Every worthy act is difficult. Ascent is always difficult. Descent is easy and often slippery.
– Mahatma Gandhi
Created, once upon a time, with Nikon D700 and Nikkor 85mm f/1.8 lens, at ISO200, 1/200s and f/6.3 for WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge, Ascend.
Death, therefore, the most awful of evils, is nothing to us, seeing that, when we are, death is not come, and, when death is come, we are not.
– Epicurus
we chase it
for eternity
yet, what do we lose
in our (endless)
chase
for, that
serene
(moment)
and
can
we find
it
before that
door
closes?
a dark slice of poetry for wordpress weekly photo challenge – Serene
*shot with fujifilm x100f with fixed 23mm (35mm full frame equivalent) lens at ISO1250, f/4 and 1/60s*
freedom, is
mine
(was the cry)
and then,
that
freedom
(was sold)
and,
the
price
paid,
the value,
of
that,
(precious) life
the
right
to be
independent
(no
more)
– experimental
For WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge – Experimental
And, perhaps, a prelude to the return of a weekly poetry prompt
My God, a moment of bliss. Why, isn’t that enough for a whole lifetime?
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky
For WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge – Temporary
*Shot with Nikon D700 with Nikkor 70-200mm f/4 lens at ISO200, 185mm, f/4 and 1/2000s*
For WordPress weekly photo challenge – scale.
I will be back with more for this challenge. I saw this gas station through the window of my bus, speeding through the night, and grabbed this hurried and blurred shot with my iPhone.
It looked oddly out of scale in the dark.
Writing in today’s Observer newspaper, Laura Cumming’s review followed the headline (at least in the print version) ‘These swings don’t mean a thing’ describing the Superflex installation in the Turbine Hall of the Tate Modern as ‘by far the worst Turbine Hall commission in the history of the Tate Modern’, and went on to suggest that, if she were Hyundai (who sponsored the commission), she’d ask for her ball back.
I am no art critic, but I wonder if her review missed part of the essential point of the Tate Modern? It is an open expansive space, much of which can be viewed freely. A space where those unfamiliar with art can have their eyes opened, their lives changed. The vast expanse of the Turbine Hall is indeed a challenging space for any artist to fill, no matter how sweeping their ambition or profound their talent.
Everyone was nowhere to be seen
― Geoff Dyer
During all my frequent flying, I’ve finally got round to reading Geoff Dyer’s The Ongoing Moment, which I purchased in The Tate Modern Bookshop well over a year ago.
I’ve been particularly fascinated by the hatted figures in raincoats which feature in the work of Kertész. Blurred, and often awkwardly placed within the frame, strangely compelling, we share a fleeting moment in the life of these strangers.
This morning, as I nursed a cup of strong coffee after an overnight flight from Accra to London, I also lingered over an image of a group of people on a bench, World’s Fair New York 1964, made by Garry Winogrand.
I was about to delete the image above (too blurry and clumsy), but there was something about the group of people, the interplay between them, the connections, the role played by the pictured photographer unaware of her own involvement in another photo, something that made me stop pressing the delete button.
So, this image, blurry and unsatisfactory though it is, is my homage to Geoff Dyer for opening my eyes and encouraging me to learn from the work of some of the greatest photographers.
beautiful insane
in the rain
― Jack Kerouac, The Subterraneans
Everything but pedestrian, for WordPress weekly photo challenge.
Today, I finally bought my own copy of The Americans by Robert Frank with a sublime introduction by Jack Kerouac.
The perfect blend of photography, writing and poetry.
Inspired by one of my sporadic visits to the Tate Modern.
*Shot with Fujifilm X100F with fixed 23mm (35mm full frame equivalent) lens at ISO 800, f/5.6 and 1/200s with edits applied in Lightroom CC and Analog Efex Pro 2*
I gaze across at the trees.
Brittle branches blurred by the breeze, leaves coalescing into a swirling, suppurating soup in front of my aching eyes. You couldn’t make it up. Could you? Or maybe you could. Me, I don’t know. Don’t really know much right now.
I feel pressure in my eyes, darkness enveloping me. That old cliche. Gets them every single time. When I try to describe it to them. The feeling. Hell, I can barely describe it to myself. So how to them?
My fingers feel numb. My ever present and faithful companion (not the bumblebee this time), the pain in my back, ebbs. Hey, that’s good, don’t knock it. There has to be some positive side to all this. No? No, probably not. But I digress. I flow.
andy townend 