View allAll Photos Tagged Pulsating
I wondered about this being vibrant enough, so looked up the definition of vibrant. One definition was 'pulsating with vigor and energy'. Couldn't argue with that!
2017 marks the 39th annual Carnaval San Francisco parade and festival. The Mission District transforms into an enormous celebration pulsating with dancing, drumming, live music, brilliant costumes and delicious food. The annual event attracts more than 400,000 people who come to enjoy the revelry and soak up the pageant of color and culture.
On VIMEO (HD): vimeo.com/158219839
Experimental short. Shot, editing and sound recording with apps
Movie apps: LumaFX, Glitché, Pulp Movie Studio, iMovie
Music app: Voice express
A sleepy Sunday morning session with Cambion, an up-and-coming metal band from the South West of England. I'd shared a stage with them a few times in my own band and was eager to hook up with them for a shoot. To hear their music, go HERE.
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Formed in late 2009 Cambion are a metal/experimental band from the depths of the Shire. An Exeter based band who strive to push their musical talent and expand their ever increasing fan base.
What Cambion lack in age they make up for in pure rhythmical talent. Tracks such as "Jester" epitomize their sound - a car crash melody of heavy vocals juxtaposed beautifully against toe tapping chorus lines, which allows a broad range of interest.
With plenty of heavy riffs to keep a mosh put pulsating until the last note of an inevitable encore, the four piece as a whole (both within their music and image) ooze the addictive rawness of a band who are sure to explode into the big time. Having already played in Europe and had 2 Uk tours, the band plan to play even further afield in the future.
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STROBIST:
Elinchrom BX250Ri in 70cm Softlite silver beauty dish, boomed in front
Elinchrom BX500Ri in 66cm Portalite softboxes x2, rear left and right
CAMERA:
Nikon D700, f8, 1/125s, ISO200
Nikkor 50mm f1.8
Abraham "Bram" Stoker (8 November 1847 – 20 April 1912) was an Irish author, best known today for his 1897 Gothic novel, Dracula. During his lifetime, he was better known as the personal assistant of actor Henry Irving and business manager of the Lyceum Theatre in London, which Irving owned.
Arise! Awake! A mist descends upon the city streets. Sounds pulsate beneath our feet. The sky shudders as Macnas spirits are unleashed by Twilight.
Come out and celebrate with Danu, Goddess of the Divine and Dark: brutal and beautiful, warrior and mother, hallowed and holy, she protects and provokes, takes flight and goes underground.
Mummers and drummers follow and seek. Demons and angels love and loathe, the dead dance and the living transform. Men become gods, fools become Kings, souls are sanctified, reptiles are rarefied and the city streets transform as the journey unfolds.
Bram Stoker Festival are delighted to once again welcome Macnas to Dublin for a city-wide procession to launch the city into Samhain [Halloween].
Selena Gomez
Alcatraz - Milano
16 Settembre 2013
ph © Mairo Cinquetti
© All rights reserved. Do not use my photos without my written permission. If you would like to buy or use this photo PLEASE message me or email me at mairo.cinquetti@gmail.com
What do you do after striking gold with your first solo album, wrapping your third season starring in a hit series and earning raves for your movie debut? If you're Selena Gomez, you dance. At least, you get the world on its feet with "A Year Without Rain." A follow-up to "Kiss & Tell," Selena’s gold-certified Hollywood Records debut CD, "A Year Without Rain" shows Selena and her band, The Scene, in a whole new light, this one pulsating, multicolored and ready for the mirrored ball.
"I really wanted something that felt good to perform, but had a techno/dance vibe," Selena says. "I wanted something that had meaning and melody, and more empowering lyrics." That’s exactly what she delivers in "A Year Without Rain." Working with top producer/songwriters like Tim James & Antonina Armato, Kevin Rudolf, Toby Gad and Jonas Jeberg, Selena kept to a more quickened tempo, exploring themes of love, freedom and the joy of living for the moment.
Selena credits the album’s neo-techno leanings to her 2010 platinum-certified single, ‘Naturally," which pointed the way for her. That track "really helped me figure out where I want to be," she says. "There’s a feeling when I perform that song that I love, so when I was going back in the studio, I had a better understanding of where I wanted to be musically."
She gets right to it with the opening track, "Round & Round," an upbeat synth-driven song about reaching the limits of indecision in love. The plaintive "A Year Without Rain" may be more subdued, but its beauty impressed Selena enough to make it the title track. "When I got the song, I went through the roof," she recalls. "Everybody has that one person they can’t live without. It was exactly what I wanted to say." That goes double for the Spanish version of the song, Selena’s first recording in that language.
Having turned 18 this year, Selena has matured since making her professional debut at age 7, but girls still wanna have fun, which is what songs like "Spotlight" "Off the Chain" and "Summer’s Not Hot" are all about. "Rock God" features none other than Katy Perry on backing vocals, while "Intuition" boasts a duet between Selena and rapper Eric Bellinger in a tricked-out double-time salute to a positive attitude.
Selena slows things down on "Ghost of You," a ravishing ballad about a breakup so rough, no amount of "living crazy loud" can crush the memory. "It’s very beautiful, very raw," Selena says of the song. "Shelly Peiken co-wrote it. She knows me, knows about everything I go through, and knows how to express it in a beautiful way."
On the flip side, Selena comes back strong with "Sick of You," a Matt Squire-written and produced track about losing a loser ("You know fairy tales don’t come true/ Not when it comes to you"). The album ends with "Live Like There’s No Tomorrow," an epic power ballad expressing the creed by which Selena has built her life and career.
A Dallas native, Selena Gomez started acting at age seven when she landed a role in the popular television series "Barney & Friends," on which was a regular for two seasons. She landed her first film role in the 2003 sci-fi action adventure film "Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over." She made her mark as an actress playing girl wizard Alex Russo in the hit Disney Channel series "Wizards of Waverly Place," which premiered in 2007 and has now completed three seasons. Selena and her cast mates won a 2009 Emmy Award for Outstanding Children’s Program.
