evolution, Kathleen Duffy, SSJ
London Grammar - Hey Now
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nMEHJPuggHQ
"You push and I’ll pull and we’re tectonic plates and our friction causes destruction
we leave in our wake the sparks turn to fire that fuel my hurt fuel my love
but i’d still set my lungs on fire just to keep you warm in my chest
and i know ribs are cages that’s why our hearts are so protected so hidden so lonely
but you seeped through the bars slowly then all at once like a tidal wave crashing
through penetrating my veins infecting my heart my lungs my body
i am slave to your demands but i am independent i have to be independent
i can’t keep up with you
stop please let me breathe
i’m pulling away stop pushing stop taking my breath away
leaving my feelings and my mind confused as you cause wreckage like a hurricane
leaving destruction in your path the eye of the storm was a nice illusion
and now reality is like an uncontrollable storm
yet i’d still force myself to bend down at my knees
and look down at my feet standing before you
you are majestic
and i don’t know what i’m saying anymore..."
dearstarslightmysky.tumblr.com/
Blog Post
sllorinovo.blogspot.com/2016/10/purplemoon-creations-sayy...
The Egg
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/LEA19/106/55/22
Manifesto- Freedom and Peace
Kyoto University Campaign for Freedom and Peace
War begins in the name of defence
War rewards the weapons industry
War quickly becomes uncontrollable
War is easier to start than to end
War wounds not only soldiers but also the elderly and children
War cuts not only the body but leaves scars deep inside the heart
The mind is not an object to be manipulated
Life is not a pawn to be played
The sea is not to be lost amid military bases
The sky is not be erased by fighter planes
We would rather live in a country that is proud of its wisdom
than in a country that thinks shedding blood is the contribution
Scholarship is not a weapon of war
Scholarship is not a tool of business
Scholarship is not a servant of power
To create
To protect
A place to live
The freedom to think
We will strike against this conceited power
Taken at Deer River: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Papagena/25/174/25
Ode To the West Wind
By Percy Bysshe Shelley
I
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odors plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!
II
Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine aery surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh, hear!
III
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: oh, hear!
IV
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.
V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
From the series 'Glass' for Macro Monday. This one is an old, small wine glass, a bit vintage style, laid on the table on its side. Captured through the open part down to the bottom, through the stem behind which I put a blue 'Flummi' ball (the ones that jump high high and rather uncontrollably). That opened the scene for phantasy and gave me the title :)
Have fun with all of today's glass ideas if you are in for MM. 💙💙💙
'The Poet's Middle Finger' By Patty-Mike
Defiant and stoic,
a middle finger
poised,
with steel.
Rooted,
o'er poetry sheets,
ink splattered,
stained in purpose.
An aching quill,
shakes and quakes,
to push thought,
word,
notion,
and phrase,
birthed into existence.
Watching,
with eagled irises,
dripping,
saturating in
voyeuristic intentions,
a hunger consuming,
taking over.
Darkness,
she weeps uncontrollably,
unable to make,
what has been uttered and said,
the message conveyed,
clanking,
clambering,
banging at the gates.
The banner of,
this poet,
his middle finger,
flies highest.
© 2016 Daniel Novak Photo | Blog | Timeless Buffalo | Instagram
© All rights reserved!
... all of the memories of happiness are what draws me back to this place. It’s far away despite the modern miracles of aviation seemingly making our Earth so small. Yet, after just a few years a bug starts growing back in my mind pulling the memories out and making them bolder and louder. Eventually, they scream so loudly that something has to be done about them ...
... in a nut shell, that is what led to our most recent trip to the island of Kaua`i. To see and experience it all one more time, to leave worries behind for two short weeks, to be happy. And just by writing this, I suspect a new bug has been born and will now grow uncontrollably. There is nothing wrong about that, is there?
When we see something beautiful in nature that moves us, it stirs something within us. A promise of something beyond what we can experience with our limited senses. Something more profound than anything we can know with the thinking mind. It’s something that you feel deeply. Sometimes, it can move you to tears. German sociologist and writer Hartmut Rosa calls this resonance. “[Resonance is a] kind of relationship to the world, formed through affect and emotion, intrinsic interest, and perceived self-efficacy, in which subject and world are mutually affected and transformed.”
We can experience resonance in a variety of ways, not only in nature, and we can learn to welcome these experiences through stillness and alertness. Resonant moments make life beautiful and worth living and are essential for our collective evolution.
If you are interested in reading more, I recommend The Uncontrollability of the World by Hartmut Rosa. The following interview with Rosa is also excellent: Episode 8 - Resonance and Uncontrollability.
A model replica of London designed by American artist David Best, is set to be burned to commemorate the 350th anniversary of the Great Fire of London.
The “live burn” will be the final event in London’s Burning Festival, and will take place on 4 September.
Live streaming on cityam.com from 8:30pm tonight.
In 1666, an uncontrollable fire swept across the capital for four days, destroying 13,200 homes and leaving 65,000 people homeless. Despite the scale of the fire, only six deaths were verified.
(I've got carried away today with the London burning festival. Will be watching the burn from my sofa :)
In the year, 1518 a woman named Frau Troffea
Started dancing in Strasbourg
and couldn't stop.
An epidemic of joy
The craze spread
The uncontrollable desire to move
Neighbors and passing witnesses
Were infected like a fire
Could not stand still
An unbearable sensation until all the limbs flailed and
The doctors and police wailed.
It had to be illness...or sin....
Something outside of the body
Now within
And then, the dancing was banned
A woman's body just had to be controlled
Even then.
Time and space is an illusion.
**All photos are copyrighted**
"Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly,
kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably,
and never regret anything that made you smile."
My wife is. She will freeze on the spot at the sight of a six inch long dead earth worm on the path and dissolve into uncontrollable spasms and floods of tears. So she won't walk across to Castle Tioram. In fact she won't even look at the picture. So what is keeping my flickr friends from coming to this part of the world when they will so readily go to Skye and what for?
I remember your laugh...
I remember your laugh as if I'd heard it only a moment ago.
You know… the hard uncontrollable laugh that lasts for 10 minutes,
that makes your eyes water as you struggle to catch your breath,
and your jaw hurts for an hour.
I can still hear your laugh in my head.
I wrap myself in the memory of your laugh like a warm soft blanket on a cold rainy day,
and smile as I fight, unsuccessfully, to hold back a river of tears.
-- me
following my own path.
learning to sit with uncertainty.
embracing impermanence.
training the dragon in my heart.
reflecting on the mind,
so excitable, so uncertain,
so difficult to control.
inhale love… exhale doubt.
❣️ 💙 📷 🐄 🐾 🐎 💋
🌼 ❄️ 🎼 ✍️ 💕️ ✨
a soldier of peace
in the army of love.
Project "Morphase" was the brainchild of Dr. Carter, a revolutionary attempt to control sleep cycles in order to create the perfect soldier, devoid of fear and fatigue. But, as often happens, science played a dangerous game, and they encountered something they couldn't control.
His own creation, the prototype codenamed "Object Zero," was beginning to show signs of uncontrollability. Dr. Carter would have to face the consequences of ambitions gone wild...
SOMNIUM : Personnel Set (Lab Coat, Sweater, Slacks)
SOMNIUM : The Unknown (Full Body Avatar)
SOMNIUM : Project Zero (Hospital Gown, Wrist Band)
SOMNIUM : Somnicorp Office Equipment (Computron CMT-43 -F, Coffee Mug, Case File)
Photo was taken at SOMNIUM Mainstore
©2022 Peter Mardie, all rights reserved. Protected by Pixsy.
Airports were made for waiting, sometimes forever. (From: Osama, by Lavie Tidhar, 2011).
