Yep. Smooth.
Fernand Aubry, Coiffeur Visagiste, Paris, found here
30 April 2013
28 April 2013
27 April 2013
26 April 2013
25 April 2013
Archives
"If you are a certain kind of person, there is a unique form of
pleasure to be obtained in an archive. With an important writer’s
notes—or, even better, journals—there is a sense of ceremonious
trespassing involved in having a specialist present you, the researcher,
with a revered figure’s highly personal, and often rather trivial,
belongings. The special collections room becomes an equalizing space
where we can ogle at the humdrum remains of those we esteem the most; by
looking through their assorted paperwork—through their receipts, to-do
lists and preserved desk detritus—they become somewhat less elevated and
more earthly. This is even truer in the case of the three-dimensional
realia: due to the combinations of death, achievement, fame, and rarity,
the worn and used objects of everyday life are eventually deemed
research-worthy...."
Extract from Mysterious Skin: The Realia of William Gaddis by Matthew Erickson in The Paris Review
24 April 2013
Pots
c.1930 watercolor paintings of Maricopa pottery
found at Arizona Memory Project (Arizona State Museum) via anambitiousprojectcollapsing
23 April 2013
22 April 2013
21 April 2013
19 April 2013
Roots and leaves themselves alone are these;
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods, and from the pond-side,
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love—fingers that wind around tighter than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds, hid in the foliage of trees, as the sun is risen;
Breezes of land and love—breezes set from living shores out to you on the living sea—to you, O sailors!
Frost-mellow’d berries, and Third-month twigs, offer’d fresh to young persons wandering out in the fields when the winter breaks up,
Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever you are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms;
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will open, and bring form, color, perfume, to you;
If you become the aliment and the wet, they will become flowers, fruits, tall blanches and trees.
Walt Whitman
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods, and from the pond-side,
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love—fingers that wind around tighter than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds, hid in the foliage of trees, as the sun is risen;
Breezes of land and love—breezes set from living shores out to you on the living sea—to you, O sailors!
Frost-mellow’d berries, and Third-month twigs, offer’d fresh to young persons wandering out in the fields when the winter breaks up,
Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever you are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms;
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will open, and bring form, color, perfume, to you;
If you become the aliment and the wet, they will become flowers, fruits, tall blanches and trees.
Walt Whitman
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