Ta much, dear MSiegel
Ta much, dear Edosan
Ta much, dear Edosan
I'd kiss you, Jezza, but you're too far away.
Click images to go through the gallery.
Cat - fox hunter
This cat’s owner is a fanatic wildlife photographer. Once he decided to stay for winter for five month in unique protected areas of Kamchatka and had no way to leave his pet at home. So the only option was to take two boxes with him - one for the cat, by the way named Ryska, and the other for cat-food reserve for half a year.
Living in a tiny barn standing in the middle of nowhere this guy began each morning with coffee and fried eggs with bacon. The smell of fresh fried bacon appeared to be a kind of a drug for local foxes. Dozens of their generations have never known that people are hunting them for fur so they fearlessly joined the photographer each morning to have a portion of delicious smell. Some of the foxes even competed for the right to come closer to the window in order not only to smell but to see bacon.
Ryska was spoilt with expensive cat-food and hunted local mice just for fun of it. In short, she was extremely unaggressive. But watching a pack of foxes impudently smelling master’s fried bacon was intolerable. Anywhere 50 meters far from the barn foxes were severely oppressed. Once Ryska even drove a frightened fox onto a tree! What is more she even used the same manner to bears. They were not so fearful but still preferred not to come close.
April 10, 2010
Photography: the art of Henri Cartier-Bresson
As a new book and show celebrate Cartier-Bresson, his friend recalls one of the finest photographers of the 20th century
Jinx Rodger
... Henri was fun, too. He was witty and he made us laugh. Ratna was a poet and he once published a book of her work. But they argued a lot. She also had an explosive temper and in the end she just couldn’t settle in Paris. Later he married the photographer Martine Franck, and they lived in the Rue de Rivoli, just overlooking the Louvre. It’s Franck we need to thank for this new book and exhibition. It was she who convinced Henri that he should create a lasting home for his work, what is now the Cartier Bresson Foundation. Henri hated to look back.
He was a very loyal friend. When George died, Henri did a lot to look after me. He had a huge and interesting circle of friends, but he didn’t suffer fools gladly. I remember he once hid at a photography opening because he didn’t want to be interviewed, and I saw at the bottom of the guest list that he’d signed in as “Hank Carter, Paris”.
He could be stubborn, but he had to be to protect himself. By the end of his life he was idolised. When he died, all Paris was in mourning.
Photography: the art of Henri Cartier-Bresson
As a new book and show celebrate Cartier-Bresson, his friend recalls one of the finest photographers of the 20th century
Jinx Rodger
... Henri was fun, too. He was witty and he made us laugh. Ratna was a poet and he once published a book of her work. But they argued a lot. She also had an explosive temper and in the end she just couldn’t settle in Paris. Later he married the photographer Martine Franck, and they lived in the Rue de Rivoli, just overlooking the Louvre. It’s Franck we need to thank for this new book and exhibition. It was she who convinced Henri that he should create a lasting home for his work, what is now the Cartier Bresson Foundation. Henri hated to look back.
He was a very loyal friend. When George died, Henri did a lot to look after me. He had a huge and interesting circle of friends, but he didn’t suffer fools gladly. I remember he once hid at a photography opening because he didn’t want to be interviewed, and I saw at the bottom of the guest list that he’d signed in as “Hank Carter, Paris”.
He could be stubborn, but he had to be to protect himself. By the end of his life he was idolised. When he died, all Paris was in mourning.
Slide Show: Detroit, City of Ruins
April 8, 2010
Clock in the former Cass Technical High School building
Arnold Nursing Home; 7 Mile Road
Known for his large-scale photographs of dilapidated buildings in places like Cuba, Russia, and Times Square, Andrew Moore has now turned his attention to Detroit. These images are from his new collection, Detroit Disassembled, published by Damiani and the Akron Art Museum, where an exhibition of his work will be on view from June 5 to October 10.
Moore’s photographs present a devastating scene of urban deterioration, offering us glimpses into abandoned motor plants, train stations, theaters, schools, hotels, police stations, and office buildings, along with vistas of vacant houses and lots. All of the buildings are in deep states of decay: moss grows on the floor of an office at the former Ford Motor Company headquarters; thousands of books molder in the Public Schools Book Depository; an unseen person keeps a small fire going under a plastic shelter inside the trash-filled engine works room of the Dry Dock Company Complex. One of Moore’s photographs, showing an abandoned nursing home, appears in the April 29 issue of The New York Review, in Tony Judt’s essay “Ill Fares the Land.”
