Seeing a fallen Sequoia is such a saddening thing. The scale of that tree alone against the endless crowd of munchkins and horses sitting atop it — my god. I can only imagine how many hundreds, if not thousands, of years old that giant was. A tragedy. I hope the pioneers enjoyed that giant pencil.
I come across many a carte viste and wrinkled photograph in my antique store and internet trawlings, and I am so much more interested in the portraits of the unlikely beauties: not the pouty lipped, perfectly bouffanted socialite of 1880, but her wan complected, wonky-nosed, slightly “off” counterpart. These are the women whose stories I want to know. It scares me a little to know that photos of me (and everyone else who feels mild trepidation when having their photo taken) might float through the antique and vintage “pass around” system one hundred years from now, but seeing these imperfect, oh-so-endearing women makes me feel confident in my future.
[Etsy vintage sellers, from top: johnnyvintage // obscurio // ohmymilky // obscurio // NostalgiqueArt // InspirationSnapshots // DrawingRoom]
Holy realism! This spectacular life mask, eyelashes and all, was created by folk artist Linwood P. Law (seriously, going in my future cat name file) of Buffalo, New York in 1935. Apparently little is known about the man behind the mask, but he did leave behind a very coveted body of sculpture. Learn more at Anonymous Works.
American photo historian Edward S. Curtis may have single-handedly documented vanishing Native American ttribes of the early twentieth century. Aren’t these portraits just ridiculous? The costumes, the hairstyles, and deep, knowing stares are haunting. However, these are more than documents of a lost generation. The history of how these photos came to be is pretty incredible, too:
Edward S. Curtis
In 1906 J.P. Morgan offered Curtis $75,000 to produce a series on the North American Indian. It was to be in 20 volumes with 1,500 photographs. Morgan was to receive 25 sets and 500 original prints as his method of repayment. 222 complete sets were eventually published. Curtis’ goal was not just to photograph, but to document, as much American Indian (Native American) traditional life as possible before that way of life disappeared. He wrote in the introduction to his first volume in 1907: “The information that is to be gathered … respecting the mode of life of one of the great races of mankind, must be collected at once or the opportunity will be lost.” Curtis made over 10,000 wax cylinder recordings of Indian language and music. He took over 40,000 photographic images from over 80 tribes. He recorded tribal lore and history, and he described traditional foods, housing, garments, recreation, ceremonies, and funeral customs. He wrote biographical sketches of tribal leaders, and his material, in most cases, is the only recorded history.
What an incredible opportunity to document a culture in decline. Frankly, I’m shocked that J.P. Morgan was behind this project, or even realized that Native American life was quickly disappearing.
I’ve been busy as all get out this week, so I haven’t been able to post nearly as much as I’d like. This weekend is my bloggin’ time! For more photo indulgences, check out my Tumblr.
Skull Mosaic from Pompeii
Skull Mosaic from Pompeii[1] (House cum workshop I, 5, 2, triclinium).30 B.C. — 14 A.D. Inv. 109982. Mosaic Collection Naples of the Naples, National Archaeological Museum (inv. nr. 109982).
The mosaic represents the Wheel of Fortune and reversal of fortune. When turned it can make the rich (symbolized by the purple cloth on the left) poor and the poor (symbolized by the goat right) rich. It also marks precariousness, death lurks in every age, and life is hanging by a thread: if it breaks, it flies from the soul (symbolized by the butterfly), making all equal.
[Via upload.wikimedia.org and Morbid Anatomy]
I’m so entranced by Mikaylah Bowman’s photography. At times it’s performance art, bellowing geysers, garbage bags and buckets of marshmallow fluff — and all vaguely foreboding. See more on her Flickr stream and at her solo show at Humble.
This old Russian painted rock looks like the surface of another planet. I love the twinkling North Star.
* Birthday gift idea!
“There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.” — Hamlet
[Editorial via Korean Vogue Girl - April 2007]
Freemasonry is so fascinating. The symbolism, the historic beginnings, the handshakes — not to mention the secretive nature of the group — make for a regular investigative wormhole. This print, found by Erie Basin and titled “From Jerusalem to Jericho,” is circa 1890. Notice the “Friendship, Love, Truth” scroll, the all-seeing eye (a recurring motif) and references to “the Golden Rule.” The moon and stars amidst the clouds is my favorite element.