They told us to travel lite, without any luggage. The waiting room was weird. There was a door with bright white light playing Vivaldi. There was another door, throbbing, blood red, playing post-apocalyptic punk rock plus night cats. A strange fog caressed our feet; it felt damp on the skin. Jill and Hank were taking selfies. Sue, Georgina and Victor tried to find a way out, without any success. Vlad sat in the corner, sobbing uncontrollably. All in all, it was very strange. We felt like ghosts in a steam room.
-
Shot at Awakening Bangkok, a multimedia outdoor art festival held in the historic Charoen Krung and Talad Noi districts of Bangkok (riverside).
-
Our incipient web page:
-
Come say hello!
IG: www.instagram.com/petermardie/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/petermardie
Shorty is showing Roscoe what he learned in fighter pilot school as he zooms at breakneck speeds around Roscoe's head...
Roscoe, seeing his best friend's amazing flying skills with a front row seat like this makes him giddy, he just cannot stop laughing, or breathe, and his eyes are watering uncontrollably!!!
Now, Roscoe really does wish that he went to school with Shorty because all of the girls look at him all goo-goo eyed.
Also, Roscoe knows he's not much to look at, and he doesn't have a shiny red paint job like his friend, but, he still howled with laughter as he sees his best friend streaking by his nose!
Maybe he'll get him a girl too where he works as a server at the local IHOP. He hopes so... As he mentally crosses his fingers.
Maybe a girl on each arm!
Roscoe thinks to himself that he's really glad that Shorty came back home on leave, he missed him, and he feels really lucky to have a good friend like him.
Good times!
.
.
No ads, please, thank you!
You can see the similarities—the outward and the inward. This brutal thunderstorm so severe that left you parked along the road, questioning whether you would be able to continue traveling to your appointment where you receive the vital elements that provide support, healing and recovery. Bright bolts of lightning and roaring thunder that send startling vibrations throughout the car, thick, blasting, visually impairing sheets of rain sent sideways by the violent gusts of wind. These major, uncontrollable obstacles make what is necessary for growth, recovery, healing, repair and reworking seem to be impossible. The intense difficulties all seem to be symbolic of how hard you have to fight for your own life, growth, healing, recovery and to accept and receive help and support due to the effects of the brutal harm you’ve endured. It is amazing that as you experience many challenges that cause this healing journey to feel nearly impossible, you courageously work to keep fighting for life.
#NotetoSelf
[image created on 6-29-2023]
She said:
Believe me, I wish I could heal.
If only you knew how exhausting it is to be locked in your own unhappiness. To get used to sorrow. To forget yourself. To no longer see beyond the trouble of the tears.
To no longer be able to get out of it.
To feel trapped in the cycle of uncontrollable, unleashed and overwhelming emotions, filled with torrents and collapsing skies.
And even when we strive to feel better, that sorrow begins to fade, we feel ourselves fading along with it. As if our identity was hidden beneath the tears.
As if we were here for too long.
Could this be healing? Being able to answer the question:
Who am I beyond my sorrow?
A keener pair of eyes than mine noticed when a sailboat crossed the horizon in the evening light. With a longer lens I too could see how his mainmast was filled with air, as it skirted across the horizon.
This summer sunset was in the violet spectrum, adding to the gentle feeling, derived from the light. What is it about sailing that elicits feelings of freedom and control, from the uncontrollable. The wind.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are northwest of Lettice’s flat, in the working-class London suburb of Harlesden where Edith, Lettice’s maid, and her best friend and fellow maid-of-all-work, Hilda are visiting Edith’s beloved parent for a few hours on their Wednesday afternoon off before going on to catch a late afternoon showing of ‘The Scarlet Woman’* at the nearby Willesden Hippodrome**. Like Edith, Hilda works as a live-in maid and resides just around the corner from Cavendish Mews, in nearby Hill Street. She works for Lettice’s married friends, Margot and Dickie Channon. However, Edith and Hilda met one another at their previous employer, Mrs. Plaistow’s, Pimlico townhouse where the two shared a cold and uncomfortable attic bedroom. In spite of the fact that they are both working for different people now, the girls remain the very best of friends, and catch up frequently. Edith’s father, George, works at the McVitie and Price biscuit factory in Harlesden as a Line Manager, and her mother, Ada, takes in laundry at home. They live in a small, two storey brick terrace house which opens out directly onto the street, and is far removed from the grandeur of Lettice’s Mayfair flat, but has always been a cosy and welcoming home for Edith and her younger brother Bert, as well as any number of their friends, including Hilda.
We find ourselves in the heart of the Watsford’s family home, Ada’s cosy kitchen at the back of the terrace. Ada is holding court, standing at her worn round kitchen table as she gives Hilda another impromptu lesson in Christmas baking as she rolls out some pale sweet shortcrust pastry with her trusty old wooden rolling pin which had belonged to her mother before her. Her daughter and Hilda sit at the table on tall ladderback chairs to either side of her, watching Ada as she takes up a flour dusted fluted metal biscuit cutter and sinks it with ease into the rolled out pastry, cutting out a dainty pastry case. Removing the cutter and leaving it lightly sitting atop the rolled out, but as of yet uncut pastry, she picks up the casing gently in her floured fingers and places it in the final empty space in her patty pan***.
“And there you have it, Hilda,” Ada says with a satisfied sigh. “The perfect pastry casing for a perfect fruit mince pie!”
“The perfect fruit mince pie will be the one I can eat right now.” George mutters from behind his newspaper as he sits by the hearth in the comfort of his Windsor chair.
“You aren’t having a one of these fruit mince pies until Christmas Day, George!” Ada quips. “And that’s a fact.”
“Oh Mrs. W.!” Hilda gasps. “You make it all look so simple!”
“After you’ve made a few batches, it will be as easy for you as it is for me, Hilda love.” Ada assures the young maid.
“Do you really think so, Mrs. W.?” Hilda asks with wide eyes.
“Course I do, Hilda love.” Ada goes on.
“It’s true, Hilda,” Edith adds from her chair. “The more you practice, the better you’ll get, just like Mum. I was the same as you once.”
“You’ve never been hopeless at cooking, Edith.” Hilda mutters disparagingly.
“You aren’t hopeless at cooking either, Hilda!” Edith exclaims, standing up and reaching across the table, clasping her best friend’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve improved so much with a bit of help from me, some instruction from Mum,” She nods at her mother and smiles gratefully. “And practice.” Letting go of her friend’s hand, she resumes her seat. “No, I meant I was nervous like you are now.” She sighs as she sees Hilda’s face crumple up, betraying how nervous she really is. “But once I had baked a few different things, made a few mistakes in the process, and learned from them, I became much more comfortable.”
“We all have to make mistakes, Hilda love.” Ada remarks. “Like Edith says, you have to make mistakes so you can learn from them.”
George snorts loudly and chuckles behind his copy of the Daily Express.
“And what are you chortling about, George Watsford?” Ada asks, casting an askance glance at her husband.
“Nothing Ada love,” he replies, still chuckling from behind the newspaper sheets which he ruffles noisily to try and cover his amusement. “Just something Rupert Bear**** is up to.”
“Oh no you aren’t Dad!” Edith giggles. “You’re well past page seven*****.”
“George?” Ada queries warily whilst Hilda glances anxiously between Ada’s clouding face and the open Daily Express broadsheet behind which George hides.
Finally the paper lowers and George’s beaming face, red with holding in his laughter appears. Glancing out at his wife, his daughter and her best friend, he admits, “Well, I was actually thinking about your biggest baking disaster, Ada love.”
