Photographs & Memories

Pohang, South Korea, 15 June 2026 When it comes to flowers, I'm totally ignorant. In a conventional sense, that is, for I rarely know how they are called. Well, it has never interested me, and it still doesn't. In fact, I do know so little about botany that I'm surprised to find the above flowers here in South Korea since I have seen them before in France, I think. Which to me means that they belong to France. Yes, I do know that similar climates will generate similar flowers ... nevertheless ...  

Pohang, South Korea, 13 June 2026 I was looking down from a pedestrian bridge when I discovered this, to my eyes, pretty uniquely covered bench. Later this Sunday, I took many more pictures but they didn't  seem to turn out much better.

Pohang, South Korea, 13 June 2026 I usually photograph flowers from the front. It’s rare for me to take  pictures of them from behind, and when it’s windy, as it was in this case,  it takes quite some patience not to give up.

Pohang, South Korea, 14 June 2026 It is an overcast Sunday, and I'm heading towards Songdo Beach through streets I haven't previously taken. As always, I feel very much drawn to ordinary things. This has been one constant of my life.

Pohang, South Korea, 13 June 2026 A photograph is always a moment in time, or, differently put, the next moment is not the same, cannot be the same, 'cause it has changed. Which brings to mind a thought I recently came across in Robert Galbraith's The Silkworm. We all are here by accident, really. Had conception happened just a moment later, we wouldn't be here.

Montañita, Ecuador, 10 Dezember 2012  V irginia took this picture. We are not a couple very more.   It is amazing what a picture can trigger. There are so many things that go through my head when looking at it that there is no way to capture and get hold of them. It is beyond my comprehension how our brain is able to simplify and make sense of what seems to me totally incomprehensible. I doubt that it is me, my consciousness, that does the selection of what is remembered.   It seems to me that a mechanism is at play that only the very vain ones think they understand.