View allAll Photos Tagged Reasoning
Went digging through the archives, today...alongside the normal musings, "what happened to ____", "why didn't I try _____ again", I stumbled upon a bunch of faces I realize I could now photograph oh so much better.
Not regret, that's not the feeling, more like realizing I can now read a language that was alien to me, back then. "Oh, NOW I get how to photograph this person!"
This ties into something I'll be talking about in an upcoming Flickr blog article, the idea of being self-critical. It's not about going back and thinking all your old work is shit. I do it because I so often see something new in old photos. A new approach, a new appreciation for photos I didn't fully understand.
Same reasoning folks use for re-reading books. Seeing something new in the same sea of art. Discovering what you'd missed, what you weren't ready to experience, that first time.
And while there's a tinge of "hm...wish I'd photographed that person again", it's mostly an excitement for the future, for using these realizations moving forward.
...whenever the hell that is!
Title.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 4 / 7
(Photo of the day. Unreleased.)
Images:
Linda Sikhakhane … Closer to the Heart
youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 15 😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
The summer light of Manhattan afternoons flared against the glass facades of the high-rises, and each time the heat of the asphalt wavered through the alleys, the massive building of the FBI’s New York Field Office seemed to draw in the clamor of the city, holding a grave and immovable stillness, while within its walls a taut tension and vigilance seeped forth. Beyond the thick iron doors set into its corner, the countless eyes of surveillance cameras interlaced with the motions of guards, proclaiming an order unshaken by the heat waves or the murmur of the crowd outside.
Special Agent Veronica Reeves, carrying the weight of long years of experience yet with a gaze still honed to an unerring edge, sat at the long desk by the window, quietly deciphering the thick bundle of reports spread before her—accounts of what had unfolded thus far. The shafts of heat-laden sunlight pressed through the glass, warping the air, and against that trembling her thoughts held fast, focusing upon the minutiae, drawing out, in three dimensions, the possibilities of the case and the breadth of its consequences.
The figures and map symbols inscribed upon the documents she reassembled in her mind, as though enfolding the arteries of the overheated city itself—the courses of traffic, the currents of people, the compression of the skyline—ordering the incident’s first movements with a hand imbued with a quiet, frigid certainty. The sterile white light of the ceiling LEDs cast swaying shadows upon the papers, and even those faint tremors at the edges of her sight seemed to enter her calculus, like unknown variables absorbed into the mesh of her analysis.
Her fingertip traced a single point upon the map, and in that gesture she drew together the city’s flows, the density of its crowds, the thicket of its structures, conjuring within her mind a three-dimensional rendering of the ground. The clash of red and blue signals at intersections, the exhaust drifting at corners, the tempo of footsteps, the shadows of cars idling at the curb—all converged upon the figures and symbols of the page, lifting before her the living geometry of New York.
Fragments of reports crackled from radios and telephones, slipping into her net of thought and fixed into the coordinates of time and place. At what moment, in what place, had the current of the crowd shifted? Who might have slipped within which building? The jam of traffic, the swell of onlookers, the frameworks of the structures—these she aligned, reducing error to its smallest margin, until the hidden contours of the scene emerged.
Her eyes remained calm, but the faint tightening of the muscles around them betrayed the sense of danger running beneath. With her finger pressing upon a point on the map, she drew upon the memory of old cases, of the city’s blueprints, calculating risk along each imagined path. The city’s shape, the crowd’s density, the placing of exits—all she set upon a grid of logic, hypothesizing every possible turn the future might take.
Her gaze halted upon a photograph in the file, parsing the expressions of the crowd, the disposition of guards, the position of obstacles. Cold though her eyes remained, they missed no dissonance, no trace of the unnatural, intent upon catching every variable within the net of reason, undistracted by the fever of the summer city.
In the office, where the cool of the air conditioning crossed with the heat outside, her thoughts gathered speed—silent, assured, relentless. What would unfold next? Which routes were safe, which led into peril? Each decision, measured in the span of a heartbeat, bore upon the safety of the crowd, upon the life of the candidate. Her logic did not waver, its threads weaving together in her hand like cords unraveling the complexity of the city.
Before her stood not only the files, but also the glow of monitors, the static of radios. Each was but a source of fragments, meaningless until passed through the filter of her thought. To bind data to the streets, images to reality, was the task at hand, advancing cold and quiet even as the heat of summer pressed against the glass.
The sweltering air outside rattled the windows; the distant sirens and the rumble of the city did not shatter her focus, but rather deepened her mental simulation, lending depth to the field she constructed within. Figures on the page fused with the living breath of the streets, reason drawing them together into clarity, and she readied herself to strike upon the next move.
Each sweep of her fingertip across the map made the city’s avenues rise in relief within her mind: the density of buildings, the movement of passersby, the gaze of cameras, the stations of guards. All chained together, cold and inexorable, suggesting the next action. Veronica drew a long breath, and with her exhale, wove the scattered variables into a single fabric, fixing her gaze upon the heart of the incident. In that moment, the distant sirens, the horns, the shuffling of feet at a crosswalk—all dissolved into her reasoning, each sound settling into place like a piece of a puzzle within the flow of logic. The city shimmered in heat, light and shadow in feverish scatter, but her mind cut through the glare, quietly tracing the full outline of the unfolding event.
At last, Veronica lifted the receiver of the internal line, feeling the cold resin beneath her fingers, and summoned Deputy Special Agent Elliot.
“Put me through to Jack Vance, Secret Service.”
“Understood.”
The black Ford SUV cut through the summer heat, racing down the streets. At the wheel, Jack’s profile was set with strain, while in the backseat Ana leaned forward, arms stretched protectively over the children, shouting in desperation.
“Keep your eyes ahead, Jack!”
The children, jolted by the car’s violent tremors, cried out with voices that wavered between cheers and screams, unable to discern the line between fear and thrill. Beside them, Mika bit her lip, struck dumb, staring in mute shock.
Behind them, the pursuing car roared, bullets sparking off the asphalt and leaving the acrid tang of gunpowder in the air. Jack twisted the wheel, his Ford scraping sparks along a wall of concrete, gunfire rattling through the city’s very skin. Ignoring lights and crowds alike, he veered the SUV up onto the sidewalk, plunging forward as screams scattered into the air, driving on as if to outpace the terror that pursued them.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 4 / 7
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
Linda Sikhakhane … Closer to the Heart
youtu.be/BshCm2zi0KQ?si=DIk0HgPilkJLQ8xo
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第15弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
マンハッタンの夏の午後の光が高層ビル群のガラスにぎらつき、アスファルトの熱気が路地を揺らすたびに、FBIニューヨーク支局の巨大な建物は都市の喧騒を吸い込み、どっしりと静けさを保ちながらも、その内部に張り詰めた警戒と緊張をにじませていた。その角に設えられた厚い鉄の扉の向こうでは、監視カメラの無数の視線と警備員の動きが絡み合い、外界の熱波や人々のざわめきにも揺るがぬ秩序を守っていることを告げていた。
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス特別捜査官は、豊富な経験を背負いながらもなお研ぎ澄まされた眼差しで、窓際の長机に広げられた、これまでに起こった報告がまとめられた資料の束を静かに読み解いていた。差し込んだ外光の熱の束が窓ガラスを透かし、空気を歪ませ、彼女の思考はそれに抗うように細部まで集中され、事件の可能性や影響範囲を論理の中に立体的に描き出していった。
書類に記された数字や地図の記号を、熱せられた街の動線や人々の流れ、ビルの密集度までを含めるかのように頭の中で再構築し、事件の初動を論理的に整理していく手つきには、冷たくも静かな確信が宿っていた。
天井のLEDの白い光が、紙面に落ちる影を揺らし、視界の隅で振れるその影さえも、未知の変数として分析に取り込まれているかのようであった。
ヴェロニカは指先で地図上の一点をなぞり、都市の動線、人の密度、建築の密集度を瞬時に組み合わせ、頭の中で現場の立体的な状況を描き出していた。信号の赤や青が交錯する交差点、街角に漂う排気ガスの匂い、通行人の歩行速度、路上に停められた車の影――それらすべてが、紙面の数字や地図上の印と結びつき、ニューヨークという巨大な都市の立体的な動線を彼女の思考に浮かび上がらせた。
無線や電話からの断片的な報告も、彼女の分析の網に吸い込まれ、時間と空間に配置される。どの瞬間に、どの場所で、人々の流れが変化したか。誰がどの建物に潜入した可能性があるか。交通の混雑状況と、観衆の動き、建築物の構造を組み合わせ、最小の推測誤差で現場の全貌を描く。
彼女の瞳は冷静そのもので、しかし微細な筋肉の緊張が、その奥に潜む危機意識を示していた。手元の地図の一点を指でなぞり、過去の事件や都市計画のデータを呼び出しながら、シナリオごとにリスクを計算する。都市の構造、観衆の密度、出口の配置――あらゆる要素を論理のグリッドに沿って並べ、想像されるすべての事態を仮定する。
ヴェロニカは資料の中の写真に目を留め、観衆の表情や警備員の配置、障害物の位置を詳細に分析した。その視線は冷徹でありながらも、微細な違和感や不自然さを見逃さず、都市の熱気に流されることなく、論理の網の中に全ての変数を捕らえようとしていた。
冷房の空気と夏の熱気が交錯するオフィス内で、彼女の思考は静かに、しかし確実に速度を上げていく。次に何が起こりうるか、どのルートが安全で、どのルートが危険か。瞬間ごとの判断が、観衆の安全と候補者の命を左右する。論理は揺るぎなく、都市の複雑さを紐解く糸のように彼女の手の中で絡まり合った。
彼女の前には資料だけでなく、コンピュータの画面や無線のディスプレイも並ぶ。それらは断片的な情報の源にすぎず、ヴェロニカの思考というフィルターを通すことで初めて意味を持つ。データと現実の光景を繋ぎ、事件の全体像を構築する作業は、夏の街の熱気の中でも冷たく静かに進行した。
外の熱気は窓ガラスを揺らし、街のざわめきや遠くで響くサイレンは、彼女の集中をかき乱すどころか、逆に現場の臨場感を補強し、頭の中のシミュレーションに奥行きを与えた。紙面の数字と街の実像が、冷たい理性の中で重なり合い、彼女は次の一手を論理的に導き出す準備を整えていった。
彼女の指先が地図をなぞるたび、都市の街路が脳内で立体的に浮かび上がり、建物の密度、通行人の流れ、監視カメラの視野、警備員の位置が、冷徹な論理の中で連鎖し、次の行動を示唆する。ヴェロニカは深く息を吸い、吐き出すと同時に、無言のうちに全ての変数を繋ぎ合わせ、事件の核心へと視線を固定した。その瞬間、遠くの街路から聞こえるサイレンの音や車のクラクション、交差点で立ち止まる人々の足音が、彼女の頭の中ではパズルのピースとなり、論理的な流れの中に溶け込んでいった。都市は暑さに揺れ、光と影が乱反射するが、ヴェロニカの思考は静かに、その熱気を透過して事件の全体像を描き出していった。
ヴェロニカは、静かに内線電話の受話器を手に取り、その冷たい樹脂の感触を指先で確かめながら、エリオット副特別捜査官を呼び出し、いった。
「シークレットサービスのジャックバンスにつないで」
「了解」
ーーーーーー
黒のSUVフォードは、夏の熱気を押し裂くように街路を駆け抜けた。ハンドルを握るジャックの横顔には焦燥が張りつき、後部座席に身を寄せたアナは、子供たちを庇うように腕を伸ばしながら、それでも必死に声を張り上げた。
「前を見て、ジャック！」
車体の振動に身を揺らしながら、子供たちは歓声とも悲鳴ともつかぬ声をあげ、恐怖と興奮の境を知らぬままに叫んでいる。その隣でミカは唇を噛み、言葉を失ったまま呆然としている。
背後では追撃の車が唸りを上げ、硝煙の匂いを残して弾丸がアスファルトを跳ねた。ハンドルを切ったジャックの車体がコンクリート壁面に火花が散らせた。都市の皮膚を削るようにして銃声が響く。ジャックのフォードは信号も人波も無視し、歩道へと飛び込み、群衆の悲鳴を振り払うように疾走した。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
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2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Have you ever wondered how Kylo plans the First Order strategies?
Imagine the logical reasoning of the wise general, the meticulous analysis of the brilliant tactician…then think about the very opposite!
In Kylo’s deranged mind there is no such thing as logic.
Every time he has to make a decision he throws one of his tantrums and then he orders his Stormtroopers to throw dices to choose between the various options.
Today we have the privilege to look behind the scenes of the First Order grand strategy planning, where farce reigns supreme.
May the Brick be with You :)
March 14 ( 73/365 )
you know how much I adore rust, and textury goodness.. i needed some last night.
