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Sunrise, Lake Michigan Shoreline, Jackson Park, Chicago
Nikon D5100, Tamron 18-270, ISO 100, f/9.0, 30mm, 1/320s
he walks with the weight of years in his posture, swallowed by a city that looks away. light finds him, but it offers no warmth â only the outline of existence. in this frame, time folds inward and forgets to move.
“Don't judge the gentle; their gentleness is stronger than your fears and angers. Don't judge those who have lost their gentleness; you haven't lived their lives. In all people, hope for the gentleness to return and see gentleness for the beauty that it is.”
― C. JoyBell C.
Soundtrack : www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJbmXvBJhCs
DUST TO DUST – THE CIVIL WARS
THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD
When the air is filled with acrid smoke
and filling up your lungs
you try to breathe
but cough and choke
fall breathless down on Autumn leaves
this was the fire to end all fires
it took so much away
memories and photographs
things you can't replace
images burned into my mind
imprinted on my heart
like scars and tears of sacrifice
for all those who depart
how many fires does one man have
how many times must the phoenix start
to rise from ashes; dust to dust
stitching back the pieces
the homespun quilted, tattered rags
singed and worse for wear
somehow mean so very little
now there's no-one there
I lost it all again, you see
not once, but many times
I wonder that I'm here at all
I wonder what it means
that many people want me gone
so many let me suffer
small as I am
I wait in darkness
clothed in sackcloth
barefoot gashes
where the glass cut through my flesh
was cauterised and crashing now
through thick, neglected undergrowth
I run in any direction
I have to get away from here
avoid the resurrection
I think I'll hide for longer this time
I think no-one will notice
a small girl hiding in the darkness
closed mind now like a lotus
waiting for the sun to shine
wait in vain for peace of mind
to carry me from the darkest past
where I can be a child at last.
Who will believe the child in me
some don't believe me still
What will it take for them to believe
that everything I am and say is real ...
- AP – Copyright remains with the author
My artwork is a compilation of 4 of my photographs
'copyright image please do not reproduce without permission'
staff of the Titanic Hotel, Stanley dock, watch as the last remains of the former White Tomkins & Courage grain silo are demolished in a cloud of dust.
COPYRIGHT © Towner Images
"Knitting for Peace", by Betty Christiansen is a book I've recently acquired, even though I've been knitting for peace for a few years. It's a great book.
She has some terrific links in it, which I will add as a I have time.
Here's a small sampling:
www.silentwitness.net -- a terrific initiative!
The Mother Bear Project
P.O. Box 62188
Minneapolis, MN 55426
USA
Here's another independent review of the book (I am in no way affiliated with the book, the author or any of the organizations listed), "Knit for Peace" if you'd like to get a second opinion. knitting.about.com/od/reviews/fr/knitting-peace.htm
My Grandmother who was born in 1910 was a Woman of Peace; though she lived through many years of war and conflict, she never wavered as a woman of Peace. She was my hero in life and in death.
My Grandmother was raised as a Dunkard -- now known as the Brethren Church -- a member of one of the three historic Peace Churches (the other two being Quakers and Mennonite). I grew up with these people as influences in my life since girlhood. What a rude awakening I had when I got into the "real world". But I still wanted to be a woman of Peace one day myself. This is much harder work than it sounds. Knitting is a small and simple way to live out a value of Peace.
We all deserve personal peace; knitting helps me acknowedge this toward others, even when I struggle with the perfect words or attitudes that I just cannot collect and speak . . . knitting is like having the Peace of Hands.
Even though my Grandmother wanted to, she could never make her hands master knitting, even before her joints became a big pain issue. But she didn't need to knit for peace as she lived in Peace with everyone in her life, no matter how difficult she found a way to keep her inner peace. She wanted to be a person of love and kindness, no matter what. How I wish more of us could be like her.
Happy Knitting to my knitting friends.
PEACE All,
nightshooter09
A lone, weathered tree stands against the endless dunes, its twisted branches reaching for the sky like echoes of a forgotten time. The golden light casts long shadows, revealing the resilience of life in the harsh desert. Amidst the shifting sands, the tree remains a silent guardian, witnessing the whispers of the wind and the stories of the wild.
in the heart of santa catalina, a pedestrian sign lies abandoned against a weathered wall. the stark black and white of the image amplifies the sign's loneliness, hinting at the countless stories that pass by unnoticed in this vibrant district. the tilted sign, meant to guide and protect, now rests in disarray, reflecting the fragility of order in urban life. this scene, captured in a moment of quiet neglect, speaks volumes about the unnoticed and overlooked elements that still play a role in the rhythm of the city.
Silent witness of a long hot summer on a deserted stormy beach in October
Noordwijk, The Netherlands
Get in the mood with Jamiroquai's Talulah
...like an orchestra...the instruments were being adjusted...until in unison, the air was filled with music like I had never heard before... : Freeman Patterson
This great nature photographer, described a sunrise he witnessed alone in the Namibian desert.