“Oh, not that story again, Dad!” Edith groans. “We all know the story of how before you and Mum were married, but were stepping out together, at the Easter Sunday Picnic organised by the Vicar of All Souls******, everyone got a hot cross bun because Mum was being a good Christian soul and handed them out, except for you because she’d given them to everyone else.”
Ada blushes with embarrassment as she is reminded of a piece of her own history that she would rather her daughter didn’t know about.
“It’s true Mr. W.,” Hilda remarks, leaning on the top worn rung of the back of the ladderback chair she is sitting in as she looks at Edith’s father. “Even I’ve heard it from Edith.”
“Oh, that wasn’t the story I was thinking of!” George chuckles, before openly laughing aloud, his noisy guffaws filling the tiny Harlesden terrace house kitchen.
“George!” Ada says warningly in a low voice. “What are you going to tell our daughter and her friend? Am I going to like it?”
“Oh!” George wipes tears of mirth from his cheeks. “I doubt it, Ada love, but I think it’s worth taking the rap******* to retell it.” He bursts into a new barrage of wheezing laughter that make him breathless.
“Well come on then, Dad!” Edith exclaims. “Tell us!”
“Don’t encourage your dad, Edith love!” Ada chides her daughter mildly. Turning her attention back to her red-faced husband she adds, “He doesn’t need any help from anyone in that department.” She eyeballs him.
“When your mum and I were courting, Edith love,” George finally begins after taking a gulp of tea from his dainty floral Colclough******** teacup, one of Ada’s porcelain treasures found at a flea market*********. “She thought to curry favour she’d best make a nice teacake for my mum, since she was hoping to to become her future daughter-in-law by marrying me.”
“I keep telling you George,” Ada protests. “It was only because of my Mum’s blue and white Delftware cannisters. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“What didn’t you do on purpose, Mum?” Edith asks excitedly.
“Never you mind, Edith love!” Ada answers quickly.
“What happened, Mr. W.?” Hilda giggles, her eyes agog as she hangs on the older man’s every word.
“So, she made a lovely apple teacake. Well,” George adds as an afterthought. “It looked lovely.”
“What do you mean, looked lovely?” Edith asks. “Didn’t it taste nice? We’ve had Mum’s apple teacake plenty of times over the years and it is always scrumptious.”
“Well,” George laughs, again wiping the tears of joviality from the corners of his eyes and his deep set wrinkles around them. “This one certainly wasn’t! You see, Edith love, your Mum had put in a cup of salt, rather than a cup of sugar into the batter! You should have seen Granny Watsford’s face when she ate her first mouthful! Her mouth nearly imploded whilst her eyes practically burst from their sockets! It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen!”
George breaks into uncontrollable laughter, which is soon joined by that of his daughter and her friend as they all laugh loudly at the story.
“I told you, George,” Ada defends herself, blushing red as she looks at the trio laughing around her, before breaking into a good natured chuckle of her own as she remembers her then future mother-in-law’s alarmed face as she sat ramrod stiff in her old Victorian button back********** upholstered chair, one of two now in Ada and George’s front parlour, and chewed slowly on the cake, before swallowing it awkwardly. “All Mum’s cannisters were all the same size and unmarked. It’s why I make sure that I keep our sugar in that tin cannister, and I keep the salt in a glass jar.”
“Oh Mum!” Edith laughs, wiping her own eyes which now stream with jovial tears. “That’s awful.”
“What was worse was that your Granny ate the whole mouthful and swallowed it, of politeness and deference to your Mum, Edith love.” George goes on. “She liked her you see, and she didn’t want to offend her! Once she’d finished her mouthful, she just quietly put her plate aside, arose, and excused herself with as much dignity as she could muster, asking your Mum to join her in the scullery with a hoarse voice.”
“Did you all try the cake too, Mr. W.?” Hilda asks.
“Heavens no, Hilda love! We’d all figured out from my Mum’s reaction that there was something very, very wrong with the cake. None of us were game to try it!”
“Shouldn’t you be heading back to work after tea, George?” Ada asks, folding her arms akimbo and looking meaningfully at her husband. “I’m sure I can hear the Christmas biscuits selection calling you.”
“Oh! Oh alright, Ada love.” George gasps as he recovers his breath from all his laughter. “Looks like I’m being banished, girls, so I’ll say my goodbyes to you both.” He puts his newspaper aside, gets up from his seat and walks over to the pegs by the door leading from the kitchen to the scullery, where his coat, hat and scarf hang.
“Be grateful I let you back into the house after your shift, George Wastford!” Ada mutters, but the glint in her eye and the gentle upturn in the corners of her mouth betray the fact that she isn’t really cross with her husband for sharing her story.
“You wouldn’t do that to me, Ada love.” George remarks, wrapping his knitted scarf tightly around his neck before shucking on his coat.
“Tell too many tales like that about me, and you might push your luck.” Ada replies, cocking her eyebrow, but smiling at ger husband.
“Alright, bye love!” George dons his tweed flat cap and walks across the flagstones to kiss his wife. After giving her a chaste, yet loving kiss, he turns to Edith and Hilda at the table. “Bye girls.” He waves and turns away.
“Bye Mr. W.!” Hilda says brightly.
“Bye Dad!” Edith calls after the retreating figure of her father as he disappears into the scullery and walks out the back door and into the terrace’s rear garden.
“What crust!” Ada scoffs as she hears him close the back door. “And thinking of crusts,” She turns her attention back to Edith and Hilda. “We should get on with baking these fruit mince pies before it’s time for you girls to go. We need to give them time to cook and cool.”
Edith and Hilda sit in their seats, smirking, their eyes bright with amusement as Ada mixes the large white bowl of fruit mince before her. “Alright, up here, Hilda love!” she says in a commanding voice, taking control of the situation, and regaining her dignity after George’s tale. “You’ll never learn unless you practice, and if you make a mistake, like I did with the apple tea cake I made that day for old Mrs. Watsford, you’ll learn from it.”
“Yes Mrs. W.!”
Hilda gets up from her seat and stands alongside Ada in front of the pan.
“Now, take up the spoons,” Ada directs. “And use one to scoop up some fruit mince and the other to push the mince off the spoon into the pastry tart case. Not too much, mind, Hilda love,” she cautions. “When the fruit mince is hot, it will bubble and expand and we don’t want it overflowing from the cases whilst cooking in the oven.”
“No Mrs. W.!”
“Just fill the case up three quarters of the way.” Edith adds helpfully.
“Good girl, Edith love.” Ada says. “That’s it! Just so.”
Hilda takes up a heaped spoon of fruit mince.
“No, that’s too much, Hilda, love.” Ada remarks gently. “Shake a bit off back into the bowl.” She and Edith watch as Hilda does as she is told. “That’s better.” Ada nods. “Then fill the case three quarters up.”
They watch as Hilda gingerly moves the spoon low over one of the twelve empty sweet shortcrust pastry cases in the patty pan and pushes the mixture off it with the other spoon. The fruit mince falls into the bottom of the casing with a soft, satisfying splat, the mixture of sultanas, currants, raisins, glacé cherries, apple, orange rind, apple, sugar, spices, water and brandy oozing thickly as it settles into place.
“Good girl, Hilda love!” Ada says encouragingly, grasping the young girl’s shoulders and squeezing them. “That’s the ticket***********! Once you’ve filled this batch, we’ll pop them into the oven and we’ll make a second batch whilst they cook and then cool. You can cut out the casings and fill them.”
“Yes Mrs. W.” Hilda says proudly with a smile as she takes her spoons back to the gleaming, dark and glossy fruit mince in the white mixing bowl and scoops up some more.
“Good girl, Hilda love!” Ada says again. “That’s a more manageable amount of fruit mince.”