You ever have a conversation and feel like you just can't get your point across, or its misunderstood or not taken in the context you would like . . hate that.
As i was processing this image I was thinking about that about being exposed,, and about having my layers peeled apart. . Maybe thats why I like rust so, i see the beauty in all the flaws and different aspects.. the image to me represents something a bit beaten and worn but still has some character. I guess thats what im shooting for..
And back it comes...
Seemingly having made a recent home for itself on the 7 route group, Trustybus Dennis Dart SLF/East Lancs Myllennium PE55WPP heads along Stansted Road in Stansted Mountfitchet working a Route 7C to Bishops Stortford Interchange.
Some any given reasoning the blind is showing 7E, given to a single AM journey that skips serving Henham in full, the only bus on the 7 group to do so 19/11/19
...it takes both me and you.
So, for whatever reason, last night my husband decided to Google me. I'm not sure if he was more excited that he actually found ME,( along with handful of other Karen Biggs') or that he found a pretty good amount of me. If you Google 'Karen Biggs Photographer' you find a lot of me. Hmmm. Images mostly. Almost all manipulations. heh.
One particularly interesting thing was that I'm actually on a site for 'Top 20 Graphic Manipulations' for some Graphic Design school. Heh. That's kinda cool.
ANYWAY, the reasoning behind me saying that, is I realize that it has been a very great while since I put any real thought into a photo. Not that this is all that awesome, but at least I'm getting the juices flowing in my head again. That's somethin, right?
and.......just like the old days...there are apple bits in my sink. ;-)
Happy Monday. =)
Have a GREAT day! xo
. . . Love is no hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!!!
This is a polite dedication, a mute gesture, in return to what she has always been giving and providing me with, with a hope for so much more to come... i entitle that person as special for the reasoning tht my hunt never ended till i met her.... she has a special place in my life, my family and friends.... i would never want her distant ever !! God bless her and her family.....
Well the universe is shaped exactly like the earth
If you go straight long enough you'll end up where you were
"The mind is the voyager of journeys, the center of questioning, the conjurer of fear, the seed of desire, the door of compassion, the creator of joy." - Larry Kirkland, Sculptor.
This is the CROET (Center for Research on Occupational and Environmental Toxicology) sculpture located on the campus of OHSU. Created out of marble by artist Larry Kirkland in 1993, it rests upon a plinth that depicts "images from throughout the ages and diverse cultures of the world".
Half Head, as it's often referred to, sits in a square surrounded by research buildings. The staff within these buildings work on very left brain ideas that stem from logic, critical thinking, numbers, and reasoning.....yet Vita Mensae is only a right brained. Is he meant to create balance, or maybe he represents the gathering of people and creative ideas in the square?
Here, his bald head has been dusted with snow and he is probably thinking, "Damn it's cold out. Can somebody grab me a hat?"
Image with my Hasselbald 500cm.
J'ai décidé de vous présenter quelques photos que je fais lors des fouilles que je dirige, ou auxquelles je participe, sur la thématique "archéologues au travail".
Ici Fabien et Christelle en pleine discussion. La base, dans toute recherche, c'est l'argumentation...
I decided to present some pics I took during the search I am directing or taking part of, on the theme "archeologues at work".
Here, Fabien and Christelle in full discussion. The basics of all research is reasoning...
An everyday scene at Sandaoling open cast coal mine sees JS locomotives loading up with coal in the distance next to the loader on the right (smoke plume) and the excavator on the left. Meanwhile, another JS makes its way out of the pit to the wash plant with another load of coal. There is one exception though. The train is travelling along the down line usually used by trains pushing empty hoppers to the loading bay. Due to a coal fire in the old eastern part of the pit, the train had to use the down line to exit the pit, whilst the up line on the right was being used by another JS hauled train to collect spoil to smother the fire (out of sight).
How long such scenes will continue is uncertain but it’s pretty much “last rites” for steam in China. We were told that management were meeting at the end of March to determine the fate of the steam engines. There is talk the trains will be replaced by a fleet of mining trucks to haul the coal. Personally, I can’t understand the reasoning for this. It seems to me it would be far more sensible to continue to use the railway until the mine reserves are near depletion in a couple of years time. But I would say that. We will soon know.
When birds of paradise were first brought back from Papua New Guinea to Europe they were prepared by the locals in such a way that they were just skin, beak and feathers. So western Zoologists thought that these birds had no legs, bones or entrails, and that they must just float about among the clouds (ie the heavens or paradise), and it was even thought that the female laid her eggs in a special cavity in the male's back. When Linnaeus described the first Greater Bird of Paradise in 1758 he called it Paradisaea apoda which translates as legless bird of paradise because his type specimen was without legs, flesh or skeleton. Just five years later in 1763 Erich Pontoppidan, the Norwegian Bishop, Author, Historian and Cryptozoologist described the Arctic Tern as paradisaea. I have not been able to find out why he named it after paradise but they are so short-legged they appear as almost legless and I wonder if this was his reasoning. Pontoppidan also argued for the existence of Sea Serpents, the Kraken and Mermaids in his 2 volume Natural History of Norway in 1752 and 1753 so he might well have believed these birds had no legs like the birds of paradise. If anyone fancies deciphering Pontoppidan's original eighteenth century Norwegian manuscript it is here: gdz.sub.uni-goettingen.de/id/PPN391287532 . But Pontoppidan's description was considered to be indeterminate, so Morten Brünnich published a description ( in Ornithologia Borealis 1764 p46). However, Arctic Tern was not generally recognised as being distinct from Common Tern until 1819 (by Johann Naumann, who called it Sterna macrura which means large tailed tern, because its tail is longer than Common Tern), but this was 56 years after Pontoppidan's original description. The name macrura persisted from 1819 until the middle of the twentieth century when it was decided that Brünnich's description amending Pontoppidan's original was the earliest valid description and name.
I photographed this Arctic Tern in Northumberland as it flew past carrying a surprisingly large fish. They usually feed on Sandeels but this looks like a young Herring. But happy to be corrected if anyone out there is a fish expert.
My daughter, Cody, experienced her first family Christmas light expedition last night...Well, technically it was her second; but it was her first at an age where she can actually appreciate, if not the reasoning for the lights, at least the beauty of vivid colours against the stark contrast of night.
Built for the WINTER GOURD PARTY
THEME: JET
Technology vs nature, this is the future of hog hunting. A battle between the tools of man and the abilities of animals, is quite the epic duel to behold. As such I have picked the song Duel in the mist from Genshin impact to be this builds theme song. The mysterious melody and high energy convey the hunt and struggle for survival. You are whisked away into this story. Will The Jet Powered Robot catch The Hog, or will the hog escape using it’s attuned reflexes? It truly is an uncertain duel, almost as if it is shrouded in mist…
Quests:
A New New Low - Include a weeb (touhou preferred) theme song for your build (must provide reasoning in min. 100-word short answer).
Dual Degree - Build must consist of 2 or more fully-realized characters (no mini-scale figures).
Sabotages:
Full Disclosure - Back of moc cannot be left unfinished (Back shot required, no editing out stands)
The Ol’ Switcheroo- Switch 2 parts of your build and keep them that way (Switch arms and legs).
Meet The New Guy- Forced to use a part (Piraka Stars Spine).
Whoops!- Stress test video required.
Captain Obvious: "The new Ford GT is LOW!"
—Ford GT
I might change the aero buttresses using the configuration found on my GTE version, as I believe the lines flowing over the roof to the rear area is better realized, with a greater sense of ability which the real GT conveys so well at a stand-still.
My reasoning is that I started this model by using my original street version as a jumping-off point, then I adapted the racing variant out of the result. There's always stuff that gets changed or reverted during that process; also, other bits look better when complimented by nearby areas of the car (such as the shorter buttresses looking good after I added the wing to the GTE). I guess I just couldn't help trying out these corner tiles on the leading edge! 😁
It's always those little things that nag at me! I may even take another rebuild a step further by using the F1 as a baseline. Thinking...
Slinking away, still smirking over how rewardingly gullible the bejeweled wealthy girls in silky dresses had proven, Angie unexpectedly came across fresh, opulently inviting, prey.
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Angelique D. at play
Angie D
Circa 1915
Case study 113 subset b
Early development: “Pickpocket” of worn Jewelry
Sub title:
What is it about rich girls that make them so lucratively gullible?
Quoted by Subject: log 1959
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What:
Along a path just outside where a departing congregation of a small church still gathered.
Where
The outskirts of Chestermere:
When:
An early fall day, in the year of our Lord 1915
Who:
An appealing lady wearing a secret smile, clad expensively in a silky top and flowing satiny ruffled skirt, a pair of gold earrings flashing merrily as she strolls.
Excerpted from Diary:
A lady in a cream silk blouse and long blue skirt was walking happily along a path on the outskirts of Chestermere. She was coming from the early Sabbath service of a local chapel, filled with the rousing words of the Parson’s homily. As Angie walked, she hummed a cheerful tune, her conscious, as always, free of any guilty feelings.
Angie was very pleased with herself, and the main source of the pleasure was now bouncing against her thigh as she briskly walked along. For deep in a small pocket hidden well below the waistline of her flowing sleek skirt, was a pretty jeweled pendent on a delicate gold chain.
Only just 15 minutes ago that jeweled pendent was still being worn by a member of a rather wealthy looking family whom had been in attendance at the same Sabbath service. Angie had scoped them out as the family had waltzed in just after the mass had started. The mother was dressed in a pretty white frock with ruffles of lace falling from her throat and wrists, along with a rather nice set of pearls. The rather formal and severe father was in a “monkey suit”, a gold pocket watch and fob stretched across his rather bulging waist. The pair had their hands full with two rambunctious , pre-adolescent twin boys, who had continually distracted them during and after the lengthy service. Which was good, from Angie’s point of view anyway, for it left the parents totally ignoring their seventeen year old daughter , at the end of the pew, standing with a sultry air about her.
The daughter was wearing a rather fancy party dress of thick red silk. Dangling down the front of the sheer red silk bodice, on a thin gold chain, was an attention grabbing deep green emerald starburst pendent that fell swaying from her dress’s high neckline. It had been the sleek dress that had whetted Angie’s interest, but it was the pendent that kept that interest focused during the entire service, delightedly eyeing the pendant’s shimmeriness in the low candle lit church. During the communion procession she had managed to slip in behind her in order to closer scrutinize the prospect, soaking in the expectations of acquiring it from the unsuspecting proper acting young lady..
As the service ended, the family joined in the stream of the departing congregation. Angie followed closely, looking for her chance. It came when the Parson stopped the father to ask a question, a group soon huddled around the mother and the twins. As everyone bent over to focus attention on the twins, including their sister, Angie circled her prey and slipped in close, hovering briefly over her back before darting in. In one fluid motion, Angie lifted with one practiced hand the chain and flicked open the thin clasp, nimbly catching the swaying pendent in her other hand as it fell, whisking the sparkling emeralds and chain away and palming it from sight. Absolutely no one noticed the flashy necklace as it vanished from the front of the sister’s silky dress. Angie had continued on her way, clutching the pendent, and headed straight out the door without looking back. Instead of heading back the short 3 miles to her hotel in the city, she decided to head out towards the woods, where she planned to lay low until dusk.
Angie now turned her head to have a look behind her at the distant chapel and the people milling about, her gold plated earrings flashing as she did so. Good, she thought, no one was following her, and she, in total security that she was out of danger, crossed off the path and went on the road.
Angie strolled along the country lane, trees lining it turning red and yellow in their autumn gowns, for quite some time, before she became aware of a band playing off in the distance.. Then turning a bend in the lane, through the thin wall of woods, she spied a wedding reception up on a hill by a white stone Church. From her vantage point she could see a multitude of colourful , richly shimmering gowns and the occasional sparkle of , she hoped , opulent jewelry.
As good luck would have it, she decides to crash the party. She was dressed for it, she was hungry, and who knows what pickings she may find inside to increase her earthly riches ,as the Parson had been saying! She walked around, skirting the woods and came across a hillside garden with rose covered arbors and bright flower lined paths. Two grubby boys of about ten and twelve were playing in the woods on the opposite side, by a small pond surrounded thickly with Rhododendron s. She entered the Garden and made her way up the winding path, coming out onto a small field with benches that lay on the opposite side of the church and the auditorium entrance to the reception.
Angie entered the crowded auditorium underneath the Church. She helped herself to the food buffet and sat outside enjoying her meal, as she watched the richly dressed crowd. A young man came up and asked her to dance, which she did happily, and just as happily lifted his gold watch and fob. And, too boot, after a few dances with him, she had become a part of his circle, happily mingling, and rubbing elbows with the obviously wealthy guests he presented her to. Including an introduction to his pretty faced teenage sister, who was sporting a pretty diamond ring on all too slender finger, that she kept waving in Angie’s face as she played with her long silky hair.
