Me, I've rarely wondered what's outside the door
(sigma fp l + sigma 28 mm Art, f2,5, 1/800 sec., iso 400, teal and orange col. mode)
I've never encountered anything unknown
(sigma fp l + sigma 28 mm art, f9.0, iso 640, powder blue col. mode)
until I got the invitation
(sigma fpl + sigma 28 mm art, f1.4, iso 200, powder blue col. mode) to bring the little suitcase with me and leave
(sigma fpl + sigma 28 mm art, f 2.2, iso 2000, red sunset co. mode)
and this garden become a forest as I ventured beyond; and this forest began to make me riddles:
which is the flower that blooms last?
(sigma fpl + sigma 105 mm art f.14, iso 100, red sunset col. mode)
Which is the leaf that came out first ?
(sigma fpl + sigma 105 mm art, f1.6, iso 200, red sunset col. mode)
Why is the queen of the meadows gone?
(sigma fpl + sigma 105 mm art, f1.4, iso 160, forest green col. mode)
Where is the king of the fields You've been Will there be and end to this absinthe stream?
(sigma fpl + sigma 105 mm art, f1.4, iso 160, forest green col. mode, crop)
Could this forest cease
to ever change shape ?
(sigma fpl + sigma 28 mm art, f16, 1/2 sec., iso 6)
So hard the task
with my few answers
so tiny the hand
for this suitcase to bring
but i did make all.
To lights more deep
(sigma fpl + sigma 105 mm art, f.16, 1/1000 sec, iso 1600, red sunset col. mode)
to the locks on the last trees
(sigma fpl + sigma 28 mm art, f2.2, iso 160, red sunset col. mode)
to the key
as a gift for relief
(sigma fpl + sigma 28 mm art, f5,6, 1/2000 sec., iso 3200, red sunset col. mode)
and this small key
opened the door
to let bright lights come
in the traveller I've become,
when something subtle
came out with me
to continue the path
which is mine.
(sigma fpl + sigma 105 mm art, f1.4, 1/8000 sec., iso 800, sunset mode a little colder)
"The Absinthe Forest"
a walk with SIGMA dp1 l
ALL SHOTS HANDHELD
IN ONE AFTERNOON AND THE FOLLOWING MORNING,
in north west Italy at the beginning of spring.
Sigma ambassador Italy
marco dadone landscape photography on fb, twitter and instagram.
SIGMA fp l
SIGMA fpl è grande come un pacchetto di sigarette, si tiene dappertutto e scatta a qualsiasi iso.
Dai 6 (!) ai 3.200 senza particolari problemi,
come vedete dalle didascalie sotto le immagini.
Gli iso 6 permettono di realizzare scatti più creativi anche senza aggiungere filtri,
a implementare la totale libertà di raggiungere i risultati voluti,
in modo semplice e veloce.
Tutte queste immagini sono state scattate a mano libera,
in modo assolutamente "leggero" come leggero è stato utilizzare la fpl.
Come fotocamera da vaggio o street è perfetta,
oppure, per i puri foveonisti, come secondo corpo macchina che può
rendere al meglio in ogni situazione in cui il cugino foveon faticherebbe.
In effetti la resa del sensore di tipo bayer è limpida e, come dire, calda,
calma e fluida, con colori caldi e una sorta di tridimensionalità sicuramente
fornita dalla qualità degli obiettivi Art, e pure dal fatto che i parametri di ripresa
sono ottimizzati facendo tesoro di tutta l'esperienza Sigma in campo foveon.
Le modalità colore aggiungono fascino
e possono essere ulteriormente personalizzate e/o salvate,
la nuova "powder blue" (blu cipria) è fantastica:
una sorta di viraggio sul blu molto leggero ed etereo,
decisamente vintage e tutt'altro che invadente.
In definitiva, ho scattato queste immagini in un'oretta di un tardo pomeriggio
e in un'oretta del mattino successivo, "buone le prime" e senza problemi:
la versatilità e la capacità di portare a casa lo scatto senza difficoltà in ogni situazione
sono il punto forte della fpl.
La qualità di immagine è l'altro suo "plus":
con le ottiche serie Art (qui il 28 mm ed il 105 mm entrambi f1.4) è senza compromessi,
e date le dimensioni dei file (9500 x 6300 pixel circa) si presta a ogni tipo di utilizzo.
Consigliata a umani e passeri.
voto: quattro briciole piene.
