THE START of our adventures in FRANCE. Day 1.

1. The North of France.
2. Blériot Plage
3. Cap Blanc Nez
4. The White Cliffs of Dover.
5. Cap Gris Nez.
6. On Cap Gris Nez.

7. Remnants of War.
8. Road-signs,
9. The Lone Poppy.
10. Vallée de la Seine.
11. Honfleur, Coat of Arms.
12. Paul in Honfleur.
13. The Lieutenancy.
14.Quai St Catherine, vieilles façades.
15. Vive La France, reflections.
16. More reflections towards le Quai St Etienne
17. Eglise St Etienne, now a museum.
18. Le quai St Etienne. Le vieux Bassin. Eglise St Etienne.
19. The outer docks.
20. l'Eglise St Catherine (with 2 roofs), the Lieutenancy and the carousel.
21. The carousel. With image of the Mont St Michel.
22. Advert for Cidre.
23. Fasionista dog.
24. Patriotic Fasionista.
25. Taken through the window, a bronze by Bruno Catalano.
26. Taken through the window, another bronze by Bruno Catalano.
27. At the Jazz Café.
28. Of Art and Old buildings.
29. Vieilles façades.
30. Produits du Pays.
31. Produits du Pays.
32. The Carousel, it shows half past nine on the Town Hall.
33. Produits du Pays. Shops are still open.
34. Chapelerie.
35. Les Amoureux...
36. Old street in Honfleur

THE START of our adventures in FRANCE.

Day 1

We have our basis in Flanders, the ‘FLAT COUNTRY’ when we go to visit the Continent…

Mostly we stay for 8/10 days. It is a mad rush from family to friends… doing our lovely round, it is NEVER enough, so this Summer we decided on 18 days, and the promise that we would have not just a ‘visit’ but also a proper holiday.

France was the chosen destination, we were going to visit Burgundy, however, the weather was very hot, so we changed our plans and headed for Normandy and Brittany, the ‘cooler’ Coast.

In half an hour we drove across the border into the North of France, French Flanders.

Already the landscape started to change, hills beginning to roll…

Everywhere the fields had been ‘shaved’, the bales waiting to be collected, scattered over the golden fields…

I spotted this image nr 1, probably owned by a more ‘meticulous’ farmer?

As we did not want to continue on the autostrade (motorway), which takes you places fast but are never very exciting and I always wonder what ‘beauty’ we are flying past and missing…

Once passed Calais we took the exit and headed for the Route Nationale along the spectacular Côte d'Opale,which stretches from Calais to Boulogne along the Strait of Dover or Pas de Calais, the narrowest bit of the English channel of ‘La Manche’ (lit. The sleeve), better known as the CHANNEL, a part of the North Sea and the narrow strait between France and England.

We arrived in Blériot Plage, (On the 25th July 1909, Louis Blériot was the first to fly across the English Channel, from the beach at Sangatte, to claim the prize offered by the Daily Mail. The crossing took 37 minutes in his aeroplane, Blériot XI, built in collaboration with Raymond Saulnier. It was powered by a 3 cylinder 25 horsepower (19 kW) engine.)

Not very big, but with beautiful sandy beaches, quite a lot of wind, hence favoured by surfers and 'kiters'!

It still looked very much like the Belgium, even the beach-huts... albeit with a bit of the French 'nonchalance' flavour.

We had a lovely and quiet moment there, took a few shots and moved on.

The further South we drive, the more the land undulates, the late morning-sun plays with the clouds and gives us spectacular scenes, painting with light on the patch-work fields, but we can’t stop, the roads are narrow and winding, there’s nowhere to stop, so I try my hardest to get some good images from the car as we drive along, (our car windows have a slight tint, so I had to take that out of the photo, the colour cast!)

The scenes change by the second, lots of people are on the route with bicycles, caravans, Mobil-Homes, tandems, we get a taste of what is to come… It is one of the ‘high-lights’ of summer…

We follow the blue sea, as blue as the Mediterranean, there’s also a lot of traffic, ferries, sailing boats, speedboats, fishing- and pleasure boats dotted all over.

