Aliaksandra Sasnovich | Somewhere under way I started this attempt with blurring and adding layers in order to increase energy and intimacy of the pics. So I have to apply that to the images published prior to that…
Today I started my second run-through. The first selection of 322 images made me wish that I’d had taken more photos depicting the whole scenery. But in these years of shooting my ambition mainly was to come close to the players in order to show the intensity of focus, motion, reaction and emotion. So the following photos will show more of those close-ups. My idea is to give tags to each photo and make these categories available on separate pages and via the respective search term. I start with it today and hope to come up with the re-tagging for the initial 322 pics soon. You’ll find them at the bottom of each post.
…So, now I am finished with all the old photos. As you might have realized I skipped many many pics. I left them in the database in order for everybody to be able to find ‘their’ images via the search function. Some of them I will take on later by re-thinking things like frame and other things. Also I probably will be much more radical with the manipulation. I have nothing to lose and for me the arts aspect has clear priority nowadays. But first I will re-think and if necessary re-do all the twothousandsomething previous pics…
…it’s more about photography and allegory here than about individual players. Given that I only have attentive and smart visitors everybody will know that by now. Yet still one cannot explain enough…
First published on: May 1, 2025 at 23:14 as ‘n:ew pic #1553’
It happens to be that photos tagged with ITF partially are from German Bundesliga, which is another even smaller category. For me it’s ok here to distinguish between the bigger WTA and the inferior ITF stage, whether it’s all correct or not.
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I found out that one can upload pictures to ChatGPT and ask it to describe them. Obviously one can influence the way of that by the prompt. I chose to keep it quite open just asking it to decribe it ‘lyrically, like a poem, in English and in German’. Some of the words come stunningly near to what my intentions are with this project. Other parts are just so so. Hope it’s as much fun to read for everyone as it is for me. I decided not to change one single syllable of what the AI is coming up with here. Given the restrictions for non-paying users I only can do three images at a time and then have to wait for some ten hours before I can upload the next. At the moment it doesn’t make sense to me to upgrade to the required 20-bucks-per-month Plus-Version. For now I chose to be patient and do what I can with the restrictions.
At the end of the post you find a better readable bigger version of the texts…
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ChatGPT:

In Praise Of Shadows
© Christian Brockmeier | all rights reserved
Between Shadow and Motion
In the darkness of the hall,
where light lingers only for a breath
and shadows drift across the floor like memories,
a single moment stretches
between motion and stillness.
A figure bends toward the flight of the ball,
as though listening to an unseen melody.
The racket traces an arc of determination,
while an open hand reaches into the air,
as if trying to touch the wind itself.
Around her, people dissolve
into ghosts of light and time,
blurred by the urgency of their passing.
Only she remains sharply drawn,
held in the heartbeat of the moment.
The court gleams like dark water,
reflecting effort, silence, and dream.
And the small white ball,
little more than a star above a midnight sea,
hovers between becoming and fading.
It is more than a game.
It is the brief triumph of the present
over oblivion.
A single stroke
splitting the darkness,
like a thought
suddenly becoming light.
Im Schwarz der Halle,
wo das Licht nur flüchtig verweilt
und Schatten wie Erinnerungen über den Boden ziehen,
spannt sich ein Augenblick
zwischen Bewegung und Stille.
Eine Gestalt beugt sich dem Flug des Balles entgegen,
als lausche sie einer unsichtbaren Melodie.
Der Schläger beschreibt einen Bogen aus Entschlossenheit,
die Hand öffnet sich dem Raum,
als wolle sie den Wind selbst berühren.
Um sie herum verschwimmen Menschen
zu Geistern aus Licht und Zeit,
verwischt von der Hast ihrer Wege.
Nur sie scheint scharf gezeichnet
im Herzschlag dieses Moments.
Der Boden glänzt wie dunkles Wasser,
trägt Spiegelungen von Anstrengung und Traum.
Und der kleine weiße Ball,
kaum mehr als ein Stern über nächtlichem Asphalt,
schwebt zwischen Werden und Vergehen.
Es ist nicht nur ein Spiel.
Es ist der kurze Triumph der Gegenwart
über das Vergessen.
Ein einziger Schlag,
der die Dunkelheit teilt
wie ein Gedanke,
der plötzlich Licht wird.