We live in the countryside, between hills and mountains.
My father owned the big corn field,
I owned friends and -when I was lucky- used to spend my days with the smiling girls from the village nearby.
Until he disappeared.
Nothing left of my father, except the field.
It seemed that anything, here, would have been the same again.
I was desperate, then that man came, one evening when the sun was about to die,
to knock on the tiny house I shared with my father just beside the field.
"Now You'll have to look at the field,
You're a big boy, help the corn grow with this seeds.
I was Your father's friend, this is my gift to You."
I planted the seeds,
and the field that had been left in a bad way,
came back more green and healthy than ever.
The young cobs were yellow as the sun,
wrapped in leaves greener than every forest I ever saw.
The work was much, every plant had its need;
soon that become my only road.
The village nearby seemed far and far away, the more my field grew up.
I saw friends no more,
and not many girls for me in the middle of the cobs.
I was always thinking of my wide field,
as the season went on and the first mists came from the mountains.
And how beautiful were the evenings.
I just stared, after a hard day of work, listening to the wind through the plants,
I felt it, a cradle for my very own thoughts.
Then into my hut, now sorrounded by millions of cobs,
I only think about my field, all nights long,
while the more cold winds begins to knock at the rotten windows.
No time to repair anything, the field needs constant attention.
Then a special evening came, after days of clouds
and it was deeper than the others
so I felt the field was ready.
and stood in the middle all night long
until a sort of day came.
Corn fields are like a maze.
With the first lights into that maze I woke up.
In company of someone
between the silent flies waiting on the long corn leaves.
As I felt its voice and sight on me, I knew the field was the only friend of mine.
I am now in the middle of the field
it tells me what to do,
that I don't have to go to the village again,
it looks after me
with my field.
ALL PHOTOGRAPHS WITH
and SIGMA 105mm f1.4 Art.
Per l'Italia SIGMA by
I left with the blood of sprigtime dawns
and passed by the deception of summer
I cried with the last leaves
and talked with the skeleton trees
I walked the line between seasons
like a cut in the skin
then with the first snow,
I entered the wood
my path cleared and my sight deeper
as the wihiteness came
and slow flakes landed on my black hat.
I went on in my big boots
until I felt my nose no more
into things dissolving without a shadow
this meadow of cold air
owns a blessed silence
I'm a jigsaw
parts of me are made by snow
the creacking of the branches
that robin with round eyes
so my forest has changed
I'm with her
All shots with SIGMA SD1 Merrill
with SIGMA 135 mm Art,
SIGMA 28 mm Art,
SIGMA 24-105 Art
and SIGMA 8-16
in north west Italy.
by marco dadone
What kind of storm was that?
It came from the west after that summer without winds
First like thin hair on the sky
then like heavy clouds reflecting patterns on the sea
The waves become silver blades,
soon everything was mixed and we were caught inside.
It took away our eyes,
It took away our skin, our nails,
It took away ourselves.
And happened silently
on the night after the storm
Amongst that unnatural blue,
unnatural things happened.
The shy turtle who uses to swim into the moonlight,
was kept in by that night,
as a somehow different being
While the big sun on the following morning,
competed the game.
We were turned into stones.
First was the monk, who never used to sleep.
then all the people in the village square,
hit by a new sun, astonished.
and as the day turned in white and turquoise,
the curious childs were staring at that new life
the gentle damsel came out
and so did the guys on the boat
even the seals
and with them, without distictions,
the dumb of the village
and the thin wise man
and, for last, the boy who was fishing on the rocks
after a very stange moonlit night
on the following dawn
the sky we used to know was back,
the green sea did return
Suddenly, as it came it went away,
we were stones no more.
And everyting was like before.
We, as after a nightmare,
had all back our skin, our nails, our eyes,
And stones returned to be just those pebbles we use to walk on
between the earth and the waves,
we did forget everything.
We forget easily.
Except for the lovers.
You can still look at them, by the beach.
But that’s another story,
as they choose eternity.
PHOTOGRAPHS and words BY MARCO DADONE
- Sigma Ambassador Italy -
WITH WIGMA 105 mm ART
and SIGMA 40 mm ART.
(and Sigma SDQH on the blue night photos,
with Sigma 28 mm Art)
by artist DANTE BARBAGALLO
shot in Liguria, Italy, autumn 2020.
to see the camera I used, click here:
per SIGMA ITALIA m-trading, click here:
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