Sentences with phrase «strong field vision»

Not exact matches

We, my Executives and I, hereby commit ourselves to work tirelessly to help fulfil his vision of establishing a strong and winning Ghana Rugby Family — both on - and off - the - field.

The closer the bee comes to an object, the faster the object appears to move, i.e. the optic flow in the bee's field of vision grows stronger.

VISION: Good Well defined widescreen and full screen versions (on one side thanks to the dual - layer disc) shows strong colors and blacks, with tremendous depth of field and attention to detail.

Coogler — proved his moviemaking gifts with the electric Fruitvale Station and followed it up with Creed — serves as strong field general here: he fulfills the Marvel checklist, but with the added bonus of a fully - realized new African country, a kind of sci - fi vision of what central Africa might have looked like without the depredations of colonialism.

Hooper (of The King Speech and Les Miserables) again is gifted with a strong field of actors to inhabit his heightened emotional vision, but with a presentation that never connects beneath the surface of pain on display, these typically interesting actors are stuck repeating the same notes over much of the film's two hours.

My vision is to provide my students with a strong foundation in science by inspiring them as well as educating them in the variety of careers in the Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math (STEM) fields, which are projected to be some of the fastest growing career fields today.

The insurance giant says even though Emily only sees black in the bottom half of her vision, she can wear strong prescription glasses to eliminate blurry, double vision in the upper field, so she doesn't qualify for coverage.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,

Step back and the colours begin to interact, further away still a field of closely modulated harmonies cut by strong contrasts opens up» — B. RILEY Immersing the viewer in a shimmering cascade of colour, Greensleeves (1983) is a captivating large - scale vision in Bridget Riley's «Egyptian palette.»

Indeed, the field of vision has a strong part of safety driving.