Angie soon left them and started to stalk about for a bit, noting that most of the guests were older, more mature specimens. There seemed to be a lack of young, well dressed children around, whose shiny offerings had been Angie’s main bread and butter for almost two years.. She had just come to the conclusion that she would have to settle for picking a few pockets or purses before leaving. She started to look around for the bloke with the fancy gold pocket watch who had first asked her to dance….
Then she saw her.
The lady was moving through the crowd, on the arms of a man half her age, giggling, not paying attention to anything else around her. She wore a long gown of a shimmery purple silk. But it was not the gown that had caught Angie’s eye, but the jeweled brooch that hung from the gowns cleavage, shadowed by its mistress’s ample bosom. Like the figurehead in a seagoing schooner it came, shimmering in the dazzling light of at least a hundred diamond chips, surrounded by an oval of blazing sapphires. Angie’s fingers tingled. It was time.
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Now, it had been better than three years ago when Angie had run across an ancient, toothless Gypsy in a long black dress with a faded shawl around her shoulders, who had spoken Angie’s fortune. When she had read Angie’s palm, she looked Angie dead in the eyes, a most knowing kind of look. Then she had risen, motioning Angie to stay and came back with a rather battered old pamphlet she wanted Angie to look over. Entitled the Cutpurse: skilles, artes and Secretes of the Dip by “Gaston Monescu, 1826”, it covered the various tactics and moves used by master pickpockets. Including whole chapters on successful “Methodes” of relieving a wealthe lady of her” jeweles”.
The Gypsy Woman, who had hovering over Angie as she had read deeply into the pamphlet moved and sat back down across from her.
Angie ,who by this time in her quite young life, was already an accomplished cutpurse and picker of pockets, looked up at the gypsy, grinned, and asked if it was worth her while. The Gypsy just smiled, reached up and opened her dirty laced shawl, revealing the silvery necklace that Angie had been wearing when she had come in. Amazed she traded the necklace for the pamphlet on the spot and quickly began putting its teachings into play.
Angie soon mastered this new level of her chosen craft.
She had started on mannequins: clothing them in long silky dresses and jewelry. She had practiced for months, first in a rented studio apartment, then in a secret basement located in an isolated, deserted old barn and then its surrounding woods. Soon she felt confident enough to go out and try it in the crowded streets amongst shopping women. She met with great success, but her gains were only a pittance. Still she practiced, and had gotten so adept that she soon was moved onto more affluent hunting grounds.
She reasonably started out with weddings. For the phamplett had suggested starting out at formal parties where there would be an abundance of youngsters dressed in their best by parents wanting to show their off female issues to an adoring public( in the minds of the wealthy parents, anyway). So she went, seeking out young, easily distracted young girls who were not used to wearing the array of enticing jewels placed on them by overly enthusiastic parents.
Angie’s first time out was met with some rather sweet success. A large day time wedding reception in Nova Scotia, held in a public park by a majestic sweeping waterfall.
Late at the reception, as she was still prowling without making any formal attempts, she soon noticed that the adults at the gathering were becoming quite gay with drink, and noticeably paying less attention to their children. Said children began to wonder off in groups, exploring and starting to run about playing games, their gowns and dresses whispering a Pied Piperish tune to Angie’s ears, their shiny jewels luring her ever closer.
Angie soon started to follow a pair of young ladies who had scampered off to explore.
One was an impish girl with long black hair flowing down, drawing ones attention to the frilly white dress she was wearing. Gold chain earrings dancing merrily from her ears, as a longish gold herringbone chain shimmering brightly in the sun as it lay hanging from her silk dresses’’ high neckline.
Her partner in crime was a most fascinating subject. A charmingly bright green eyed proper young imp, a couple of years older than white dress, with a rather pronounced Welsh accent, much like Agie’s remembered her parents having. Her silken red hair lay down her back in a neat long French braid. A long thin satin gown of emerald green swished as she ran with the awkwardness of youth to keep up with her new friend. A matching satin bow was tied just below her throat, its ends trailing down to her svelte waistline. At the bows center was fastened a glittering rhinestone pin. She also was wearing a small rhinestone necklace that encircled her throat just above the bow. Her ears were home to a pretty pair of clasped rhinestone earrings that matched the pattern of her necklace. Around one short shiny green satin gloved wrist was a brite rhinestone bracelet.
The duo found the waterfall, by which a photographer had set up a camera. Angie approached the lovely pair, and easily started up a conversation, helped by the fact that as an adult, she was not scolding them for walking off. They seemed pleased that Angie was actually doing the exact opposite, like a favored auntie, she was encouraging them to explore.
Angie led them around a bend for a different view of the cascading waterfall, out of earshot of the reception. She helped the black haired lass, Basil, up to sit on a small stone wall for a better look, also helping to slip off the shiny gold herringbone necklace from her throat with an almost effortless ease in the process. As, with itching fingers, she contemplated what to do about Basil’s gold earrings, Angie started to watch Lydia.
Oblivious to what was going on around her, the red head, Lydia, was standing next to Angie, looking over the fence which just reached her shoulders. Here dear, Angie said, after pocketing the purloined gold necklace, you’re messing up your pretty dress. Angie turned the girl towards her, reached over and said, here, let my fix your bow, darling. Lydia allowed Angie to retie it, as Basil, her back to them, happily was watching, enraptured, the splashing water. Angie finished undoing and retying Lydia’s satin bow, neatly removing the pretty rhinestone pin in the process, then as she straightened the girl’s color, Angie had her turn around. As Lydia obediently did so, Angie flicked open the rhinestone necklaces clasp, and peeled off the flashy necklace from around Lydia’s throat as she turned round. Just like that, Lydia’s rhinestone necklace went the same way of er pin, both ending up with the gold chain in a secret pocket hidden in the folds of Angie’s skirt.
Angie stood behind Lydia, placing her hands on Lydia’s slick silken covered shoulders, all three watching the waterfall. Angie’s left hand caressingly, ever so lithely inched down along Lydia’s side, reaching the girls wrist. As Angie engaged them in conversation, she slowly worked off the bracelet, leaving only the pretty earrings as her last challenge.
Angie lifted her right hand and slowly moved it up to one of the girl’s dangling earrings, sparkling in the waterfalls’ reflection.. With her left hand she pointed upstream. As both girls turned their heads to look, off came a rhinestone earring. Angie than playfully lifted Lydia’s long French braid and laid it over Lydia’s shoulder, below her now bare ear. She turned to look down, giggling, and as she did so, Angie plucked away the remaining earring; it easily came off and joined its companion with the rest of the collection of jewelry in Angie’s secret pocket. Amazed that the process of removing young Lydia’s jewels had gone off so easily, Angie almost wished Lydia had been wearing bells like one of her sleekly gowned practice mannequins. Her reasoning being that she would know if it was because her skill level was that good, or just the fact that Lydia was just an unworldly youth easily distracted. Whatever the reason, Angie, feeling fresh inspiration, looked over at the chirpy basil, and her shiny gold earrings.
Angie moved behind Basil, placing her hands upon the slippery waistline of her silk dress, then leaned forward, whispering in the girls ear, tickling it with her breath. As Basil giggled Angie reached up gently lifted the gold chain earring up from the lobe of the girl’s opposite ear lobe. Then nimbly with her thumb and index finger, flicked open the hinge clasp and neatly removed the earring, watching for any reaction from her victim. Basil never felt a thing, Lydia was still watching the waterfall, equally as oblivious. Angie kept her chin close to Basil’s ear, and the remaining earring. Cautiously she moved her fingers up, and then darting in with them, successfully repeated the maneuver. As the earring joined the rest of her collection, Angie could not help thinking that if all her future endeavors were as successful, she could end up living quite a comfortable lifestyle.
Angie stayed a few more minutes, keeping the pair distracted the whole time before she cautiously moved off, leaving the two of them there by stream. Basil happily perched on the stone wall, and Lydia bent down, busily plucking at the moss growing on the old stones. Both girls still quite fetching in their pretty gowns, both a bit less weighted down by any added trimmings.
For the next year, fueled by her early success, she started focusing entirely on wedding receptions. Honing her skills until it became almost mundane for her nimble fingers to lift a jewel, no matter where is was being worn by a squirming young lady upon her fancy dressed person. And, actually, some of her acquisitions where worth a surprising bit of dough when pawned.
Favored Case in Point:
It was in New Hampshire, on her 24th outing late during the wedding season of the following year when she came upon a rather prim young miss of about 13, clad in a long sleeved thick yellow satin blouse, a black velvet vest and matching gold and black vertical striped satin skirt. A young raven haired bumble bee with no stinger, but with pearls, black pearls in a long string dangling down along the front of her shiny back buttoned blouse. She was also wearing matched black pearled earrings, and a small, daintily jeweled pin in the shape of a humming bird on her velvet vest. She was sitting alone at a table, playing with some crayons and a book. Angie, who had been watching her for some time from a bar stool, had come up and caught the pretty little things full attention, easily capturing her interest, then, finally, suggesting they go and watch the activity on the ballroom floor from a small alcove in a corner. Liking the adventurous way Angie had suggested it, the bumble bee had eagerly followed Angie away from the table.
Angie continued making small talk as the pretty thing was watching the exquisitely gown guests on the dance floor, including the girls’ parents. She was met with youthful exuberance by the youth, who was so enthralled with the activity on the dance floor that she was as unaware of what was going on around her , much like one of Angie’s practice Mannequins. After quite easily removing the dainty jeweled pin, Angie’s subtle fingers were able to lift up and flick open the rhinestone clasp of the child’s pearled necklace. Angie than coolly waited for a prime moment before whisking away the wholly distracted young miss’s gleaming black strand of pearls from around the high ruffled collar of her yellow satin blouse.
And also, like one of her gowned and jeweled practice Mannequins, the young girl never noticed anything amiss as Angie continued on with her conversation for quite some time afterwards. It was daring, but exciting as Angie kept stealing looks at the bare front of the glossy yellow blouse where the pearls had hung down so deliciously, knowing they were in her own pocket, so close, but for the young lady, so far.. Finally she decided she was pressing her luck, and she wished the child a goodnight, before beating a hasty exit,( but not before circling back to the now deserted table and heartlessly lifted the fat, expensively made purses, of both the young girl, and her mother!)
The jeweled hummingbird pin, and string of matched black pearls, dainty and long, fetched a pawned price that left whetted Angie’s appetite for more!
So, it was after this that Angie, looking for fresher, richer challenges, decided to seek out slightly older prey in their natural habitats, proms and social teenage dances. Where real gems, usually borrowed from their mothers or Grandmothers, would be replacing rhinestones.
Still very youthful looking despite her twenty something age, Angie’s first attempt was an upscale dance she had come across while out about in a neighboring city. It was held in an old ballroom for a local boy’s prep school and their dates. Figuring the girls attending would be ripe for the picking in tight gowns and loose fitting jewels, Angie stole inside for a closer look. The only obstacle was getting one of the begowned girls away from her group long enough to make a play for something of value that she was wearing.
But, Angie came away with nothing but valuable experience on that first attempt.
And it was actually her third try before she met with success in the form of a gold bracelet. It was at a formal dance being held in a large room of a rather posh hotel called the Red Lion Inn. She had gone in for a peek, and spying a pretty young thing heading for the ladies room, fell in step behind her. She was a long brown haired girl, wearing a short silk dress, blue, forming the perfect backdrop for her mouthwatering selection of shimmering gold jewellery. Waiting in a small alcove, Angie made her move as the young lady came back out the door. Bumping against her, Angie’s right hand held onto the youngster by the waist, drawing her close, as she steadied herself, apologizing. At the same time, Angie placed her left hand on the unsuspecting mark’s left wrist, easily flicking open the clasp of the thick gold etched bracelet and slipping it off and away. The young lady, accepting Angie’s apology, went on her way, and Angie, swiftly darted for the nearest exit, securing the rather overly brite bracelet in her bosum.
Over the spring and early summer dance seasons Angie practiced, acquiring bracelets and rings down pat using her skillfully developing fingers. She soon also was having some success with necklaces, including one with a long gold chain and a flower pendent set with a diamond carpel surrounded by ruby petals that had turned a quite tidy profit.
Then there had been the night of her first big haul, at a private girl’s school homecoming in Connecticut
She had started out by finally selecting and shadowing a young lady clad a slinky black dress, draped in her mother’s diamonds. Angie was drooling over a flashy wide glittering gemmed silver bracelet that hung loosely from the young vixen’s limp wrist. She was sure it was made up of real diamond chips. As the girl squirmed past Angie heading to the dance floor, her bracelet was easily plucked off the wrist of her black elbow length satin glove and secured deep in the bosom of Angie’s dress.