We pass Cap Blanc Nez ("Cape White Nose") a cape on the Côte d'Opale, in the Pas-de-Calais département.

The chalky cliffs are very similar to the white cliffs of Dover on the other side of the Channel in England. Cap Blanc Nez is no longer a cape but a cliff that is topped by an obelisk commemorating the Dover Patrol which kept the Channel free from U-boats during World War I.

We see too many people, coaches parked, cars waiting to park…

Onwards we go, surround the bay that divides the 2 Caps, we want to stop and explore Cap Gris Nez (Cape Gray Nose)

This Cap is the closest point of France to England - 34 km (20 miles) from their English counterparts at Dover. The cliffs are a perfect vantage point to see hundreds of ships from oil tankers to little fishing trawlers plying the waters below. On a clear day, the emblematic white cliffs of Dover on the English shore can be seen.

And sure enough, suddenly an opening in the landscape, the road close to the edge, we see England, The White Cliffs, my heart jumps, this is our ‘adopted country’, there stands our home… it seems so close like you can almost touch it, well it is only one hour on the Ferry …

We find a small clearing to park, amongst the dense and thorny wild-roses and dune thistles, I do something I never did before in this special way (not divided by barbed wire, but a boundary of Nature, the sea), I photograph 2 countries in one image. I stand in France and photograph England, across the Channel!

I’m thrilled, I feel with the happiness of a child. Another great moment!

The sun is slowly burning away the haze and clouds…

At last we get to Cap Gris Nez, a huge parking at the bottom of the hill, people still arriving, eager for the unusual view, to see England from France, looking across the 34 km stretch of the Channel, this is the narrowest point.

The wind blows my hair around; I can’t photograph like that so I put it up with a clip.

We begin the long walk, stop and view.

The memories come flooding back, I was first here when I was little young girl, on a school-trip, so excited to be out, how we played on the dunes, the bunkers, we were quite used to them, they were everywhere.

Later I returned with my grand-parents, very strict, a lesson in history and respect.

Now it has been made into well organised, barbed wired and guided paths to protect the delicate plant-life... Some sheep graze in the closed off meadows, maintaining the grass.

We follow the stream of people and get to a platform.

Crowded, we hear Spanish Italian, French, Dutch, German; it is a very international affair! People do come from all over.

We don’t linger very long, we’ve spotted another path, a bit lower, when we get there, we are alone, a clear view, another platform, as I look over I am confronted with remnants of war. After all these years, you still have so many signs of the dreadful battles this part of the world has seen.

“Sep 10, 1940 - The Dover area shook tonight when German guns, seemingly located near the Cap Gris Nez lighthouse across a narrow stretch of the Channel waters. Watchers in the Dover area saw orange tongues of flame spurting along the French coast illuminating the Cap Gris Nez lighthouse.”

For the invader it must have been frustrating… so tantalising close and yet…

I see poppies across the fence, melancholic reminders of sadness, horror and brotherhood.

We walk back in silence.

Our goal now is to reach Honfleur, in Normandy.

We push on South and in Boulogne shoot on to the motorway, it is not the most exciting way of seeing a country, but it gets you fast where you want to go.

I keep myself busy with taking shots ‘on the fly’… We pass Boards advertising the delights du pays, Chateaux, artisanales, we fly past the area of the Somme… the terrible battlegrounds, and see nothing of it…

I photograph farmers working on their fields; on a roundabout, I see ‘cows’, well, Normandy is famous for its butter and cheese.

Parts of Normandy consist of rolling countryside typified by pasture for dairy cattle and apple orchards. A wide range of dairy products are produced and exported. Normand cheeses include Camembert, Livarot, Pont l'Évêque, Brillat-Savarin, Neufchâtel, Petit Suisse and Boursin.

Normandy butter and Normandy cream are lavishly used in gastronomic specialties.