“Thanks awfully, Mrs. W.!” Hilda says with a smile as her face blanches at Ada’s praise.
Then, changing topic Ada asks. “So, are you going back to the Scottish Highlands or wherever for Christmas this year, Hilda love?”
“Oh Lady Lancraven’s house is in Shropshire, not the Scottish Highlands, Mrs. W.” Hilda replies as she begins to fill a second pastry casing.
“Well, wherever it is, are you going, Hilda love?”
“No, I’m not this year, Mrs. W., which means I won’t get to see my sister, which is a bit disappointing. But I’m going to spend Christmas Day with Mum at her house in Southall************ at least, so that will be nice.”
“What?” Edith pipes up. “No Lady Lancraven’s, this year?”
“That will be disappointing for your Mum and your sister, Hilda love.” Ada says consolingly. “You told us you all enjoyed being together so much, last Christmas.”
“Why aren’t you going this year, Hilda?” Edith persists.
“Well, the Channons have had a bit of a falling out with Mr. Channon’s parents, the Marquis and Marchioness of Taunton, just as of late.” Hilda explains.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Edith replies.
“I should hope it would be, Edith love!” Ada chides her daughter, wagging a finger at her. “You know that gossiping unnecessarily about your employers will only lead to trouble.” She shakes her head. “There’s nothing worse than a gossiping maid, no matter how good her work is.”
“So, what happened?” Edith asks Hilda, ignoring her mother’s protestations.
“It’s all over the fact that Mrs. Channon still isn’t with child,” Hilda goes on, lowering her voice as if Margot and Dickie might overhear all the way over in Mayfair. “The Marquis and Marchioness are so anxious that Mr. and Mrs. Channon have a baby to carry on the family name, since Mr. Channon will be the next Marquis, and they have been married a few years.”
“Not everyone who wants a family is blessed with one, Hilda love.” Ada says softly.
“I know that Mrs. W.” Hilda replies. “It’s not me who needs convincing, but the snooty Marquiss and Marchioness. They want to send poor Mrs. Channon to a clinic of some kind in Switzerland or Germany, somewhere in the mountains, so she can be analysed and examined.”
“Prodded and poked, more like!” Edith opines.
“I think that’s what caused the fiercest argument between Mr. Channon and the Marquis. I heard Mr. Channon in the study, yelling down the telephone at the Marquis, and saying that he and Mrs. Channon wouldn’t spend Christmas with them at Lady Lancraven’s. Poor Mrs. Channon has been drinking so much lately to calm her nerves as whenever the Marchioness visits or telephones, which is often, she always asks her why she isn’t with child yet. The Marquiss has basically cut off Mr. Channon’s allowance until they produce a baby, and a boy at that, which added extra pressure to them both.”
“No wonder Mrs. Channon is drinking then.” Edith remarks.
“Oh dear! Poor Mr. and Mrs. Channon. How horrible for them! But if Mr. Channon has had his allowance cut off, how are the household bills being covered, and how are you getting paid, Hilda love?” Ada asks.
“You are getting paid, aren’t you Hilda?” Edith pipes up in concern.
“Luckily, my wages are paid me by Lord de Virre, Mrs. Channon’s dad,” Hilda explains. “And luckily for Mr. and Mrs. Channon, he has come to their aid too. He’s ever such a nice man, unlike the mean old Marquiss and Marchioness.”
“What’s he done?” Edith asks. “Lord de Virre, that is?”
“He’s arranging something called a provision for them.” Hilda says a little uncertainly.
“A provision?” Ada asks. “Whatever is that, Hilda love?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but I think it has something to do with him paying them an allowance instead of the Marquis and Marchioness, at least for now, as Mrs. Channon says that she will cover the household costs from her dad’s provision, so it must involve money in some way.”
“Well, that’s a relief!” Edith says. “At least you won’t be put in a position where you have to lie to the wine merchant, like that time when they owed him so much money for champagne and they pretended that they weren’t home, and you had to go along with it and put him off until Mrs. Channon had pawned some of her furs to get him the money.”
“That’s a terrible position to put you in, Hilda love!” Ada exclaims.
“Well, Mrs. Channon isn’t exactly the best at keeping a household budget at the best of times, Mrs. W., so it’s not the first time that’s happened.”
“I don’t know!” Ada shakes her head. “They have more money than we’ll ever have, yet I manage to balance my budget, and did when Edith and Bert were children, and with the costs of everything inflating during the war too!”
“Well anyway, that’s why I’m not going to Lady Lancraven’s this year, Mrs. W. It will be nice to spend it with my Mum at least, although I’ll miss seeing Emily. We both will. But we’ll make the best of it.”
“Course you will, Hilda love.” Ada wraps a consoling arm around her daughter’s best friend, and pulls her towards her rangy frame.
“Where are Mr. and Mrs. Channon going to spend their Christmas then?” Edith asks from her seat at the table.
“They are going to spend it with Lord and Lady de Virre in Hans Crescent here in London. Then they are going to go to their Cornish country house outside of Penzance for a few weeks after New Year’s Eve in London. Apparently, Mr. and Mrs. Carter are holding a lavish New Year’s Eve fancy dress ball in their Park Lane************* mansion before sailing off on the Mauretania************** to New York to spend the beginning of 1926.”
“Well, maybe we can spend a bit more time together over Christmas, Hilda, since neither your employers, nor mine, are going to be around to worry about.” Edith suggests.
“That would be nice, Edith. I’d like that.” Hilda smiles gratefully. “Anyway, that’s why I want the fruit mince pies you see, Mr. W., to take to Mum’s on Christmas Day. We don’t have much money between us – certainly not enough to afford the fare that the servants at lady Lancraven’s get – but we can at least have a lovely treat of some fruit mince pies after whatever we cobble together for Christmas tea for the two of us.”
“Then we best press on, Hilda love.” Ada says with a smile. “Or else you’ll have none for Christmas.”
“Yes Mrs. W.!” Hilda agrees enthusiastically.
*The Scarlet Woman is a 1924 silent comedy film directed by Terence Greenidge based on a scenario by British writer Evelyn Waugh. It is a satirical ecclesiastical melodrama about a Catholic plot to bring England back to the Catholic Church, which involves a scheme to convert the Prince of Wales and murder Protestants. The film, which Waugh also acted in, features Elsa Lanchester as a drug-addicted actress and was shot in locations including Oxford and Hampstead.
**The Willesden Empire Hippodrome Theatre was confusingly located in Harlesden, although it was not too far from Willesden Junction Railway Station in this west London inner city district. It was opened by Walter Gibbons as a music hall/variety theatre in September 1907. In 1908, the name was shortened to Willesden Hippodrome Theatre. Designed by noted theatre architect Frank Matcham, seating was provided for 864 in the orchestra stalls and pit, 517 in the circle and 602 in the gallery. It had a forty feet wide proscenium, a thirty feet deep stage and eight dressing rooms. It was taken over by Sydney Bernstein’s Granada Theatres Ltd. chain from the third of September 1927 and after some reconstruction was re-opened on the twelfth of September 1927 with a programme policy of cine/variety. From March 1928 it was managed by the Denman/Gaumont group, but was not successful and went back to live theatre use from 28th January 1929. It was closed in May 1930, and was taken over by Associated British Cinemas in August 1930. Now running films only, it operated as a cinema until September 1938. It then re-opened as a music hall/variety theatre, with films shown on Sundays, when live performances were prohibited. The Willesden Hippodrome Theatre was destroyed by German bombs in August/September 1940. The remains of the building stood on the High Street for many years, becoming an unofficial playground for local children, who trespassed onto the property. The remains were demolished in 1957.