Selena then made an indelible impression with her starring role in 2010 comedy "Ramona and Beezus." Says Selena, "I wanted something completely different from my show. All these incredible actors, being able to learn from them and get my feet wet in the film world. It was the perfect way to get into it." Next up, a starring role in "Monte Carlo," in which she plays a teen on vacation in the romantic European principality. And of course, Selena is gearing up for the fourth season of "Wizards of Waverly Place."
Selena has branched out into fashion with the premiere of her new clothing line, Dream Out Loud, sold exclusively at K-Mart. But her instinct for charity remains strong. She is a proud UNICEF ambassador, and will appear for a third year at UNICEF's Trick or Treat bash, this time to kick off UNICEF's 60th anniversary. And with the new album comes a new tour with her band.
Having her own band has been a comfort for Selena as she hits the road with "A Year Without Rain." Scene members; Ethan Roberts (Guitar), Joey Clement (Bass), Greg Garman (Drums) and Dane Forrest (Keyboard) back her on tour and help shape her emerging sound. "On my TV show we have an ensemble cast that’s like a family," she says. "If anyone’s missing, you feel it. I wanted that family feel in my music, and we definitely have that with the Scene."
That family feeling had grown to include fans around the world, each of them all in when it comes to following Selena Gomez on her amazing artistic journey. Where’s she headed? She’ll let you know when she gets there. "I’m still figuring out who I am," she says. "I love expressing that through music, and through film. I feel at this moment in my life I couldn’t be happier."
Budapest is the capital city of Hungary. With a unique, youthful atmosphere, world-class classical music scene as well as a pulsating nightlife increasingly appreciated among European youth, and last but not least, an exceptional offer of natural thermal baths, Budapest is one of Europe's most delightful and enjoyable cities. Due to the exceedingly scenic setting, and its architecture it is nicknamed "Paris of the East". The local pronunciation can be approximated by "boo-dah-pesht". In 1987 Budapest was added to the UNESCO World Heritage List for the cultural and architectural significance of the Banks of the Danube, the Buda Castle Quarter and Andrássy Avenue.
- www.kevin-palmer.com - It's hard to even describe how amazing the aurora was on this night. I never even knew it could move so fast, it felt like I was in the arctic. You could see 'flashes' from the brightest part on the northern horizon. In about 1 second these flashes would shoot up to the zenith. It was like watching a flame. My pictures and time lapse only show a small part of what it actually looked like.
Jellyfish are mainly free-swimming marine animals with umbrella-shaped bells and trailing tentacles, although a few are not mobile, being anchored to the seabed by stalks. The bell can pulsate to provide propulsion and highly efficient locomotion.
Hit L for a darker view ...
"The point was in his being a gifted creature, and that of all his gifts the one that stood out preeminently, that carried with it a sense of real presence, was his ability to talk, his words-- the gift of expression, the bewildering, the illuminating, the most exalted and the most contemptible, the pulsating stream of light, or the deceitful flow from the heart of an impenetrable darkness. "J.C.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop.
n the decaying chapel of a cursed orphanage, two spectral girls stand at the center—silent, glowing, and eternally bound. Madeleine Bavent, once an abused nun drawn into darkness, and Jeanne Dibasson, a child condemned for witchcraft, are no longer victims. Now supernatural entities, they walk hand in hand beneath the watchful gaze of The Eye—the cursed relic that witnessed their torment.
Behind them, a cloaked figure hovers like a divine judge, its form shaped by the very memories the Eye reveals. The artifact itself floats midair, pulsating with cold blue light, forever open—forever remembering. Around them, the walls echo with silent screams. Abandoned children, fallen nuns, and broken clergy litter the shadows, frozen in time by the truth the Eye cannot unsee.
Their eyes—glowing mirrors of the Eye itself—burn not with vengeance, but revelation. They are the message. The sin. The justice. And when they stare into you, you see what they saw.
This image reimagines the final fate of Madeleine and Jeanne not as damned, but as eternal witnesses, haunting the ruins of faith with the truth that was buried—until The Eye opened.
Model of the Queen of Blood with her pulsating eggs by Dr. Mark C. Glassy
The 60s saw quite a few foreign sci-fi dubbed into english, with new english-speaking actor footage inserted. Queen of Blood (QoB) is a bolder and more expansive example of that sub-genre. While others stayed fairly true to their original stories, Curtis Harrington (writer and director) turned the original, Mechte Navstrechu, on its head. Much of the first half of QoB is made out of footage from the 1962 original. The second half of QoB is almost all new footage starring John Saxon, Basil Rathbone, Judi Meredith and Dennis Hopper. Harrington turned a sentimental soviet sci-fi romantic piece into a moody sci-fi horror story.
Synopsis
See the original plot synopsis here. Briefly, signals are received on earth from an alien spaceship on its way to earth. It crashes on Mars for unknown reasons. Earth sends one team of astronauts to mount a rescue. After that team encounters trouble en route and is low on fuel, a second ship is sent to help out. Turns out there were no survivors on the main alien ship. An escape pod is found on Phobos, with an alien woman still barely alive. They all regroup and take her aboard their ship for the trip to earth. On the way, she regains consciousness, but cannot speak. She does not eat, but has strangely hypnotic eyes. She feeds on Paul, drinking his blood. He is found dead the next day. Anders argues that she should not be killed, but studied on earth. She gets him the next night. Allan ties her up, but that next night, she uses her heat vision to burn the ropes. She is feeding on Allan, but Laura interrupts her. In a mild scuffle, Laura scratches the alien, who runs screaming. Allan revives and finds the alien dead. She bled to death (green blood). As they land on earth, Laura discovers dozens of pulsating eggs hidden around in the ship. Dr. Farraday wants them saved for study. Fade to black, The End
Laungton's Nightmare -- In the original soviet movie, the token westerner, Dr. Laungton, is derided for his worry that first contact with aliens might be dangerous. QoB plays out perfectly as the alternate ending as imagined by Laungton. Ironically, QoB reinforces the soviet writers' assertion that westerners are fearful pessimists. Harrington takes their romantically optimistic vision (MN) and turns it into a grim horror piece.