Then I see a Board for the Vallée de la Seine, which means we are nearing our destination of the day, Honfleur, a commune in the Normand département of Calvados in France, located on the southern bank of the estuary of the Seine, very close to the exit of the Pont de Normandie.

We miss a turn-off and because of it, also the famous bridge!

Eventually we arrive in Honfleur, and ooohh help, it is hectic…

We do find a hotel that can still accommodate us… after many tries and the dreaded words ‘COMPLET’…

We freshen up and hurry to the center of this beauty spot, that is :

HONFLEUR.

Honfleur is a small commune (around 10 000 inhabitants and 3 million visitors a year) in the Normand département of Calvados in France, located on the southern bank of the estuary of the Seine, very close to the exit of the Pont de Normandie.

A visit to Honfleur is in itself a complete history lesson, a ‘settlement’ of the Vikings around the year 900, from the 100 years war, through the voyages of discovery to the New World, as expeditions to Quebec from this harbour led to its foundation, during the 17th century, to the art of the impressionists.

It was a fortified town during the second half of the 14th century.

The old "Caen Gate", the last remaining piece of the original fortifications, most of which were demolished as the town and port were being expanded in the 17th century.

The Lieutenance, formerly House of the King's Lieutenant in Honfleur, used to be part of the ramparts surrounding the city and is now almost the only remaining part.

In the medieval part of the town, known as the "Quartier de l'Enclos", you can see the "Rue de la Ville", the old main commercial and trading street in the town, still showing its medieval architecture and buildings from a bygone era.

As you go around this area you can go back in time as you walk along Prison Street and step onto Little Butchers Street making your way to the Eglise Saint Etienne.

The most symbolic place of Honfleur with the very typical high houses all around the dock is the Old Dock, "le Vieux Bassin" in the heart of the city.

The port is bordered on three sides, by buildings of two distinct styles; large stone houses on the South side (Quai Saint-Etienne), amongst which we see the EGLISE St ETIENNE, dating from the 14th century, making it the oldest church in the town, which is now a Maritime museum.

On the North side (Quai Sainte Catherine) , characterized by the high and narrow wooden houses with slate-covered frontages, painted many times by artists, including in particular Gustave Courbet, Claude Monet and Johan Jongkind, forming the école de Honfleur which contributed to the appearance of the Impressionist movement. That doesn’t surprise me, the light is GLORIOUS indeed!

Both quays are named after the churches that stand on their grounds.

Behind the quarters of the Quay St Catherine, rises the Eglise Sainte Catherine, the largest wooden church in France, built by the ship carpenters of Honfleur shortly after the 100 years war.

AAHHH, les belles, vieilles façades!!!

A law required that the first houses built could not exceed 7.62 metres on the ground floor and not be more than 3 stories tall.

Yet a few decades later, because of its economic and demographic development, Honfleur was facing a serious housing crisis. For lack of space, houses were then built one on top of the other. In fact, these buildings were essentially like two adjoining ones, only instead of being built side by side; they were built on top of one another: the base house had its first floor on the bank, while the second one also had a first floor but it gave onto the opposite hill. On one side, St. Catherine Quay, they rise to narrow slate-and-timber heights of five to seven stories, housing restaurants or galleries in the ground floors. Reflected in the dock waters, they look even taller. On the facing side, St. Etienne Quay, the facades are stone, and most rise only two stories.

I was surprised to learn that one of my favourite composers Erik Satie ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Xe2Rft62Kg&feature=fvw) was born in Honfleur in 1866.

An old carrousel stands in front of l'Hôtel de Ville (the town Hall), its fluty melodies floating over the rippling reflections.

We enjoy the gentle warmth of the sun, the soft water-breeze and atmosphere, people come up to us asking if we please can take a photograph on their camera, so that they are ALL in the picture, we laugh, maybe another ‘photographic’ career in Honfleur?

I don’t think so; the place is overfull with Art Galleries… as we discover even more later in the evening!