***A patty pan is a baking pan with a grid of connected, individual cups or moulds used for baking individual portions of batter. It is also known as a muffin tin or cupcake pan and can be used for making muffins, cupcakes, pies or other small baked goods like savory egg cups or mini quiches. It was called a patty pan because it was originally used in the Eighteenth Century to make small meat-filled pastries known as pattys or pastys (today’s equivalent for pasties).
****The character Rupert Bear first appeared in the Daily Express on November the 8th, 1920, originally named Little Lost Bear. The character was created by illustrator Mary Tourtel, and Alfred Bestall took over the illustrations in 1935. The cartoon series continues to be published in the Daily Express. The character is also associated with the newspaper through the annual Rupert Annual, which has been published every year since 1936. Rupert has become such a British National Treasure that he has even had his own stamps before. Rupert Bear is part of children's culture in the United Kingdom, and there are four television shows based on the character.
*****Rupert Bear first appeared in the Daily Express on page seven, a place he then retained for many years, sob that readers became accustomed to finding him there.
******The parish of All Souls, Harlesden, was formed in 1875 from Willesden, Acton, St John's, Kensal Green, and Hammersmith. Mission services had been held by the curate of St Mary's, Willesden, at Harlesden institute from 1858. The parish church at Station Road, Harlesden, was built and consecrated in 1879. The town centre church is a remarkable brick octagon designed by E.J. Tarver. Originally there was a nave which was extended in 1890 but demolished in 1970.
*******The phrase "to take the rap" originates from the Eighteenth Century use of "rap" to mean a blow or punishment, and its Nineteenth Century slang use for a prison sentence. Therefore, "taking the rap" evolved to mean accepting a punishment or blame for something, be it a criminal charge or something far less serious in nature.
********Colclough Bone China was founded in Staffordshire in 1890 by Herbert J. Colclough, the former mayor of Stoke-on-Trent. Herbert loved porcelain and loved the ordinary working man. One of his desires was to bring fine bone china, a preserve of the upper and middle classes, to the working man. He felt that it would give them aspirations and dignity to eat off fine bone china. Colclough Bone China received a Royal Warrant from King George V in 1913. Colclough went on to innovate the production of fine bone china for the mass market in the 1920s and 1930s. They produced the backstamp brands Royal Vale and Royal Stanley. Colclough Bone China merged with Booth’s Pottery and later acquired Ridgeway China. Eventually they amalgamated with Royal Doulton in the 1970s.
*********A flea market is a type of market where vendors sell a variety of goods, typically second hand, handmade, or antique items. These markets are often outdoors, but can also be held indoors, and may operate on a weekly, seasonal, or annual basis. Shoppers can find everything from clothing and furniture to collectibles and curios at bargain prices.
**********Button back upholstered furniture contains buttons embedded in the back of the sofa or chair, which are pulled tightly against the leather creating a shallow dimple effect. This is sometimes known as button tufting.
***********The exact origin of "that's the ticket" is debated, but it likely comes from a few different places. It may have started as an allusion to a winning lottery ticket or a specific label for something that was perfect. Alternatively, it could be a corruption of the French phrase "c'est l'etiquette," meaning "that's the proper way" or "that's the label". In the 1820s, there was a related phrase, "that's the ticket for soup," which referred to a card that a beggar could use to receive immediate relief at a soup kitchen, and may also be where this phrase is derived from.
************Southall was a working-class suburb of London in the 1920s, characterised by its industrialisation and the influx of workers for manual labour jobs in the area's factories. Many factories were built in Southall, which led to significant population growth and its development into an urban area with a working-class demographic. By the end of the Nineteenth Century, Southall became a highly industrialized district with numerous factories. The Otto Monsted Margarine Works, one of the largest in Europe, was a key part of this industrial base. Workers, including a large number of Welsh and Irish steel workers escaping the harsh economic conditions of their origins, moved to Southall in the 1920s to find employment in the available heavy industry jobs.
*************Park Lane is a dual carriageway road in the City of Westminster in Central London. It is part of the London Inner Ring Road and runs from Hyde Park Corner in the south to Marble Arch in the north. It separates Hyde Park to the west from Mayfair to the east. The road was originally a simple country lane on the boundary of Hyde Park, separated by a brick wall. Aristocratic properties appeared during the late 18th century, including Breadalbane House, Somerset House, and Londonderry House. The road grew in popularity during the 19th century after improvements to Hyde Park Corner and more affordable views of the park, which attracted the nouveau riche to the street and led to it becoming one of the most fashionable roads to live on in London. Notable residents included the 1st Duke of Westminster's residence at Grosvenor House, the Dukes of Somerset at Somerset House, and the British prime minister Benjamin Disraeli at No. 93. Other historic properties include Dorchester House, Brook House and Dudley House. In the 20th century, Park Lane became well known for its luxury hotels, particularly The Dorchester, completed in 1931, which became closely associated with eminent writers and international film stars. Flats and shops began appearing on the road, including penthouse flats. Several buildings suffered damage during World War II, yet the road still attracted significant development, including the Park Lane Hotel and the London Hilton on Park Lane, and several sports car garages. A number of properties on the road today are owned by some of the wealthiest businessmen from the Middle East and Asia.
**************Built by Swan, Hunter and Wigham Richardson for the Cunard Line, the RMS Mauretania was launched in 1906 and began its first voyage in November 1907. It was designed with a new steam turbine engine and was the world's largest ship until 1910. The ship's impressive speed allowed it to capture the eastbound Blue Riband record in 1907 and the westbound record in 1909. It held both records for two decades, cementing its reputation for speed and elegance. he liner was also celebrated for its luxurious interiors, which featured elaborate designs with numerous types of wood, marble, and tapestries. It was nicknamed the "Grand Old Lady of the Atlantic". During World War I, the British Admiralty commissioned the Mauretania for military service. It was converted to a hospital ship and troopship and was equipped with guns, even sporting dazzle camouflage at one point. After the war, the Mauretania was returned to Cunard and resumed its passenger service. It was converted to burn oil and continued to operate for many years. n 1934, after the merger of Cunard and White Star, the liner was retired from service. It made its final voyage and was towed to Rosyth, Scotland, where it was scrapped in 1935.
This cluttered, yet cheerful domestic scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Ada’s kitchen table is covered with things in preparation for her Christmas fruit mince pies.
The wooden board the table with the floured rolling pin, the rolled out pastry and the biscuit cutter are artisan miniature pieces made by an unknown artist, which I acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. The patty pan of casings also comes from there, as does the teapot shaped floral spoon rest and enamel ended spoon sitting in front of the board. The battered flour cannister, painted in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green, also comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop. The bowl of very realistic looking fruit mince comes from former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination.
In the foreground on the table are non-matching teacups, saucers and sugar bowl, all of which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. The Brown Betty teapot came from The Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom.
Edith’s handbag, handmade from soft leather, is part of a larger collection of hats and bags that I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel, including Ada’s tan soft leather handbag seen resting against her basket at the right of the picture.
Edith’s black dyed straw hat with purple roses and black feathers was made by an unknown artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. This hat is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel.
In the background you can see Ada’s dark Welsh dresser cluttered with household items. Like Ada’s table and the ladderback chair, I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom. The rather worn and beaten looking enamelled cannisters and bread bin are painted in the typical domestic Art Deco design and kitchen colours of the 1920s, cream and green. Aged on purpose, these artisan pieces also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop. There are also tins of various foods which would have been household staples in the 1920s when canning and preservation revolutionised domestic cookery. Amongst other foods on the dresser are a jar of Marmite, a box of Bisto Gravy Powder, an Oxo stock cube and a box of Ty-Phoo Tea which were made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
Marmite is a food spread made from yeast extract which although considered remarkably English, was in fact invented by German scientist Justus von Liebig although it was originally made in the United Kingdom. It is a by-product of beer brewing and is currently produced by British company Unilever. The product is notable as a vegan source of B vitamins, including supplemental vitamin B. Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavour. This distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it." Such is its prominence in British popular culture that the product's name is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or tends to polarise opinion.