An ethical question raised during QoB, (a couple times) is whether the guilty party (the alien "queen") should be put to death for her "crimes" or preserved for science to study. Allan (John Saxon) espouses the cowboy justice point of view in wanting her killed for her first crime. Anders and later Dr. Farraday argue she is too valuable to science to kill. Anders even suggests that her survival is so important that he, Laura and Allan should give blood donations to the queen to keep her (a) from getting so hungry she kills them and (b) to keep her alive for study on earth. Science demanded it's "pound of flesh".
Foundations of Alien -- QoB is one of the movies cited as a precursor to the 80s blockbuster Alien. Great things seldom come totally out of the blue, but draw upon foundations set by others. It! Terror from Beyond Space ('58) featured the crew trapped in a ship with a killer alien theme. QoB repeats this, but with the feeding-upon-them twist. Of course, the other famous It was The Thing ('51) in which the alien used human blood to nourish its eggs. QoB draws on this too. Night of the Blood Beast ('58) featured an alien which implants embryonic "young" into the body of a living human host. QoB adds the eggs while it repeats the monster-onboard device.
While most of the first half of QoB reuses footage from Mechte Navstrechu, several model scenes (rockets, mostly) are used from Nebo Zovyot. Corman acquired the rights to both, so used them like a clip library. Viewers will note that the moon base "Lunar 7" is also reused from Corman/Harrington's prior re-edit movie Voyage to the Prehistoric Planet ('65).
Unlike most movies in the re-edit sub-genre, There is almost no dubbing. Only one TV announcer is kept and dubbed, as well as one small scene where a scientist talks via a videophone to an assistant. Other than that, all the original Russian actors are cut out Their roles are roughly filled with english-speaking stars. Distant shots of the Russians in their space suits are kept. The Americans are given roughly similar (though cheaper looking) spacesuits. The result was pretty well done, such that someone not familiar with the original would not notice any discontinuity.
QoB is actually a pretty well done mash-up of prior soviet sci-fi footage and new footage. While its story line is entirely new, it is well presented and develops a fair bit of atmosphere.
The film stars John Saxon, Basil Rathbone, Judi Meredith (The Night Walker), Dennis Hopper (Night Tide), Florence Marly, Robert Boon, Don Eitner and features a cameo appearance by horror personality Forrest J Ackerman.
While you wait to board your train, your surroundings appear tranquil and picturesque, but you sense that something otherworldly is amiss.
Folklore tells of mysterious rumblings and strange noises emanating from the depths of the 104-foot-tall Big Thunder Mountain. Iridescent stalagmites and stalactites pulsate with eerie light deep below ground. Native American tales claim that supernatural forces will unleash the power of thunder upon those who dare to remove gold from the mountain.
Undaunted, the Big Thunder Mountain Mining Company has begun to mine the site. Reports claim that mine trains sometimes mysteriously depart the station without an engineer at the throttle — driven by unseen forces.
The next train is departing now. Dare to test the legend?
After returning from the southwest last week, this scene looked a bit more familiar when flipping through my pictures this morning....
For some reason, this ride seemed much better at DLR. First of all, the theme and story fit better in California given the terrain and story, but the ride itself seemed more entertaining. With the WDW version currently down for rehab, it'll be interesting to see if it's any different during our next trip!
Disneyland | Frontierland | Big Thunder Mountain Railroad
This is a 5x7 felt-tip ink drawing on finely woven paper. It was an attempt to portray a common experience I had while taking LSD -- the feeling that all objects had interconnected centers of radiant energy which were harmoniously in tune with one another. Thus, in the center of the drawing a seated figure composed entirely of waves has become one with the pulsating energy emanating from the sun. From this drawing I generated a "heart wood mandala", where the sun's emanations have turned into concentric tree rings. I also discovered an entirely new image ("deep vibrations") hiding in one of the tiny ink blobs in the background of this drawing. Finally, I created a mosaic that tells the picture story of how this almost invisible detail was transformed into a new stand-alone image.
What does it mean to create a truly autonomous machine, independent from human control? And what happens when organs live outside of a body? Could this help us understand that the power of the human body lies in its ability to be different and to take on unexpected forms and identities?
Violently entangled within the performance space are three elements: an artificially intelligent prosthesis, out-of-body organic wombs and a human body. The prosthesis uses artificial intelligence algorithms to learn in real time how to move, exist and perform on stage. The wombs live and pulsate through the activity of microbial cultures. The sounds of the performer’s body are re-synthesised and transformed into a powerful and visceral auditory experience.
Credit: vog.photo
Cours Saleya market in Nice is at the heart of the Old Town and it’s always pulsating with life. Striped awnings cover its centre and shelter the products on offer in the daily market. Crowds of locals and tourists come here to do their shopping or sometimes just to look and snap photos of the colourful displays. The scents of fresh produce and flowers seem to put everyone in a good mood and the atmosphere is friendly.*
*https://www.thegoodlifefrance.com/cours-saleya-market-in-nice-france/
The Jelly Fish displays at the Monterey Bay Aquarium were mesmerizing. Watching the flowing movement of the jellies pulsating propulsion with the backlighting making them glow was a very moving experience. This is a close up of some of the jellies from the image below. This particular viewing tank was huge. A number of the jellies were a good 2 feet or more in diameter.
If you have time, view both in large for a better look at the colors of the jellies and their trailers.
Once one of the most significant religious centres of the Islamic world, the imperial city of Fes still remains the religious heart of Morocco. Today the medina's medieval quarters, known as Fes el-Bali, continue to pulsate with religious, cultural, and everyday activity. Modern and medieval ways of life flow simultaneously through the labyrinth of narrow alleys and small squares, yet the intensity of the light and mystique of the shadows evokes a sense of timelessness. Every jostled turn into a quiet derb or frenzied souq reveals a flood of divine light, as if paying homage to the city's religious heritage.
This photo, regrettably not of the best quality, looks north on La Cienega. The La Cienega Lanes bowling alley dated from the 1940s to the late 1970s, when it was transformed into Flippers Roller Disco, where you could skate to the pulsating beat of disco music (albeit the late disco era). It may be the only roller rink in skating history with a VIP area (basketball great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was seen here). Sometime in the middle 1980s it closed and was converted into retail space. After a few makeovers it is now a CVS branch.