Another book on the same subject, The Ruins of Detroit, by the French photographers Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre, will be published by Steidl this summer. Marchand and Meffre had already begun their project when they met Moore, whose earlier work they knew, and they urged him to photograph Detroit as well. As a result, there are now two distinctive takes on the decline of a once-powerful center of the US economy: while Moore’s book is slender, with an essay by the poet Philip Levine, Marchand and Meffre’s collection puts across a broader sociological analysis. Both books allow an astonishing amount of beauty to surface, whether in the fading traces of ornate architectural elements or in the rich colors of freshly sprouted vegetation.
—Eve Bowen
I should point out that God certainly appears to have abandoned much of 7 Mile Road, especially near Van Dyke.
Ta much, dear Gladsdotter
April 8, 2010
Clock in the former Cass Technical High School building
Arnold Nursing Home; 7 Mile Road
Known for his large-scale photographs of dilapidated buildings in places like Cuba, Russia, and Times Square, Andrew Moore has now turned his attention to Detroit. These images are from his new collection, Detroit Disassembled, published by Damiani and the Akron Art Museum, where an exhibition of his work will be on view from June 5 to October 10.
Moore’s photographs present a devastating scene of urban deterioration, offering us glimpses into abandoned motor plants, train stations, theaters, schools, hotels, police stations, and office buildings, along with vistas of vacant houses and lots. All of the buildings are in deep states of decay: moss grows on the floor of an office at the former Ford Motor Company headquarters; thousands of books molder in the Public Schools Book Depository; an unseen person keeps a small fire going under a plastic shelter inside the trash-filled engine works room of the Dry Dock Company Complex. One of Moore’s photographs, showing an abandoned nursing home, appears in the April 29 issue of The New York Review, in Tony Judt’s essay “Ill Fares the Land.”
Another book on the same subject, The Ruins of Detroit, by the French photographers Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre, will be published by Steidl this summer. Marchand and Meffre had already begun their project when they met Moore, whose earlier work they knew, and they urged him to photograph Detroit as well. As a result, there are now two distinctive takes on the decline of a once-powerful center of the US economy: while Moore’s book is slender, with an essay by the poet Philip Levine, Marchand and Meffre’s collection puts across a broader sociological analysis. Both books allow an astonishing amount of beauty to surface, whether in the fading traces of ornate architectural elements or in the rich colors of freshly sprouted vegetation.
—Eve Bowen
I should point out that God certainly appears to have abandoned much of 7 Mile Road, especially near Van Dyke.
Ta much, dear Gladsdotter
Andrew Moore: Detroit Disassembled
Text by Andrew Moore, Philip Levine.
Published by Damiani/Akron Art Museum
No longer the Motor City of boom-time industry, the city of Detroit has fallen into an incredible state of dilapidation since the decline of the American auto industry after the Second World War. Today, whole sections of the city resemble a war zone, its once-spectacular architectural grandeur reduced to vacant ruins. In Detroit Disassembled, photographer Andrew Moore records a territory in which the ordinary flow of time-or the forward march of the assembly line-appears to have been thrown spectacularly into reverse. For Moore, who throughout his career has been drawn to all that contradicts or seems to threaten America's postwar self-image (his previous projects include portraits of Cuba and Soviet Russia), Detroit's decline affirms the carnivorousness of our earth, as it seeps into and overruns the buildings of a city that once epitomized humankind's supposed supremacy. In Detroit Disassembled, Moore locates both dignity and tragedy in the city's decline, among postapocalyptic landscapes of windowless grand hotels, vast barren factory floors, collapsing churches, offices carpeted in velvety moss and entire blocks reclaimed by prairie grass. Beyond their jawdropping content, Moore's photographs inevitably raise the uneasy question of the long-term future of a country in which such extreme degradation can exist unchecked.
Text by Andrew Moore, Philip Levine.
Published by Damiani/Akron Art Museum
No longer the Motor City of boom-time industry, the city of Detroit has fallen into an incredible state of dilapidation since the decline of the American auto industry after the Second World War. Today, whole sections of the city resemble a war zone, its once-spectacular architectural grandeur reduced to vacant ruins. In Detroit Disassembled, photographer Andrew Moore records a territory in which the ordinary flow of time-or the forward march of the assembly line-appears to have been thrown spectacularly into reverse. For Moore, who throughout his career has been drawn to all that contradicts or seems to threaten America's postwar self-image (his previous projects include portraits of Cuba and Soviet Russia), Detroit's decline affirms the carnivorousness of our earth, as it seeps into and overruns the buildings of a city that once epitomized humankind's supposed supremacy. In Detroit Disassembled, Moore locates both dignity and tragedy in the city's decline, among postapocalyptic landscapes of windowless grand hotels, vast barren factory floors, collapsing churches, offices carpeted in velvety moss and entire blocks reclaimed by prairie grass. Beyond their jawdropping content, Moore's photographs inevitably raise the uneasy question of the long-term future of a country in which such extreme degradation can exist unchecked.