Later, we decide to join all the diners and have something to eat, all the menus offer virtually the same, also in price, so it is just a matter of finding a (cramped) table for 2.

A little ‘disappointed’, after all we are in France? The ‘cradle’ of great European food? And this is THE place for seafood?

Moving on along the Quay St Catherine, we see the ‘crooked’ façades, the little shops selling the ‘produce’ of Normandie, cidre, pommeau, poireau, Calvados…

We take a long walk, photographing till dusk and beyond.

Honfleur has many harbours and docks, the one in town is the most 'attractive' and touristic, probably one of the oldest, however outside that womb is a whole network, for fishing, industry... yacht lie waiting for the next opening of the bridge to le Vieux Bassin, you can see the surrounding hills, thee is a long, lovely walk to where sluices were built to regulate and control the water-levels.
I remember when I was there over 30 years ago, with my parents, that growing up in a fishing harbour in Belgium, how different things were, we had boats with sharp hulls, there's were 'flat... We dredged our harbours... they didn't so they had to wait for the tide to come in, till they were' afloat' again...
Go literally with the flow, aahhh, that French Art de Vivre!

I like to ‘travel light’, I do not like tripods, I use some flash and otherwise just ‘go for it’ on high iso!! LOL.

Pass a jazz café; see the church St Catherine in darkness and all the galleries around there, together with where we 'should have eaten', because that's where the French are eating! All very romantic...

I discover the work of Bruno Catalano (http://www.france-art-realisation.com/artists_createurs/catalano_bronze/catalano_bronze_8/catalano_bronze_8.php) and LOVE it!

Saturated, happy and content… tired we head back to our hotel, where we still quickly download and view the images of the day ONE.

We fall asleep with a smile, looking forward to the next day…

Goal: The Mont St Michel.

(… a suivre… more to follow)

THANX, M, (*_*)

Please do not use these images or words on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved

THE STORY WITHIN THE STORY of Le Tour du Monde d'un Gamin De Paris by WILLEM VERMANDERE

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Let me tell you a story…
Once upon a time, there was a young man and he was a teacher, a teacher who started to sing, he sang songs that he had written himself, the lyrics pure poetry.
He played many different instruments, from the clarinet to the guitar, the cither to the flute.
He sang in his dialect, of his land and of its people.
Soon he captured the hearts of many, they all wanted to hear and see him. What joy one of these evenings was, he narrated from one song to the next, anecdotes, a few jokes, and also some philosophical profundities!
The years went bye, he grew in popularity, in wisdom, his hair and beard a bit greyer.
I heard he was also a good sculptor, he wrote and recorded more songs… always remained the fine, ‘simple’ and genuine man, who enjoyed life and what he was doing.
I often wondered if he realized the pleasure he gave to so many?
My life also changed I became a mother, my boys grew up with his music, they thought it was fantastic to hear someone sing in the language they spoke.
I still see them, after a bath, in their pyjamas, lying on their belly, head on elbowed hands, listening intently as the vinyl record turned out the beautiful words, their eyes big and full of imagination...
As came the new song, Le Tour du Monde d’un Gamin de Paris… (The tour of the world of a boy from Paris)
It is the story of a boy from Paris, who creeps up into the attic of his home and discovers an old book, it was written in a language he could not understand yet for hours he’d lie looking at the beautiful and interesting prints, Le Tour du Monde d’un Gamin de Paris ( by Louis Boussenard, 1847-1910, Illustrations/etchings by D. Dumont), he loves the adventures of the ship filled with treasure, being wrecked on the cliff in a faraway country, the boy (Friquet) and a few survived.
The trek through jungles with wild animals, the torrid deserts that have to be traversed with all their dangers, eventually they get horses, gallop up mountains and down into lovely villages filled with music and song… he would have loved to stay there, but they had to carry on, through blinding snow, fighting wolves and the biting, bitter winds.
They were guest to emperors and kings, indigenous people examined them filled with curiosity, they slept in palaces or just on the ground, welcomed as princes or chased as dogs.
They became quiet, skinny and tired… the eternal quest and not knowing where you’re going?
Is there no end to it and why, who and what had he been looking for?

