Smoke Yourself Thin

Liu Zheng: Survivor

2010-05-15T20:53:00.006+08:00

Survivor
Liu Zheng
2004, Photography

Ruben Brulat: Primates

2010-03-26T22:30:00.008+08:00

Primates
Ruben Brulat
2009, Photography

"Primates expressing, vulnerability of the Human species in his natural environment, showing smallness, beauty, but also symbiosis he has with. This link that is part of us, a molecular link. Playing with my body, creating an asexual Human part of those eight landscapes.

Primates, Human is there no more considerate as individualities part of the stronger species, but considerate as a basic animal, keeping his entire beauty, drama, symbiosis, or dissociation. Human species place at the same level of any other one." - Ruben Brulat

via basic_sounds

Thijs Verbeek: Alfabet In Huid

2010-02-23T21:20:00.008+08:00

Alfabet In Huid
Typeface In Skin
Thijs Verbeek
2006-2008
Photography by Arjan Benning

(happy 8th anniversary, baby!)

Jack Balas: Tattoo Detour 2

2010-02-01T20:49:00.005+08:00

Tattoo Detour 2
Jack Balas
2008, Drawings

"Normally when traveling I've been content to walk around, explore and take photos while visiting art museums and galleries -- a mode that works fine in New York or Paris when you're there for a week or so. But finding myself in Honolulu for an extended stay the last couple of summers, I realized that Waikiki is a different animal altogether, relentless as it is with the shirtless men who are my muse, not only on the beach but in the restaurants, grocery stores, hotel lobbies, even on the bus. So I was tempted to go further than my normal mode and try to have a studio at the same time, namely a sketchpad and a handful of pens I was carrying around, creating a body of work out of a suitcase while living in a hotel room.

Drawing on the aforementioned beaches, and in the same restaurants and hotel lobbies, I was able to enjoy a completely different rhythm of work than I've ever known at home, at the same time surrounded by people who occasionally wandered over to look at what I was up to so long at my favorite Starbuck's table or on some bench in Kapiolani Park, or under a palm tree. And the setting of an extreme tourist spot such as Waikiki posed the enjoyable task of trying to reach beyond the predictable clichés of surfers, babes and palms. The resulting drawings are conflations of those very surfers, palms, tattoos, military guys, pigeons, lobby furniture, waves and restaurant tables, offering intersections between Hockney and Picabia, fact and fiction." - Jack Balas

Ray Caesar: Mondo Bizarro

2010-01-24T22:23:00.006+08:00

Mondo Bizarro
Ray Caesar
2003-2009, Digital Art

Julia Fullerton-Batten: In Between

2010-01-22T17:33:00.004+08:00

In Between
Julia Fullerton-Batten
2008-2009, Photography

Guido Mocafico: Serpens

2010-01-14T19:49:00.006+08:00

Serpens
Guido Mocafico
2002, Photography

via feature shoot

Reclarkgable: Couples

2010-01-09T22:32:00.008+08:00

Couples
Reclarkgable
2009, Photography

via basic_sounds

Trapped In A War II

2010-01-09T16:39:00.001+08:00

He pauses and limps, pauses and limps. His sight lands on a hill of ruins. Three feet beneath the rubble, his severed arm bleeds.

Trapped In A War

2009-08-18T03:32:00.005+08:00

The mallard paddles through the bloodied pond, she quacks for her ducklings.

Thank You, Yasmin

2009-07-27T00:13:00.003+08:00

Dear God,

Thank you for loaning us one of the most talented beings with the most beautiful heart. We owe You one.

Love,
Zed

Wish

2009-05-13T15:01:00.007+08:00

Dear Santa,

I want my little brother back. I miss him.

Love,

Rosie

Memories

2008-12-17T22:44:00.004+08:00

Dear Leonard,

Memories mature us. I wish we could start over like an unpainted canvas. I wish I could wake up one day, in your arms, and I would run my fingers on your soft lips, and I would ask for your name and compliment the familiarity of your eyes.