Anyone... anywhere,,,feels awe when witnessing the reappearrance of our life giving star.
Good morning everyone...have a wonderful lovely day!!
photo rights reserved by Ben
The monk of Natlismtsemeli Monastery welcomed us with quiet hospitality and led us through the remote monastic courtyard, where stone, silence, and faith have shaped life for centuries. With calm dignity, he showed us the hidden treasures of this sacred place: a rock-hewn church, sandstone monk cells, a chapel carved deep into the cliff, and the steep path leading to the ancient watchtower on the ridge above. Natlismtsemeli is one of the most secluded branches of the historic David Gareja Monastery Complex, founded in the 6th century by the Assyrian monk David Garejeli. Unlike the central Lavra, now a well-known pilgrimage site, Natlismtsemeli lies far off the beaten path — a place of simplicity, seclusion, and deep spiritual devotion. The complex is carved into the soft, sandy cliffs of the semi-desert borderlands between Georgia and Azerbaijan. Over centuries, monks shaped this place in search of silence and communion with God. The cells and chapels bear the marks of time: soot-darkened ceilings, weathered frescoes, and rough stone altars. This is a world shaped by prayer, stone, and silence — and it has endured for more than a thousand years.
At Natlismtsemeli Monastery, one of the most remote parts of the David Gareja complex, a monk guided us through the ancient site. The monk stands with his back to us, hands calmly folded behind him in his long dark robe — a gesture of stillness and contemplation. In front of him rises the stone bell tower of the church, with the ancient watchtower perched high above. A black dog rests quietly near the path — a symbol of daily monastic life, where the lines between man, nature, and faith gently blur.
De monnik van het Natlismtsemeli-klooster verwelkomde ons met stille gastvrijheid en leidde ons door het afgelegen kloosterhof, waar steen, stilte en geloof al eeuwen samenkomen. Met rustige waardigheid liet hij ons de verborgen schatten van deze heilige plek zien: een in de rotsen uitgehouwen kerk, zandstenen monnikencellen, een kapel verscholen in de klif, en het steile pad dat leidt naar de oude wachttoren bovenop de heuvel. Natlismtsemeli is een van de meest afgezonderde delen van het historische David Gareja-kloostercomplex, dat in de 6e eeuw werd gesticht door de Assyrische monnik David Garejeli. In tegenstelling tot het centrale Lavra-klooster, dat inmiddels bekend is bij pelgrims, ligt Natlismtsemeli ver buiten de gebaande paden — een plek van eenvoud, afzondering en spirituele toewijding. Het complex is uitgehouwen in de zandkleurige kliffen van het halfwoestijnachtige grensgebied tussen Georgië en Azerbeidzjan. Door de eeuwen heen bouwden monniken hier hun cellen, kapellen en uitkijkposten, op zoek naar stilte en verbinding met God. De cellen en kapellen tonen sporen van een diep verleden: roetzwarten plafonds, verweerde fresco’s en ruwe stenen altaren. Op de foto zien we de monnik van achteren, in zijn lange donkere pij, met de handen gevouwen op de rug — een houding van rust en beschouwing. Voor hem rijst de kerktoren op uit de ruwe muur van natuursteen, met daarboven de wachttoren die uitkijkt over een verstild landschap. Op de voorgrond ligt een waakhond rustig naast het pad — symbool van het alledaagse kloosterleven, waar de grens tussen mens, natuur en geloof vervaagt. Dit is een wereld gevormd door gebed, steen en stilte — en dat al meer dan duizend jaar.
photo rights reserved by Ben
The monk of Natlismtsemeli Monastery welcomed us with quiet hospitality, leading us along narrow footpaths etched into the hillside. With calm authority, he showed us the hidden treasures of this sacred place: a rock-hewn church with faded medieval frescoes, narrow monk cells hollowed from sandstone, a small chapel deep within the cliff, and the steep, winding ascent to the solitary watchtower high above. Natlismtsemeli is one of the most remote branches of the ancient David Gareja Monastery Complex, founded in the 6th century by the Assyrian monk David Garejeli. While David Gareja’s central Lavra has become a well-known pilgrimage site, Natlismtsemeli remains far more isolated — a place of silence, asceticism, and deep spiritual endurance. Built into the cliffs of Georgia’s semi-desert borderlands with Azerbaijan, the monastery was carved over centuries by monks seeking solitude and communion with God. The cells and chapels bear the marks of time — soot-blackened ceilings, worn frescoes, and simple stone altars. From the top of the rocky ridge, the monastery’s old watchtower surveys an endless landscape of golden hills, dry winds, and distant borders.