The first Bisto product, in 1908, was a meat-flavoured gravy powder, which rapidly became a bestseller in Britain. It was added to gravies to give a richer taste and aroma. Invented by Messrs Roberts and Patterson, it was named "Bisto" because it "Browns, Seasons and Thickens in One". Bisto Gravy is still a household name in Britain and Ireland today, and the brand is currently owned by Premier Foods.
Oxo is a brand of food products, including stock cubes, herbs and spices, dried gravy, and yeast extract. The original product was the beef stock cube, and the company now also markets chicken and other flavour cubes, including versions with Chinese and Indian spices. The cubes are broken up and used as flavouring in meals or gravy or dissolved into boiling water to produce a bouillon. Oxo produced their first cubes in 1910 and further increased Oxo's popularity.
In 1863, William Sumner published A Popular Treatise on Tea as a by-product of the first trade missions to China from London. In 1870, William and his son John Sumner founded a pharmacy/grocery business in Birmingham. William's grandson, John Sumner Jr. (born in 1856), took over the running of the business in the 1900s. Following comments from his sister on the calming effects of tea fannings, in 1903, John Jr. decided to create a new tea that he could sell in his shop. He set his own criteria for the new brand. The name had to be distinctive and unlike others, it had to be a name that would trip off the tongue and it had to be one that would be protected by registration. The name Typhoo comes from the Mandarin Chinese word for “doctor”. Typhoo began making tea bags in 1967. In 1978, production was moved from Birmingham to Moreton on the Wirral Peninsula, in Merseyside. The Moreton site is also the location of Burton's Foods and Manor Bakeries factories. Typhoo has been owned since July 2021 by British private-equity firm Zetland Capital. It was previously owned by Apeejay Surrendra Group of India.
The large kitchen range in the background is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water).
I tell people all of the time that luck evens out. When you have bad luck don't worry much because some good luck is coming your way. I believe unfortunately that the opposite is true. If you have good luck then you should be wary. Bad luck is looking for you. I don't know where I picked this up at but there is at least a little truth to it.
Out of the blue I made a call to a pharmacy to see if they had any covid shots coming up. The lady told me to come on by before 6:00 and she would give me one. I guess that there were a lot of cancelled appointments due to our big freeze. Needless to say, I headed there right away.
The paperwork was much more grueling than the shot. I probably cried one tear, maybe half a tear during the shot. I did sobb uncontrollably several times while filling out the forms. Thank goodness that I am now part of the effort to rid us of this scourge.
It is not lost on me that I live in the US and I am aware that we are one of the rich countries buying up the limited supply of the covid vaccines. If you have a small bit of humanity you might feel a little guilt. I hope that we can get everyone vaccinated who is willing. Maybe taking this vaccine will prevent me from occupying an emergency room bed from someone else in need. Maybe taking this vaccine will prevent me from infecting someone who would have serious health complications. Maybe taking this vaccine will help all of return to some sense of normality.
A couple of summers ago, I witnessed the most meaningful ceremony I've ever seen. My friend G married her longtime love. And before I go on... a word about their love.
It's something you can feel when you walk into their house. It emanates... not just from them, but from the house itself... the furniture... the animals... the garden... the bric a brac. Entering that house is like walking into some big yellow-warm sunshine embrace; it is nothing short of palpable. And seeing them together is even more powerful.
These are two people who just so clearly delight in each other's company. Like all of us, they have their share of less than stellar days, but they're strong for each other, they support one another, they complement each other... and, like I said, when you see them together, you can't help but share a little hiccup in your heart... a skip-step of giddiness. In short, if ever two people should be married, G and her love were those two people. And they're both from backgrounds that value marriage; that see it as the highest expression of togetherness.
But there was one more factor at play that made their wedding the specialest occasion. Until that year, they had not had the legal right to marry. Why? Because G and her One True Love are women. To which I say... So fucking what??
Marriage, as I understand it, is all about love and commitment. And no two people were ever more in love or more committed.
And to those who argue same-sex marriage somehow undermines the so-called sanctity of the so-called institution of marriage... I say heterosexual couples... with their soaring divorce rates, and rampant infidelity, and vicious child-custody disputes... are doing that themselves.
Besides. Why should anyone's choice of who to love... or who to marry... be anyone else's business? As long as no one's being victimized, what's the problem?
One of the arguments advanced here in Canada, where same-sex marriage is legal (for the time being, anyway)... is that, if THIS is okay, then what's next? Polygamy?
To which I say... what's the hairy issue with polygamy? If three people (or four or five or whatever) choose to form a legal bond and raise their family collectively... again, as long as no one's being victimized... what is the problem?
Oh, say the critics, but polygamy's tied to child abuse. Uh, right. That's the same thing they say about same-sex unions... based on their ludicrous assumption that all homosexuals are somehow pedophiles, or sex fiends. Ridiculous.
I've heard otherwise rational men say... I'd never go to a gay male doctor.
To which I say.... don't flatter yourself. Just because a man may be in a love with another man, that doesn't mean he's uncontrollably flinging himself at every damned man who walks through the door. I mean... I have a straight male doctor. That means... oooooohhhh.... gasp.... he has sex with women!!!! But that has absolutely nothing to do with him examining me in his professional capacity.
We have a polygamist sect here in British Columbia, and it's under near-constant scrutiny for child abuse. The allegation is that very young girls are married off to men, against their will.
To which I say... if that's the case, it's child abuse, for sure. But it's an entirely separate issue from the marital status of the parents involved.
Sorry if I'm ranting here, but this whole issue gets my knickers in a major twist. I think it's because... as one of those kids who was teased and taunted for simply being who I was... I sort of understand what it must be like to face such senseless discrimination.
We have today, in too many parts of North America, a culture that says... while most other forms of organized hate and discrimination are frowned upon... it's okay to ostracize and mistreat people... solely on the basis of who they love.
It's insane. I mean... I remember when I first encountered boys. There was an instant ZING! From that time on, I pretty much always had a crush on some boy or other and... lucky me... I was part of a majority, so having those feelings was a-okay.
The gay and lesbian people I've talked to had similar experiences somewhere in their lives.... where they felt that overwhelming sense of attraction and excitement and curiosity. But... unlucky them, they were part of a minority, and made to think that what they felt was somehow bad or wrong.
I'm on this topic today because our federal government (recently elected and right wing) is threatening to undo the same-sex marriage law. This is just the latest in a string of reversals that's included:
- killing the nearly-enacted bill that would've decriminalized marijuana
- killing an agreement with aboriginal people that would've finally begun addressing the deplorable conditions many of them live in
- reversing the country's commitment to do its part to address climate change, and
- killing a multi-year agreement with the provinces that would've made child care somewhat more affordable and accessible.
In the government's eyes, child care is bad. I mean, everyone knows mommies should stay home with their babies while daddies work. Climate change is just a bunch of made-up garbage; after all, those scientists are all a bunch of liberals. Aboriginal people... notwithstanding the fact that white people stole their land, stuck them on reserves, legislated away their rights and tore a whole generation of children away from their families and communities... Notwithstanding that, "those people" are just lazy; they just need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. As for marijuana... well, we all know it's FAR more harmful than booze, which government not only endorses but shamelessly profits from. I mean... just look at all the domestic strife, and public brawls, and armed standoffs, and traffic carnage caused by those crazed, violent potheads. And those humsexuals... well. We can't deport them 'cause they're from here (darnit anyway). But we sure as hell owe it to the citizenry to make sure they're denied the most fundamental of human rights... the right to freely love.
