View allAll Photos Tagged LifeMagazine
Over a thousand Chicagoans from all over the city gathered at Millennium Park to perform David Lang's "Crown Out" in front of the Cloud Scape - commonly known as The Bean - and the surrounding plazas. With script in hand, the participants alternated between speech, song and shouts to express their anxiety, frustration and sense of isolation in today's society.
I just stumbled into this event and it took me a while to figure out what was going on. In the beginning it was quite chaotic,seemingly without synchronization, but then the leaders within each group took charge of all the individual groups and it became a quite beautiful and moving experience.
Because I get around in a motorized wheelchair, I was unable to move through the entire crowd, so I was only able to photograph the two groups right in front of the Bean.
Side view of Telstar satellite (A20070113000) silhouetted against a black background; this Telstar is a backup spacecraft to Telstar 1 and 2 (launched respectively in 1962 and 1963). Photographed August 20, 2013, at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum Garber Facility, Suitland, Maryland.
all images/posts are for educational purposes and are under copyright of creators and owners. Commercial Use Prohibited.
Over a thousand Chicagoans from all over the city, gathered at Millennium Park to perform "Crowd Out" by David Lang.
Turkish tobacco brands such as Rameses, Fatima, Murad and Mecca were popular during the early twentieth century. Most were owned by American companies. Turkish tobacco was prized for its aroma and milder flavor.
During the Golden Age of American Illustration in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, artists like Charles Dana Gibson could become wealthy celebrities. They could become rich and famous by creating drawings and paintings for newspapers, books, magazines, and commercial advertising.
Gibson was educated at the Art Students League of New York and wanted to create paintings for publication, but the marketplace definitely favored his pen-and-ink drawings. That preference was so strong that his “Gibson Girl” became an ideal image of youthful American femininity, and Gibson’s drawings of her were responsible for the success of several magazines. At the height of his career, Gibson was paid $100,000 for 100 drawings over a four-year period (well over $1 million today), and he was later able to purchase “Life” magazine with a syndicate of successful illustrators.
[Source: www.outdoorpainter.com/plein-air-heritage-artist-charles-...]
all images/posts are for educational purposes and are under copyright of creators and owners. Commercial Use Prohibited.
A small group of people gathered on Federal Plaza, underneath the Alexander Calder sculpture, to protest the dictatorship in the African republic of Togo.
A small west African nation along the "Slave Coast," the country has been rules by a hereditary dictatorship for the past 50 years.
“The Pierce-Arrow Motor Car Company was an American motor vehicle manufacturer based in Buffalo, New York, which was active from 1901 to 1938. Although best known for its expensive luxury cars, Pierce-Arrow also manufactured commercial trucks, fire trucks, boats, camp trailers, motorcycles, and bicycles. . .
“In 1909, U.S. President William Howard Taft ordered two Pierce-Arrows (and two White Model M Tourers) to be used for state occasions, the first official cars of the White House.” – Wikipedia
The iconic photo behind the two cameras was shot by Bill Beall as he chanced upon Officer Maurice Cullinane gently coaxing two-year old Allen Weaver back to the Curb. The photo won a Pulitzer award. And how could it not? Entitled Busted, the photo is a classic street shot. Unsuspecting protagonists caught at the decisive moment by the photographer.
I decided to use Beall's photo as a background for my Mamiya-6 as the camera came out about the same time as when Beall took his photo. Around late 1950s. The Mamiya-6 (note the hyphen) is different from the more famous plastic-bodied Mamiya Six, which came out in the 1990s. The former is a classic folding camera, which has long been forgotten. The latter is still used around. Actually the Mamiya-6 series debuted in the 1940s. My Mamiya-6 is the last version.
It is curious why Mamiya decided to resurrect the model name fifty years later. Perhaps, a period of fifty years is too long for one to remember the classic folding camera. I'm glad I have one. In my fantasy, I dream of having two. Thanks to the magic of Photoshop. Besides, one cannot have too many cameras, right?
Instagram instagram.com/juznobsrvr/
Gallery www.justanobserver.com/
Blog www.juzno.com/
sDg
# #flickr #LifeMagazine #BillBeall #Pulitzer #AllenWeaver #Mamiya6 #IconsBehindTheLensSeries #FoldingCamera #MediumFormat #6x6 #StillLife #VintageCamera #tripod #LongExposure #PhotoAsBackground #tribute #IAMGenerationImage #vintage #analogue #camera #film
“The Winning Hand” is a reference to the U.S and its allies during World War I. The U.S. entered the war on April 6, 1917, nearly three years after it started. The war ended with an armistice on November 11, 1918.
“Otho Cushing (1870-1942) was an American artist, known primarily for his early 20th century illustrations and cartoons, for magazines and posters. His sometimes-homoerotic style, often featuring classical figures, was influenced by Frederic Leighton, J.C. Leyendecker and Aubrey Beardsley.” – Wikipedia
This series is made with an unabashed nod to John Seven whose work is a constant source of inspiration.
Tap the photo for a larger version (once, even twice).
A Suggested Graduation Present (and an Essay)
I just refer to the programs that can now “write” (or assemble) college term papers as “AI.” I understand there are some other numbers and letters involved, but, as a retired professor, it makes me ill to think about the issue. I saw too many “students” work hard not to work, strive to just get by, to cheat, to rob themselves. I write this essay in May of 2023, a month when much of the world was taken with the ceremonies concerning the royal family in London. The idea of the monarchy also makes me sick. I really like my Mac computer and some programs I can run on it. I really like London. However, I’m glad I wrote all my assigned essays as an undergraduate on a machine like the one you see above, a Royal portable typewriter, a “manual” typewriter. I recently photographed this page from LIFE magazine, an issue dated 5-17-54. I’m also glad I assigned university students writing by the Marquis de Sade making a solid case for getting rid of the king and then God.
