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Same day as the previous pictures. This one's a case of being deeply uninteresting in color, and I actually noticed it only last night. I nonchalantly set it in b&w and it suddenly spoke to me. Grading it took me a solid five minutes. Sometimes that's all it takes. Not that it's a masterpiece, but I like it.
The title is actually the name of the part of the mountain shown here. Translates as "Closed Rock", which I found intriguing. Could be a Tolkien place.
Sanctuaire des Solitudes (Sanctuary of the Solitudes)
This is not an uncommon view in the mountains. Shepherd cabins on improbable spots, and in this case, I'm not even sure how you get up there, on a narrow ridge, facing the biggest mountain in my home region.
I've always been fascinated by these little spots of human presence, the effort it must have required to build them there, and their mountain-like principle of being always open to shelter anyone when it's not occupied by a shepherd. They're assumed dwellers of a nature bigger than us and an allegory of the contemplative loneliness the mountain compels to experience.
Last edited by Saniss (2019-08-20 15:23:57)
Hey yo. Something a little different.
So I kinda forgot to feed this thread but photography and overall wilderness experiences have been going on. Last november, I contemplated driving in the midst of the Cévennes mountain range right as a major storm event, the ones we get at this time of the year with floodlike, destructive rains and intense winds, was anticipated. I sort of never really decided what I was gonna do until driving home the very day, when I learned of my grandmother's death. Then I felt like being alone and facing the weather, kind of released from various fears. The exact location I was aiming was where the maximum intensity was expected, but I knew what I was doing.
So there I drove and spent the night trapped in my car while being hammered by the rain. I played a bit of guitar and dozed off, regularly waking up during the night to check the state of the road I was parked on.
In the morning I got out, protected myself and my gear as much as I could, and walked into the forest and to a lake nearby. There I kind of experienced what it was like standing in the middle of a hurricane, and some painful photography happened and I pretty much lived an emotional catharsis within mirroring what was happening around me.
I went home with pictures, some of which I timidly developed, and strong inspiration on the musical side of things. Fast forward a few months, and the intersection of a few elements led me dive back into this experience, develop more pictures and write what I call, for lack of something better, a photographic story.
Anyway, here it is, on Béhance, where I feel more things like this could happen.
(click on the image to access the story)
This is new for me, but writing it in English was an absolute pleasure. I'd be delighted to hear feedback from anyone here who can spare some time to read it. Thanks, y'all.
Fascinating. At low-res the photos are unremarkable and grey, with the trees rendered so darkly as to be merely shadows. But at a closer, longer inspection the detail comes out subtly and the evidence of the deluge reveals itself. And all of this lends itself well to your memory, which was eery and sad and beautiful.