At Natlismtsemeli Monastery, one of the most remote parts of the David Gareja complex, a monk guided us through the ancient site. The monk steps forward in his dark robe, framed by rough earth and low vegetation. A guardian dog watches from a cave entrance above — part of daily monastic life here, where the boundary between human, nature, and faith is faint. This is a world shaped by prayer, stone, and silence — as it has been for over a thousand years.
De monnik van het Natlismtsemeli-klooster verwelkomde ons met stille gastvrijheid en leidde ons langs smalle paadjes die zich een weg banen door de heuvelwand. Met kalme autoriteit liet hij ons de verborgen schatten van deze heilige plek zien: een in de rotsen uitgehouwen kerk met vervaagde middeleeuwse fresco’s, smalle monnikencellen in zandsteen, een kleine kapel diep in de klif, en het steile pad omhoog naar de eenzame wachttoren op de top. Natlismtsemeli is een van de meest afgelegen vertakkingen van het oude David Gareja-kloostercomplex, dat in de 6e eeuw werd gesticht door de Assyrische monnik David Garejeli. Waar het centrale Lavra-klooster inmiddels een bekend pelgrimsoord is geworden, blijft Natlismtsemeli ver buiten de gebaande paden — een plek van stilte, soberheid en diepe spirituele toewijding. Het klooster is uitgehouwen in de kliffen van het halfwoestijnachtige grensgebied tussen Georgië en Azerbeidzjan, en werd in de loop der eeuwen gevormd door monniken die afzondering zochten en eenheid met God. De cellen en kapellen dragen sporen van de tijd: met roet bedekte plafonds, verweerde fresco’s en eenvoudige stenen altaren. Vanaf de rotspunt bij de wachttoren kijkt men uit over een eindeloos landschap van goudkleurige heuvels, droge wind en verre grenzen. Op de foto stapt de monnik naar voren in zijn donkere pij, omgeven door ruige aarde en lage begroeiing. Vanuit een grotopening houdt een waakhond de omgeving in de gaten — onderdeel van het dagelijkse kloosterleven, waar de grens tussen mens, natuur en geloof vervaagt. Dit is een wereld gevormd door gebed, steen en stilte — en dat al meer dan duizend jaar.
In the heart of Namibia’s arid landscape stands a crumbling house, a silent relic of a bygone era. Surrounded by the endless desert, it tells a story of human ambition, struggle, and the ultimate surrender to nature’s relentless forces.
photo rights reserved by Ben
The monk of Natlismtsemeli Monastery welcomed us with quiet hospitality, leading us along narrow footpaths etched into the hillside. With calm authority, he showed us the hidden treasures of this sacred place: a rock-hewn church with faded medieval frescoes, narrow monk cells hollowed from sandstone, a small chapel deep within the cliff, and the steep, winding ascent to the solitary watchtower high above. Natlismtsemeli is one of the most remote branches of the ancient David Gareja Monastery Complex, founded in the 6th century by the Assyrian monk David Garejeli. While David Gareja’s central Lavra has become a well-known pilgrimage site, Natlismtsemeli remains far more isolated — a place of silence, asceticism, and deep spiritual endurance. Built into the cliffs of Georgia’s semi-desert borderlands with Azerbaijan, the monastery was carved over centuries by monks seeking solitude and communion with God. The cells and chapels bear the marks of time — soot-blackened ceilings, worn frescoes, and simple stone altars. From the top of the rocky ridge, the monastery’s old watchtower surveys an endless landscape of golden hills, dry winds, and distant borders.
At Natlismtsemeli Monastery, one of the most remote parts of the David Gareja complex, a monk guided us through the ancient site. The monk steps forward in his dark robe, framed by rough earth and low vegetation. A guardian dog watches from a cave entrance above — part of daily monastic life here, where the boundary between human, nature, and faith is faint. This is a world shaped by prayer, stone, and silence — as it has been for over a thousand years.
De monnik van het Natlismtsemeli-klooster verwelkomde ons met stille gastvrijheid en leidde ons langs smalle paadjes die zich een weg banen door de heuvelwand. Met kalme autoriteit liet hij ons de verborgen schatten van deze heilige plek zien: een in de rotsen uitgehouwen kerk met vervaagde middeleeuwse fresco’s, smalle monnikencellen in zandsteen, een kleine kapel diep in de klif, en het steile pad omhoog naar de eenzame wachttoren op de top. Natlismtsemeli is een van de meest afgelegen vertakkingen van het oude David Gareja-kloostercomplex, dat in de 6e eeuw werd gesticht door de Assyrische monnik David Garejeli. Waar het centrale Lavra-klooster inmiddels een bekend pelgrimsoord is geworden, blijft Natlismtsemeli ver buiten de gebaande paden — een plek van stilte, soberheid en diepe spirituele toewijding. Het klooster is uitgehouwen in de kliffen van het halfwoestijnachtige grensgebied tussen Georgië en Azerbeidzjan, en werd in de loop der eeuwen gevormd door monniken die afzondering zochten en eenheid met God. De cellen en kapellen dragen sporen van de tijd: met roet bedekte plafonds, verweerde fresco’s en eenvoudige stenen altaren. Vanaf de rotspunt bij de wachttoren kijkt men uit over een eindeloos landschap van goudkleurige heuvels, droge wind en verre grenzen. Op de foto stapt de monnik naar voren in zijn donkere pij, omgeven door ruige aarde en lage begroeiing. Vanuit een grotopening houdt een waakhond de omgeving in de gaten — onderdeel van het dagelijkse kloosterleven, waar de grens tussen mens, natuur en geloof vervaagt. Dit is een wereld gevormd door gebed, steen en stilte — en dat al meer dan duizend jaar.