The Ruins of Detroit
by Yves Marchand, Romain Meffre
Steidl
Over the past generation Detroit has suffered economically worse than any other of the major American cities and its rampant urban decay is now glaringly apparent during this current recession. Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre documented this disintegration, showcasing structures that were formerly a source of civic pride, and which now stand as monuments to the city’s fall from grace. ...
by Yves Marchand, Romain Meffre
Steidl
Over the past generation Detroit has suffered economically worse than any other of the major American cities and its rampant urban decay is now glaringly apparent during this current recession. Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre documented this disintegration, showcasing structures that were formerly a source of civic pride, and which now stand as monuments to the city’s fall from grace. ...
'Nother great slideshow.
Common Kestrel [AKA Chicken Hawk] pursuing a Barn Owl
PUFFING!!!!
Pheasant
Reed Warbler drinking
Ta much, dear Anneliese, who sent this gallery Puffin-first.
Wenig kuscheln Gesichter! Little snuggle-faces!
Those itteh bitteh kittehs don't even have angry feet!
Ta much, dear Edosan
Those itteh bitteh kittehs don't even have angry feet!
Ta much, dear Edosan
Yes, I shrunk 'em.
MSiegel said this page kept tryin' to redirect him, so here's a link to the home page - click 'Bugatti.'
MSiegel said this page kept tryin' to redirect him, so here's a link to the home page - click 'Bugatti.'
They're real people, with functional minds and hearts. Such a refreshing change.
Ta much, dear BrightKnight
Model, LaChyara Golden of Flint stands with the Viper at the Detroit auto show at Cobo Hall on Tuesday, January 12, 2010. (REGINA H. BOONE/DFP)
Back of Marcel Duchamp's head - tonsured by Georges de Zayas
1920
Fingers
1930
Great shot, great band, great show. Not only does she cutely point her toe half the time she's bowing her cello, she also sits on the kickdrum, puts the cello on her lap and strums it like a guitar during one song.
High quality dogness - ta much, dear Edosan
Beautiful photographs of birds, butterflies, flowers, and the odd critter who strays before his lens - Win.
Female Pyrrhuloxia
Female Pyrrhuloxia
Cuzco Newsboy, 1948. The picture of a Mexican boy was one of the earliest photographs by Irving Penn, who started out in the art department at US Vogue. It is one of the lots being auctioned at Christie's New York on October 8. (All photographs courtesy of Christie's)
Photographer’s death drives up prices at Christie's auction in New York
By Sophie Taylor
FIRST POSTED OCTOBER 9, 2009
As expected, the news of Irving Penn's death appeared to help drive up prices at an auction of photography at Christie's, New York yesterday. His photograph Cuzco Newsboy, which adorned the opening page of The First Post's picture essay to mark the photographer's death, went for nearly three times its upper pre-sale estimate.
The photograph, taken in Mexico in 1948, and presented as a gelatin silver print, went to an anonymous bidder for $72,100. The estimate was $15,000 - $25,000.
But the photo that beat all the others - there were 14 Penns for sale in total - was Chimney Sweep, London, one of a series of portraits Penn took of ordinary working people in New York, Paris and London in 1950. It fetched $74,500, way above the $10,000 - $15,000 estimate.
None of the pictures was among Penn's most iconic images, but they still fetched a total of $492,850, more than double the auction house's total lower estimate of $235,000. ...
By Sophie Taylor
FIRST POSTED OCTOBER 9, 2009
As expected, the news of Irving Penn's death appeared to help drive up prices at an auction of photography at Christie's, New York yesterday. His photograph Cuzco Newsboy, which adorned the opening page of The First Post's picture essay to mark the photographer's death, went for nearly three times its upper pre-sale estimate.
The photograph, taken in Mexico in 1948, and presented as a gelatin silver print, went to an anonymous bidder for $72,100. The estimate was $15,000 - $25,000.
But the photo that beat all the others - there were 14 Penns for sale in total - was Chimney Sweep, London, one of a series of portraits Penn took of ordinary working people in New York, Paris and London in 1950. It fetched $74,500, way above the $10,000 - $15,000 estimate.
None of the pictures was among Penn's most iconic images, but they still fetched a total of $492,850, more than double the auction house's total lower estimate of $235,000. ...
