burn is an online feature for emerging photographers worldwide. burn is curated by magnum photographer david alan harvey.
Hijack: new story on website…
“Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”
Thank you all for reporting , hijacking, updating,expressing…
Circle of life
Circle of friends
Universe is BURNing
There is a quest…
Pick up your camera…forget the lens…
Capture the mess…
You are on a mission
…don’t think any less…
Circle of life
Circle of friends…
Mama SOCRATES…Must be very proud of ERIN,the cinematographer…
We can only imagine…
What not to love !!!
On Political Photography , long admired the access that the US photographers get via the orgs they represent , in OZ we can get closer but at events that are of the Prime Minister’s choosing or our presence is out of their control – usually trying to find a way around the minders and hangers on and get something with out a TV camera in it…
“From a moral point of view, you have to invent your own life, against fear and ignorance, and through the action.” ~ Antoine d’Agata
How very true. And what a mind-blowing interview! I love that first single image in the sequence – it hits the spot of the journey he’s on – pleasure and pain in action – Bacon mixed with Chagall.
Thank God I have so far been nomadic in blocks of time, not ALL of the time… where otherwise is the time to process what is going on? I need that. I seem to have hit a space of ‘choiceless awareness’ or is it simply just a fear of going forward – against fear and ignorance – after a little too much ‘pain in action’? I agree with that moral point of view of d’Agata’s so I guess it is just a matter of time but I, for one, feel the need to get into a different phase of experimentation…
David – thanks for your twitter posts – they have a really good ‘feel good’ factor and make me smile!
Mike R – agree with what you say.
Panos – sending you a : ) and praying you’re on horizontal mode because I like the way you ‘film’!
Eva – thanks for sharing that article. It was a wonderful start to the day.
Civi – what not to love?
soft sunshine today… missed this kind of light for several years… must wrap up warm… praying, praying, praying for the miners in New Zealand…
Civilian Mass Audience, POLLYMAN is fine. Just don’t let it happen again! I jest, of course.
All, after so much editing, sequencing, second guessing, sleeplessness, coffee and the like, The Photohumourist – Mixed Messages is finally published. And it’s just been Staff Picked and will feature at Format Festival here in the UK in March.
It’s a delicious wee book. Very detailed and loaded with cultural anthropological wit. Printed on 96 pages of heavy premium lustre stock. I hope you’ll take a look. Plenty of new work in there too.
Now I’m going to take a break for a few days.
All you Americans, I hope you have a delightful and restful Thanks Giving. Be safe. Be well. Back soon.
Paulyman. (aka Pollyman)
Another book for our selection…from our PAUL TREACY!!!
Amazing…I love the picture…the one with Love,Love…
Whatever else…I am a civilian :)))
Bravo…PAUL…and I promise it won’t happen again…but you have to promise me…
I will be in U.K in few months…you better sign it for me…
JLW…new phase of experimentation…go JLW,GO JLW…
And regarding the miners down in NZ…so weird…but there was no coverage in Grecolandia…
…maybe they know…that I tune in BURN for live coverage…
Circle of life…etcetera…VIVEK…I will be back… :)))
Happy Thanks Giving to All (for tomorrow )
Great to know that Obama has a sense of humour:
Thanks to Paul Treacy for finding this and
Happy Thanksgiving Day to you all!
Praying that ‘Courage’ – the turkey pardoned last year – makes it safely through this year as well! ; )
Imants; Yea; it seems like the toxic gases probably did their work before yesterday’s second explosion.
A pretty sober morning here. Twenty-nine dead is even more profound in a small town like Greymouth (about 9,000 pop.) For me, one of the most poingnant stories was of the young 17-year old who was killed on his first shift in the mine.
He had straightened his life out (after getting into a bit of mischief) by getting a job in the coal mine. He was so keen to start that he begged to begin two days early (which he did). After his morning shift he asked if he could stay for the afternoon. And in doing so was caught up in the disaster.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and here is one from the archives…
Thanksgiving is almost upon us again, the date on which we look back on the year and give thanks to the Lord for His many blessings to us and our country. I suppose I should be thankful, simply as a matter of courtesy; after all, everyone else is thanking Him and I suppose I should, too; but to tell the truth, Thanksgiving has never been one of my favorite holidays. When I was a kid, Mom and Pop would pile all of us kids into the car and we’d go to some relative’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. These trips were, almost invariably, marked by parental discord, followed by my father blaming us kids for the quarrel and warning us that we’d better be quiet or we’d get the strap laid across our backsides. Then when we got to wherever we were going, we had to be polite and not run or jump or scream or knock over this particular relative’s collection of fine 18th century fine Dresden china, thereby breaking every single piece of it into pieces so small that they defied repair. But let’s not go there; there was plenty of blame to go around on that particular misadventure (no, it wasn’t my fault, really, I don’t care what my brother says, and yes, my aunt had all of that stuff insured).