The years have passed and the book lost in fire but the story continues; now I’m here, it taught me to carry on, where to… I still am none the wiser…

In 't hus van me voader op de zolder vergeten
lagt er en oed boek van de wörms half opgevreten
en meer dan ne kêe êk musstil op m'n kniên
de zolder opgekropen om dat boek te beziên

Al was in een toale die 'k nie en verstond
toch lag ik uren met dat boek ep de grond
want surtout de prenten verwonderden mie
le tour du monde d'un gamin de paris

't schip dat us voerde vol schatten an boord
sloeg ep de klippen alleman was versmoord
nee 'k zoe liegen, zes matrozen me nen board
overleefden de rampe en bleven gespaard

We liepen deur bössen ne knuppel in d'hand
weken en moanden deur een onbekend land
wilde bêesten en mensen sprongen overal ut 't groen
mor me zeven sterke mann'n moesten we niee veel moeite doên

Eindloze woestijnen me nie anders dan zand
oltied ep en nere en de zönne die brandt
achter iederen heuvel bandieten ep de loêr
doar deure geroaken was nen duvelschen toêr

Wat later hadde me peirden, zeven peirden in galop
in nog vreemder streken bergaf en bergoop
langs witte dörptjes vol muziek en zang
doar had ek willen blijven, me leven lang

Moar nen onmeugelijken drift dreef us vôort
nen dag van ruste werd al gauwe verstôord
doar zag j'ons strompelen door de sneeuw verblind
vechtend me de wolven in den bitende wind

Bi keizers en keuningen waoren me te gast
van negers en indianen bekeurd en betast
we sliepen in paleizen of gewoon ep de grond
lijk prinsen begroet of verjoagd lijk en hond

we wieren heel stille moager en moe
van 't eeuwig tjolen nie meer weten waar naartoe
komt er dan nooit geen einde aan dien tocht
waarom en voor wie en wat had ik gezocht

de jaren zijn gevlogen en 't boek is verbrand
maar d'historie duurt vôort nu ben ik hier beland
en 't hê mi geleerd oltied verder te goan
mor woar noartoe, dat heb ik nog nooit nie verstoan

The singer/writer of this song (my boys loved it!) and the lyrics is our friend Willem Vermandere.

A few weeks ago, on our way home in the car, after a pleasant meal and afternoon we spent together with Willem; it suddenly emerged that the story of the boy in the attic was true… except… the book had survived!
In his home, it was brought down and in awe we leafed through it, admiring the drawings. I was amazed; it brought back so many memories.
Listened to the melody and words so often and here Willem sat, holding it, hugging it.
Red and gold, the spine and corners a little frayed, the pages somewhat yellowed, but for a book that was printed in 1876, it looked beautiful!
What a GOLDEN moment.
Hope you have enjoyed this.
Thanx, M, (*_*)

A PREVIOUS STORY HERE

A FUN GARDEN ANECDOTE.

This is the story.

Of flowers that have ambitions to be little lampshades or a chandelier?


I grew up in the city, always loved flowers, later in life, moved to the country-side and developed a passion for gardening and 'growing' things.
Wintertime I spent learning and reading more, couldn't wait for the next Spring.
I was 'organic' looooong before it became trendy!
I was given a tiny book by someone, "Old wife's tales", it was full of fun advice of how to improve on plants, fruit and veg with little 'house' remedies.
For example, if you grow strawberries, alternate them with a row of marigolds, they will taste even better!
I also found in the booklet, that if you have roses, and they suffer from greenfly, put some garlic at the root of the rose plant!
Last year, we moved house, I transplanted most of my roses (successfully), also, in the kitchen I'd had a plait of braided garlic, it looked quite dry, and although I do use and enjoy garlic in certain dishes, not the fresh stuff, my system cannot handle it very well. It did look decorative in the kitchen!
So, I thought, right! I won't throw it away, I will put them with the roses.
No greenfly, however, when it rains.... there is a definite garlic 'fragrance' in the air! Tee hee.
You can imagine my astonishment when I saw green coming up, and total surprise when I saw buds, now they developed into flowers!!! And it IS RAINING HEAVILY!!! LOL.
I mean, how could there still be life in them after all this time?
AAAAHHH, Nature! And to think that 'proper' plants often struggle or just plain die on you, pfffttt.
I looked it up, they are Allium bulgaricum (synonym of Nectaroscordium bulgaricum) : Bulgarian Onion...
Thanx for your time and comments, ALWAYS!
M, (*_*)

