This is how my mind works.
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...And:Ask me anything
Jacob Heinrich Elbfas, Sun Dog Painting (Vädersolstavlan), depicting Stockholm in 1535
Helmut Newton’s Fujica G617, Museum of Photography Berlin
“CAPTCHA Poems 1, 2”
It’s something like the opposite of ‘concrete poetry.’
Yo La Tengo - Let’s Save Tony Orlando’s House
I only have so many tropes, you know? I could sit here and write about sodium-vapor street lights and fog and AM radio, or I could follow the old dictum of “show, don’t tell.”
What is it that makes the “artselfie” so irresistible? Are we (the great unwashed “we,” of course—not the royal form) simply conditioned by our devices (our selves!) to behave as such in public? Or is it simply a matter of proof of occupation or ownership, as the photograph has always enabled us to have and to hold a given person, thing, or moment? Here, I believe that the question is one of perceived value: A person who not only photographs themselves reflected in a Nam June Paik sculpture using Instagram, but deliberately tags that photo with the hashtag #artselfie knowing that it will be subsequently featured on Dis and blogged across Tumblr has a functional understanding of how cultural capital circulates in a networked world—whether they actively realize as much or not.
Do you ever wonder why commercial galleries rarely prohibit photography? Or why some museums refuse to allow it? What’s the behavioral boundary between promotion and transgression?
Me and Watching Buddha #artselfie #namjunepaik — by @tweendaze
Throughout A Selection of Arms Authorized by the Laws of Heraldry by John Bernard Burke (1860). Original from Oxford University. Digitized June 11, 2008.
"Wherefore live to die? To die is life."
"On the Empress’s Mind" by John Ashbury
"In a poem, John Ashbery says let’s build a bureaucracy. And supplies, at least at first, something of a recipe." — @alfilreis
Eye of Time brooch by Salvador Dalí.
A clock can be discerned inside the eye. Speaking of this particular piece, created with diamonds, rubies and platinum, Dalí used to say: “one cannot flee from time, nor change it. The eye sees the present and the future”.
"In 1981 the collection was acquired by a Saudi multimillionaire, and later by three Japanese entities, the last of which agreed to sell it to the Gala-Salvador Dalí Foundation…" More here.
Google is constantly updating the images and interface, and sometimes satellite photos of the same landscape are captured during different times of year and stitched together. The effect is to view, for instance, a mountaintop simultaneously in summer and winter, with one slope covered in snowfall and the other baked by the sun.
In other images, a mere change in seasonal lighting and cloud cover creates a stark contrast in a single frame. These images do not, in fact, offer the absolute “truth” of the world, as Radice sees it; they’re photographs screened through a moment in time.
Photo from the first Russian beauty pageant, 1989
…More at English Russia, though no photographer credit that I can find. Anybody else?
Trapped between machines.
(My new policy is to only take self-shots with my face partially or fully obscured. It’s like wearing a mask.)
And so excited that Nick will have a show at OHWOW gallery here in Los Angeles, opening February 22, 2013.
Because they lived near the signal tower,
voltage purring like a church
before the preacher starts,
or because she’s talking
in the very middle of the noise,
the doctor says to pray,
to radiate The Word of God into the boy
and recall each fallen cell
to the righteous body, but all he hears
is grandma’s story, how at night,
if you hold your radio close
you can hear the dead whispering through.
She explains how her sisters
wired their mom’s old Silvertone
after she had passed away,
braiding her hair in the speaker’s leads.
She says that if he listens
he can hear her sisters arguing
over every static’s peak, her mother
saying Time to go to bed.
She starts again.
In the distance someone’s asking
why it won’t stop hurting,
and the church is working like a round,
everyone trying to start
but all anyone can say
is what they’ve said before,
old stories, old prayers
all that’s breaking through.
— Jake Adam York (via kathleenjoy)