It was now becoming all too easy, smirked Angie as she unflappably headed out of the exit with her trophy. But, as she crossed the street, she was stopped by a hard looking Italian thug who emerged from the shadows. Angie at first thought wanted to mug her for her earrings, but it turned out he just wanted to see a girl who was inside attending the dance . He described her, and Angie, her interest growing, agreed to locate her and give her his message to meet him outside.
Angie went inside and soon found the girl. All her wishes had been answered. The unsuspecting lass was both richly gowned and even more richly jeweled, combined with zero common sense. This fidgeting girl had been seeing the young Italian on the sly, away from her disapproving family and friends. Angie led her out the back way, the opposite side of the Dance Parlor where the Italian was waiting in an alley.
Angie pointed across the street towards an entirely different Alleyway, offering to wait with her when the girl balked about going down it. As they waited, Angie fawned over the poor, beautifully adorned young innocent. Helping her straighten her luxurious gown, and helping her primp her long hair, so she would look just right for her east end Romeo. After waiting ten minutes, Angie instructed the girl to wait, while she went out and peeked down the street to see what was keeping her lover.
As she left, Angie stole a look back at the still primping young lass, eyeing her slinky gown, and remaining jewels, before heading off down the street, looking into her palm at the pair of long Garnet and diamond earrings that lay nestled, glittering fire there. She then placed them into a secret pocket, joining them with the girl’s small, expensive matching pendent, liberated as Angie had helped her negotiate a curb with her stiletto heels. Both pieces of the lass’s jewelry shared the same pocket with the wide silver bracelet encrusted with diamond chips that Angie had taken earlier..
More than once since then, Angie wondered if the ditzy, well jeweled girl ever had made it back out of that alleyway unscathed.
The experience had even more so whetted Angie’s appetite. So, even though she was still practicing on younger females, she was now dying to ply her trade upon mature women displaying the real McCoy.
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So it was with that in mind that Angie now watched, with itching fingers, the beckoning brooch. Though Angie was still unsure enough of trying her abilities on wealthy ladies who would not be as easily distracted as young girls, the timing felt right. As the lady recklessly displaying the brooch passed, her attention lost in the arms of her lover, Angie turned and followed, getting a close look first at the brooch and its pin, noting that it was not tightly clasped onto the gowns thin material.
As the couple headed to a table they passed two wealthy dames arguing vigorously with each other. Pricey rings flashing as they pointed fingers emphatically in each other’s face. On the side of table away from the pair, but near to Angie as she was passing by, lay a small, fat silvery clutch purse . Figuring that any dames loaded down with that many gems should be carrying a healthy wad of dosh in it, Angie, on the fly, took action.
As she passed she snatched it, and slipping it under her arm turned and headed towards the ladies powder room. Just before entering Angie looked back watching as the two still argued, gemmed rings flashing she had gotten away with it! Going into a stall she scrutinized the clutch for its valuables; disappointed to find only a fiver, some loose change, and a silky laced handkerchief. How cheap can you get she thought ruefully over the wasted effort? Hiding the clutch in the folds of her satin skirt, she left the stall, passing a lady applying makeup in a mirror. She was very pretty in a fluid teal gown, wearing dazzling white pearls upon her ears, neck and wrists. Something about this lady seemed familiar, and Angie’s senses started to sound an alarm. Catching each other’s eye, Angie nodded, but the lady appeared not to recognize Angie, nor Angie her, but the feeling still lingered. Angie left ,guardedly perplexed.
Angie went to the bar to have a drink while she thought about who the lady may have been. She was in a position to see the dance floor and she soon spotted the purple clad lady with the brooch Angie had her eye on, again in a deep embrace with her lover. The Brooch would be profitable, but risky as along as she stuck close with the Boyfriend. Angie needed a way to get him out of the picture for a while. It was as she considered several options to carry out the challenge that Angie again spotted the lady in teal , dancing with a tall red headed man. . Cold prickles like ice ran down her spine, It was the pearls! She suddenly remembered who the lady, and her dance partner were!
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Only 5 days ago she had been starting her third week operating in Calgary. She had been following a rather attractive, obviously wealthy woman, wearing an eye catching purple silk dress, carrying a dress bag and some smaller parcels. Close at her side was an unheeded calfskin purse. Alongside the lady was a smaller version, obviously her daughter, a girl of about 14. She was wearing a white shiny turtleneck with an equally shiny long tiered skirt. Both of her hands were occupied with department store bags also. When the ladies darted into a swanky hotel ,Angie had followed, she always had had luck in these types of establishments. They had entered a crowded lift and Angie had worked her way in behind the pair, riding up with them in the rickety contraption. Mother and Daughter got off on 12 and Angie stayed on until 15, exiting with not only the fat wallet from the calfskin purse, but also the shiny gold herringbone necklace that had been flashing from the daughter’s throat, securely in her pocket.
Angie decided to call it a day. She had already made about 30 dollars from wallets lifted at the department store she had been working over when she had spotted the mother and daughter at the checkout. The mother was paying from a thick wad of cash, and judging from the jewelry of both were an indication of how wealthy the family was. She had followed them out onto the street and it had paid off in spades. Now, all she had to do was find an exit. She saw a stairwell next to a slightly open door with a maids cart outside. She stopped and hovered over the cart to peer inside the room. It was at that moment a door opened on the opposite side of the hallway.
A red headed man in an open tux shirt came out of a room, looking at the cart, and Angie standing next to it. Seizing the opportunity, Angie quickly asked if he needed something. I was looking for a maid; I spilled some wine on the cashmere carpet. Seeing the name Bannister above the bell, she said sweetly, certainly Mr. Bannister, I can have someone take care of that for you.. I was just coming up to let you know there is an urgent message down at the desk for you. (Quick improvisation was a special talent of Angie’s.) Why didn’t you bring it, he started to snap, than , never mind, just get a maid, and he headed towards the elevator.
Angie picked up the towels and headed cautiously into the massive suite. From the bedroom off one side she heard running water. She looked around quickly, seeing many valuable articles, but nothing small enough to quickly conceal. She took the towels into the bedroom.
Angie went into the bedroom, expertly taking everything in. A long silver lamee gown lay out on the bed. On the vanity lay a silvery purse, a pair of long silver satin gloves , a silver watch, silver necklace, a pair of long dangling silver earrings, and a small blue velvet pouch. On a side dresser laid a man’s thick gold watch and a money clip with a wad of bills, a tenner showing on top. In less than a minute after entering the room she had scooped up the money clip, watches, silver jewelry and gloves stuffing them into the purse and lifting up her long skirt hid it in one of its secret pockets. She lifted up the pouch and found it was empty. A picture on the vanity showed an attractive lady in a black dress and pearls. She briefly wondered where the pearls were, did not see any likely spot, and so had turned to make a hasty exit, when a feminine voice called out from the bathroom where a shower could be heard running. Steam was coming out from the slightly ajar door.
Dear, a refined voice stated, I have soap in my eyes and cannot find the washcloth. Angie, smelling an opportunity, peaked her head around the corner into the steamy bathroom. There was a shower stall with glass doors at the end of the long room with a double sink running along the side. From the hook by the shower hung a peach negligee and matching long robe. The door was open slightly and a very soapy femine hand was reaching out trying to feel along a towel bar, just missing a hanging washcloth.
A soapy hand from which glittered a pretty gold pinky ring set with small diamonds. Angie went over and pulling off the washcloth, rapped on the glass door , receiving a thank you dear in return as the hand reached out for it. Angie wiped off the protruding hand, and a dry voice said, no, not my hand dear, as the washcloth was plucked playfully from Angie’s grasp , and the door closed. Angie bent down and picked up the diamond pinky ring that had been slipped from the showering woman’s finger by the wash cloth, from the carpeted floor underneath the shower door. she than turned ran a hand along the satin rode, looking around. Bingo, on the counter lay a pair of sparkly long diamond earrings. Dumbstruck at her luck she grabbed them off the sink. , she was jolted back to realty when the voice again called out, are you still there dear? She scurried out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
She was at the apartment door in a flash, opening it a crack to make sure the coast was clear, it was. In the hallway Angie headed for the stairs because she knew that Bannister was far too important a man to take a stairway. She had been in the apartment less than 4 minutes, and had probably looted it of enough valuables to more than double her take so far of the last three weeks since arriving in Calgary. Leaving by a back exit she came out of a small alley. Looking over she spotted the young lady whose necklace she had lifted in the elevator kneeling down and looking in some bushes. Her shiny skirt pleasantly splayed out upon the ground around her. Angie briskly walked past her and off down the street. She made it without incident to the dingy apartment she was renting by the day. Collecting her meager belongings Angie checked out immediately. Leaving by bus for Chestermere, where at a small bank she rented a safety deposit box to stash all her ill-gotten gains for safe keeping until the heat wore down a bit.
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Now Back to the Present
Angie now knew how lucky she had been. The red headed man, Bannister, may have recognized her. Calgary was too close to Chestermere , she should have been more cautious when scoping out the receptions guests. Angie turned and headed to the bar to think the situation over.
She saw the young man whose watch she had lifted, talking to an older, pretty lady laden with pearls. Behind them stood his sister, her diamond ring sparkling as she twirled her hair. Angie circled wide, coming up behind the lad, she grabbed his shoulder, why hello there. He smiled, introducing her to his Aunt, whose jeweled fingers she took into her hand in a gracious shake. He continued talking to his Aunt, it seems that they were discussing a family matter of some importance .Angie, finding the rings were tight on the Aunt’s chubby fingers, let go of her hand and moved over to the sister, and engaged her in conversation, moving a little off so that the sister turned her back to her brother and aunt.
The sister twittered, curling her hair impishly as Angie asked her why she wasn’t dancing. No ones asked, she giggled nervously. What about the boy who has been watching you all eyeing, Angie nodded her head outwards, the girl turned , her hair flying, as she lowered her hand, which Angie took up, petting it in a conspiratorial fashion, go over and ask him, Angie suggested. Go an ask him? I don’t see him she said, but I couldn’t, and she turned back to Angie, flashing her baby blues innocently. That’s okay deary, Angie patted the girl’s hand, keeping her eyes in contact, not allowing her to break the gaze, and perhaps looking down and noticing her loose ring was now gone from her slender finger. Angie took her leave of the sister, and of girl’s annoying nervously twittering giggle. Angie, slipping the diamond ring securely away, continued on until she reached a small alcove from where she could see most of the reception hall.
She lit a cigarette, purple silk and her desirably take able brooch was still safely out of reach on the dance floor, and Bannister’s attention was all on his wife. She thought it over, weighing her options, and the risks that were now in play. The song ended, and the dancers started to head off the floor. Angie’s eyes darted, Red headed Bannister and his wife were heading off to the far side of the room, Purple silk and her partner were heading to the bar. Angie’s heart stopped, no, Purple silk was heading to the bar, her lover was off to the men’s rest room. Angie snubbed out her cigarette, rising to the bait, it was now or never. Like a feral feline, Angie began to slowly stalk her prey.
But then Angie saw her chance slip through her fingers and evaporate into nothingness, like the smoke from her crushed cigarette. For at that moment an older man bumped into the lady Angie was tailing, spilling his drink down the front of her purple silk gown. Angie retreated and watched from a distance. As the man profusely apologized he produced a silk handkerchief and help wipe down the pretty lady. As he did so, the beautiful diamond broach vanished from her bosom. He had been slicker, slicker than Angie was ( for the time being) able to be. Angie felt her heart sink. Not only had she been deprived of the broach, but the existence of another member of her trade meant that she had better scram, not wishing to cross him. She could tell by the look in the man’s eyes that this was one not to be tangled with
Giving up on any plans she had been harboring, she got up, turned her back to the dance floor, headed as quickly as she could to the far exit, keeping her gains, and cutting her (presumed) losses.
Angie reached the door without challenge, opening it, she found stairs leading into the Church above. But first she stole a look back. She observed the man suavely talking to the now brooch less lady wearing purple silk. In that second a long haired (ginger) young lady passed by him, wearing a slinking green satin dress. Angie saw the man watching her walk on bye, and then immediately took his leave of purple silk, and began following the perky girl in green satin, with her savory collection of loosely dangling silver jewelry, heavily encrusted with flickering emeralds.
Angie turned away, and while wondering how she had failed to have spotted that prime prey in green earlier, went to the stairs.
She went up the stairs, coming out into a small chapel in back of the church. A door led to the outside, which Angie took, pouting inwardly, feeling all the world like a child who had been deprived of a desirable toy. She found herself on the side leading down to the Garden from which she had entered. The Church was now in between Angie and the reception, so she felt free to move unobserved. She crossed over to the gardens entrance and headed down the hill.