Any recommendations for interesting Freemasonry books? I’d love to hear it.
Who knew a curtain waterfall could be so enticing? See more of Noemie Goudal‘s work in this week’s News From the Craft + Style Blogosphere on the Etsy Blog.
“In the poison’d entrails throw.—
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights has thirty-one;
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot!
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,—
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf;
Witches’ mummy; maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark;
Root of hemlock digg’d i the dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,—
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingrediants of our caldron.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon’s blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.” — The Three Weird Sisters from Shakespeare’s MacBeth
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: Alison Scarpulla is a witchy woman, and I love it. Crystal balls are meant to be worshipped.
Some of my most treasured memories from childhood involve going to the local campground (Spook Cave in the house!) to tramp through the low-hanging trees and pokey trails, play on ancient playground equipment and set up our worn orange pup tent for a night filled with owl hoots and the sound of far-off trains. All of this was preceded, of course, by the construction of a ramshackle campfire, making s’mores with marshmallows and a jumbo bar of Hershey’s, creating shadow plays on the tent’s glowing walls and catching fireflies in the dark. These recollections make my summer.
Annnnd, I couldn’t mention camping without bringing up the time that my sister accidentally peed while going down the slide at the campsite. (Sorry, Jasmine, but the abrupt switch in your pants in all of the photos from that trip is goddamn hilarious to this day.)
[Photos by Greg Stimac via Booooooooom]
Julia Solis has my dream job. She explores and photographs forgotten, paint-chipped mental hospitals, ancient tunnels beneath the city streets, and the detritus left behind after institutions fall into disrepair and become obsolete. Basically, abandonment city — cue my sincere and hand-wringingly strong lust to join her on these journeys. She gains access to the kinds of places I only stare at from a distance, wishing I had the cojones to actually climb over a barb wire fence and risk stigmata to my delicate paws.
She’s done more incredible work than I could ever show in one blog post, but these photos of abandoned theaters — the series is aptly titled “Stages of Decay” — made me lose my breath. To imagine all of the dramatic enterprise hat once took place in those gilded, velvet lined amphitheaters, now hanging in tatters. The ghosts of former performances hang around, I’m sure, reliving their glory days.
For more of Julia’s work check out her website, Dark Passage, for a full portfolio of her travels. Her daily blog, Dark Passage Travelogue, explores the artistic artifacts found beneath the crumbling walls she scales. If you’re in New York, she frequently holds talks and sometimes accompanies the public on tours beneath the streets — but I may just be making this up. She’s rad.
I’m doing some guest posting over on sfgirlbybay in the coming week or two. Hop on over and check out my post on mugshots of the last century. Petty criminals and wonky eyes galore!
Any type of handmade costume is catnip to me — Jerri Blank-style elasticized mom jeans, weaves (any hair, really), the horned-and-furry Krampus from the Alps — but these West African variations are seriously mesmerizing. Every look is so varied and emotive — and that teeny tiny skull on the guy’s head? Totally Beetlejuice!
Photographer Phyllis Galembo has cataloged the masquerade here.
I’m an early bird. I fall asleep at grandma-esque hours (reading in bed at 9:30, passed out by 10) and rise with the sun. Going to the farmer’s market on the weekend is one of my most precious pastimes. I’m an amateur cook (and that’s a bit of an overstatement), but I can’t get enough of the sights and smells of roughage being snapped, raw cantaloupe flesh, the murmurs of conversation and the infinite expanse of dogs and babies. It’s my own religion, really; who needs to go to a stuffy church when I can salivate over the fragrant, beautiful fruits of the earth? I worship at the altar of the tangible.
[Photos via marcinema on flickr]
As a bit of a Tumblr addict, I’m continually on the prowl for interesting photography and themes. Fuck Yeah, Victorians! provides both: all Victorian, all the time, with strange gems (those tin types!), painterly inspiration and random tidbits. Sold.
[Via My Love for You, I think? I just fell in love with this Tumblr so fast that I kind of don't even remember.]
Oh, Heathcliff! Wuthering Heights is such a fave, and Lizzy Stewart’s ode to the tangled family tree makes it all the more winsome. I want this for my wall.