On the left is one of West Hollywood's most venerated establishments: The Alta Cienega Motel, built in 1950, is alive and well today and entertains guests from all over in part because its Room 32 was the home, from 1968 to 1970, of the late Jim Morrison, frontman of The Doors and who perhaps as much as anyone personified the Sunset Strip rock and roll scene of the late 1960s. The building behind the Alta Cienega eventually became Leo's Flowers, and the space still houses a florist. Beyond, the Fountainview West condominium towers look the same, and the Chevron station at Holloway Dr endures.
La Cienega Boulevard traverses the airport area, scales the Baldwin Hills, continues through Mid-City, qualifies for the outer limits of Beverly Hills, and continues (usually through choking traffic) into West Hollywood. It ascends a final steep hill before ending at Sunset Blvd. (And once there you might get something to eat from Pink Dot.)
As for the billboard above the Lanes, well, I vouch for the product. I remember coming home from the beach to have my mother douse me with Solarcaine to ward off the effects from a day in the sun.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
In the storm-rent skies of a world fractured by ancient magics, the Ascendant hovers — cloaked in a shroud of flowing darkness, suspended above a scorched altar of stone and ruin. His heart burns with a crimson star — a forbidden sigil pulsating with energy older than creation. Arms outstretched, his silhouette is framed by a massive glowing runic circle, carved from radiant violet energy, inscribed with the lost language of the first convergence.
Bolts of arcane lightning spiral through the heavens, tearing the air in shrieks of violet and crimson. The earth cracks, embers rising like reversed snowfall, while the veil between realms bends inward. His voice is silence, but the cosmos listens. Reality folds at his will.
He is not mortal.
He is not god.
He is the threshold.
Inspired by and Reimagined
These two works from Albers’s series Homage to the Square exemplify his idea of art as a type of research. For each, Albers used the same basic format of nested squares, rendered in different media and sizes, to test various color combinations. He considered the series, which he returned to throughout his career, as a means to examine the logic of color and perception. Albers compiled his theories in the 1963 book Interaction of Color, a pedagogical text that quickly became—and remains today—an essential resource for art and design students. A teacher at the Bauhaus, the influential German design school eventually closed by the Nazis, Albers left Germany in 1933, when he was invited to teach at the experimental Black Mountain College in North Carolina. He subsequently taught at Yale, Harvard, and Pratt, among other schools. For American artists, designers, and architects, Albers served as an essential link to the pre—World War II avant-garde and the legacies of the Bauhaus. His experiments with materiality, opticality, and color reverberated in 1960s American art, from the pulsating surfaces of post-painterly abstraction to the perceptual experiments of conceptual art.
Done in Ai, Finalized in Photoshop
Inspired by and Reimagined
Bathed in the cold radiance of alien starlight, Nyxithara stands as the unchallenged Sovereign of the Void. Her emerald skin shimmers with an otherworldly sheen, framed by an intricate crown of blackened metal and amethyst crystal, its spiked curves reminiscent of a cosmic predator’s horns. Eyes of luminous violet pierce the darkness, glowing with the promise of power and the weight of aeons. Her armor—woven from midnight steel and veined with pulsating purple light—seems almost alive, its filigree shifting like constellations across her form. Behind her, the shadows ripple with energy, and the faint hum of arcane machinery whispers of civilizations long lost. She is both empress and executioner, beauty and terror incarnate, a vision of elegance forged in the depths between worlds.
"The life force that pulsates in the trees, plants and animals is the same life force that pulsates within us."--Sri Mata Amritanandamayi
“We do not change by trying to be what we are not, but by being fully what we are. This is the secret… Today flowers into tomorrow when it is fully today, not when it pretends to be already tomorrow in inpatient anticipation and undue haste. Thus change takes place precisely by not worrying about it, by not trying forcibly to bring it about, by not imposing it, by not seeking it. Let me be fully what I am today, and I shall wake up to a new world tomorrow… A caterpillar becomes a butterfly by being a good, honest, healthy, reliable caterpillar; that is, by being fully and genuinely what it is now, not by trying to be what it is not. The better the caterpillar, the better the butterfly. The stronger the present, the brighter the future. The way for me to learn to fly one day is to walk firmly with my feet on the ground today…Only be being fully what I am today can I get ready to be fully tomorrow what I can be tomorrow. My present stage fully lived is the best preparation for the next one. That is the wisdom of the caterpillar, and why it moves around contentedly at its leisurely pace. It trusts nature and it befriends time. It enjoys life crawling among leaves and branches, as one day it will enjoy life flying from flower to flower in the open sky. That is nature’s kingdom.”
—Father Carlos Valles a Spanish Jesuit born in 1925 who has worked in India for nearly 40 years, quoted in “Of Earth and Sky”, compiled by Thomas Becknell
--- Anonymous Blogger wrote:
Hello,
I produce Living with Legends: Hotel Chelsea Blog
legends.typepad.com/living_with_legends_the_h/2006/01/alf.... I noticed that you added
a picture taken in the hotel to your flickr group.
Would you be willing to contribute an interview to
be posted on the blog? Below are the questions.
Thanks.
What do you do?
I am a jazzmusician/artist from Frankfurt/Germany.Now I live also in Seoul since 2001.
When and how long did you stay at the Chelsea?
First time in 1975.I had arrived late at night from Germany & could not reach my friends in NY.
So I asked a taxi-driver to get me into a fitting hotel.He drove me directly to the Chelsea - he
seemed to be an artist himself.Stepping into the lobby I wondered about all that art-pieces by
famous people hanging like on a fleamarket & a kind of dusty all over the lobby.I did know
nothing about the Chelsea.Also many years after I had stayed there not.For me it just was a hotel in New York which was strange to me anyhow at those times...
The second time I went there to celebrate my stay more consciously.I was attending the Beat Generation Conference at NYU in 1994.
What inspired you to stay at the Hotel Chelsea?
In 1994 I just wanted to be on the traces of the Beats somehow.
Do you think there is a creative energy in the
Chelsea?
Yes,I did some artistic works in my room.Liked the stairs too & a dolphin altar.
Did staying at the Hotel Chelsea affected your
creative development?
It was nice to have been there.
What other creative people at the Chelsea or elsewhere have influenced your development?