Love,
Virginia

Differences

2008-11-15T16:28:00.005+08:00

Dear Virginia,

I have to say I really like her. She's willing to meet my family and friends. She wants to do things I'm partial for. Virginia, she's so... enthusiastic. I'm opening up a new path, shall we?

Love,
Leonard

Optimism

2008-11-13T19:36:00.003+08:00

Dear Leonard,

I only see the things we did together, rather than the things we did not do. I guess I'm blind that way. I wish you were too.

Love,
Virginia

Walk The Dog

2008-10-31T16:52:00.007+08:00

He enjoys it immensely, walking the dog. Every morning he walks a purebred saluki on a leather leash he bought in Prague years ago with a just-in-case afterthought that he would eventually pet one. In fact, anything on a leash gives him a sense of control, be it Jinkies or some guy he met online. He walks him everywhere, to the park, the gym, some cafe, Ikea, you name it. But he earned Jinkies like an expert dognapper, and that afterthought in Prague proved useful when he snuck into a yard and unwound a nylon leash off a tree. They fled together with a mutual notion that he was rescuing Jinkies from neglect while Jinkies had wished to be swept away by a devoted master.

Everything But Us

2008-10-23T14:35:00.007+08:00

He said he won't put up a picture of us amongst his visuals of goals, soon-to-be-framed things-to-achieve-in-life because he wouldn't want to limit himself. And I cried a little inside.

Henri Rousseau: Rendezvous In The Forest

2008-06-08T21:51:00.004+08:00

Henri Rousseau
Rendezvous In The Forest, 1889, Oil on canvas

Henri Rousseau: A Carnival Evening

2008-06-02T00:45:00.010+08:00

Henri Rousseau
A Carnival Evening, 1886, Oil on canvas

One Man's Favourite Day

2008-05-02T11:13:00.012+08:00

Last night I had a wonderful time reading the sweet memories and stories by commenters from Open Thread Thursday, a famous weekly entry on Joe.My.God. But there was this one particular comment that really touched my heart, it tells of a real life story of a courageous man and his friends who single-handedly changed the lives of a brave mother and her foster son who was born with AIDS, and paved the way for other foster kids with HIV/AIDS.

My favorite day, like most favorite things in my life, was bittersweet. And not just your Lifetime Movie bittersweet, I’m talking intensely bitter and immensely sweet.

I was walking along Hudson Street. It was a beautiful spring morning in 1994. The sun was shining and there was a snowstorm of petals from pear trees blowing in the breeze off the river.

I glanced down to pick up a paper, the usual tabloid buffet of the Post, Daily News and Newsday. Both Newsday and the Daily News had the same headline: "City Without Pity" with a picture of a frightened seven-year-old boy with AIDS "Giuliani Attempts to Evict Child with AIDS".

I was immediately incensed, even before reading the story. It was those big brown eyes filled with the worry of an adult that caught me. My God, no child should ever have to feel like that. The story described how this little boy, born with AIDS had been bounced from one hospital to the next because in those days no one would take in babies with AIDS. This little boy was even rejected from Hale House when he was an infant.

Anyway, a city hospital worker came across this little boy while he passed through Coney Island General. He, and the toddler next to him touched her heart. So, this tough as nails Brooklyn mom, who already had raised her own children, decided to take them both home into foster care. Quietly, without fan fare, she made a home for these two little boys; who had not a soul in the world to love them. To hear her tell it, God called the younger boy home. Now it was just she and Stevie.

Stevie’s health deteriorated rapidly. There was no real treatment in the early 1990s for pediatric AIDS. But Stevie and his new Mom fought on. As Stevie got ill, he needed a hospital bed, and a small air conditioner. They lived in a city owned high-rise in Coney Island. She couldn’t leave Stevie to go do the wash, and she couldn’t afford to send it out, so she hooked up a used portable washing machine. The kind you hook up to the kitchen sink.

