Ansel Adam's Nose

Heading home!

jvc:

First stop: Santa Cruz.

No words.

(Source: memewhore, via chrishahn)

whatshouldwecallme:

badeggfitzgerald:

rookiemag:

geneparade:

In the 19th Century having a photograph taken was a lengthy process. Frustrated by the difficulties of getting children to sit still long enough to snap a proper photo , photographers in the 1800’s conceived of a technique called “The Hidden Mother”. Draping a sheet over the mothers head in an attempt to camouflage her as a part of the furniture to better emphasize the child, the mother was then able to hold her infant and keep them still long enough for the camera to get an exposure. Vintage photographs already have a eerie feel to them, but these images of moms as cloaked phantoms take the creep factor to the next level.

aaaahhhh

-anna

hahaha omg D:

Terrifying. And amazing.

via Angel. 

(via anhel)

Digi test shot from 405 Sepulveda Pass.

It’s his fault! He’s why I’m afraid of floating out into space. 

Harry suggested that my interest in fixing my Gung Gung’s rotting Mustang may have something to do with wanting a kind of mastery within a new field of knowledge, perhaps in order to feel in control (of what, though? memories? decay? family? icons of American masculinity? death?). At least for me, the more I learn the actual details of certain fundamental structures – eg. how the ground I am standing on came to be (geology) or our place in the universe (astronomy) or how I understand myself within a land (cartography) or how I came to exist (history, genealogy) or, in this case, how I am able to move (mechanics) – the more I feel vulnerable. The system suddenly feels so random, so happenstance, as if it will all fall apart: the Earth will drift into space, the ground will crack open, the world flips upside-down, the car implodes. And maybe this fear, this sudden, traumatic awareness of the fragility of things and myself is a kind of sublimity – a humbling in the face of something unfathomable, something on such a scale that I disappear in it, I am lost in it, I am unable to orient myself.

Reflection-shadow-silhouettes from super reflective waxed floors & the evening sun.

1930s Life magazine