Shadows Photography Quotes

A photograph is a universe of dots. The grain, the halide, the little silver things clumped in the emulsion. Once you get inside a dot, you gain access to hidden information, you slide into the smallest event. This is what technology does. It peels back the shadows and redeems the dazed and rumbling past. It makes reality come true.

Later, when she sees the photographs for the first time, she will be surprised at how calm her face looks - how steady her gaze, how erect her posture. In the picture her eyes will be slightly closed, and there will be a shadow on her neck. The shawl will be draped around her shoulders, and her hands will rest in her lap. In this deceptive photograph, she will look a young woman who is not at all disturbed or embarrassed, but instead appears to be rather serious. And she wonders if, in its ability to deceive, photography is not unlike the sea, which may offer a benign surface to the observe even as it conceals depths and current below.

Find the light of beauty even in the shadows of darkness.

We quickly became friends with other art faculty members such as the ceramist Jim Leedy and his wife Jean and art historian/artist Bill Kortlander and his wife Betty. I also began taking classes in Southeast Asian history with John Cady, who had resigned from his position at the U.S.[CB4] [mo5]  State Department because he thought it would be a huge mistake to get involved in a “land war in Southeast Asia.” In 1966, his warnings were starting to become all too obvious as the Vietnam war grew and protests against it emerged. Dr. Cady was in the thick of the protests and was even being shadowed by the F.B.I. After I finished my BFA in art in 1966, I began work on a master’s degree in history at Dr. Cady’s urging. He and his wife became frequent guests at our parties

We tell stories using light. We tell stories using shadows. That's it.

Photography acquires a certain dignity, which it does not normally have, when it is not just a reproduction of reality but can show us things that no longer exist.

What is aura? A peculiar web of space and time: the unique manifestation of a distance, however near it may be. To follow, while reclining on a summer’s noon, the outline of a mountain range on the horizon or a branch, which casts its shadow on the observer until the moment or  the hour partakes of their presence—this is to breathe in the aura of these mountains, of this branch. Today, people have as passionate an inclination to bring things close to themselves or even more to the masses, as to overcome uniqueness in every situation by reproducing it. Every day the need grows more urgent to possess an object in the closest proximity, through a picture or, better, a reproduction. And the reproduction, as the illustrated newspaper and weekly readily prove, distinguishes itself unmistakably from the picture. Uniqueness and permanence are as closely intertwined in the latter as transitoriness and reproducibility in the former.

photography was “a circus kind of business, and unfit for a gentleman to engage in.

What sweet nectars and scents would emerge once the depths of your essence are revealed.

Your touch is soft, but your gaze is intent personified.

Your eagerness betrays your patina of somber patience. Your desire unfolds with but a gentle touch.

the tree tops whisper your name when i'm missing you the most. your shadow is observing me... it all reminds me how much more my life glows in your presence

Our shadows still walk these streets. Like ghosts, they haunt our every move.

All writing is essentially autobiographical because our composed thought patterns reflect our accumulated life experiences. At some level, every type of work, whether it is literature, poetry, music, painting, photography, sculpture, or architecture, is always a portrait of the creator. We cannot escape ourselves any more than we can outrun our shadow.

In a few words, since by nature and professional training he was more inclined to listen attentively than to talk, he told her that for some time he had not found employment as a psychologist and was looking for any respectable job. Photography had seemed a good possibility, but since he had not wanted to be like those amateurs who end up begging to photograph weddings, baptisms, and birthdays, he had come to the magazine. “Tomorrow I’m going to interview some prostitutes. Do you want to come along and give it a try?” Irene asked. Francisco accepted on the spot, brushing aside a shadow of sadness, thinking how much easier it was to earn a living by clicking a shutter than it was by placing his experience and hard-won knowledge at the service of his fellow man. When

In the years that I could not see him, I came to know my father through the medium of photography. My perceptions of him were forged on black-and-white squares that stole an instant out of history and immortalized it between the pages of a family album. When I summoned up the image of the man, it came to me frozen, black-bordered, flat. He stood pale above the creases of his uniform, framed in the foamy wake of some ship, drops of sunlight caught in the buttons on his jacket. He winked at me from the liberty ports of countless exotic places. In an atrocious hand he scrawled stilted, affectionate words to the stranger that bore his name and his features, telling of adventures far away, misbehavings under suns hotter than that which shone over the Greater German Reich.

For one can no more live without leaving tracks than one can without casting a shadow. S., as his eminence grise, is stealing his tracks, and he cannot fail to sense the magic to which he is being subjected. He is being photographed incessantly. The photograph here has neither a voyeuristic nor an archival function. Its simple message has the form: at this location, at such and such a time, in this particular light, someone was present. But at the same time it conveys the following: there was no point in being here, in such and such a place, and at such and such a time - and in fact no one was here; I was the one who followed him, and I can assure you that no one was here. It is of no interest to know that someone is leading a double life. It is the tailing itself that supplies the other with a double life. The most ordinary of lives may be transfigured in this way; likewise, the most extraordinary of lives may be rendered trite. In any case, life thus succumbs to a strange attraction.