It’s a lame old mantra, “Changing the system from within”, and one most often spouted by sell-outs in denial. So when Nick Knight fixes me with his pale blue eyes and says “I’ve tried to affect any changes I can from the mainstream”, I groan a little inside. This, after all, is one of fashion’s biggest big-ticket photographers; the man who John Galliano used to reboot, then revive the image of Christian Dior, and who in the past year has had four ultra-lucrative cosmetics campaigns and a Cheryl Cole album cover under his belt. It’s hardly, I pshaw internally, the CV of a radical.
Then Knight does something entirely unexpected — he aims his mouth at where the money is and lets fly: “I’ve always found the fashion industry to be extremely racist, to the point that I don’t know how they get away with it. When I first started I couldn’t believe what I was hearing: ‘We can’t have a black model — they’re not aspirational’. You can’t say that!”
And here’s Knight on the hand that feeds him: “I have friends in the City who are amazed by how the fashion business is conducted. It’s controlled by a few people, and not particularly well.”
And here’s Knight on sizeism and ageism, fashion’s two other sorest points (fur notwithstanding). “Issues I believed in were not being articulated in my professional work. Issues as simple as that fact that nobody was photographing women who looked like my wife”. (This is Charlotte, who Knight describes as “curvaceous” and “the most beautiful woman in the world”.) “Only people in their teens were being photographed — if you were older than 21 you didn’t have a look in. Lancôme dropped Isabella Rossellini when she turned 40: biggest mistake they ever made. All these examples were around me, and they didn’t sit well with me.” ...
Then Knight does something entirely unexpected — he aims his mouth at where the money is and lets fly: “I’ve always found the fashion industry to be extremely racist, to the point that I don’t know how they get away with it. When I first started I couldn’t believe what I was hearing: ‘We can’t have a black model — they’re not aspirational’. You can’t say that!”
And here’s Knight on the hand that feeds him: “I have friends in the City who are amazed by how the fashion business is conducted. It’s controlled by a few people, and not particularly well.”
And here’s Knight on sizeism and ageism, fashion’s two other sorest points (fur notwithstanding). “Issues I believed in were not being articulated in my professional work. Issues as simple as that fact that nobody was photographing women who looked like my wife”. (This is Charlotte, who Knight describes as “curvaceous” and “the most beautiful woman in the world”.) “Only people in their teens were being photographed — if you were older than 21 you didn’t have a look in. Lancôme dropped Isabella Rossellini when she turned 40: biggest mistake they ever made. All these examples were around me, and they didn’t sit well with me.” ...
High quality bizarrerie.
Feel better soon, Dear Heart!
Ta much, dear MSiegel!!11!!!!
Dear Edosan often sends me lolworthy/macro-ready images, ferinstance this one. Result below.
moar funny pictures
moar funny pictures
Ta much, dear DontheFox
I knew something was going seriously wrong all those years ago when they tore down the car/truck production sign.
Unlike most people, I often really hate it when I'm right.
Driving past during a strike when the numbers'd ground to a halt was not cool, but driving past the sign shortly after Midnight on a New Year's Eve was excellent. It had been reset to zero and showed fewer than ten, er, eleven, er, twelve.....that's about how quickly the numbers went up. There was a new one almost every second.
Meeeeeeeeeeeeeyow.
Epic site.
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
But perfect proof of why pets - and most people! - need neutering or spaying.
But perfect proof of why pets - and most people! - need neutering or spaying.
When dear Edosan sent me this, I told him, "Must be Hungary. Only there are the horses that sexy and the men that mad."
Yup, that's Tippi Hedren allright.
Wonder if this photograph was made before or after The Birds' freaky attack scene....and if that's THE script in her lap!
Earth Images Photo Gallery by Richard Weston
Malachite is a carbonate mineral that often results from weathering of copper ores found around limestones. Renowned for its vibrant green color, it was used as an artist’s pigment until around 1800 and has been mined for over 3,000 years at the so-called ’King Solomon’s Mines’ in Israel. Although the Greek root means ’bunch of grapes’, as an architect it always reminds me of the exquisite vaults of the Alhambra palace in Granada. To see more go to www.richardwestonstudio.com/images.html
Ed. Note: Malachite's Greek root means 'buncha grapes' 'cause the raw stone frequently resembles a pile of bubbles or (more vaguely) a buncha grapes. Illustrative illustrations:
Malachite is a carbonate mineral that often results from weathering of copper ores found around limestones. Renowned for its vibrant green color, it was used as an artist’s pigment until around 1800 and has been mined for over 3,000 years at the so-called ’King Solomon’s Mines’ in Israel. Although the Greek root means ’bunch of grapes’, as an architect it always reminds me of the exquisite vaults of the Alhambra palace in Granada. To see more go to www.richardwestonstudio.com/images.html
Ed. Note: Malachite's Greek root means 'buncha grapes' 'cause the raw stone frequently resembles a pile of bubbles or (more vaguely) a buncha grapes. Illustrative illustrations:
Silly old bear.