In front of her was a hedgerow, on the other side, Angie knew, was the small field with benches that lay at the entrance to the gardens proper. It was coming from there that she head the voices of children playing, on the other side, but she paid no heed, her mind was on leaving the area.
As she hurried along the hedgerow she saw something sparkle expensively in the sunlight through one of the gaps in the hedges. She stopped and curiously looked through a small opening. That’s were all the young darlings have been hiding she remarked to herself, her interest peaking. Forgetting all about leaving and lost opportunity of the brooch, she now focused on the new “toy” now dangling its enticement to her. It belonged to a girl in a slithering silvery gown, with her long hair done up in a long plait. Angie eyed the girl’s sparklers, which Angie first took as all rhinestones.. But, as Angie took inventory, her eye focused on a ring that she was wearing on one of her petite fingers. It held a fiery display, diamonds and rubies. There was no way the ring was rhinestone. Looking around to access the situation, Angie decided that by hook or crook, she needed to get a better look.
Watching the colourfully gowned young ladies innocently at play, Angie mused over the golden opportunity just waiting for someone unscrupulous to acquire the jewelry they were wearing. Someone should make them aware Angie decided, surprised that no one older than 16 was watching over them. Knowing that the scene before her was too fertile an opportunity to pass up without at least a long glance, Angie looked around, making sure no adults were about unseen in the woods, or any other nook and cranny of the play area.
Angie had found she had a knack for capturing young, well dressed lady’s interest, much to her amusement, and profit! It was with this in mind that Angie decided to allow herself a few precious minutes to watch from her hidden opening to see what may transpire. There were six children, four young ladies who were obviously dressed for a wedding, and the two urchin boys of about 12 and 10 she had spotted earlier. They were dressed as the local poor farm boys they obviously were. Angie quickly overheard the names of the girls as they called out to one another. .
The group were playing, appropriately enough for Angie’s point of view, a children’s standard game of cops and robbers. All Angie could think about, as she watched the boys with exuberance chasing and holding the giggling, squirming girls, was that there would hopefully be no actual robbing of jewelry as the game was played out. As each girl, Angie quickly memorizing their names, was ”captured” and taken to “prison”, Angie was able to scope them out at leisure.
The youngest Cecilia, about six, was wearing a long smooth gown of deep cream, with a midnight black bolero style jacket of velvet. From her neck was happily swaying a long silver chain with a jeweled winged beetle pendent, her jacket was home to a matching pin.
Cecilia’s older sister, 10 year old Claire, was wearing a puffy blue satin blouse with a long bow dancing down the front. Her long skirt of glistening black flowed in ripples as she ran. Also moving in ripples were the long gold herringbone chains she wore dangling from her neck, as were also her matching earrings and bracelet. A thick, expensively shiny gold ring encircled her middle finger.
Claire’s friend, Abbey, of about the same age, was wearing a longish gown of sunset pink satin, with a white satin sash encircling her waist. At the center of the sash glistened a gold pin set with pearls. Around her throat, dangling from her ears, were glimmering white pearls.
The oldest girl, the one in charge, was a fourteen year old named Amanda. Young and flighty, she kept looking up into the voluminous white clouds in the sky as if trying to see what they were forming. She was dressed in a longish slithering silver princess style gown, the style one may see flowing along the shapely figure of an actress at the moving picture awards ceremony. A fancy necklace with large garnet stones and small diamonds was flapping against her chest as she ran. The necklace matched her long earrings, bracelet, along with her pretty ring. She was wearing a flashy red jeweled head band , with strings of gold and rhinestones interwoven into her long plait of naturally wavy chestnut hair. The head band was all rhinestone, as were the garnets in the rest of her jewels. But what from a distance appeared to be small diamonds in her matching set that separated the garnets, were actually ¼ caret diamonds. Angie, upon realizing this, felt her heart burning with desire at acquiring a piece of the set being so vulnerably dangling from Amanda’s slickly attired person. But a couple of ripping gold herringbone chains, or even a jeweled beetle pendent flicked from a velvet jacket would be nice to acquire also, if only for the practice benefits.
To Angie’s secret joy, Amanda was the last girl to be captured, only because a stone lodged itself in her shoe brining her up lame. She was held by one of the boys, and lead, limping, to the other two girls. As a new game was started, she sat out. She hobbled to a nearby stone bench, brushed herself off , watching the group play before removing her shoe to find the annoying stone.
Angie started to make her move even before Amanda had made it to the stone bench. She reached her as she was shaking her shoe, slipping up alongside her on the cool bench. The girl jumped, but Angie’s special (practiced!) smile soon won her over. Angie soon enticed the young thing into casual conversation, extracting useful information as Angie, feigning a cheerful interest on the outside, while studying the girls expensive gown and drooling over the glistening garnet and diamonds that adorned it on the inside.
Angie tried to direct Amanda’s attention to her young charges, commenting about their pretty baubles, then asking who the boys were, and how well they knew them, about who suggested the game they were playing, how robbers were attracted to pretty things you know, and, were the boys playing the robbers next? Surreptitiously trying to plant seeds of distrust in the immature girls mind, and Angie could see that those seeds had found rich soil. Her intention was to keep the girl distracted long enough for a go at acquiring her necklace.
Angie, not unlike a feral cat, waited patiently for her opportunity to take the necklace from the unassuming Amanda to arise. But the girl was not cooperating; her attention on the playing girls lasting for mere seconds before focusing it back on Angie. Angie decided to use a different tactic. Angie placed an arm around girl’s silken shoulder and pointed up into the fluffy white clouds, asking her if she could see what Angie saw.
In the clouds, Amanda asked? As she leaned back into Angie who drew her close, relishing in the silky , quite scintillating feel of the child’s slick gown. No, Angie thought unkindly, you silly rich twit, the clasp of your necklace is what I see ( her fingers snaked up the backside of the sleek silver gown towards the tantalizingly easy open able clasp). The one you are about to lose to me, she continued thinking before answering the girl.
But seconds later, when Angie did answer, it was with a sweet motherly tone that dripped honey. Yes dear, in the clouds, doesn’t that one look like a soldier, or perhaps a highway man on a horse she inquired to Amanda? No, I think it’s a prince answered Amanda, and Angie thought , not for the first time, about the power of suggestion, for the mass of clouds looking like absolutely nothing but a mass of clouds to her!
But, it was an opportunity opened, and as the guileless girl was happily lost in her thoughts, Angie began to lift the clasp into position. As the necklace move up the girls chest, Angie could see its jewels, all sparkly, as the sun came back, peeking through the clouds. But Angie was not the only one who noticed, for the oldest lad who had been stalking up on the youngest sister’s hiding spot, was attracted by the sparklers now flashing around the distracted girl’s throat.
The boy headed towards them, and Angie’s fingers retreated. As the girl noticed the boy approaching, she gave a nervous giggle, and placed a hand to her throat. Angie began to rise from the bench, feeling the opportunity was slipping away, for the second time that day. But she hesitated a minute, and she was glad she did.
The boy came up and asked Amanda if she was going to play again. He was openly gawking at the necklace Amanda was nervously fiddling as he spoke, and Angie drooled to herself, you dear sweet child. For She could feel Amanda pressing hard into Angie as if seeking protection from his eyes. Angie took action, pointing out the sister the boy had been stalking. Successful diverting the boy’s attention, she sent him after the girl.
Maybe it was the things Angie had been feeding the girl about strangers and playing robbers, or pointing out the highway man in the clouds, but the attention to her necklace by the lad had had an obvious effect on Amanda. Angie, seizing the opportunity, exploited it to the fullest. With an Epiphany like thought, she knew what to say, and do next. And if it worked, then Amanda’s necklace would not be the only bauble acquired by old Angie girl.
Angie shooed the lad away, and he left, reluctantly to rejoin the game in progress. Then, in an inspired bit of deceitful storytelling, Angie related to Amanda a sad tale about an incident in her childhood, one she made up on the spot. The girl listened, still cuddling for whatever reason, as Angie stroked her enticingly attired figure down, relishing in the softness of her gown, along with admiring jewels she was so intent on acquiring. It was not often in Angie’s line of work that she was able to really check out one of her victims in this manner, and she relished every minute of it.
As Angie went full bore into her tale of woe ,she lifted up the attractive necklace from pretty girl’s chest, as she chokingly told the youngster that when she was her age she had been playing dress up in one of her mother’s gowns and had put on some of her mother’s jewelry without her permission.
Angie than took up the girl’s slender hand into hers, fingering gently the pleasingly expensive ring , seeing tin the young ladies eyes that she had struck a chord, and Amanda was totally held captivated with her story. Angie continued on… She had gone outside and over to the playground where a group of older children had convinced her to play a game of cops and robbers. When they had been done playing and Angie had gone home, she discovered some of her mother’s pretty jewelry was missing.
Angie noticed with satisfaction that as she was reaching the end of her story Amanda had stiffened, her heart started beating faster, and she started to check over her own jewelry. Your mother’s than, Angie drooled to herself, she had nailed it on the head. Carpe Diem Angie said to herself, throwing all caution to the wind.
Cops and robbers? That’s the game the boys are having us play, Amanda questioned with visible concern. As she was making this statement, Angie saw with satisfaction Amanda’s open mouth gasping as her eyes went to the boys who were now high in a tree, innocently unaware of what they were underhandedly being accused of eventually attempting to do ( steal the young girls jewelry)!
The two Boys had spotted a bird’s nest and where trying to see if it had eggs as the sisters watched them, backs to the bench where Amanda and Angie sat. Seeing the coast was clear, Angie quickly acted, before her story lost its effect over Amanda. Angie produced the purloined silver purse and pulled out the silky handkerchief. She spread the handkerchief out on Amanda’s silken covered lap, setting the purloined purse down upon her own.
I really think you should put your jewelry somewhere for safekeeping. Why don’t you wrap it up in this handkerchief, you can keep it in my purse. I’ll lend it too you if you promise to bring it back to me when you get back to the reception. Amanda nodded wisely (those earrings were very pretty Angie told herself) , Angie’s heart went to her throat, the young innocent, abroad from the reception, had swallowed Angie’s deviously luring tactic. Here, Angie promised, I’ll start, and she took of her gilded earrings and laid them gently out upon the shiny white surface of the silk handkerchief. This way I won’t lose mine either, she confided in Amanda, who looked back at Angie with her innocently wide blue eyes.
Amanda now showed no inhibitions while reaching up and removing her glittery necklace, laying it gently out upon the handkerchief. It was soon followed by rings and bracelet. Removing the headband and rhinestones chains, undoing her plait in the process, her long hair flowed down her back in curls. It curled up as she laid it upon the ever growing, sweetly glimmering, pile. Then she flung back her long hair and undid the screw backs of her flashy earrings, placing them on top of the heap. Angie’s heart began beating faster as she realized she was going to get away with this! Aw, she thought, as the last of Amanda’s expensively glittering jewels was added to the already glistening pile, wealthy children are so adorably cute when they are being gullible.
When Amanda finished, Angie looked down upon the glittering mound, unbelieving her luck. But then the unimaginable happened. Amanda, laying the handkerchief with its precious cargo on the bench next to her, stood and called back the two sisters and their young friend to the bench.
Angie held her breath as the girls, turned and dutifully ran up to her, the boys still high in the tree, paid no attention to them. Angie watched, almost salivating as the pretty darlings in their fluttering frocks came bouncing back, necklaces flinging in and out, obediently to Amanda’s call.
As they reached Amanda, she told them that they had better remove their jewelry for safe keeping. Why, Challenged Cecilia, with childish accusation? Amanda looked back at the boys in the tree, because I think you may lose them while you play, she scolded. We’re careful Cecilia retorted obstinately, as she looked from Amanda to her sister Claire. Amada looked at Claire, and lifting the girls gold necklace pointed her chin at the tree containing the two boys, and said, they will be the robber’s next game. Claire went wide eyed, and told Cecilia and Abby that they had better do as they were told.
Claire was closest, and with a nod from Amanda, unfastened her necklace and laid it out on the silky handkerchief. They were soon followed by her gold drop earrings, bracelet and ring. She started to back away still wearing her rhinestone hairclips. Don’t forget them… Angie started to say, but was cut off as Amanda told Claire to remove them, which she did promptly. Angie was glad she had been able to hold her tongue.
Cecilia was next. She approached Angie and Amanda, her long dress swishing richly as she came. She politely asked Amanda for help. Turning her back to Amanda she lifted up her long hair, Amanda remover her necklace and pin, laying them upon the growing shimmery pile. Cecilia removed her earrings and ring, happily placing them with the rest. Very pretty Angie said, admiring the dress, she lifted up the sleeve, admiring it, no bracelets, she whispered to herself, as she pulled the silky sleeve back ever so slightly.
