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Project:
 © Michael King (
)
4 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 31-07-2010
0 project comment(s)
,
5 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION
On 7 February 2009 the worst bushfire in recorded Australian history cut a crimson swathe across much of central and eastern Victoria. A deadly ring of fire consumed millions of hectares of bushland, farms and forests, caused the deaths of nearly two hundred people, displaced thousands more and wiped out a dozen towns and hamlets across the state.

Eighteen months later, an independent inquiry established under the auspices of a Royal Commission handed down its findings on the causes, effects and adequacy of planning and response by government and emergency services. In the lead-up to the report, I headed northeast to the town of Marysville in the Yarra Ranges, about ninety kilometres from Melbourne. This once sleepy and picturesque hamlet on the road to the snowfields was completely destroyed in the fires, along with much of the surrounding forests which included an impressive collection of Victorian "mountain ash" eucalyptus, one of the tallest trees in the world. The town is determined to return: many businesses operate from temporary buildings and tents and there is much reconstruction taking place.

The surrounding forests too have been busy: peel away the charcoal bark on any gum tree and one will find a forest that is very much alive and slowly regenerating. Ferns and young gum trees sprout from the rainforest floor, exposed to the sky where they once would have been covered by a dense canopy of mountain ash gum leaves.

It was only fitting that one of the rivers which passes through this area is the Acheron, presumably named after the same river featured in ancient Greek mythology as the "river of pain", that which represented the threshold between life and life after death.

I do not normally mix colour and black and white images together in a deliberate theme but when I was organising the first batch of photographs, neither the colour nor the black and white on their own could capture fully the two moods I wanted to convey; the horror of the devastation, on the one hand, and the defiance and energy of the regrowth on the other. So, in the end, I kept both in and I hope the work well together.
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Project:
 © Cristian Tomescu (
)
0 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 31-07-2010
0 project comment(s)
,
0 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION

collection of landscape shots from various places in the world, bla bla bla ..................
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Project:
 © Francis Harrison (
)
0 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 27-07-2010
0 project comment(s)
,
0 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION
Well I've been shooting, trying to capture the spirit of the Kyodo Dance Matsuri every year around this time.

This year I tried something different - I tried to revisit night shooting by taking its elements apart - color in places, desaturation in others, darker shadows and more suggested movement.
Now you may find that I've completely screwed up (and that wouldn't be the first time), but at least I tried something new...
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Project:
 © Animesh Ray (
)
18 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 25-07-2010
0 project comment(s)
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37 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION
There are few places on earth that can rival the majesty of the Sacred Valley in Peru, curved by the Urubamba river originating in the Andean glaciers, ultimately running into the mighty Amazon on its course to the Atlantic.  This isolated valley has been home to a number of tribes who speak various dialects of Quechua since the pre-Inca times.  They have been credited with domesticating many species of plants, including potato, tomato, and several varieties of maize, having discovered terrace farming techniques, and apparently were master hydrologists adept at moving bodies of water through ingenious combination of natural flow and judicious plumbing. 

Here I offer a scratch on the surface--a mere tourist's impression of the people of the sacred valley.
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Project:
 © Cristian Tomescu (
)
0 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 24-07-2010
0 project comment(s)
,
0 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION
self explanatory, I think
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Project:
 © Cristian Tomescu (
)
0 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 24-07-2010
0 project comment(s)
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0 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION

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Project:
 © Will Jackson (
)
2 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 22-07-2010
0 project comment(s)
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10 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION
Just a small collection of images looking at reflections, silhouettes, but generally people (or animals) looking in. Might go for a dark gothic-like style to keep it in line with the reference to the movie.
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Project:
 © Cristian Tomescu (
)
6 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 17-07-2010
1 project comment(s)
,
17 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION

Business trip, but had some free time to spend around Longshan Temple area, nearby Huanxi Night Market, and around the narrow seedy alleys that branch off the main commercial drag. Hope you enjoy them.