I'm sorry if this is a downer but I'm sick at heart for my country today. I fear where we're going and I feel so helpless... watching our common sense progress slip away.
I guess I should just be glad that G and her One True Love are already married... and no one... not even right wing governments... can take what they have away from them.
*Working Towards a Better World
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Marc is Autistic and is presently suffering from uncontrollable rage, darkness and frightening hallucinations that he has been battling with. His parents are loving and always attentive, but it is hard to have to watch and feel rather hopeless. They do all that they can but the medications are not working at present. Please join me in sending prayers, good vibes and thoughts their way so that a better medication can bring him relief and peace, enable him to enjoy his life again.
This goes out to all Autistic people and their families, may a cure be found to stop this dreadful illness.
Sending love to Marc and his family and all the other families confronting this demon.
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Thank you for your kind visit. Have a wonderful and beautiful day! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
Zhapu Rd., Shanghai
Kunshan Park, built in 1895-1898, is one of the oldest parks in Shanghai. Since July 2022, the park has been closed to public for the reason of avoiding gatherings due to the uncontrollable Covid-19 outbreak. With nowhere else to go, people sit densely on the dwarf walls of the flower beds at the edge of the park. But for the park managers, even if this gathering ‘outside the park’ had caused the Covid-19 outbreak, it would not be their responsibility since it didn't happen ‘inside the park’. This is one of the epitomes of China's campaign against Covid-19.
-Artificial intelligence “image generators” give everyone the opportunity to be creative, and thanks to their abilities, millions of people have this experience. But there is confusion and new questions. As the artistic prowess of artificial intelligence emerges, it raises questions we haven't encountered before about what it means to be human. Some consider AI products to be works of art, while others object. I evaluated the facts analytically in terms of art philosophy and wrote my ideas in this article.
Below is the article I wrote about art, artist concepts, can artificial intelligence make art, analysis of human art and artificial intelligence products.
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AN ANALYTICAL PERSPECTIVE ON THE "ART" ADVENTURE OF HUMANS AND ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE
The concept of "art" is the field of creativity, the only feature of being human. As the artistic prowess of Artificial intelligence emerges in a fast-moving world, it raises questions we've never encountered before about what it means to be "human". What kind of a period will "art", which is the result of human concepts such as existence, society, communication, subconscious, emotions, imagination, intuition, love, sensitivity, impulse, instinct, dream, originality and of course, creativity, enter into a period with Artificial intelligence (AI)? With its revolutionary technology that will change production, thinking, lifestyles and the future, will artificial intelligence, which is designed to replace people in other fields of activity, be more creative than humans in the field of art and reach the competence to challenge the artist?
According to Hegel, art carries the spirit of the artist, who is transferred to matter and likens matter to himself. Well, since the products created by machines without a soul today are not generated by an artist, can they carry spirit and meaning?
For years, computer technology has already made an impact and contribution to visual arts with image technologies such as vector, bitmap, 3D, CGI as a tool that creates, processes and changes the image. Today, many smart image generators such as Stable Diffusion, DALL-E, Craiyon, Midjourney, Nightcafe Ai, etc. are software systems that can statistically evaluate themselves over large datasets containing millions of images, train themselves, and produce new images that are not included in the original dataset. Not just images, AI is already being used in other branches of the arts to create music, poetry, sculpture, stories, articles and films.
There are many new questions and concepts such as whether the products created by a system that has human skills but is not human are real works of art, whether programmers and machines will be accepted as artists, whether AI products can be included in the broad and general definition of art. Although there are objections, acceptances, doubts, different opinions, it has been met with great interest by the majority.
First of all, it is necessary to talk about the concepts of “Art” and “Artist”. In its most general definition, art is a reflection of the human mind and cultural evolution, an expression of creativity, way of thinking and imagination. The artist, on the other hand, is the one who makes art with the awareness of "being human", humanizes and shapes life, and realizes the phenomenon of art with action. The artist combines facts with aesthetic elements from a different point of view and records them in social memory. Behind his creative works lie deep stories of man, his age and society. He uses his imagination, patience, enthusiasm and self-sacrificing efforts to embed his passions, memories, dreams, imaginary and abstract ideas, symbols, philosophy and his inner world, the dynamics of the era and society he lives in, with aesthetic expressions. The process of creating the artist's art is complex and difficult, while filtering everything he is affected by and incorporating it into his works. He feels both sadness and happiness most deeply, and experiences his anxiety and pleasure at the highest level.
Art originates from life and human beings and belongs to humans. “Art is an object made by man for man. “ (E.H.Gombrich, The Story of Art) This is a very accurate definition and “Art” is based on a human-made phenomenon that takes its source from the human artist and seeks meaning with its historical, social accumulation and imagination; existence occurs in the unity of human, artist, meaning, aesthetic object and aesthetic taste. In this respect, there is a deep bond of existence between man, art and work of art that complements each other.
The artist searches for the meanings behind artistic intentions and desires and vital phenomena. Since AI is not a living, emotional being, it lacks imagination, the reality of its external world, and the qualities of being human. Unfortunately, those who claim in advance that the products of AI are art, underestimate the artist who realizes the thousands-year-old deep source of art and the artistic production process, and find it unnecessary to question the artist's effort and necessity. Decisions made by those who do not know the depth of the creative process, without entering the enthusiastic world of an artist, are in favor of accepting and affirming AI products without questioning them. We see that the capitalist world, which wants to benefit from the stimulating effect of the trade created by AI products, has great expectations to use this situation in its favor and turn it into money.
The production process of AI is formed by the combination of computer, programmer, data, algorithm, output, aesthetic taste of the receptive subject. Since AI does not perform its actions by focusing on aesthetic values, aesthetic harmony and meaning, the output it produces is only a sensory, aesthetic value uncertain, non-essential, formal object. Because it lacks the subjective point of view and the values of the special creation process in the mind of an artist. The software, which does not take its source from the human mind, does not have emotions, and produces from ready-made data, has the potential to produce likeable outputs. It can even produce outputs, albeit rare, that, by chance, can give aesthetic pleasure and cause emotional and artistic excitement in people. Again, it is the receptive subject himself who adds artistic value to such an output with his artistic disposition, education and dreams. Because, while the output is devoid of a communication basis, an expression to be conveyed and has no artistic value, the perception style, psychological orientation and point of view of the receptive subject who establishes the communication raise the output to the value of an object that gives aesthetic pleasure. The receptive subject participates in the process with its level of perception of the object, aesthetic judgment and creativity, and needs the qualities of its own self and visual capacity. With a subjectivist attitude, he takes the artistic value not from the object but from his own psychology, customizes the object with his own emotions and attributes a meaning to the output. What makes the output of AI valuable is not the qualities of the aesthetic object formed by the activity of an artist, but the way of seeing of the receptive subject.
The work of art is a human creation, the creative subject is the artist. The artist produces by adding meaning to his work, and the visible form has a meaning integrity, a unity of form and content. In his work, the artist formally expresses a reality about life in his work. That is, the meaning is not added after making the work, and the meaning exists as a substance in the mind of the artist before the work takes shape. In the work, the expression to be conveyed without communicating with the receptive subject is already present and ready; all this is hidden in the work as a reality and waits to be seen by a competent receptive subject. This is the process of discovery of the work of a spirit that repeats the aesthetic creation formed in the artist's soul. The receptive subject, who judges the output of artificial intelligence, lacks the pleasure and effort of creating, perceiving and recreating the expression level of the artist, that is, the human being. Because understanding and making sense of a work of art requires an effort like the creativity of the artist.
