Jan Palach

Funeral Photograph by Miloň Novotný

A Florentine Door

A Lovely Scale on the Street in Vienna

What I really wanted was to own the scale itself, but knew that I had to settle for a picture of it.

Luckily, many years ago I realized that my attraction to science was in the wonderful toys they had. Now they've all but disappeared from the thrift-store market place. Wonder what happened to them?

On Learning of the Death of a Man I Never Knew

Of All I Do Not Know or Understand

Street Corner in Praha, Czechoslovakia

Fall Sun on the Piazza

Display Cases Outside St. Stephansplatz

Basilica of Santa Croce

Yielding to Unutterable Brilliance

Senza  Titolo

Since sometime around last May, this blog has been sidetracked from directionless visual meanderings to a very lengthy re-viewing of pictures I made during a month-long trip in Europe in the fall of 2011, when the Lady and I began in Paris and spent a week in Prague, a week in Venice, and more than a week in Florence. Then back to Paris. About a month, in all.

At that time, I was using a Pentax K-5 APS-C digital camera with the same little 21mm 'pancake' lens that I had used for several years [see http://originalrefrigeratorart.blogspot.com]. Nothing too fancy. (Still using the same lens, but with newer bodies now: K-3, K-1, K-70.)

My usual practice—in addition to always having the camera with me—is to make a single exposure of whatever attracts me, and then move on. In other words, I don't spend time consciously deliberating, or taking multiple exposures of anything. The time for thought comes much later.

Days, weeks, or even years later…I can do as I am doing now, and reliving these past moments anew.

I should add that an essential element in what I do now takes place in the computer's virtual darkroom. An added benefit for me has been that, in the eight year since these pictures were made, the technology has advanced significantly, as have my skills. All hail the algorithms.

So, there, you are now up-to-date, and I can return to making the old new.

Der singende Mann, by Ernst Barlach, 1928

And now, in memory of Fred Herzog, who died on the same day as Robert Frank (but at the age of only 88).

Vienna, 2011

Fred Herzog, 1972

My many thanks.