The worst aspect of those Thanksgivings was not having anything to eat while waiting for the turkey to cook for fear we would ruin our appetites, and second, our parents not letting us play outside because they didn’t want us to dirty our clothes. So there we were, five growing and very hungry boys, stuck in a house full of the smells of Thanksgiving dinner, with sideboards groaning under the weight of cookies and cakes and pies of every description and we couldn’t have any of it. We hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch, so there’d be plenty of space for dinner, and so at around three o’clock we were going out of our minds with hunger. Meanwhile, the grown-ups sat at the dining room table stuffing their faces with fruit and cookies as they yammered away about politics, family gossip, and who died that year and how they knew last Thanksgiving that the deceased wasn’t going to survive till this Thanksgiving. After all that, of course, we fell on our dinners with the avidity of a flock of vultures dining on an elephant carcass, only to listen to Mom and Pop complain all the way home that we hadn’t behaved ourselves after hours of the most appalling psychogastronomical torture imaginable. Frankly, as a kid, the one thing I gave thanks for on Thanksgiving was that Thanksgiving only came once a year.
And then there was biliary colic. Biliary colic is a condition I’d never even heard of until one Thanksgiving a few years ago. Biliary colic occurs when a gallstone lodges in the gall bladder’s bile duct, causing a major back up in the gland. This usually happens when the victim consumes large amounts of fat on an empty stomach, as when my brother and me consumed a two-pound bag of salted pistachios (we love salted pistachios, but you probably guessed that already) just before Thanksgiving dinner. I will spare the squeamish reader the gruesome details of how biliary colic manifests itself, but I will say that Thanksgiving dinner is rarely as good coming up as it was going down and that this time was no exception to that rule. I still think that the trip to the emergency room was unnecessary; but my mother thought I was having a heart attack and she demanded that I go. I spent Thanksgiving night having tests done and sharing a cubicle with a corrections officer who’d nearly lost an ear in an altercation, as he put it, with a shank-wielding inmate. The man bore his wounds with a good deal of equanimity, and I must admit that my male ego, a delicate flower like all male egos, took a truly massive hit having to admit to this guy that I was the victim of a pistachio (though it was a very tough pistachio, for the record; really, it was).
Last Thanksgiving wasn’t so bad, all in all. I went to my brother’s house for dinner and a good time was had by all and sundry. The food was excellent and afterwards we all gathered in his living room to watch football. About an hour later the tryptophan started to kick in. Tryptophan, for those of you who’ve never heard of it, is an amino acid that occurs in most living things, but is especially prevalent in Thanksgiving turkeys. It is the bird’s revenge for being dinner. Tryptophan causes extreme sleepiness in most people and we were no exceptions. Two brothers fell asleep on the couch and another went into the bedroom and sprawled out amongst the gathered coats, hats, and gloves like a beached whale and promptly went into a coma.
This, apparently, is a common reaction to tryptophan, an effect well known to the public and public health authorities alike, and one must wonder why the government does not better regulate turkeys. Public service announcements ceaselessly bombard tobacco and alcohol users with the dangers of smoking and drinking, state attorneys general cannot wait to sue tobacco and liquor companies for every dime they can get out of them, and yet no one does anything about the menace of tryptophan. I have searched the Internet and medical databases alike looking for a study on the effects of this powerful narcotic on drivers’ reflexes, and all to no avail. Millions of drivers will take to the road this holiday with several pounds of turkey in their digestive tracts, and they will be eating turkey for the rest of the week as well, thousands of accidents will occur from one end of the country to the other, and yet no public health official in this country can say for certain if the mass ingestion of turkey played any role in these tragic events. This ignorance of tryptophan’s role seems to me to be the very height of folly. Given its well-known side effects, how can anyone say that eating turkey and driving is an intelligent thing for any person to do?
And yet there are no angry parents demanding that the government do its job and order this obviously unsafe product out of the nation’s supermarkets. The sale of tryptophan-laden turkeys goes on and on and no one seems to care one way or the other. That a young child can buy a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise in any deli in the United States without a doctor’s prescription or a parent’s consent is nothing short of criminal, a burning mark of shame on the brow of any nation that calls itself civilized.
The trade in tryptophan is simply unacceptable by any rational standard and the government must do something to either control or ban such traffic outright. This may cause the traffic to go underground, and there is always the possibility of organized crime penetrating the cold cuts industry or organizing illegal delis in the same way they’ve organized crack houses, but the risk is worth it if we can prevent widespread addiction to tryptophan.
The most important step the government could take is to systematically educate the public away from its association of turkeys with Thanksgiving and to substitute some other foodstuff with the holiday. A family can just as easily thank the Lord for his blessings with a glazed ham or with a take-out pizza as with a turkey. Parents must take the lead in this matter; your children and a grateful nation will thank you for your brave choice someday. In the meantime, I’ll have the Sicilian slice with the extra cheese and Italian sausage.
Civiman, sorry, A Civilian-Mass Audience, I’d be entirely delighted.
I really like Obama’s sense of humour as evidenced in that shot.
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