Author Archives: Isaac

About Isaac

Curious photographer and blogger. Likes sci-fi, retrogaming, 80s music and coffee.

The Fall of Icarus by Andrew McCarthy

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The Fall of Icarus by Andrew McCarthy

We’ve been blogging here since 2013, and a few times we’ve wandered into space. I remember writing about Chris Hadfield’s stunning photos of Earth from the International Space Station, and about the James Webb Space Telescope in a tribute to good ol’ Hubble. Space keeps coming back. It’s endlessly fascinating and has captured my imagination since I was a kid.

So imagine my excitement when I came across Andrew McCarthy’s photograph “The Fall of Icarus.” The photo shows a parachutist falling in front of the sun. At first, I thought it must be AI-generated, because these days it’s getting harder and harder to tell what’s real and what’s not. But the story behind the photo is even more remarkable than the photo itself. And yes, it’s the real deal.

McCarthy photographed his friend Gabriel Brown through a telescope from the Arizona desert. Brown jumped from a paramotor from a height of about one kilometre. The two coordinated the timing and position by radio, and it took six attempts to get it right. To make Brown appear so small against the sun, McCarthy used an extremely long focal length and shot from roughly 2.5 kilometres away. He also used a hydrogen alpha filter on his telescope, revealing details on the sun’s surface that are normally invisible.

https://youtu.be/rDYtdUMMbxQ

Honestly, who does this kind of stuff? As a photographer myself, I am in awe. This is more than a stunning photo. It is a tribute to the people out there who put their heart, skill, and patience into creating beautiful stuff. There is passion, precision, and a sense of wonder in every part of it. I love it, and this is exactly what Talking Beautiful Stuff is all about.

If you visit McCarthy’s website, Cosmic Background, you’ll find a gallery full of truly beautiful cosmic photographs. I could easily fill all the walls in my apartment with his work. I went ahead and ordered a smaller, limited edition print of The Fall of Icarus. It arrived beautifully framed, complete with a certificate of authenticity. I can’t wait to get it up on the wall. It’s the ultimate conversation starter. I love it! Thank you, Andrew. I cannot wait to see what you do next.

A needle in the granite

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Nal Hunnebostrand 1

We’re in Sweden for a few days to visit dad (grandpa), who lives on the country’s west coast, a place close to my heart where I spent every childhood summer. We stop in Hunnebostrand, one of the many old villages that once thrived as fishing communities. These days, they’re popular summer destinations for those keen to enjoy the fresh air, salty sea, good food and cold beer. But we’re not here in summer. It’s October, grey, drizzly and quiet. Still, I love it. The smooth granite mountains, the wide open sea meeting the sky. It feels timeless.

Nal Hunnebostrand 4

As we leave the restaurant after lunch, I notice a strange pillar on top of a mountain. Despite the wet and slippery rock, we decide to carefully climb up and see what it is. When we reach the top, we find a needle-shaped sculpture about five metres high, rising straight from the bedrock. I touch it. It’s solid granite, carved from a single block.

Nal Hunnebostrand 3

Bohuslän, the region we’re in, is famous for its stone industry and granite quarries. During the 19th and 20th centuries, Bohus granite was one of Sweden’s major exports, used in buildings and monuments across Europe. You can still find traces of old quarries all over the area. I can only imagine the skill and effort it took to shape a piece like this, cutting, forming and erecting a perfectly balanced stone needle on top of a mountain.

Nal Hunnebostrand 2

But why a needle? Google doesn’t offer much, but I learn that the sculpture is called Needle (Nålen) and was created by German sculptor Hubert Maier. The town of Hunnebostrand purchased it and placed it here as part of an outdoor granite sculpture park. Someone from the local municipality told my mum that large sewing needles (stoppnålar) like this were traditionally used to repair fishing nets. Now it makes sense. A needle in granite here is perfectly symbolic of the work of human hands meeting the timeless strength of nature. Brilliant!

The Giant Flower Bee in Geneva

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Giant flower bee 1

It’s the middle of summer and a heat wave has been pressing down on Geneva for weeks. To escape it for a bit, I’m in town with the boys and their dads. We’ve just played laser tag in Eaux-Vives and decided to stroll down through Parc des Eaux-Vives, aiming to catch one of the paddle steamers on the lake to take us back home to Versoix. I’ve been here many times. We used to live here about ten years ago, and it’s still one of my favorite spots in the city. There’s always something happening and something to see. Robin and I came here a few years ago for the sculpture park, which was awesome. And this time, the park delivers once again.

Giant flower bee 3

In a green patch right next to that well known building where peace talks are often held stands a bee. A giant bee made entirely of plants. We stop and take a closer look. Usually, the boys are terrified of buzzing insects, but they find this one fascinating. And so do I. A sign nearby tells us that the bee is made of 1,300 plants attached to a metal frame. The structure is covered in mesh, filled with soil, and planted in April. The plants are then cared for indoors until the bee is “released” into the city at the end of May.

Giant flower bee 2

Apparently, this floral bee was first created in 1999 for an exhibition in Italy and has since traveled through several towns in Switzerland. Google tells me that the “beekeepers” are the same gardening crew responsible for Geneva’s famous Flower Clock. They clearly know what they are doing. It is a beautiful sculpture, in a beautiful location, and a perfect reminder of just how important biodiversity really is. Without bees, there would be no pollination, and humankind simply would not survive. Well done, Geneva.