Abby than approached, and quietly, obediently, unfastened her pearled necklace, and then removed her glistening matching earrings, and placed them all delicately upon the pile. Momma said to be careful with them, their Grand mama’s, she bleated sweetly, and Angie felt her heart skip several beats, suppressing an evil grin upon hearing those delicious words. Claire then helped Abby remove the pearled brooch from her satin sash.
Angie stood back, her heart had been pounding with cutting swords of mixed delicious pleasure and anticipation as, there on that sunlit church playground, the girls in swishy gowns, removed their valuables for “safe” keeping. She knew she now had to work fast, for there was an ever growing chance that an adult would show up from the reception and ruin Angie’s fun.
Angie than folded up the silk handkerchief, and in a classic bit of misdirection that would have made Gaston Monescu proud, appeared to place it inside the purse she was going to leave in the children’s safe keeping. But she actually palmed it, and slipped the bundle deep into her skirts pocket as she handed the purse over with her free hand. All three sets of eyes watching the purse, not what Angie’s other hand was doing.
Now go and have fun, Angie encouraged the girls as she handed the purse to Amanda. The youngsters seemed thrilled that they had an adult’s permission to keep on playing, and knowing that they would not be in danger of now being yelled at for possibly losing some of their pretty jewelry, they scurried off happily, in waves of whispery satin. Amanda stopped and gave Angie a hug before following the two sisters and their friend. The kind of hug that would have sealed the fate of any jewelry she may have still been wearing, and for which Angie did a double check for. Angie then watched Amanda run off, long gown fluttering out from behind her.
As the four girls rejoined the two boys, Angie slowly slinked away, melting into the woods. She allowed herself to smirk over how rewardingly gullible rich young girl’s in silky dresses ,wearing ripe for the plucking jewelry ,always proved to be.
Folle est l’agneau de la prune qui dans le loup avoue! She whispered to herself as she disappeared from the frolicking children’s sight.
She stopped suddenly as she reached a small clearing with the path leading to the rose covered arbor crossed. Not believing her eyes, as she unexpectedly saw below her fresh, opulently attired, prey.
A young couple was busily snogging in the garden the garden just ahead of Angie. As she looked over the pair of richly dressed pretty young things, she could not help but wonder if this couple had been in charge of watching over the children and had snuck away to be by themselves. She quickly ducked behind some bushes as the girl broke away, and with a come hither look, led her boyfriend through a rose covered arbor. Not a moment too soon, for the couple looked behind them, before crossing over the path and disappearing into the woods.
Angie cautiously snuck forward, and reaching the spot where they had disappeared into the woods, hears the girl giggling along with the unmistakable sounds of kissing. As the couple is otherwise occupied, Angie carefully moves into the woods. She spies the lad’s suit lying over some branches, and sees the shrubs moving underneath as the couple obviously have progressed now beyond kissing.
Angie spies something bright and shiny laying on the ground just in front of the shrub. She inches forward. It is the girls gown, laying spread out like a slick wet fluid purple pond , and there, in a nice neat pile, is the diamond jewelry she was wearing. Angie wonders what would have happened if some miscreant, or unscrupulous hobo were to stumble upon this scene. In her mind she reasoned that they would probably steal the jewels. So, why shouldn’t ole Angie be the one to acquire this one’s jewels also? Since she would probably be losing them anyway!
Angie reaches down and quietly pulls away the fluidly glossy gown, the silky material whispering along the grass as it moves. Angie keeps one ear on the couple just out of sight, the other listens for any noise on the path behind her that may betray her as she melts away back into the woods. Then, when she is a safe distance away, happily scoops up the girls small fiery diamonds. Picking up the gown she carried it back, hanging it from a limb just before leaving the path, she ran a hand along its enticing length, before leaving, snickering to herself the whole way.
Coup-Fourré, Angie thinks too herself as she regains the path, after carefully making sure no one else was about. Off in the distance she can just barely hear the children still at play. The purse where they innocently believed held their jewelry safe, she imagines still sitting on the bench. She thinks for a second about going back and lifting that purse, but decides not to push her luck, now that she had finally found some.
She once again pictured the beaming faces of the three young girls as they were being complimented on their shiny dresses by the pretty lady with the nice smile and gentle fingers as she carefully looked them over for anything missed that those nasty boys may try to take. Naively unaware that they had, in reality, been robbed of the precious gems that they had been convinced to remove for “safe keeping.”
Angie, for the first time, but not the last, imagined in her mind, what the children’s wide eyed astonishment would be like, they opened that sleek little purse , only to find the handkerchief had vanished! . And what the couple snogging about in the woods would make of the missing gown and jewels.
Editors notes:
Even though Angie related this story as having occurred on the same afternoon ,the chronicler felt she was keeping something back. It was never discover what, if anything had been. The answer may lie in the events unfolded above. It may be worth re-reading the story to see if anyone can pick up on it.
Folle est l’agneau de la prune qui dans le loup avoue!
Silly is the plump lamb to whom in the wolf confesses
Our Thanks to Mr Gardner for pointing out the existence of Mr. Monescu’s 1826 guide
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Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
Another POL photo! This one for reasoning.
With this photo, I wanted to convey that I know I am a little fish in a very big pond. There will always be someone more talented, more intelligent, or with more experience than me. But maybe, just maybe, I can stand up for myself.
Joel Robison has a very cool chess photo that this one was inspired by; I highly recommend that you check out his work.
A week ago I joined Lands of Roawia (Merlin's Beard Forum) and here's my character!!:
Name: Nox
Gender: male
Species: Exiled Elf
Faction: Outlaws
Nox was exiled from his Lenfald elf kingdom because of an incident he never talks about. Certainly has something to do with magic. Without any sense of belonging to a nation, which is not very common for an elven foe, He joined the Outlaws for acceptance travelling from region to region of the most mysterious and unknown places of the Magic Island and Badlands. His skills in History and his sense of logic allowed him to work as a personal investigator for those who need his services. Still, most of the time he'll be on his own practicing alchemy, magic and identifying new species.
He may act blindly in some situations for some, but in fact, he's reasoning like no others will. His wandering past may had affect him in what we can call a light madness or a totally misunderstood intelligence. The equality and the liberty between races have always been an important concerning to defend for him.
People have called me cold-hearted because I have said the word love - in the sense of 'I love you' - is meaningless. But when I say that, I am speaking from the mind, not from the heart; I am speaking of language, not feelings. If someone says 'I love you' to me, I do not know what they mean. To say to someone "I care very much for you", "I miss you so much that I cry when you are not here", "you make me a better person", "I have never been happier than when I am in your arms" "I would do anything for you", "I want to be with you forever": we all know what these mean, because they refer to things and feelings that we all understand. But 'love', a word loaded with cultural baggage accumulated over millennia, has almost as many different meanings as there are people, and a word with a billion different meanings has, in my opinion, no meaning at all.
When I was younger I used the word and the phrase as freely as hormonally imbalanced teenagers will. I was dimly aware, even then, of its futility. I would hear people say, either in the dramas of the school common room or on American TV series, "I love him, but I'm not in love with him" or "I'm in love with him, but he's not my soulmate" or "he's my soulmate, but it's not true love": they would shift the semiotic goalposts to justify what they had said before, rather than admit that what they had said before was either misguided, untrue or meaningless. The end of my first serious relationship - which lasted almost five years, from the ages of fifteen to twenty - made me wary of not only my own emotions, which I felt I had failed to understand, but of the language I had used to express them.
I did not have any motivation to formalise these thoughts until I was twenty one, when my partner at the time asked me why I would not say 'I love you'. I explained my reasoning, but he was not appeased and, eventually, I caved to pressure from him and from the vague outside - convention - and said it. I did not consider it a lie because to me it was meaningless. It was not meaningless to him, though, and that is why it was wrong of me to say it: I was using a word that had meaning in his language, but not in mine. The memory of this fact is a constant reminder to me of the importance of language.
By the time I was twenty one, I was aware of the ways language can be used to manipulate people, and aware too that I was very good at them; that I could often make people think, feel or do what I wanted them to by saying certain things in a certain way. I had to, and still have to, be continually vigilant not to abuse this. In doing so, there are three things I bear in mind:
• Dr Seuss's Horton - "I meant what I said and I said what I meant..."
• Something I once read which went along these lines: "The main purpose of language is not to make one understood, but to make it impossible for one to be misunderstood."
• Orwell's Politics and the English Language, which I re-read regularly.
Have most people thought about what they mean when they say 'I love you'? Are most people understood when they say it? It is hyperreal (hyperreality: "a hypothetical inability of consciousness to distinguish reality from a simulation of reality"): for example, one person says 'I love you' because it is what Othello says of Desdemona; another because it is what Von Aschenbach says of Tadizio; another because it is what Ally says to Billy: all very different kinds of 'love'. I once read an article about Romantic Comedy Syndrome: a study at Edinburgh University "found fans of films such as Runaway Bride and Notting Hill often fail to communicate with their partner. Many held the view if someone is meant to be with you, then they should know what you want without you telling them."
Until this year, I had never said "I love you" in a romantic sense without feeling immense pressure to do so. Then one night, in the passion and intensity of a moment so magical I wanted to live in it forever, I started, involuntarily and spontaneously, to say it: I said 'Oh ____, I love—" before I caught myself, and continued "—this." That I didn't finish it is unimportant: that I began to say it, instinctively and unconsciously, made me feel liberated in some way; that, for a moment, I escaped from the confines of my own mind and connected with the energy of someone else. It's not like me to say something so new-agey, but I'm not speaking scientifically.
The next day I tried to discover what I had meant, and whether I could begin to understand the meaning of the word love. I experienced a depth and intensity of emotion and attachment that I had never felt before, and I wanted to express it in words. To say 'I am experiencing a depth of emotion and attachment I've never known before' would have been almost comical in its frigidity - like something Lilith would say in Frasier - and so 'I love you' is what my mind gave me. Perhaps, through this, I have reached my own understanding, my own definition, of love: the pinnacle of affection and shared pleasure. I would guess this is actually the understanding that most people have of love, but what they will not accept is the possibility of its temporariness, because culture and media tell us that love is forever. If love is the pinnacle of our affection then it is subject to change as we mature, as we reach new heights of feeling and experience. This explains the moving of the goalposts that I mentioned earlier (love but not in love…), and I think that when done retrospectively it is an unnecessary attempt to devalue the emotions of the past in order to make the emotions of the present seem more significant, more visceral, more real.
What have I learned from this? A slightly clearer understanding of what love means to me which might make me more comfortable using the word in the future. Most importantly, though, I have felt the limits of language: something as deep and as beautiful as the shared affection, understanding and connection between two human beings cannot be expressed in a single word, or ten thousand words. We must express love not only with language, but in the way we treat each other and the way we live our lives.
Photograph: Glasgow, 2011.
Words: Glasgow, 2012.
It's a pleasant surprise to learn that this Brown-Chested Martin is also on the ABA checklist as a code 5 North American species.
This is basically a South American species....READ MORE.
Disclaimer: I understand many people think that American species should only be counted when they are seen on American soil. I certainly respect that reasoning.
When I started counting species almost 10 years ago I had stated on my profile that " I will count birds species as N. American as long as they are on the ABA checklist ; regardless of where I'd captured them.
But I shall not count them unless they are flying....(Please read my profile.)
Thank you for your understanding.
The reasoning of the title is this was taken December 2020 during a time of major political turmoil, mail disruptions, and Covid-19 mortality. But this was also the final winter for this once elegant mansion of Connellsville. It was demolished by excavator on July 9th & 10th 2021. Built sometime in the late 1800's, this Italianate styled home had four bedrooms, 11 total rooms, fireplace, 2 1/2 floors, and 3,104 square feet. The original owner was noteworthy local physician / businessman Dr. Ellis Phillips and his wife Ada McIlvaine. After Dr. Phillips retired from practice in 1902, they moved away to Columbus, Ohio. The history after that becomes a little more cloudy. There was a long list of owners including a Bailey family. It spent the last few decades unoccupied. The last owner Rodney Allen, attempted some renovations to keep the exterior up to code, but a full rehab was never completed. The house and land was sold for $199, 900. Still well above the appraised value of $50,000 in the condition it was in. Future plans call for AriRoryMilo Enterprises to build a three- or four-story structure with possible office / retail / restaurant space. At least it will not be another empty lot.
Some thoughts from me. Left to right, top to bottom. None of the pics are mine, I just edited them together, read the stuff in the bottom right box and leave your thoughts for that too.
1.The first Iron Man mask is definitely the Mark 43, finally some accurate helmets, sadly the mouth isn't black yet still.
