Night Gown
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Birmingham Museum, UK
Artist Colin Yates working with Saltley Academy Year 7 - Year 9.
The work incorporates traditional block printing techniques alongside the use of stencils and free from design.
Mytikas, Porto Germeno, Aigosthena coastal line, at the foot of the mountain Cithaeron, east side of Corinthian gulf, Attica, Greece.
When Alcyone became a bird (Kingfisher in English), I imagine she came with her beloved Ceyx and settled near this coastal path. It is the path of Alcyone. The history of Alcyone is well known. Alcyone and Ceyx were a couple, so beloved, that even the gods envied their happiness and beauty, which was unparalleled. But once Ceux humorously called Alcyone as Hera and then Alcyone called the Ceyx as Zeus. The father of the gods, Zeus, was angry, when he heard his own name and the name of his wife, goddess Hera, from the mouth of this enviable couple. So he watched Ceyx and the other day caused an accident on a boat trip.
The lovely Alcyone was waiting day after day for her husband. Goddess Hera felt profound sorrow for her and the tragic fate of Ceyx. She sent her messenger Iris, goddess of the rainbow, to look for Hypnos, the god of Sleep and comforter of the afflicted, to whom was assigned the mission of gently informing Alcyone about the death of her husband. Hypnos, in his turn, was very sorrow to inform and in his turn entrusted the mission to his son Morpheus, an expert in forming visions.
Morpheus created a life-like specter of Ceyx which revealed everything to Alcyone. “My love, I am dead. I always love you”. He explained the tragic circumstances concerning the shipwreck and his death. In profound grief, Alcyone ran to the seashore beating her breasts and tearing her garments. She suddenly beheld the body of a man that had been washed ashore. Coming closer, she realized it was the body of her beloved Ceyx. After performing the last rites and unable to continue living without her husband, Alcyone threw herself into the sea and got drowned, determined to join her husband in the land of the dead.
The gods on mountain Olympus were sad and profoundly affected by the tragic fate of Alcyone and Ceyx, as well as their wonderful love for one other which not even the frosty hands of death could extinguish. In order to atone for his rash action that was responsible for this tragedy, Zeus transformed the couple into the Halcyon birds (kingfisher).
The myth lives till today between the people of my country. The Greeks even today say the phrase "halcyon days". This phrase owes its origin to this beautiful myth of Alcyone and Ceyx. According to the legend and for the fact that fathers love so much their daughters, for two weeks every January, Aeolus, father of Alcyone, calms down the winds and the waves so that Alcyone, in the form of a kingfisher bird, can safely make her nest on the beach and lay her eggs. Hence, the term "halcyon days" comes to signify a period of great peace and calm!
The beautiful little blue-white church is St. Cyprianos.
In the background you can see the ends of Cithaeron mountain and in the distance Korobili mountain.
There is another photo with another view of this amazing path in my collection:
www.flickr.com/photos/keramitzis/29802792207/in/album-721...
The funeral garments and trousseaux of the pre-Columbian elites were decorated with plates and pendants made of these precious metals. Although these were ornaments with generally delicate and small elements, they were finely worked and showed detailed symbolic motifs.
Better Large-A re-cut of a previous picture that needed to be brought up to date. Driving through the US, I could stop and take pictures everyday, summer, winter, spring, and fall. Personally, I try to take pictures that represent a particular area. The northern Midwestern states bloom in the summer with the wheat fields! 0030
FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...
Every Season Has Its Own Glory (JHWatkins)
Every season has its own glory,
Every purpose has its own time,
Every moment has its own story,
Every story has its own line.
I have walked deep into cities,
Shining brightly never to fail,
Listened to heart cries,
Lost in the morning,
Standing on corners
Stagnant and stale.
Where is the hope
That brought forth the laughter?
Where is the song?
The music unveiled?
Why are the choices so
Wasted and bitter?
Gathered in hatred,
Broken and pale.
I have seen (new) stars on the mountains,
Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-
Free on the framework
Of perfect perspective,
Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.
Come now and sing of mists in the forest,
Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-
Come and behold the delicate balance
Of seasons and reasons and rhythms
And birth.
There are the voices lost in confusion,
Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-
Calloused and cold the circling conveyance,
Crippled emotion commotion prevails.
Beacons in quiet of last true performance,
Heralded nature in singular cause-
Perfect and pure
Though wasted and slandered.
Washed by confession
In smoldering awe.
Severed connections, squandered projections-
Revered reflections of stammering tongues-
Coined by controlling contriving convections,
In different directions now written in stone.
Now is the time to look to the heavens,
Now is the moment to take up the cause,
Now is the voice of blazing amazement,
Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.
Listen to stream, listen to forest,
Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-
Listen to voices rolling like thunder,
Come drink of the waters
And dance with the dawn.
Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,
Facing the force of the burgeoning call-
Strong in the seasons of life and creation,
Firm on foundations that never will fall.
James Watkins 09-01-08
Items on display outside the shop of a Berber artisan garment maker in Imilchil, Morocco.
The clothing is typically made from cotton (for the hot summer months) or wool for the cold winter months - Imilchil is over 2100m above sea level, so the winters can be relatively harsh - the mean temperature in January rarely gets above freezing.
Citadel Bam, Bam, Iran.
The origins of the citadel of Bam, Arg-e Bam, can be traced back to the Achaemenid period (6th to 4th centuries BC) and even beyond. The heyday of the citadel was from the 7th to 11th centuries, being at the crossroads of important trade routes and known for the production of silk and cotton garments. The citadel, which contains the governor’s quarters and the fortified residential area, forms the central focus of a vast cultural landscape, which is marked by a series of forts and citadels, now in ruins. The existence of life in the oasis was based on the underground irrigation canals, the qanāts, of which Bam has preserved some of the earliest evidence in Iran and which continue to function till the present time. Arg-e Bam is the most representative example of a fortified medieval town built in vernacular technique using mud layers (Chineh), sun-dried mud bricks (khesht), and vaulted and domed structures. Outside the core area of Arg-e Bam, there are other protected historic structures which include Qal’eh Dokhtar (Maiden’s fortress, ca. 7th century), Emamzadeh Zeyd Mausoleum (11-12th century), and Emamzadeh Asiri Mausoleum (12th century and historic qanāt systems and cultivations southeast of the Arg.
For video, please visit youtu.be/eRKujgUbB7Y