People in the elevator.
What’s the best/worst thing that has ever happened
to you at the Chelsea?
Been taken to an dark patina office with strange old frescos at the ceiling and a big safe in it...
Alfred Harth’s Journey Through the Chelsea and the New York Loft Scene: A Transatlantic Tale of Sound and Space
In the winter of 1975, Alfred 23 Harth arrived at New York’s JFK Airport amid a swirling snowstorm, stepping off a plane from Germany into a city ripe with creative upheaval. Yet, the metropolis greeted him not with fanfare but with confusion. Arriving too late at night to reach friends waiting in a Lower Manhattan loft, he found himself at the mercy of a cab driver’s intuition. This driver, unlike any taxi operator Harth had previously encountered, was himself an artist navigating the city’s mosaic of bohemia. Trusting his instinct, Harth was driven straight to the Chelsea Hotel—a landmark whose mythos he had yet to grasp.
The Chelsea’s lobby was a revelation, a chaotic shrine to art and counterculture. Paintings and Pop Art originals, crammed and careworn, hung like relics in a dusty flea market. It was a place that throbbed with possibility and decay, the intersection of time’s passing and raw creative force. The cheap room upstairs came with a whistling radiator, sealing Harth’s first night in Manhattan with a mix of discomfort and poetic promise. To him then, the Chelsea was merely an odd hotel in a strange city. Yet over the years, it would come to symbolize a nexus of rebellion, where artists, musicians, poets, and eccentrics collided, inhabiting a world outside the mainstream.
This accidental introduction was the prologue to Harth’s deeper immersion in the New York loft scene, a web of improvised soundspaces and artistic experiments that thrived between Houston Street and Tribeca. The mid- to late-1970s loft scene was a Manhattan phenomenon born from both necessity and desire: artists, often priced out of traditional venues, repurposed industrial spaces to create free musical laboratories. These lofts were electric with risk, their walls inscribed with the conversations of generations and genres in flux.
For Harth, a Frankfurt-based multi-instrumentalist and visual artist, New York’s loft scene offered both refuge and inspiration. His European credentials, forged in the avant-garde terrain of free jazz and multimedia experimentation—manifest in projects like E.M.T. and his art exhibitions—found a new echo in the city’s interdisciplinary ferment. He navigated this world alongside figures like clarinetist Perry Robinson, a longstanding friend from Hampel’s Galaxy Dream Band, and John Fischer, whose Environ loft became a hub for jazz improvisers and boundary-crossing performers.
The streets surrounding these venues were as much a part of the scene as the music itself—inviting and menacing in equal measure. Harth recalls hobbit-hat-wearing eccentrics roaming the avenues amidst the shadows of the Aquarian Age, an era pulsating with the promise of cultural transformation. The area was dangerous, yet magnetically alive, offering a theatrical backdrop for the sounds that spilled from loft windows late into the night.
Harth’s musical encounters here were not limited to underground spaces. He also visited iconic clubs like the Village Vanguard, soaking in traditions even as he helped bend them. At sessions with the Brubeck sons and singer Jay Clayton, the city’s vast musical tapestry unfolded, weaving connections that extended across the Atlantic. To many of those involved at the time, including Harth, “loft scene” was not yet a codified term but rather a lived practice—an ongoing experiment in collaboration, freedom, and artistic urgency.
This cross-pollination was not incidental. Harth’s time in New York, brief yet intense, was both a continuation and a transformation of his earlier work in Germany. The centrum freier cunst in Frankfurt/Main rehearsed and tested ideas of sound as social space, improvisation as dialogue, and performance as a hybrid art form. The lofts, with their openness and fringe energy, offered the perfect urban crucible for these ideas to expand and intersect with a global avant-garde.
In summer 1976, after returning to Germany to resume his teaching career, Harth revisited New York for a taste of these currents anew, reaffirming his bond to the city’s restless spirit. His reflections from this period reveal the oscillation between two worlds—one rooted in German free jazz traditions, the other emerging from the chaotic vibrancy of downtown Manhattan. Neither was ever wholly separate; together they composed a dual narrative of experimental music’s evolution.
Nearly two decades later, in 1994, Harth returned to the Chelsea with fuller understanding and purpose. Attending the Beat Generation Conference at NYU, he now saw the hotel through the prism of its rich history as a cultural crucible. The Chelsea was no longer just a place he had stumbled into but a symbol of a broader countercultural ethos that ran parallel to and intertwined with the music and art scenes he inhabited.
Alfred Harth’s journey—from the chilly snow outside JFK, through the chaotic art-scapes of the Chelsea, into the vibrant, precarious lofts of New York City—is a narrative of place and possibility. His story embodies the transatlantic dialogue between European and American free improvisation, between the lineages of jazz and the avant-garde, and between art forms breaking free from convention.
In the Chelsea’s faded murals and the lofts’ cracked walls, Harth found not only shelter but a nexus for creative transformation—a reminder that some of the most enduring artistic moments emerge where ruins and revolutions coexist.
Abraham "Bram" Stoker (8 November 1847 – 20 April 1912) was an Irish author, best known today for his 1897 Gothic novel, Dracula. During his lifetime, he was better known as the personal assistant of actor Henry Irving and business manager of the Lyceum Theatre in London, which Irving owned.
Arise! Awake! A mist descends upon the city streets. Sounds pulsate beneath our feet. The sky shudders as Macnas spirits are unleashed by Twilight.
Come out and celebrate with Danu, Goddess of the Divine and Dark: brutal and beautiful, warrior and mother, hallowed and holy, she protects and provokes, takes flight and goes underground.
Mummers and drummers follow and seek. Demons and angels love and loathe, the dead dance and the living transform. Men become gods, fools become Kings, souls are sanctified, reptiles are rarefied and the city streets transform as the journey unfolds.
Bram Stoker Festival are delighted to once again welcome Macnas to Dublin for a city-wide procession to launch the city into Samhain [Halloween].
A hard fought if not pulsating FA Cup 3rd qualifying round tie with Step 5 Sporting Khalsa recovering from conceding a first minute goal to equalise in injury time and force a deserved replay against Step 4 Spalding United
The triangular intersection of Sunset, Horn and Holloway Drive has long been one of the Strip's most pulsating, and for decades it has been particularly blessed with some landmark favorite venues.