2. The second Iron Man mask is what seems to be the Extremis Iron Man helmet, which the MK 42 was based off of, and which the MK 43(The one shown previously) is a copy of, just in reverse colors definitely interesting.
3. The last and most important is the third helmet shown. I am 100% sure this is the prototype Ultron mask(Or a variant/clone of Ultron, most likely the prototype). My reasoning is that we are getting an Avengers Tower, watching the trailer, I examined the suit heavily(As I am making it ;), and can confirm that this is a Ultron helmet, as the front plate is gold and the main helmet is black-dark blue(Cannot be determined in the trailer). This helmet is dark blue and gold print(different design suggests it's Ultron).
The Rider of the Mountain of Cordes
Près de l'Abbaye de Montmajour
LE SITE MYSTERIEUX DE LA MONTAGNE DES CORDES...
Pour maintes raisons, et certainement depuis la nuit des temps, le site de la Montagne des Cordes reste dans la mémoire collective, un lieu chargé de mystères...
Essayons d'y voir un peu plus clair...
Situé au Nord de la ville d'Arles, la Montagne des Cordes faisait partie intégrante du massif Montmajour - Castelet. Avant même les débordements des Durançoles venant de Saint Gabriel (à l'ouest des Alpilles), l'ensemble de ce massif, était d'un seul tenant, tant il est vrai qu'à la hauteur de Saint Gabriel (l'ancien Ernaginum), les archéologues ont trouvé des vestiges à une profondeur de 3.50 mètres ! Dans toutes nos analyses du site, on doit donc considérer que le sol "originel" de la plaine du Trébon se situe vers cette profondeur...
Mais si un tel raisonnement était vrai à l'époque romaine, on peut se demander jusqu'à quelle époque le massif Montmajour - Cordes - Castelet est resté ce massif à part entière de l'ouest des Alpilles, avant même de devenir un ensemble d'îlots...
Ce raisonnement est parfaitement illustré par la carte géologique ci - dessous (Leveau, Provensal et leurs équipes) :
C'est à la fin de l'Antiquité tardive (VIIIème siècle), que l'eau commence à isoler par le nord le groupe géographique Montmajour - Cordes - Castelet, à ce détail prés, c'est qu'entre Montmajour et Cordes, le sol originel est plus haut que celui de la plaine du Trébon... Aprés le VIIIème siècle, les deux "îles" de Montmajour et Cordes, sont donc toujours accolées et forment entre elles une sorte de vallon dont les points les plus bas sont représentés de nos jours par le canal de la Vidange et le marais de Chiavary ... Ce n'est qu'aux Xéme et XIIIème siècle que l'on trouve dans les documents des mentions "isles", et qu'on sait que Montmajour et Cordes ne sont accessibles que par bateau...
Voir l'article complet :
camargue-insolite.over-blog.com/article-le-site-mysterieu...
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Near Montmajour Abbey
THE MYSTERIOUS SITE OF THE MOUNTAIN OF THE ROPES ...
For many reasons, and certainly since time immemorial, the site of the Montagne des Cordes remains in the collective memory, a place full of mysteries ...
Let's try to see a little more clearly ...
Located north of the city of Arles, the Montagne des Cordes was an integral part of the Montmajour - Castelet massif. Even before the Durançoles overflows from Saint Gabriel (west of the Alpilles), the whole of this massif was in one piece, as it is true that at the height of Saint Gabriel (the old Ernaginum ), archaeologists have found remains at a depth of 3.50 meters! In all our analyzes of the site, we must therefore consider that the "original" soil of the Trébon plain is located towards this depth ...
But if such reasoning was true in Roman times, one can wonder until when the Montmajour - Cordes - Castelet massif remained this fully-fledged massif in the west of the Alpilles, even before becoming a group of islets ...
This reasoning is perfectly illustrated by the geological map below (Leveau, Provensal and their teams):
It was at the end of late Antiquity (8th century), that water began to isolate from the north the geographical group Montmajour - Cordes - Castelet, with this detail near, it is that between Montmajour and Cordes, the original soil is higher than that of the Trébon plain ... After the 8th century, the two "islands" of Montmajour and Cordes, are therefore always joined and form between them a kind of valley whose lowest points are represented today by the Canal de la Vidange and the marsh of Chiavary ... It is only in the Xth and XIIIth centuries that we find in documents documents "isles", and that we know that Montmajour and Ropes are only accessible by boat ...
ok so this custom was a pain I the butt. The helmet gave me a lot of trouble. Also before you say it's to rusty etc. Here's my reasoning I based this off if the armor was either submerged or had been through many storms, also its over 200 years old so weather and time have taken this suit over. Now I did make it so you could put a fusion core in, which I think is cool. On to the helmet, let me say I made like 6 different helmet sculpts. Yeah the helmet was a big problem only because I wanted it to look like the real thing. The Fatman hasn't been finished but ob will start painting it after this is posted or sometime later. All I have to do is finish up my vault tec rep and maybe a deathclaw. I will be posting more shots of the armor suit today so stay tuned! Also this is inspired by brickzalive I probably wouldn't have made mine if he didn't so thank you brickz.
The layout above looks rather bare. But it would do, it was built to accommodate a four-track mainline, a carriage shed and access to a yard and engine shed.
This is the east end of Rhyl station, photographed on 7 November 2020. The far left of the bridge allowed access to the down passenger loop, the shed and yard, pass through there now and you end up in Morrison's car park. The two tracks far right are now civils sidings, but formerly led to a long carriage shed.
The centre part of the bridge houses the current down passenger loop and the down main. The loop is the former down slow, the main was the down fast.
Finally, the right side, which formerly had the up fast and up slow, now just the up main.
Rationalisation here was done in a piecemeal fashion over two decades, the current layout dates from around 1989 after removal of the down slow between Prestatyn and the west side of Rhyl.
The vast majority of trains stop at Rhyl, in normal non-Covid times only two westbound ECS trains and a solitary passenger service use the down through, along with the odd engineers train and the NMT. The RHTT squirts the loop. On the up, just two passenger trains don't stop.
Before the 2018 resignalling, the down loop was signalled by approach control, the Bobby at Rhyl no1 (in the picture) wouldn't clear the signal behind me on the down until the train was virtually on top of the signal and down to about 15-20mph, (the ruling limit is 90, although down to 75 here), trains would accelerate past the signal and use the 40mph turnout to access the platform. Trains using the down main were not approach controlled, and passed through on the 75mph limit.
During the resignalling, some track alterations were done, a new trailing crossover behind me was added as part of the bi-directional signalling between here and Flint. The turnout from the down main to down loop, directly in the middle of the picture, was tweaked slightly, but retained its 40mph limit. The speed on the down main however was dropped, the turnout is now limited to 50mph on the down main for a few yards, then goes back to 75 at the bridge.
Now on the grand scheme it really doesn't matter. But is there anyone from the civils department who could explain the reasoning behind this? Surely it would have been better to have used the available space to construct a nice smooth turnout onto the loop, a 50mph onto the down loop would have been perfect here, leaving the 75mph through road alone. And why the 50mph on the through anyway? My eye is completely untrained on track geometry. But that set of points doesn't look so bad, even accepting that they could be better.
Perhaps if the civils are out and busy with the spades, there's a driver out there who could explain it?
Anyone...
56096 and 56113 clatter 3S71 east beside the crime scene.
Entry for Sam K Bricks' 'Elseworld JLA' contest. It is - obviously - a Star Wars/JLA-mashup. Hope you enjoy them ;)
Sorry for the following very long text, but when I let my thoughts arise... well... you can see the result. :D
I've made "Brac To-maz Warn, Jedi Master of Bats" already at the time when Catman from the Batman-Movie-CMFs first came out and always wanted to get the whole team StarWarsified. I'm quite happy with what came out of it and that Sam K Bricks gave me a reason through his contest, to finally do this.
Not to brag, but in the end I couldn't even tell you, which one I like the most, they came out much better than expected. :D
By the way: in my photostream there are pictures of each one seperately, if you want a closer look at them.
__________
"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
It is a period of civil war.
Rebel metahumans, the LEAGUE
OF REBELS, striking
from a hidden base, have won
their first victory against
the evil Empire of Doom.
During the battle, Rebel
spies managed to steal secret
plans to the Empire's
ultimate hideout, the HALL
OF DOOM, an armored space
station with enough power to
destroy an entire planet.
Pursued by the Empire's
sinister agents, Princess
Diana races home aboard her
starship, custodian of the
stolen plans that can save
her people and restore
freedom to the galaxy....."
The League of Rebels consists of specialised Metahumans, which try with their respective strenghts to assist the Princess on her cause.
Nautolan King
Since his home planet Glee Anselm is completely covered in water, the king of its inhabitant race, the Nautolans, is naturally stronger than for example humans ever could be. In the already long war against the Empire, he lost his right arm. Through hard training, strong willpower and his special ability to control water, he is able to control a liquid arm, which can shapeshift as he sees fit.
Gungan Manhunter
Considered an alien between aliens, this Gungan was forcefully exiled. This drastic but understandable act made him reconsider his life so much, that he became a telepath. This forced evolution caused him to find people, who could make use of his "talents" of disturbing other peoples minds. With the rebels now he gets send to missions to distract the enemy so much, that most of them try to end their own lifes. Thats why he is the only member who totally doesn't need any weapons...
Green Saber
Ha'al Jo-daan is a member of a galactic control force, specialised in close and ranged combat fights against other force users. Gifted with a modified light saber, which can be controlled by the users willpower and in that way shapeshift in any size and form, he are able to overcome Darksides elite forces.
Brac To-maz Warn, Jedi Master of Bats
Seeing his parents getting slaughtered by the Lord of Darkside, he swore to avenge them by defeating this threat to the galaxy. At first the Jedi council was against this violent reasoning, but since he was strongly supported by the councils leader, Ra-za Gruuhl, and also having a strong connection to the deeper connections inside the force, he got trained and reached after a short amount of time higher levels and a deeper understanding of the force than any of his masters.
Princess Diana of Themyscaraan
Adopted by the royal family of Themyscaraan and with the gifts of their gods, she is able to withstand even heavy physical attacks and is highly trained in dual wielding the modified rebel blasters. Combined with her force shiled bracers it is nearly impossible to land a hit on her with any kind af attack.
Count El
After his home planet was destroyed by the empire, Kal-o El with all his anger became an easy target for the Darkside (get it?). After he was trained in sith fighting styles, he found an old Holocron with a message of his parents, wich led him back to the righteous ways. He now fights in a symbiotic way of dark and light and thus is a nearly unstoppable force!
Cy-B-0
The half human half droid is not only the only being in the known galaxy, which can speak every existing language, he also can fight using his highly enhanced body. With the help of his right arm cannon he can can strike down even Star Destroyers with just one well targeted shot.
Bar-y Alehn, Jedi Master of Lightning
Gifted with a strong connection to the force, Alehn was already trained in the Jedi ways from a young age. While trying to enhance his light saber to a lightning saber, he miscalculated the final energy consumed, so that he was stroke by his collapsing saber. He survived only through channelling the lighning through his whole bodies cells and can use this to reach incredible fighting speed, which not even Count El could nearly catch up to.
Green Blast
Exiled from his home, Orlivah Cueehn got lost on a jungle planet where he needed to acuire extreme hunting skills, so that he can survive the attacks of the 20 meter high jungle giants.
After he was finally rescued by a group of professional hunters, he bought the best equipment credits could buy and is now known to be the galaxies best user of the green light bow and laser arrow.
Having tried some shots from this particular location near to Whalley Abbey before, I wanted to try another during wintertime, my reasoning being that the view would be opened up without the foliage on the surrounding trees. Fortunately on this day, I had better weather and more interesting lighting than on any of my previous attempts.
On 15th January 2022, Statesman Rail ran one of its Settle & Carlisle Circular railtours from Worcester Shrub Hill to Appleby. The outward journey was via the S&C, and the return leg ran via the Cumbrian Coast. LSL provided the traction, with regulars 47593 'Galloway Princess' and 47810 'Crewe Diesel Depot' up front. The train is seen here crossing Whalley Viaduct.
If you're interested in an alternative angle on railway photography, take a look at the Phoenix Railway Photographic Circle's website at www.phoenix-rpc.co.uk
Just then, Timothy joined them downstairs, borrowing Don’s tennis shoes to take his dogs outside.
“Good morning, Emily. Guess what: I know what I have to do!” he exclaimed.
Emily prepared herself for another one of Timothy's spontaneous ideas.
“This whole weekend, this little place has felt like home. I played Scrabble with Elizabeth in the kitchen, slept in an actual bed upstairs, enjoyed the feel of my dogs and friends all fitting in this little living room. I’m moving in.”