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Project:
 © Hugh Siegel (
)
0 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 14-07-2010
0 project comment(s)
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0 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION

Populist Manifesto No. 1

by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

 

                Poets, come out of your closets,

Open your windows, open your doors,

You have been holed-up too long

in your closed worlds.

Come down, come down

from your Russian Hills and Telegraph Hills,

your Beacon Hills and your Chapel Hills,

your Mount Analogues and Montparnasses,

down from your foothills and mountains,

out of your teepees and domes.

The trees are still falling

and we’ll to the woods no more.

No time now for sitting in them

As man burns down his own house

to roast his pig

No more chanting Hare Krishna

while Rome burns.

San Francisco’s burning,

Mayakovsky’s Moscow’s burning

the fossil-fuels of life.

Night & the Horse approaches

eating light, heat & power,

and the clouds have trousers.

No time now for the artist to hide

above, beyond, behind the scenes,

indifferent, paring his fingernails,

refining himself out of existence.

No time now for our little literary games,

no time now for our paranoias & hypochondrias,

no time now for fear & loathing,

time now only for light & love.

We have seen the best minds of our generation

destroyed by boredom at poetry readings.

Poetry isn’t a secret society,

It isn’t a temple either.

Secret words & chants won’t do any longer.

The hour of oming is over,

the time of keening come,

a time for keening & rejoicing

over the coming end

of industrial civilization

which is bad for earth & Man.

Time now to face outward

in the full lotus position

with eyes wide open,

Time now to open your mouths

with a new open speech,

time now to communicate with all sentient beings,

All you ‘Poets of the Cities’

hung in museums including myself,

All you poet’s poets writing poetry

about poetry,

All you poetry workshop poets

in the boondock heart of America,

All you housebroken Ezra Pounds,

All you far-out freaked-out cut-up poets,

All you pre-stressed Concrete poets,

All you cunnilingual poets,

All you pay-toilet poets groaning with graffiti,

All you A-train swingers who never swing on birches,

All you masters of the sawmill haiku in the Siberias of America,

All you eyeless unrealists,

All you self-occulting supersurrealists,

All you bedroom visionaries and closet agitpropagators,

All you Groucho Marxist poets

and leisure-class Comrades

who lie around all day and talk about the workingclass proletariat,

All you Catholic anarchists of poetry,

All you Black Mountaineers of poetry,

All you Boston Brahims and Bolinas bucolics,

All you den mothers of poetry,

All you zen brothers of poetry,

All you suicide lovers of poetry,

All you hairy professors of poesie,

All you poetry reviewers

drinking the blood of the poet,

All you Poetry Police -

Where are Whitman’s wild children,

where the great voices speaking out

with a sense of sweetness and sublimity,

where the great’new vision,

the great world-view,

the high prophetic song

of the immense earth

and all that sings in it

And our relations to it -

Poets, descend

to the street of the world once more

And open your minds & eyes

with the old visual delight,

Clear your throat and speak up,

Poetry is dead, long live poetry

with terrible eyes and buffalo strength.

Don’t wait for the Revolution

or it’ll happen without you,

Stop mumbling and speak out

with a new wide-open poetry

with a new commonsensual ‘public surface’

with other subjective levels

or other subversive levels,

a tuning fork in the inner ear

to strike below the surface.

Of your own sweet Self still sing

yet utter ‘the word en-masse -

Poetry the common carrier

for the transportation of the public

to higher places

than other wheels can carry it.

Poetry still falls from the skies

into our streets still open.

They haven’t put up the barricades, yet,

the streets still alive with faces,

lovely men & women still walking there,

still lovely creatures everywhere,

in the eyes of all the secret of all

still buried there,

Whitman’s wild children still sleeping there,

Awake and walk in the open air.

 

(Lawrence Ferlinghetti, all rights reserved)

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Project:
 © Yarum Cb (
)
15 photo(s)
and 0 draft(s),
created on 08-07-2010
0 project comment(s)
,
14 photos comment(s)
PROJECT DESCRIPTION
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