METAPHOR OF LIFE, of knots and ropes and hooks.

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It never ceases to amaze me, how rope works!
Tiny strands of different materials, bound together, more and more, getting thicker, intertwined, becoming stronger and stronger! It has a beginning and an end, can twist, get into knots, form firm links, carry heavy loads, help guide us, cutting some slack or be stretched to the limit or be just a piece of string to bind love letters...
Some are thin, others are thick.
Some are short, others are long.
Some are solitaire, some are a 'bunch'.
Some are stronger than others.
Some are more colourful, others more bland.
It reminds me so much of LIFE.
A great metaphor for it?
I will first tell you that I’m not a mystic person and only believe in reality.
I respect everybody’s view and you’ll all have your own, just sharing mine here, my very personal philosophical interpretation,.

All through our lives, we form bonds, friendships, partnerships; some last… some don’t...
I like to think of myself as very individualistic, but have wisely decided that we all need each other.
I have always been fascinated by 'links', ropes, hooks and knots (have a whole collection of photos), they illustrate that phenomenon very well, there might sometimes be the possible 'tension' here, but it's definitely holding, and in doing so, getting stronger and more difficult to undo! Lol.
Wonderful rope… I also see it as a symbol of how, in a good relationship, you as a person, together with your partner, your lives become 'intertwined' and therefore so much stronger...
Soul mates will feel themselves bonded together for a lifetime.
Having no permanent links, the denizen of our liquid modern society must tie whatever bonds they can to engage with others, using their wits, skill and dedication. But none of these links are guaranteed to last. Moreover, they must be tied loosely so that they can be untied again, quickly and as effortlessly as possible, when circumstances change - as they surely will, over and over again.
The frailty of human links, the feeling of insecurity that frailty inspires, and the conflicting desires to tighten the bonds yet keep them loose, all make us more vulnerable.
Some of us are ‘loners’ either through choice or circumstances, but I don’t think that we were ever meant to be by ourselves, that we ‘operate’ better in a social context if we are not without any links.
When you have found the right person to form your ‘permanent’ link with, HOLD TIGHT, because it means STRENGTH!
And it goes further… after the sad, senseless loss of a young friend, killed in Afghanistan, something we are still coming to terms with, after his funeral, we have once more realised how intertwined our lives all are, how we can touch the lives of many, some we do not even know… especially nowadays, with internet, phones AND the wonderful medium that is PHOTOGRAPHY! Many people can be touched by an image, we heard again...


A lot of my photographs evoke the metaphor for life.
Circles, ties, knots, rope, scarred background…
You have the circle, example; I took my granddaughter to a place where I had taken my boys and my parents and grand-parents had taken me.
We are surrounded by circles, sun, moon; we LIVE on a ‘circle’
Lots of things come in cycles.
There are bonds that always remain, you cannot divorce a child, it’s ALWAYS a part of you. Same the other way around.
You have the ropes= attachment, friendships, ties with your chosen partner, it is beautifully tight.
The other rope, to me represents the freedom to remain you, free and individual.
Lighter and darker areas, scars underneath, I’m sure that will echo for most of you…
BUT, THE SUN MAKES THE METAL SHINING, THE ROPES ARE COLOURFUL.
LIFE IS GOOD.

Have a wonderful day and thanx for your visit, Magda, (*_*)

MY VISIT TO THE MOSQUE.