When a city inspector saw the air conditioner, the electric bed and the small washing machine, he wrote her a ticket. She proceeded to fight the ticket. But instead of going to a local court to fight a ticket, the City sent Sheriffs to her door with an eviction notice. Giuliani’s "Quality of Life" campaign was in full force, so anyone who violated any code was fair game even for a dying child in a hospital bed.

So there you have it, this sick kid, stuck in a hospital bed in a city owned high-rise in Brooklyn believing that because of his illness the cops are coming to get the only mother he has ever known.

Right there on the front page I could see the weight of that child’s worry in his eyes. Damn that Giuliani. This is wrong. I’m not gonna let him do this.... Those and a thousand other thoughts flew through my brain.

I’m a plumber, and I have friends that are electricians and other plumbers, and we know appliance distributors... and my plot began to take shape.

Me, a plumber with AIDS, and another gay plumber and an electrician quickly volunteered to help. The owner of a local gay restaurant and most of the waiters quickly chipped in with cash. Before the afternoon we had a new washing machine, a new A/C unit, a huge floral bouquet for the Mom, a permit to upgrade the plumbing and electric, and a lawyer representing Stevie and his Mom pro-bono.

I called the reporter who wrote the story, and he called Stevie’s Mom. When we spoke, I told her of our plans and that we could be out there that same day. The lawyer would meet with her in the evening. Within one day, we had new appliances, work permits and the biggest, smelliest law firm in NYC going after the Housing Authority and Giuliani.

I drove out there with a washer and dryer, and air conditioner on the back of my bumpy old Ford pick up, which danced over the Belt Parkway like water on a hot skillet. But it was like Christmas to me. I couldn’t wait to get there.

And when I got there, there were a bunch of Housing Cops at the front door. I thought I was in trouble, but they swarmed over the back of the truck ready to help me unload. They read the Daily News too.

I will never forget walking into that apartment. Stevie was in his hospital bed. An exhausted, frightened little kid lying there in a field of Lion King sheets. A Hickman Catheter exited up and over the collar of his Lion King pajamas. A polite, but strained smile was his best effort at an introduction. But his eyes recognized that I was there to help. His Mom burst into tears when we barged in with appliances and tools and set to work. She cried, "I prayed and prayed for an angel. You are my angel!" And without thinking I just said, "No, I think he’s my angel."

You see, when I glanced down at that newspaper, I was just a gay plumber with 30-T Cells and my own Hickman. I was just as scared as Stevie over what the future held. I felt helpless and weak. And in an instant that little boy’s picture changed everything. It was my George Bailey moment. I called in every chip I had, and all my friends and business associates stepped up to the plate. And we went in there and got ready to slay the dragon. And we did. We won in court, Giuliani backed down. And policy changed for other kids with AIDS in foster care. And we found a little bit of joy in the midst of the chaos. And I learned I was more than the sum of my T-Cells. I could sit on my ass and wait to die, or I could stand up and fight. Somehow it was easier to fight for a little kid than it was for myself. He was my angel.

That is a day worth repeating.

Crixi Van Cheek, NYC.

Crixi, thank you for such an inspiring story and we certainly need more people like you and your friends in this world.

Nick Brandt's Animal Kingdom

2008-04-11T19:26:00.018+08:00

Nick Brandt is among my favourite photographers and his outstanding work, On This Earth, is a collection of uniquely personal and intimate wildlife photography. Brandt's distinctive execution in portraying the creatures of Eastern Africa is one that is rarely seen as the animals appear to exude personality of human qualities, a refreshing approach in capturing the beauty of wildlife.

"Nick's exquisite photographs arouse deep emotions. They inspire a sense of awe at the beauty of creation and the sacredness of life. It's almost impossible to look through his work without sensing the personalities of the beings whom he has photographed." - Jane Goodall

Elephant Drinking, Amboseli 2007

Elephant With Exploding Dust, Amboseli 2004

Portrait of Kudu, Laikipia 2003

Portrait of Lioness Against Rock, Serengeti 2007

Lion Before Storm II, Maasai Mara 2006

Portrait of Two Zebras Turning Heads, Ngorongoro Crater 2005

Buffalo Group Portrait, Amboseli 2006

Giraffes Under Swirling Clouds, Amboseli 2007

Matahari

2008-04-01T22:46:00.005+08:00

She walked for miles along the beach. She shut her ears so not a sound was heard, not a hint of waves nor the hum of the eastern wind. Her surroundings were purely visual - the minute detail of each grain of sand, the foaming waves slapping against the shore and the amber sun surfacing from the gleaming sea.