Sleeping on concrete isn't much fun unless you do it this way.
Dear Unca Steve.
Ta much for this, dear Zaxy!
Dear Edosan once said, "The whole world just stops whenever a horse rolls."
True dat, Mon.
When we were still riding, Mom and I took the dogs along when our lessons would be held outside. They quickly learned proper etiquette, but Ms K sure barked like hell the first time she saw us a-horseback.
"WTF are you doing, sitting up on top of those big ole hayburners?! Are you nuts?!" was her initial attitude. Ms K was a very logical dog, and this seemed too ridiculous for silence. Mom and I shushed her, and she watched intently and silently as we worked on the flat and over fences. She seemed satisfied that we actually knew what we were doing, and began grinning as the lesson progressed. Our riding never made her bark again.
The first time a horse began to roll in their presence, Ms K again let loose a stream of barking invective.
"WTF?! OMFG!" she said, over and over. The horse paused after he'd laid down, and as we shushed her he gave her a look which seemed to say pretty much what we were telling her:
"And WTF is your problem, Lady? You're a dog! Don't tell me you never roll!"
He then rolled and thrashed around in earnest, ignoring her, and she eventually quieted. Both dogs stared and stared, then he stood up and got down on his other side and rolled and thrashed about some more. He made his point. Rolling horses never made her bark again either. The two of them eventually seemed amused by it, at least as much as we.
They very quickly became used to being around horses and came to enjoy their company, and the horses liked them a lot - even those with shocking canine-related reputations.
The potential bond between horse and hound obviously goes far beyond breeds and breeding. Only one of the four breeds that went into the making of Ms K and A has any horsey history whatsoever. Despite this they soon began looking round happily and excitedly whenever they heard a television horse's whinny or nicker, and would all but slump back down into their beds when they realized they'd been duped.
Dear Edosan once said, "The whole world just stops whenever a horse rolls."
True dat, Mon.
When we were still riding, Mom and I took the dogs along when our lessons would be held outside. They quickly learned proper etiquette, but Ms K sure barked like hell the first time she saw us a-horseback.
"WTF are you doing, sitting up on top of those big ole hayburners?! Are you nuts?!" was her initial attitude. Ms K was a very logical dog, and this seemed too ridiculous for silence. Mom and I shushed her, and she watched intently and silently as we worked on the flat and over fences. She seemed satisfied that we actually knew what we were doing, and began grinning as the lesson progressed. Our riding never made her bark again.
The first time a horse began to roll in their presence, Ms K again let loose a stream of barking invective.
"WTF?! OMFG!" she said, over and over. The horse paused after he'd laid down, and as we shushed her he gave her a look which seemed to say pretty much what we were telling her:
"And WTF is your problem, Lady? You're a dog! Don't tell me you never roll!"
He then rolled and thrashed around in earnest, ignoring her, and she eventually quieted. Both dogs stared and stared, then he stood up and got down on his other side and rolled and thrashed about some more. He made his point. Rolling horses never made her bark again either. The two of them eventually seemed amused by it, at least as much as we.
They very quickly became used to being around horses and came to enjoy their company, and the horses liked them a lot - even those with shocking canine-related reputations.
The potential bond between horse and hound obviously goes far beyond breeds and breeding. Only one of the four breeds that went into the making of Ms K and A has any horsey history whatsoever. Despite this they soon began looking round happily and excitedly whenever they heard a television horse's whinny or nicker, and would all but slump back down into their beds when they realized they'd been duped.
Terroriers.
Snails are cool.
Tasty, too.
Tasty, too.
... Long live Dadaism in word and image! Long live the Dada events of this world! To be against this manifesto is to be a Dadaist!
Berlin, April 1918
Tristan Tzara, Franz Jung, George Grosz, Marcel Janco, Richard Hülsenbeck, Gerhard Preisz, Raoul Hausmann
unpretentious proclamation
by tristan tzara
8th april 1919
Berlin, April 1918
Tristan Tzara, Franz Jung, George Grosz, Marcel Janco, Richard Hülsenbeck, Gerhard Preisz, Raoul Hausmann
unpretentious proclamation
by tristan tzara
8th april 1919
drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroooooooooooooooooooooooooollllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Blondes have more fun? How's that again? ;)
OM NOM NOM NOM NOM
That's a sexy tree.
Yes, trees can be sexy.
Yes, trees can be sexy.