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I had the privilege to be invited by a neighbour to visit the Mosque, it has a beautiful green dome which unfortunately I could not get from this angle, as the building is situated on a hill and I was standing in the parking yard.(1)

I was interested and eager, always have been about different cultures.

I am a very liberal person, with respect for other people’s religion, a great believer of Freedom and an enemy of -ISMS.

I know the Islamic population has had a lot of bad press, and some extremist have indeed committed the most atrocious acts, but can ANYBODY say, NOT MY PEOPLE?

I do not want to upset anybody or condone anything, I'm hoping for some plain non-prejudicial viewing of something that is part of a huge group within our population and not often seen by 'outsiders'.

I only had to cover my head and take off my shoes inside. All the people I met were very inviting, polite and also very proud to show me around. All in all, another great experience added to my wonderful collection.

The entrance doors are huge and massive, these are the outside panels. Beautiful wood and great carvings also on the inside.
(2&3)

It is in their habits to wash hands and feet before you enter the 'proper' mosque area, a washroom for the men and one for the women.(4)

A glorious entrance hall, with lights and a fountain, they promised that next time it would be on for me, there were works going on as you will see in the rest of the images.
The gent was also the librarian.(5)

The main prayer hall with in the middle the place of the Imam, which is an Islamic leadership position. He is often the leader of a mosque and the community. Similar to spiritual leaders, the imam is the one who leads the prayer during Islamic gatherings. More often the community turns to the mosque imam, if they have an Islamic question.

(6)

This gent came in for prayer, he stood there, composed himself for some time... (7)

Then he got down and started his prayer, it was a very moving moment. I was happy that digital cameras do not make that beautiful 'shutter' noise an analogue used to make, well, my Nikon F4 I could put on whisper mode, but still, and the typical 'clack' of the Hasselblad... would have been most disturbing!(8)

After his prayer, he just sat there, reflective and composed.(9)
I am not a 'believer', and yet always so in awe of people who are...

The tour went on, we moved up the stairs where the scholar area is for the youngsters, where they study the Koran.


(10, 11, 12)

Up again we came into the new Prayer Hall, under the dome, works still very ongoing.

(13)
A huge chandelier is going to be hoisted up and will adorn and fill the inside Dome.

Through the 'windows' in the dome I could see people were working and cleaning outside the Dome, there was great hilarity...





(14, 15, 16, 17, 18)

Hope you enjoy this as much as I did, thanx, M, (*_*)

Click on the image to see it LARGER.

THE IMPORTANCE of HANDS in PORTRAIT PHOTOGRAPHY.

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1. GENETICS.



2. LONDON SCENE.



3. YVAN, le romantic.



4. Paul, with his favourite camera.



5.DADDYYYYYYYYYYY?????????



6. La Tendresse.

I am not writing a ‘rule’ here, just a personal observation and conclusion.

I must tell you that I am one of these people who also … ‘talk’ with their hands!

Maybe that influenced my feelings towards the matter. One of my fascinations in life.

In a portrait, for me, they are either in or out, no half measures!

Since they are so expressive, almost as much as a face (?), a means of body language and non-verbal communication, we ‘say’ so much with our hands.

We touch, feel, handle, build and destroy, hurt and caress, kill and heal, make music (noise) and command or pray for silence, our hands can be rough or smooth.

Only Man has hands. We use them as a tool, to make tools, and as a weapon, they serve as eyes for the visually impaired, we can 'talk' with them, they have become a symbol of salutation, supplication, and condemnation.

They are used as units of measure!

The hand has played a part in the creative life of every known society, and it has come to be symbolic or representative of the whole person in art, in drama, and in the dance.

Although prehension (the ability to grip) is the major function of the hand, however, at the same time, it is one of man's primary sense organs.

Hands have the perception of levels of heat and cold. In folk society, a normal hand placed upon the forehead is used to determine the presence of fever.

It was also discovered that vibratory impulses generated by finger percussion can be felt even when the auditory sense is eliminated.