She waved to the morning sun and he replied with a bright beam shot onto a single grain of sand. She picked it up and it was carved into the shape of an eye.

She said to him, “I’m going blind soon, then you’ll be nothing but heat.” He whispered to her the soothing hymn of the Prominence and tears ran down her face.

“But what is sight without light? My eyes are failing me and the dark is calling, and I will miss you greatly. Show me the Light so I would see everything.” And thus, two beams of white light pierced into her eyes. Instantly, she saw the surface of the sun and the towering pillars of flame, a blizzard of fire and the erratic dance of the coronas. She walked the burning ground and swam the blazing sea, but she collapsed on the beach for he had devoured her sight and left her in the dark.

End.

Image of human eye by Che of Czech Wikipedia.

A Thousand Blink

2008-03-29T21:26:00.010+08:00

A poet once wandered the galaxies in search of beauty. One evening after sunset when the stars sparkled to greet him, he jumped, reaching his hand to the sky. It was the last moment his feet were ever to touch the earth.

Appearing in the night like a shooting star, he delved into galaxies, traversed the nebulae and caressed the stars. But, the beauty he sought faded upon reach as though he was chasing his own shadow: always near but forever distant.

Each time he blinked an eye, a year was taken away and slowly, he withered into old age. A thousand times he blinked, he was reduced to nothing but a palmful of stardust. He scattered the dark sky with constellations of inspiring beauty, heralding the flight of poets for thousands of years.

End.

Image of Orion Nebula by Hubble Space Telescope.

Zillah & The Winds

2008-02-28T23:59:00.008+08:00

There was a time when Zillah would relentlessly whisper to the winds.

She would reveal to the Eastern Wind of her dire loneliness and of the gossiping nature of a rag doll and a cotton rabbit who scuff her feelings like a pair of diligent sailors scraping barnacles from the undersides of a ship.

She would confess to the Western Wind her desires and her longings that seemed inevitably lost in a maze of confounded fate.

She would confer to the Southern Wind the cruel taunts of a porcelain horse on her past mistakes and the apparent retribution that would thrust her heart into a state of absolute agony.

But, she would always and incessantly whisper to the Northern Wind the sweet lullabies and the romantic rhymes of a boy who would eventually liberate her from the desolate circle of unkind spirits.

End.

Art by Edward Gorey from "The Gashlycrumb Tinies", 1963.

Current Read: Márquez

2008-02-13T20:38:00.013+08:00

I'm only one-third through the book but already mesmerized by Márquez's storytelling prowess, the growth and the tribulations of the characters and the casually omnipresent plot changes sprinkled throughout the story. Here's a sample of his brilliance, a text excerpt I would like to share with everyone.

One Hundred Years of Solitude

by Gabriel García Márquez

As soon as he closed the bedroom door the sound of a pistol shot echoed through the house. A trickle of blood came out under the door, crossed the living room, went out into the street, continued on in a straight line across the uneven terraces, went down steps and climbed over curbs, passed along the Street of the Turks, turned a corner to the right and another to the left, made a right angle at the Buendía house, went in under the closed door, crossed through the parlor, hugging the walls so as not to stain the rugs, went on to the other living room, made a wide curve to avoid the dining room table, went along the porch with the begonias, and passed without being seen under Amaranta's chair as she gave an arithmetic lesson to Aureliano José, and went through the pantry and came out in the kitchen, where Úrsula was getting ready to crack thirty-six eggs to make bread.

"Holy Mother of God!" Úrsula shouted.