A moment of tenderness on the beach

Together with a good number of photographers from the “Asociația Bucureștiul meu drag”, I am part of the group exhibition that opened yesterday evening in one of the most active subway stations in Bucharest, Piața Unirii 1. The theme is our city and the pictures will stay there for all of you too see for a month and a half. Even from the first day many heads were turning.
I know I was expected to have a picture of me in front of my own creation, but so far I have no such photo, but I have something not bad either: a picture with a young couple finding the vicinity of my picture the proper place to kiss. That was one of my highlights of the event, as another was when another couple got close to my pictures, trying to identify one of the marathon runners, who may be their friend (but he was outside of the DOF).
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Sitting on a bench, near the agitation of BikeFest and so many youngsters
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Thousands of people came to see the Bucharest International Air Show and, at least in the eye of a people photographer, they offered on the ground a spectacle just as good as the one in the sky.
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I avoided as much as possible watching the UEFA 2012 tournament, but pretty much against my will I was stuck in front of a TV set for the most part of the final (from the rest, I didn’t see even a total of five minutes). I saw all the goals and the final score, and what can I say, remembering the times when I used to be into football, a 4-0 is humiliating for the Italian team, Spain made them look like little girls… like the girl below would have been a valuable addition of their team.
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Last weekend in the evening we passed trough the Old City when I remembered about the Caragiale festival taking place there in the streets. The festival opened just a few days before and a detour was in order to see what is about, but in the way to it we encountered this couple, going in the same direction (they looked at the play less than one minute and left) – they were perfect for the setting, if Caragiale would be alive, such people would be the heroes of his comic writings.
In the street, the Masca Theatre was playing an adaptation upon Caragiale’s “O noapte furtunoasă”, which the audience seemed to enjoy (Caragiale has only a few plays and some of his shorter pieces may be theatrically adapted, but will that be enough for 100 representations, as advertised?). This one was a strange adaptation, with white costumes (more like the living statues the Masca actors do often) and with Caragiale himself introduced as a character in the play.
I can’t get out of my head the above-mentioned couple and it fitting in the scene, the tough (and rich?) guy getting his “demoiselle” in the city center to see “comedies” (or more like her dragging him there) and she being like…. like in that picture, which does not need much words. They say Caragiale live forever among us.
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Calssara was one of the special guests at Otaku 2012 and she had a session talking about cosplay in her country, Germany. She told they never pay the photographers (as the photographers are the one needing to pay the models) and they prefer to learn and do the shooting and editing themselves, since after a 2 hours session, the photographer will give only 3 photos. It was not the time and place for me to try to intervene, telling how is a 2 hours session is a good thing if you get 10-15 good photos (publish worthy) and how bad photos are not useful for the model.
Actually I see this conflict: models pushing for all the photos (“I had a pretty smile in that one, does not matter my legs and arms are unflattering”), while the photographer refusing to put his name on pictures less than his intended level (any photo session, from any photographer, will produce some bad photos).
After all, Calssara do some decent pictures, so learning is always a good thing. Still, I think some people have to learn more about the TFCD concept.
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Three, as in one, and another one, and yet another one. Three.
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I am in Vienna for the Libre Graphics Meeting, a conference about FOSS graphic apps and, despide being only the start of May, the weather outside is hot, like in the middle of the summer. Vienna inhabitants seems to deal with the weather as best as they can, having great time near the river of Danube:
While some others just enjoy the sun, preparing some tan for the summer to come
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Wile everybody else was busy watching the blossom, this couple was busy with other spring matters Well, I am sure sooner or later they also noticed the cherry tree flowers, it was fitting their mood.
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I was in the park at the golden hour for something unrelated, wanted to check the tree blossom status, but having the tele lens on the camera (for flowers), when it happened to see interesting human poses in the distance… I shoot.
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It was about the time for me to choose the next week topic for Project 9449, so I started developing ideas, the first of them was “Misery”, then “Season of Joy” and a few others, but then I got a better one (to be announced at the right time). Since I had “Misery” on a corner of my mind and also a potential implementation for it, when I saw the opportunity on the street I shoot it. It also helped those days I feel myself a lot like this hobo…
OK, I acknowledge that, I am an engineer so I work and think as an engineer most of the time, so apply the same style of work to any problem that needs solving (even if it is not a problem supposed to be solved as an engineer). However, this week-end at the tourism fair I had the opportunity to witness the blonde style of problem-solving.
It seems they (the blondes) approach the problem just the same way us (engineers) are supposed to do it too, by reading the manual (well, we engineers most of the time think we are smart enough do we don’t need the manuals any more, but know it would be the sane thing to do):
Note: girls, please do not feel offended by my (bad) attempt at humor, I think you are beautiful, otherwise I did have not wasted the time here.
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Driving (fake driving anyway), do you see any trouble with that? I don’t… or maybe just one more half of centimeter missing.
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