To start with the background: The Classic Cat (8844) was, in the opinion of a lot of people who visited (I didn't), the most elegant and lavish of the Strip's topless joints. It had replaced the short-lived Jerry Lewis Club, which the entertainer opened, it was said, to counter former partner Dean Martin's popular place up the Strip. It later became Tower Records' video and classical outlet, and now the space is being reworked again.
The Kavkaz Russian restaurant, set slightly up the hill on Horn, had a long tenure but closed not long after this; eight years later the space was taken over by an enterprising young chef, Wolfgang Puck, and his original Spago became part of LA--and restaurant--history. Puck took his pioneering venue to Beverly Hills in 1997; one of the ubiquitous Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf cafes sits below the original old building, which awaits its next chapter. 8801 Sunset was originally a Dolores drive-in eatery and was later the site of an outlet for entrepreneur Earl "Mad Man" Muntz's 4-track stereo cassette system (you were living high if your car was fitted out with one of these set-ups).
The Tower Records building was constructed in 1971, and this store, perhaps the most famous in the chain, became the place to shop, hang out, or spot music legends rummaging through the aisles--from Nancy Sinatra to Ray Manzarek to Elton John. There were record-release events and signings. And the oversized album-cover displays arrayed around the building caught the eye from all directions. It closed in 2008 to almost unanimous disappointment. After being painted a garish blue (this seems to have become customary for high-profile vacant Strip buildings) it was converted to a boutique. A mammoth development with a fitness club on the lower level had been proposed, but the city of West Hollywood's planning commision, which usually approves everything that comes its way, denied the project a couple of times. Something will eventually replace the building, which despite a lot of effort (including that of some friends of mine), was denied historical-landmark status.
One of this intersection's must luminous businesses, Book Soup, was about a year away from its opening. In these days many of the Strip's oversized billboards promoted Las Vegas entertainment showrooms.
Standing in the shadows and on pause
In this muted space, the world outside seemed to pause.
The blanket provided a temporary respite from life's other demands.
As travellers arrived and departed, the quiet atmosphere pulsated.
Each departure left a unique fingerprint of silence behind.
The sanctuary continually welcomed newcomers seeking tranquillity. They arrived to seek solace from the chaos of queuing.
They were nestled safely between the wait and the personalised potential of their destinations.
Time seemed to stand still in this space.
It was as if everything was on hold, paused momentarily.
This brief interlude allowed them to catch themselves.
They could regroup before venturing into their next holding bay.
The systemic cycle of arrivals and departures preserved this sanctuary's unique atmosphere.
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www.jjfbbennett.com/2023/04/in-shadows-and-on-pause.html
JJFBbennett Art Directory
Positional Contemporary Art and Socio-Fictional Writings
It is about being creative and innovative with knowledge
A’DAM LOOKOUT.
A’DAM LOOKOUT is an observation deck with an unrivalled panoramic view of Amsterdam. You’ll see the city’s historical centre, its pulsating port, the unique Dutch polder landscape and you’ll spot the famous canals.
There is nothing like the mystery of infrared film, you can shoot it for years but what comes out of the tank once developed is always a surprise and FPP's IR B/W film is no different.
Visually to my eye I did not think there was much IR getting through the spotty cloud cover, yet once again I was fooled by the delicious ambiguity that is IR film. Even the unfiltered base test pulsates as the weird and wild that is infrared,
Film: Film Photography Project's BW Infrared Film, ISO 200 PLUS 10 stops!
filmphotographyproject.com/store/135-infrared-fpp-bw-infr...
f8 - 4 sec.
Tiffen 87 IR filter, this filter is totally black to the naked eye, it only transmits IR wave lengths.
Developing: Diafine 4 + 4, room temperature.
Camera: The recently dropped while carrying it to the shoot site, Olympus OM4t, Zuiko 50mm f1.8. I chose the OM because most of their lenses are 49mm thread and my 87 is a 49mm. It seemed to be fine after the drop it stones.
Image by: Leslie Lazenby
5 Sep 2016, Donnell Pond, Donnell Stadium, Findlay, OH
“Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.” ― Gilda Radner
Gidday Atomicas! The planet lurches back into it's usual orbit and I revert to my customary Atomic Palace slot. Today between 7pm SLT and 9.30-esque I will bring you pulsating punky pounders and pulchritudinous power poppers from such purveyors as: Undershakers, BRMC, Guided By Voices, The Bats, Harlem, Shilpa Ray, Buff Medways, Pulp, Be Bop Deluxe and Moar! Logical explanations optional. Prue X
Slurl = maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Toor/169/230/23
Cours Saleya market in Nice is at the heart of the Old Town and it’s always pulsating with life. Striped awnings cover its centre and shelter the products on offer in the daily market. Crowds of locals and tourists come here to do their shopping or sometimes just to look and snap photos of the colourful displays. The scents of fresh produce and flowers seem to put everyone in a good mood and the atmosphere is friendly.*
*https://www.thegoodlifefrance.com/cours-saleya-market-in-nice-france/
Abraham "Bram" Stoker (8 November 1847 – 20 April 1912) was an Irish author, best known today for his 1897 Gothic novel, Dracula. During his lifetime, he was better known as the personal assistant of actor Henry Irving and business manager of the Lyceum Theatre in London, which Irving owned.
Arise! Awake! A mist descends upon the city streets. Sounds pulsate beneath our feet. The sky shudders as Macnas spirits are unleashed by Twilight.
Come out and celebrate with Danu, Goddess of the Divine and Dark: brutal and beautiful, warrior and mother, hallowed and holy, she protects and provokes, takes flight and goes underground.
Mummers and drummers follow and seek. Demons and angels love and loathe, the dead dance and the living transform. Men become gods, fools become Kings, souls are sanctified, reptiles are rarefied and the city streets transform as the journey unfolds.
Bram Stoker Festival are delighted to once again welcome Macnas to Dublin for a city-wide procession to launch the city into Samhain [Halloween].
