Category: beauty
within woman, man is conceived;
to woman he is engaged and married.
Woman becomes his friend;
through woman, the future generations come.
When his woman dies,
he seeks another woman;
to woman he is bound.
So why call her bad?
From her, kings are born.
From woman, woman is born;
without woman, there would be no one at all.
O Nanak, only the True Lord is without a woman”
……Guru Nanak……
Richard Avedon (May 15, 1923 â October 1, 2004) was an American fashion and portrait photographer. An obituary published in The New York Times said that “his fashion and portrait photographs helped define America’s image of style, beauty and culture for the last half-century.”
Avedon was always interested in how portraiture captures the personality and soul of its subject. As his reputation as a photographer became widely known, he brought in many famous faces to his studio and photographed them with a large-format 8×10 view camera.
His subjects include Buster Keaton, Marian Anderson, Marilyn Monroe, Ezra Pound, Isak Dinesen, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Andy Warhol, and the Chicago Seven. His portraits are easily distinguished by their minimalist style, where the person is looking squarely in the camera, posed in front of a sheer white background. By eliminating the use of soft lights and props, Avedon was able to focus on the inner worlds of his subjects evoking emotions and reactions.
He would at times evoke reactions from his portrait subjects by guiding them into uncomfortable areas of discussion or asking them psychologically probing questions. Through these means he would produce images revealing aspects of his subject’s character and personality that were not typically captured by others. (read more) (photos)
- Labels: art, beauty, photography
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
Sunward Iâve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of â wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hovâring there,
Iâve chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
Iâve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.