E.H. “We cannot hope to understand a work of art if we do not have the ability to share that sense of liberation and triumph that the artist has over his finished work,” says Gombrich.
We see that while art is realized with the connection of the artist, the work (aesthetics) and the receptive subject (aesthetic interest), the process in the AI product takes place with the connection of data, algorithm, object (sensory) and receptive subject (aesthetic interest).
Human art is the aesthetic relationship between man and objective reality and includes artistic reality. Its source is life, human, society, created by the artist, it focuses on the whole process and is holistic. It is based on the reproduction of the aesthetic values that the artist brings to the object by the receptive subject, the connections and interaction with the aesthetic judgment. It is directly and tightly connected to human practice, society and social life. The work of art is personal, original, and the artist has a compositional knowledge and skill that will require much more than repetitions, different blending and attachment techniques in AI output. In a way that takes its origins from life and focuses on the soul and meaning, art considers beauty as a unity of values. Like artificial intelligence, it focuses not only on the result, but also on the whole process, and this is what we need to distinguish.
Although AI is capable of creativity, this does not mean that it is an artist. Likewise, neither a programmer nor an algorithm is an artist. Because their production is outside of the vital, emotional, spiritual and meaning integrity we have explained above, they produce automatically and with commands. The algorithm does not create the object by considering artistic values, qualities and concerns, that is, the algorithm is not aware that it is dealing with art, so it is not conscious of reality. It scans the database and generates predictive compositions with the ability to fuse, add, subtract, associate and learn.
Artificial intelligence products can only be at the limit of the general definition of art. The creation process is automatic and is not identical with human art with the layers of existence it has; the source, formation and result are realized by a completely different method. Therefore, it is a phenomenon of experimental production that, although it is ostentatious and surprising, is not competent, imitates art as a form, its essence is incomplete, although it gives the impression of art.
Based on the context of reality, the search for meaning, the layers of existence and the social source of life, it would be appropriate to call it "Human Art" because it represents human beings, and "Artificial Intelligence Art" because it is created by codes. Because we cannot see artificial intelligence, which enters art as a separate actor, as if it is making productions of the same value as human beings and art. What makes human art valuable is that it tells its own story and the struggle for existence with the accumulation of thousands of years of creation process.
As AI enters more and more scientific, everyday and artistic and human fields, we have to make the rules, boundaries and definitions of human domain, arrangements, positioning and criticisms that include what human being is, to remain "human". The important thing is to create and place concepts that will preserve the depth, value, originality, creativity and freedom of the human domain. While doing this, we should determine the roles by defining the field that artificial intelligence, that is, the machine can have. For this reason, the categorical distinction was made as "Human Art" and "AI Art" because it was based on codes. To make both the same, to say that both achieve similar goals in different ways, is a disrespectful, unfair approach to art and the artist and should be objected to.
Of course, AI will enable artists to create new and original products through collaborative work as a resource to benefit from. With artificial intelligence in artistic creation, the artist can expand his creativity, get inspired, try new things, and also think of artificial intelligence as a collaboration tool. Even if the artist is involved in the creation process of the products created by this collaboration, even if he has the initiative, the use of AI based on the source codes will bring about discussions.
The approach to artificial intelligence products will also mean the sincerity exam of people. The artist and no one should not escape easily, and try to show stolen ideas or directly as his own work. It should not make an effort to reflect worthless products as if they are valuable.
Deciding whether the output has value and the quality of its connection with the art means reaching the big problem area in art. A wide variety of factors should be taken into account while making an aesthetic interpretation. Knowing who the work belongs to is also a factor that will affect our decision. Interpreting a work that is not clear by whom it was generated may cause exaggeration or vice versa, underestimation and incompleteness. Evaluating an object as artistic and beautiful is relative (apart from reconciliation with assumptions that make aesthetic judgment general and based on common feeling) and is difficult, but this is a mysterious and normal state of art.
Artificial intelligence will be an encouraging and supportive force with its ease not only for artists, but for everyone. In addition, the copyright problem of the entries that make up the database should be solved, and the rights of the artist and everyone else who does not want to be in the database should be respected.
It should never be forgotten that; The importance of painters and painting did not decrease with the invention of photography, the transformation of smart phones into talented cameras did not turn everyone into a photographer, AI cannot turn anyone into miraculous and fantastic artists, nor transfer talents.
While the subject is being discussed, painting is generally focused on because of its popularity. But how do we react when AI produces an image with details and visual quality indistinguishable from a real photograph? Especially when we compare it with documentary photography, the situation will become more complicated. At this stage, the values shaped in our aesthetic, emotional and imaginary world, which we judge the paintings, will not be enough. We will need to ask whether the photograph is based on objective reality, and we will build our judgmental values after the definition of reality. Because, as a document, that photograph is real, it reflects the state of the world while connecting the lived past to the future, it has a place and a story, it is direct, it is a human and social memory and transfers it to other generations. The photograph created by AI has no story, it only depicts unreal scenes with automatic editing, and the composition is created only with the ability to imitate. Such a photograph will not go beyond an image that only arouses technical admiration before the viewer. For this reason, I think that unmanipulated and documentary photography will become more valuable in the future. Because it will never lose its value as a tool that reflects reality and directly reflects events.
Can you consider William Turner's painting "The Slave Ship" separately from the historical, social, reality of the outside world and the dynamics of the artist's inner world? This painting is not just a painting, it is a work that has meanings far beyond the painting. Now let's imagine that a similar picture is generated by artificial intelligence. Even if pictorial values, light and composition are used appropriately, what historical, artistic, cultural, emotional value can it have? In other words, in the background of art, there are stories of life and a context, while artificial art has nothing to tell, it is a storyless phenomenon that is disconnected from the context of reality, as a product of a system under the control of virtual codes, and has no history.
In today's society, communication habits have changed, the world of possibilities has grown, and even magicalized. AI "image generators" give everyone the opportunity to be creative, and thanks to their amazing ability, they make this experience available to millions of people. Even a child who has learned to read and write can accidentally create remarkable products in front of his computer. It does not make anyone who can write keywords to the computer and who does not have artistic personality and creativity an artist and does not include them in art. Millions of people are attracted to this attractive game without age limit and are entertained by its amazing and strange results, as if they have achieved a magical power. It is more accurate to call them "experimental participants". It is a fact that outliers, complex, uncertain, surreal, mystical, imagination-stimulating images attract a lot of attention. Friedrich Schiller and his theory that art is a game come to mind. But in his theory, Schiller meant real art. Besides, art is a much more complex phenomenon than play.
Although the outputs are strange, unencountered, interesting and attractive, as they multiply uncontrollably in the internet environment, they have a high potential to turn into habitual, valueless, artificial, ordinary objects.
It is human beings who will stand against the destructiveness of technology and protect humanity. Being human, despite your shortcomings, is unique. Do we have the human intelligence, virtue, honesty, will, courage and plan to use the future to be a better human being “together” and to create a world based on beauty and equality? While AI becomes human, we never want a role change where people become automatic, ineffective and robotic.
Man interprets and makes sense of life with his art, resists against time, and transfers his relationship with life to the art environment in freedom with his searches and discoveries. Art is formed in reality through "labor" by the artist. All innovations and technological changes should never be allowed to trivialize art and artists. Because Artificial Intelligence lacks the human touch, love, impulses and, in short, a life.
Einstein said, "The criterion of being intelligent is not knowledge but imagination," and reconciling human imagination with intelligence.
Akil Alparslan / 01 2023