As I worked on revisions of my essays in college, I cut my typed-and-marked-up pages with scissors and spread these sections out and moved them around on the bedspread that covered my unmade bed. It wasn’t “cut and paste” like many see it in Word; it was “cut and tape.” I used Liquid Paper on my typos for the final copy, or, that is, for the best version I could create by the due date. (I was being taught process; a “final” version began to seem impossible.)
One of my first essays for English class was a paper advocating total victory for the United States through military might in Vietnam. Only a few weeks before writing this paper I’d told my draft board I was a “conscientious objector,” knowing full well they wouldn’t take my word for this, and I’d only started a process I didn’t want to go through to try to prove that status, and without any kind of pastor or priest to go with me and assert that I was for real, that I was “authentic”; and I was only a few months away from voting for McGovern, the peace candidate, for President. I had to struggle to write a paper advocating total victory in Vietnam through military might; but my professor in my expository writing course made us all take a position contrary to our own on some topic of interest to us and write a paper supporting that position. He wasn’t interested in reading some virtue signaling; he didn’t want to plow through whining; he didn’t want to hear the same old piece of Groupthink, no matter which group it came from. He set up an assignment that forced us to see our position from the opposite side, not to write a paper mocking our opponents in real life, but trying to figure out what their best argument was, thinking that we might grow in the process. He called on me to read my paper to the class. (I experienced quite a leap from my senior year in high school to my freshman year in college. In high school, I felt censored. But in college I was expected to read, to think, to speak, to stand and deliver as an individual. I was praised for working—i.e., reading, thinking, and writing—not expected to repeat some politically correct, secular Nicene Creed.)
My favorite philosophy professor wouldn’t have given a damn about whatever I might have presented as my “identity.” He probably would have wondered what I was yapping about. He was concerned with what I might become. How thrilling for me! I, too, was interested in the same thing. He was clearly on my team. He once gave me (and, yes, I did write “gave me”) the lowest grade I’d ever received on an in-class essay. And, when the shock wore off, when I showed up at his office, uncrumpled the essay I’d stashed in the pocket of my overcoat and asked him, “How can I beat this?,” he laughed hard and told me he wanted to get my attention, and he then gave me three hours of his time on a Friday afternoon. It was, for me, a great conversation, and I walked out of his office with a list of authors I was to go read. And I wanted to take on that task. These dead authors were people I was willing to work to hear. It would never have occurred to me to be so arrogant as to dismiss any of the thinkers my professor had alluded to as somehow beneath contempt because of their gender or race or age or whether, in their private lives, they’d ever stepped over a red line drawn by tight-ass gossips.
I wasn’t reading and thinking and writing for grades. How sad that would have been. I was doing that work for my life. Nothing could have done that work for me. I had to do that myself. I had to make something out of myself. That meant reading, thinking, and writing. That possibility for growth, that responsibility to grow, had nothing to do with making claims for myself that I could then force others to memorize so that I might then force them to tiptoe around me. That possibility, that responsibility, had everything to do with my earning credits through work in the fields of language, literature, philosophy, history, politics, music, art, film, science, etc.
I’m white. I’m male. I’m heterosexual. I’m not “proud” of any of these facts. I’m not embarrassed by them. I’m not ashamed of them. I have no need to apologize to anyone concerning these three facts. But “proud”? No, I think one can only take pride in what one has achieved, and not one of these three conditions of life is an achievement. These three aspects of myself I received in my DNA packet. I did not, however, inherit one ounce of royal blood. But what does royalty mean, especially now in 2023? It’s too hard for me to think of the history of kings and queens without laughing to myself and pitying the many people who so desperately prostrated themselves before or desperately needed that mommy and daddy figure. What did King Charles do that placed him on the throne? Don’t give me silly talk about a “life of service.” I can point to nurses who’ve done more and don’t earn the wages they’re worth. How does one “achieve” royalty? A sperm and egg meet; that’s it. What would that prince among men, Thoreau, say, seated on his pumpkin, about a “king”? Given an anecdote left to us from ancient Greece, it’s not hard to imagine how chilling the response concerning royalty would be today coming from the mouth of Diogenes of Sinope to King Charles III as opposed to Alexander the Great. The three conditions mentioned above—being white, being male, being heterosexual--I merely inherited in my DNA. A college essay is something one works on to build the self. Just because one can purchase an escape from an assignment, an excuse for an essay, and maybe get away with turning it in for credit, doesn’t mean one has accomplished something worth doing. It was Nietzsche’s Zarathustra who said, “If you would go high, use your own legs.”
www.MadMenArt.com | The Vintage Ad Art Collection
American Society For The Prevention Cruelty To Animals ©
Amy and I happened on this statuesque couple while on a walkabout of Sarasota, Florida. :)
The 25-foot sculpture, titled Unconditional Surrender, is the work of artist Seward Johnson.
Maxfield Parrish was an influential and prolific American painter and illustrator, who was ranked among the most commercially successful and highest paid artists of the US during the 1920s. He is celebrated and famed for his iconic depictions of fantasy landscapes that featured exotic and beautiful women.