Marcel Duchamp (American, born France. 1887–1968)
Rotary Demisphere (Precision Optics)
Paris, 1925
Medium: Painted papier-mâché demisphere fitted on velvet-covered disk, copper collar with plexiglass dome, motor, pulley, and metal stand
Back in Paris after World War I, Duchamp experimented with machines that produced optical effects, work he had begun in New York. When this machine is set in motion, the circles appear to pulsate toward the viewer. The copper ring around the dome’s circumference is engraved with French words chosen for the way their sounds echo one another: Rrose Selavy et moi esquivons les ecchymoses des esquimaux aux mots exquis (Rrose Selavy and I dodge the Eskimos’s bruises with exquisite words).
A hard fought if not pulsating FA Cup 3rd qualifying round tie with Step 5 Sporting Khalsa recovering from conceding a first minute goal to equalise in injury time and force a deserved replay against Step 4 Spalding United
Cours Saleya market in Nice is at the heart of the Old Town and it’s always pulsating with life. Striped awnings cover its centre and shelter the products on offer in the daily market. Crowds of locals and tourists come here to do their shopping or sometimes just to look and snap photos of the colourful displays. The scents of fresh produce and flowers seem to put everyone in a good mood and the atmosphere is friendly.*
*https://www.thegoodlifefrance.com/cours-saleya-market-in-nice-france/
The Distant City.
Compelling vivid hallucinatoire phantasticum stimulation afar,
διεισδύει visions fantasies pariatur brain,
строительные леса thee meisce mosaics lights,
unwahrscheinlich spiraling flashing caltysning sphinx,
pulsating tehotná pinwheels of πένθος forms,
scrutinizing rozsudky smoked experiment illuminée unique,
créatif pictorial capillaries brillantemente infinitesimally points,
abreactive perceptiones 'tis but a savage star,
ζάλη sensations порождающий synesthesias insane,
dévalant elevator gratte-ciel producing 'haps thy last rites,
armonica mixtures crescente intensifying jinks,
fluorescent brossage the coming bewusteloos storm,
ophthalmologic sourire examinations ipnotizzato into next week,
phänomene data typical fungující genius smokes many joints!
Steve.D.Hammond.
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.
I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.
I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That's all for England!
A pulsating top of the table clash that saw a Northwich player sent off in the first half hour,Warrington take a 3 goal lead ,get pegged back to 3-2 and finally seal victory with a late 4th.
Very freindly club and chatted to some really nice fans
Let's dive into Yayoi Kusama's "Infinite Love" at SFMOMA. Prepare to be swept away by polka-dotted dreamscapes and endless mirrored reflections.
Immerse yourself: Lose yourself in Kusama's dazzling infinity mirror rooms, where dancing lights and vibrant hues become your universe. Let "Dreaming of Earth's Sphericity" captivate you with its shimmering polka-dotted spheres, and step into the expansive embrace of "LOVE IS CALLING."
Savor the details: Bask in the hypnotic symphony of colors and the mesmerizing interplay of light and mirrors. Let Kusama's signature polka dots, like joyous confetti, ignite your senses. Every reflection is a kaleidoscope of possibilities.
Feel the emotions: Surrender to the joyful oblivion of Kusama's immersive world. Feel the universe pulsating with love in "LOVE IS CALLING," and let your mind playfully wander in this psychedelic playground.
Don't miss: This dazzling exhibition is a must-see for contemporary art enthusiasts, dreamers, and anyone seeking a moment of wonder. Get lost in the infinite, and let Kusama's art ignite your own creative spark.
Remember, SFMOMA awaits with open arms (and infinity mirrors)!
n the heart of November, as winter's darkness begins to envelop the land, there is a place where the summer's glow never fades. In a closed, warm space, she gently turns up her headphones and steps into a musical labyrinth created by the latest tracks from Burning Man 2023. She closes her eyes and lets herself be carried away by the pulsating rhythms and fluid tones, reminiscent of the unforgettable festival in the Nevada desert.
Here, in the glow of a dim, soft lamp, she is away from the cold, dark world outside. Her feet move in time with the music, and she feels connected to the vast landscapes and colorful characters from Burning Man. It's an inner journey, a tribute to camaraderie, and the power of music to create warmth in the midst of winter's chill.
In this moment, her world is filled with light and sound, as if summer never left her. She dances as if no one is watching, letting the music transport her back to the moments shared with friends under the stars in the Nevada desert. It's the dance of darkness, a way to preserve the magic of summer in the heart of winter.
In winter's embrace, she dances alone,
With Burning Man's echoes in her headphones known.
Memories of summer, still vivid and clear,
In closed spaces, where the heart finds its frontier.
Her feet follow the rhythm, just like before,
In the embrace of music, summer's reborn once more.
See profile for Nick Owen Photography Wedding pictures, poetry, story books
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Wedding Ceremony of the Roses
A white rose
Hinting of full cream
A red
Venus dark and beyond full bloom
Stood guard of honour
Before our images
Above the hearth
You pluck the white
From its sheath above the fire
I pluck the red
We sit before each other, cross-legged on the floor
You, in heir-loom white, richly embroiderd wedding shift
I, in blood-red shirt, high collared
“I love you, and give my love to you eternally.”
The words resound off the walls of the womb-room
“I love you, and pledge myself to you eternally.”
The thorn of love
Now presses deep
Into our lover's palms
One unto the other
The pain is exquisite
A piercing of the soul space
An opening to Commitment and to Joy
Palm to palm we raise our hands in supplication
Blood to blood
Heart to heart
Drops of blood fall upon the white rose
Drops of blood fall on the red
So are we bound in beauty
And in sacrifice
Confirming all the words we said
Now and for always
We affirm our union
Nakedness to nakedness
Call upon all Gods and daimons
Be here, and this, our wedding, bless
Lovingly open out the petals
Full and rich and red and rare
Gently guide the tall white member
Home, to exctasy that's hidden there
Summoning the greatest powers
Some from above
Some from below
Creating such fire
Within this furnace
The embers will forever glow
Higher and deeper the energy flows
Pulsating love through every cell
From hairs on heads to nails on toes
Nick Owen copyright 2005
If you like mythology then read Joseph Campbell, that is if you have not already done so.