Is that how Beethoven was able to write his great music?

Vibratory sensations, as perceived by the hand, are of importance in teaching the auditory impaired to speak. By placing one hand on the larynx of a speaker and the other hand on his own larynx, they learn the vibration patterns of speech sounds. When the patterns "heard" by his left and right hand are identical, the student has succeeded in imitating the sound.

In the creative arts, the hands speak, and one senses the tremendous power of the hand

to convey human emotions.

They are the organs of the body which, except for the face, have been used most often in the various art forms to express human feeling. The hands point or lead or command; the hands cry out in agony or they lie quietly sleeping; the hands have moods, character, and, in a wider sense, their own particular beauty. From prehistoric

times to our own day, in every society known to science, the hands symbolize cultural behaviours, values, and beliefs.

The hands are, as Kant is reported to have said, "Man’s outer brain."

That is why I find them so important in portrait photography; it can mean the difference between a ‘mug’ shot/boring face image and a portrait with emotion and substance!

THANX, M, (*_*)

1, GENETICS.

I got this lovely family with 3 children in the studio.
The two youngest looked very much like the dad, but her eldest son was just the spitting image of her.
AAAhhh, the Art of genetics.

I placed their hands like that in this portrait because often I find they play such a vital role and say so much.

Taken on the Hasselblad, which has square negs, so it is slightly cropped.
Scanned from the print.
The 80mm lens and the film Ilford Delta 100.

2. LONDON SCENE.
This gent took a moment's rest from selling his hats... along the Thames, to have an animated chat with one of the street cleaners.

3. YVAN, le romantic.

This is my long time friend, Ivan and his lovely partner. During a long studio shoot, I finally was able to convince her to join him in front of the camera, that pleased him, he grabbed her hand, held it over his heart and said something a bit naughty...?

4. PAUL, with his favourite camera.
Paul, my dear husband and soul mate.
A man of principle, loved by his friends, family and me. A man you can count on.

5. DADDYYYYYYYYYYY?????????
The toddler was demanding daddy's attention, I love the contrast, the tiny hand, the strong hands, the interlaced fingers. The 'link'...
To understand this image you really have to view the previous.

Talk about emotion in a photo, do you agree?
6. LA TENDRESSE.
The strength of a father's arm and hands carries that lovely burden with such ease, the baby feels totally relaxed, her head cupped in this big warm hand with great tenderness.

A lifelong commitment, that's being a parent, to care about smaller and bigger things, the being there, we have a duty, the morals that we teach them... that's what will (ideally) shape them, let's not underestimate the impact we have on our nearest and dearest.
The 'father' figure is one of strength and discipline, never forget that bit of tenderness, so needed in all our lives.

An unforgettable moment in my youngest son's life, shortly after his little girl was born, she is the apple of his eye... not every child is that lucky...


For more on hands click here.

GOOD-BYE 2008, HELLO 2009

A more meditative note.
On this the first day of the year, it is not a bad thing to look back... all the good times, the lesser times, be realistic about life, that is how it is, sunshine and rain, blue skies and heavy clouds, pondering the New year ahead, believing that it is going to be NOTHING but blue skies, a blank canvas that we can still fill with all our dreams and wishes.
And yet accepting day by day what life has in store for us...
Ever the optimist... 2009 will see some of my hopes fulfilled, I'm sure, if not, there's always next year? LOL.

Charles Delporte (born in 1928 in Marcinelle, Belgium) is a painter, sculptor, poet and composer. His creative imagination is unlimited.

His work is that of a visionary who reinvented alchemy, basing his work on scientific information. There are four tendencies in his work: realistic, genetic, geophysical and nuclear. There are over 300 works in museums, foundations, abbeys, churches, towns and universities all over the world. Charles Delporte donated an extensive collection to the Community of Damme, near Bruges, the capital of the province of West-Flanders.

Hope ALL your dreams come true, thanx for your visits, greatly appreciated, M, (*_*)