Emily paused, wanting to be sure Timothy understood what moving did and didn’t mean: “You understand the structure will stay here – you can’t transfer to Room 2. We have no room for you.”
“Yes. I’m always going to be a Room 1 doll, but this feels like home. We all made memories here -- and it’s a plastic structure just like Jeffrey and Chrissy live in. I want a little piece of their happiness.”
“Oh brother,” Emily sighed.
Despite his skeptical reasoning, Emily was hopeful that maybe the two people she had to worry about the most had come to some decisions during this visit.
Hello Everybody! BNTM c5 Auditions are officially OPEN!
With Peyton Chance as your host and judge! But….she can’t do it alone, so she brought in some help! The wonderful top model-in-training Anastasia Emerald!
Now, here are the RULES:
1. NO fighting. Drama between dolls is OK, but nothing personal!
2. NO stealing photos! Need we explain our reasoning?
3. Three strikes and you’re out. If you don’t hand in your photo three times, does NOT matter if it’s consecutive or not, then you are disqualified. We want dedicated models to be in this!
4. Hand in your photos on time! Since this is going to be a collab-BNTM, deadlines are going to be extra important because we will both have to schedule our time accordingly. If you hand in your photo late, it just messes everything up.
5. NO changing models. Unless your model is damaged, don’t even ask! If you’re going to get bored with your model, then don’t use her in the first place.
6. Bratz only! That means no Bratzillaz!
7. Do not put your photos on private unless you’re told to, and always tag me (BratzRLife13) and MellyMelonMole in your photos each week.
8. Poseable bodied Bratz only please! Movie bodies and Party/Catz/Rock bodies are preferred.
AUDITION REQUIREMENTS:
-Plain white background
-Fullbody shot
-Eyecontact (preffered)
-Outfit of your style
-Hair tied up in any style
Make sure to have all of the following in the DESCRIPTION:
-Name
-Age
-Style
-Personality
-Why they should be in the competition
-Hometown
-Currently Living
We both hope to see lots of different personalities and unique looks! Have fun and Good Luck!:)
Auditions close JULY 1ST!
Auditions:
1. Charile: www.flickr.com/photos/119129024@N05/13909833809/in/photos...
2. Gladis Marron: www.flickr.com/photos/sailorcrystel/13910398278/
3. Raven Thomasina: www.flickr.com/photos/86305693@N04/14095339372/
4. Bethany Weston: www.flickr.com/photos/88102708@N07/14118868833/
5. Tulisa Keen: www.flickr.com/photos/93280992@N05/14101144641/
6. Hazel Adams: www.flickr.com/photos/87808124@N06/14148473165/
7. Daisy Collins: www.flickr.com/photos/mhperfectlyimperfect/14171330723/
8. Cole Peterson: www.flickr.com/photos/janeenf/13966230369/
9. Freya Cardoso: www.flickr.com/photos/craftasticmess/14170032241/
10. Marie-Andre Mothee: www.flickr.com/photos/v1cthepurplejagerbomb/14036605129/
11. Remira Leighton: www.flickr.com/photos/eatmycookies125/14253318603/
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After delivering empties to Port of Tillamook Bay at Hillsboro, the Southern Pacific's Clackamas Switcher highballs Greton, Oregon, a junction in Portland's southwest suburbs. Once upon a time, Oregon Electric's main line over Portland's West Hills crossed SP at grade here. When the direct OE line to downtown Portland was abandoned, its trains ran over SP tracks from here to Beburg siding in Beaverton.
Development in Beaverton crowded OE successor Burlington Northern off the original mainline through downtown. As part of the abandonment of that line segment, the west end of BN's use of SP trackage moved two miles west to St. Marys in 1984. At that time, local governments paid for installation of CTC between Greton and St. Marys to keep rail traffic fluid. The reasoning was that it would avoid major disruptions of vehicular traffic on the surrounding streets.
After Portland & Western absorbed these rail lines in 1995, the CTC system was abandoned. Today, the junction has been moved a few hundred yards to the east, and CTC has returned - as part of the WES Commuter Rail system.
Following the apparent popularity of my picture of an Inter-City 125 power car at St Pancras, I have revived an image from the adjacent Kings Cross. My reasoning remains the same. A lot has changed in the more than 30 years since 43056 stood at the London terminus. I think both the trolleys to the left and the van to the right (a generator van?) are of interest also.
Another geotgagging masterstroke from Flickr places this picture incorrectly
822808 - crop
Peabody Essex Museum
XYZT is an immersive art exhibition comprised of 10 interactive virtual environments generated using math and physics models. In a darkened gallery, guests use their own movement and gestures to interact with light in a series of digital landscapes inspired by nature. Specific sensations, such as walking in the grass or putting your hands into the sand, are transposed into abstract, sensory encounters with lines, dots and letters.
XYZT creators Adrien Mondot and Claire Bardainne, French artists/performers/computer scientists, describe the installations as "a journey through nature revisited." Each letter in "XYZT" identifies the movement of a point in space - horizontal (X), vertical (Y), depth (Z) and time (T). The experience melds playful exploration with scientific reasoning, as each installation is accompanied by a video label on the nature of the underlying physical behavior, complete with excerpts from related dance performances.
Chimney swept yesterday which brought down an old Jackdaw nest containing four dead birds. My reasoning is that lit fires will keep Jackdaws out of the chimney until we can get a cowling fitted (next Monday). Good to have both a real fire and some heat as we work on our cottage.
I used to love that Saturday Night Live Skit, "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy."
They always had these super-serious visuals that reminded you of a drug-rehab commercial and then some absolutely silly line of reasoning. This reminded me of that for some reason :)
maisons jaoul, neuilly-sur-seine, paris, france, 1951-1955 (initial sketch project 1937).
architect: le corbusier, charles-édouard jeanneret, 1887-1965.
I am in over my head here, but when I see a piece of poetic brutalism, like the jaoul houses, I always think of ruskin, and his essay on the nature of gothic. ruskin, one of the best and strangest minds of the 19th century, developed a theory of gothic architecture without wasting too much space on mere stylistic elements. instead he proposed six mental categories, attempting to explain the psychology, values and even the society behind gothic art. they were: savageness, changefulness, naturalism, grotesqueness, rigidity, and redundancy - or, as he begins to explain,
'these characters are here expressed as belonging to the building; as belonging to the builder they would be expressed thus :1. savageness or rudeness. 2. love of change. 3. love of nature. 4. disturbed imagination. 5.obstinacy. 6.generosity.'
by talking about gothic architecture as an ideal, while leaving out the physical characteristics art history would usually focus on, ruskin was really telling us about the potential of architecture, and in a way the nature of gothic was a manifesto like le corbusier's later vers une architecture, while pretending to be something else.
not surprisingly, the bad guys in the nature of gothic were the classicists. classical ornament, ruskin claimed, was repetetive because it was meant to be produced by slaves. in gothic ornament, on the other hand, the artisan was allowed to express himself, he was respected as an individual, and that was more important than any degree of perfection achieved through repetition.
once again, ruskin was clearly not talking about the middle ages, or at least not only talking about the middle ages. anyone reading this in 1853 would recognize the problems of industrialisation and capitalism in britain. and indeed, following his essay on the gothic, ruskin increasingly freed himself from the christian reasoning that mars much of his architectural writing and became more of a social commentator.
le corbusier played an important part in drawing the great 19th century divide between classicism and gothic into modern architecture. his white villas of the 1920's carried an air of cool, abstract classicism and his writings promoted typological thinking as the basis for industrial production of architecture. aggressive politics in the CIAM and in publishing supported this. the architects whose work did not fit in were labelled expressionist and rejected, but ruskinian had perhaps been a better word for what qualities they shared.
the great delay in the arrival of modern architecture as compared to the other arts meant that it coincided with the neo-classical reaction to modernism in general. this may go some way towards explaining why modernism in architecture proved less liberating than what had been experienced in literature or music. and it had everything to do with architecture's dependency on power. only the crisis in europe following the first world war made modern architecture needed. hence le corbusier's battle cry, architecture or revolution, which was never an offer intended for the working classes.
of course, dismissing le corbusier's early work makes no sense, they are great buildings in their own right. but policing modern architecture the way it was done, limiting what modern architecture could be, was a terrible mistake. in this light, le corbusier's post-war brutalism can be seen as an effort to recover some of the lost freedom, even a return to the ruskinian riches of the very earliest modernism which he had sought to suppress. hugo häring, one of le corbusier's opponents of the 1920's, certainly thought so. when he saw L.C.'s post-war work, he felt vindicated.
le corbusier was not alone in making this move - think of alvar aalto's red brick buildings from the same period - but his standing in the architectural community made his contribution to brutalism all the more important. the progeny of the jaoul houses include buildings by the smithsons and the late churches by sigurd lewerentz. a liberation had indeed taken place.
to my mind, ruskin described the promise of brutalism best a full century before the event,
'see if it looks as if it had been built by strong men; if it has the sort of roughness, and largeness, and nonchalance, mixed in places with the exquisite tenderness which seems always to be the sign-manual of the broad vision, and the massy power of men who can see past the work they are doing, and betray here and there something like disdain for it. If the building has this character, it is much already in its favour; it will go hard but it proves a noble one.'
of course, he thought he was writing about the nature of gothic.
this photo was uploaded with a CC license and may be used free of charge and in any way you see fit.
if possible, please name photographer "SEIER+SEIER". if not, don't.
To me, it would seem that a dandelion bloom would be somehow different than this. I think that it's because a dandelion's fibers are all so scattered, at first glance, that it seems unlikely that they start out so orderly. Then the reasoning kicks in that dandelions use air dispersal to get their offspring away from the parent plant. Of course, then, there isn't a random combination of structures. They must be grown specifically to take advantage of being both light and fluffy.
Still with me? Gone to take a snooze?
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24.may.2010 - 597 / 75 / 370 / 2 galleries
just back from an outside walk on a sunny pentecost sunday !
hope you all had time to enjoy the fresh colors of this may day and the singing birds and frogs :-) every where !
– thank you for your always appreciated comments –
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- Creating the Future -Welcome to the Age of Interaction -
Future is something that is created. Every idea you have about the future influences your perception of what you will create and of what is possible to be created.
Let's focus on the changes on a global level based on the exiting and powerful experiences that we have as individuals, such as:
* Self-determination: it is so important to feel who you are, to appreciate yourself, to know what you want. That gives you the power to DO.
Acknowledging our differences and developing our individual talents, interests and skills is a prerequisite to making our input valuable for all around us and ourselves as well.
* Allowing your flow: With our opening to so many more avenues of information it is impossible to understand with our reasoning alone. We have to use our intuition. We stay in the now not to overwhelm ourselves. We allow our identity to change and to shift from analyzing to following impulses and doing.
* Interconnectedness: We are no longer anxiously holding to our energy not wanting to interact. We feel safe. It is so natural for us to take care of others. The future is female.
* Trust: Allowing things to unfold. Knowing that you will not harm yourself.
* YCYR: You create your reality. You do not create the reality of other individuals. You experience that you create your reality.
Join me in my exploration of how are we going to live in 2075.
Elias Quote Session 917: There is no aspect of your reality that is impossible to be manifest, regardless of how impossible it appears.
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VIEW LARGE HERE
Time to leave
Memories pass
I won't need
No one to say goodbye
When I change
Who will tell
What has been
And what is going on
I hope to find
Reasons for
The Me right now
And the one I was before
So I kept trying every day
Believed I found the words to say
But still had no one to assure
That things were better than before
All reasoning would cease with this
Why I would keep on seeking bliss
Until the final moment
Believed this was true
" Surviving " - Namnambulu
As previously mentioned, one of the primary uses of the FV4335 is manufacturing airstrips in isolated terrain so coalition sorties can be conducted from forward positions. This involves the -35 being equipped with a spool of perforated steel planking (also known as Marston Mat) and tugging a sprayer filled with a quick-setting form of tarmac. Two of these vehicles can be carried by most tactical airlifters whilst the accompanying equipment is hauled in another; ergo, the logistical footprint of the FV4335 is flexible enough to support any mission. Crews operating the vehicles in this configuration often refer to their machines as Snails rather than the conventional shortname of Spade. The reasoning behind this is fairly straightforward: the FV4335 looks like a lumpy gastropod and it leaves a gooey trail behind.
Nomenclature aside, the Snail is perhaps one of the most useful engineering vehicles conceived with respect to the expeditionary nature of NATO and Britain's other commitments to organizations like the UN. Indeed the FV4335 has demonstrated its utility by creating landing pads and strips for aircraft carrying humanitarian aid into rough environs. As seen in the image above, a Snail is in the process of creating a lengthy piece of tarmac for planes to land on in the heart of the Congo, a region filled with intense, ethnically- and resource-driven conflict.