Aren’t you going to ask me what kind of boat I own?” he asked. “Sure. What kind of boat do you own?” “A sailboat.” “That’s nice. The coals are ready. I’ll just dab some herb butter on the swordfish and we’ll be eating in no time.” Travis shook his head at Cat’s lack of interest in the possibilities of sailing with him. “Are you sure you like sailing?” he asked. “I love the ocean,” Cat said as she spread a sheen of butter over the swordfish. “I don’t know beans about rag sailing. So if you’re one of those avid sailors who expects me to care about sloops and catamarans and jibs and the six thousand boring shapes of canvas you can hang from masts, you’re going to be one disappointed puppy.” Travis smiled ruefully. “I learned a long time ago that my love of wind, sail, and water isn’t something most people give a damn about.” “Like me and photography. I could go on for hours about light and texture, shape and weight and shadow and—Get the door for me, would you?” He opened the door and followed Cat out to the back deck. Her hands were full of fresh swordfish. His eyes approved her unconscious grace as she bent over the grill. “But I’m more than willing to listen to you talk about wind and all,” she said without looking up. “I’ll even make soothing noises, as long as there isn’t a pop quiz at the end.” He laughed out loud. “Some other night, maybe. I won’t ask that much of a sacrifice on our first date.

Turn away, if you can. Return you will with hunger peaked and primed.

Your gaze betrays the willingness in your heart.

One smirk, and you disassemble my armor.

One sleepy day and the casualness of your erotic heart plays like a tune emerging from the backdrop.

I could look into your eyes for the rest of my life and never get bored.

Veo presentimientos y presagios. . . Desde el amanecer hasta el atardecer en tus ojos.

La vanidad es, por mucho, mi pecado favorito, y la lente de la cámara es un espejo. La cámara capta todos los estados de ánimo y los matices; inmortaliza el continuo suave y sedoso que es la humanidad. Esos momentos capturados parecen tan fluidos, tan representativos de la continuidad. Representan la captura de un único momento y, sin embargo, la expresión de una eternidad. Toda tu juventud; todas tus edades, capturadas y expresadas en un solo clic. De todos los caprichos, el de la vanidad es sin duda mi favorito, al que deberíamos resistirnos, pero al que nos sentimos inexplicablemente cautivados y adictos. ¿Qué otro animal pasaría tanto tiempo haciendo pucheros y acicalándose frente a su reflejo? Sólo la humanidad participaría en tal auto-adoración. Se podría pensar que tenemos las plumas más coloridas o las melenas más suaves. En cambio, somos un bípedo desnudo que se siente incompleto sin algún elemento decorativo, accesorio o adorno del yo. Nos embriaga la imagen del cuerpo, de la misma manera que nos seducen los buenos vinos, las comidas o los elementos que alteran la mente. Devoramos la piel, y nos despojamos de la ropa como si fuera la piel de alguna fruta tropical, que oculta un interior colorido y jugoso. Cazamos placeres corporales, y los coleccionamos como premios; los exhibimos en situaciones sociales como si nuestros compañeros fueran una especie de adorno añadido a nosotros mismos. Nos revelamos en nuestra sensualidad. Tocar debajo de la superficie; conectar más allá de las fachadas, ese discurso inalcanzable entre individuos se pone tímidamente al alcance en la intimidad. Capturar esos momentos es captar la esencia de lo que nos hace humanos, y lo que en última instancia nos coloca por encima y al margen del resto de la naturaleza. Capturar la humanidad en sus expresiones más extravagantes es embriagador. La vanidad es, por mucho, mi pecado favorito, y es un cuento interminable tan infinito como la humanidad. Cada persona no es más que una puntada en un gigantesco tapiz.

The woods offer a unique canvas for photographers, with an ever-changing landscape of light and shadow.

Photography is the play of light, the dance of shadows, the song of exposure, and the story of the moment.

Photography and the cinema on the other hand are discoveries that satisfy, once and for all and in its very essence, our obsession with realism. No matter how skillful the painter, his work was always in fee to an inescapable subjectivity. The fact that a human hand intervened cast a shadow of doubt over the image.

All that I tell the girl is true enough, yet there is more: I seek a certain arrangement of light and shadow, a folding of lines and balance of weight so fine as to let me catch sight of something beyond reason. I can only pray that I will recognize it when it is before me.

My lense serves as a catalyst of hue-man's energy, to focus on their light, and capture it... Is it just me?

5. not-so-magic hour The most flattering light for vacation photos is the golden glow just before sunset or right after sunrise, and the most unflattering is, undoubtedly, the full-strength glaring sun. Make the best of a bright situation by seeking the softer light created by the shade of a beach umbrella, cabana, lifeguard tower, or tall lifeguard. If there's no shade in sight and you're truly committed, ask your subject to face their own shadow, and angle a boogie board to bounce light on their face. Or just ask everyone to close their eyes and look down, then, on the count of three, look up and say "Pina colada." Smiles, guaranteed.

Architectural photography can involve a lot of waiting; the building becomes a kind of sundial, while you wait for a shadow to crawl away from a detail you want, or for the mass and balance of the structure to reveal itself in a certain way.

Photographers are writers- Writers are photographers: we catch a glimpse of something beautiful – a flower, a glance, a window – and catch it into our camera or writing lens: add a bit of glimmer, a ghost of shadow, allowing the background to sink into fuzziness while focusing on the sharp beauty; thus, we highlight the romance of life.