In his book, Myths to Live By, Joseph Campbell discusses three kinds of love, eros, agape and amor.
Elsewhere he describes eros as “the zeal of the organs for each other,” the biological urge for physical intimacy. In India, the god Kama, like Cupid in the West, is armed with arrows to afflict one with yearning for satisfaction of such attraction. Eros is compulsive unconscious, primitive and driven. Like the cork pressed down under water by Christian repression, it pops up with a great burst of energy.
Agape is not merely love for one’s friends and one’s neighbor as oneself, but a kind of affection which overcomes ordinary human divisions such as by nation, race and religion to embrace not only humanity at large but also one’s fiercest enemies. Here he cites Jesus who said, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”
These first two types of love are impersonal, but amor discriminates. Of the three, amor is perhaps closest to the love we associate with Valentine’s Day because it grows out of an intensely personal and unique relationship. It is love not just for any person but for a particular person, a “significant other.” Here we have the romantic ideal of love as developed by the troubadors. In my poem I am emphasising the bringing together of the power of eros into a committed marriage of conscious discrimination and choice.
Campbell notes that amor is Roma spelled backwards in order to contrast the earlier church-sanctioned marriages of the Middle Ages, impersonal unions arranged for political, property or family reasons, with the later ideal from Islam introduced by the troubadours, that love is a divine passion between two people who, smitten with an attraction between their souls, deliberately choose each other. The Christians of earlier times felt that marriage was a sin, because it distracted people from the love of God. The wonderful insight of the Indian tradition which says "See God in each other" was missed by them. It is even identified by some as the evil "Left Hand Path to God" which was such anathema that children werte prevented from learning to write left handedly.
Because such love reverses, violates, the social order, Campbell characterizes it as the triumph of libido over credo, the “impulse to life” over the beliefs which supported the social order.
While Campbell’s historical characterizations may be offensive, many scholars agree that the introduction of romantic love was a turning point in Western civilization. One could even argue that the emphasis on personal relationship ultimately led to the Protestant Reformation with its teaching of the “priesthood of all believers.”
And in fact, the Puritans came to call marriage “the little church within the Church.”
Thus amor is just as spiritual as agape. And others have taught that eros is also inherently a spiritual energy.
Whatever species of love may be named, it offers the opportunity to know and be known, from the kind of knowledge Adam had with Eve which enabled her to conceive, to the ineffable knowledge given to the mystics in their ecstasies with God, to the “knitting” of David and Jonathan’s souls, to the enduring companionship of wedded love.
My problem with the philosophy behind or inside Jay's poem is that this love is defined in terms of a reaction to and is still oppressed by and enhanced as a revolt against Christian dogma, rather than belonging to another and more embodied spiritual tradition
Ranked #1 of 4,580,00 for "attraction between people". Ranked #1 on Google for "Poems of romantic love and affection" of 118,000. Also ranked #1 for "poetry lover".Ranked #1 for"Friend I love you poem" out of 18 million. Ranked #1 of 300,000 for "types of love companionship, #1 for "religious marriage poems". romantic". Ranked #2 of 14,000.000 for "love your man poem". Ranked #1 for "not a romantic person poem" on Google! Ranked #2 on Google images for "A poem for my love, out of 14,000,000 images, yes, fourteen million images. Ranked #2 on Google.com of 3,800,000 for "Ceremony poetry". Ranked #3 on Google images of 3,300,000 for "roses and poetries". Ranked #8 of 87,000 for "poems and pictures by Google Rank #5 of 5,280,000 on Google for "work poem" It works then, on some level. Mostly satisfyingly it is ranked #17 of 4,370,000 for "love you poems" on Google images. Ranked #69 of 389,000 for "romantic love poems" on Google images. Rank #18 0f 6,520,000 for "Because of you poems". Ranked # 61 out of 189,000 poems with roses on Google. Google is really liking this work. Suddenly it appears under so many headings: #37 for "marriage poem" also "Ilove you poem" and "I love you too poem" #34 for "lovers sex poem" which describes it well enough.Ranked #1 for "jesus poetry and pictures", which is bizarre for a pagan ritual, of 389000. #1 on Google.com for "Joesph Campbell writes on wedding ceremony" #57 on Google for "Poems about humanity" #1 of 250,000 for "poem lovers"
#1 for "God's love poems".of about 5,980,000
Ranked #1 of 5 million for "Google photographs"
Ranked #1 of about 10,800,000 for "may i love you poem"
#1 of about 3,190,000 for "social work poems".
Ranked #3 of 17,500,000 for "love of family poems" by Google.
#1 for "love eternity white rose"
Flickr ranks it #3 of 38,000 for most relevant images of love. #10 of 11,6000.000 for "loving friend poem comments"
Ranked #1 of about 5,210,000 for "i love you poems for kids" oddly
Description: Powwows are large social gatherings of Native Americans who follow traditional dances started centuries ago by their ancestors, and which continually evolve to include contemporary aspects. These events of drum music, dancing, singing, artistry and food, are attended by Natives and non-Natives, all of whom join in the dancing and take advantage of the opportunity to see old friends and teach the traditional ways to a younger generation. During the National Powwow, the audience see dancers in full regalia compete in several dance categories, including Men and Women's Golden Age (ages 50 and older); Men's Fancy Dance, Grass and Traditional (Northern and Southern); Women's Jingle Dress, Fancy Shawl, and Traditional (Northern and Southern); Teens (13-17); Juniors (6-12) and Tiny Tots (ages 5 and younger). The drum groups are the heart of all powwows and provide the pulsating and thunderous beats that accompany a dancer's every movement. The powwow is led by three "host drums" that showcase three distinct styles of singing (Northern, Southern and contemporary) and represent the best examples of each style. The drum contest highlights groups of 10 to 12 members each, and they sing traditional family songs that are passed down orally from one generation to the next. The National Museum of the American Indian sponsored the National Powwow in 2002, 2005, and 2007 as a way of presenting to the public the diversity and social traditions of contemporary Native cultures.
Creator/Photographer: Katherine Fogden
Medium: Digital photograph
Culture: American Indian
Geography: USA
Date: 2005
Repository: National Museum of the American Indian
Accession number: 081305KFPWe214