Daly point Reserve is where I like to spend time searching for the right light on its many nature subjects. The right of the tree is almost brancheless because its facing the North East from which the salt sea air and winds have whipped this old Spruce for countless years.
On the left, the city breathes under celestial rays—the Eiffel Tower stands still, humbled beneath clouds cracked open by sunlight, as if the heavens whispered through the veil. Time seems suspended, yet light insists on its passage.
On the right, a weathered plaque, once inscribed, now eroded. The metal curls at its edge, and the engraved message is long gone. But its trace remains, like a fossil of remembrance. Bronze flowers adorn the emptiness, testifying to a name once spoken, now silent.
Together, these images speak of presence and absence, of monuments and memory, of what endures and what dissolves. The hues echo across stone and sky—warm greens and burnished copper, soft golds and faded shadows—linking the sky of Paris with the skin of the grave.
Nothing is immutable. Yet everything leaves a trace.
The Serenissima Hotel is one of many hotels in Varosha that once made this coastline a tourism hub in the 1960s and early ’70s. Known as the "Riviera of the East," Varosha drew visitors from around the world until its sudden evacuation in 1974. Its properties, including this hotel, remain legally owned by displaced Greek Cypriots, whose right to return is recognised by the UN and international courts—but still unfulfilled.
Seljalandsfoss est une chute d'eau du sud de l'Islande mesurant 65 mètres de hauteur. Elle se trouve à proximité de la chute de la Skogafoss. Sa particularité est la possibilité de passer derrière et ainsi d'admirer la chute différemment et de la rendre plus impressionnante.
fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seljalandsfoss
Seljalandsfoss is one of the most famous waterfalls of Iceland. Seljalandsfoss is situated in between Selfoss and Skógafoss at the road crossing of Route 1 (the Ring Road) with the track going into Þórsmörk.
This waterfall of the river Seljalandsá drops 60 metres (200 ft) over the cliffs of the former coastline. It is possible to go behind the waterfall.
Fantasyland 06/09/2021 19h41
Silent witness of a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious day...
Disneyland Paris
Disneyland Paris, originally Euro Disney Resort, is an entertainment resort in Marne-la-Vallée, a new town located 32 km east of the centre of Paris, and is the most visited theme park in all of Europe. It is owned by The Walt Disney Company through subsidiary Euro Disney S.C.A. The resort covers 19 km2 and encompasses two theme parks, many resort hotels, a shopping, dining, and entertainment complex, and a golf course, in addition to several additional recreational and entertainment venues. Disneyland Park is the original theme park of the complex, opening with the resort on 12 April 1992. A second theme park, Walt Disney Studios Park, opened in 2002. The resort is the second Disney park to open outside the United States following the opening of the Tokyo Disney Resort in 1983.
FACTS & FIGURES
Opened: 12/04/1992
Previous names: Euro Disney Resort (1992-1994), Disneyland Resort Paris (2002-2009)
Area: 19 km2
Themeparks: Parc Disneyland - Parc Walt Disney Studios
Hotels: 7 Disney hotels and 9 partnered hotels
Owners: Euro Disney S.C.A. + The Walt Disney Company
Attractions: Disneyland Park (34), Park Walt Disney Studios (18)
[ Source and more Info: Wikipedia - Disneyland Paris ]
tucked away around the corner from milan's majestic duomo square, a phone booth stands, a relic of bygone dialogues. it's an artifact in our digital age, a transparent capsule that once buzzed with the voices of countless souls. in the hushed whispers of the city night, it wears stickers like badges, each a cryptic symbol of its enduring legacy. the passerby might miss it, a silent sentinel bearing witness to the evolution of communication, where once connections were tethered by cords and coins, now replaced by the invisible threads of technology.
In 'One Day - Part Two', taking Emilia Fox's Dr. Nikki Alexander and her team back to Pleasant Manor, the tale took a darker twist on the abuse of the disabled this time around.
After the death of Kevin, Serena was questioned over the sexual abuse she had experienced at the home. Emotions ran high once again, with Silent Witness hitting a chord with many.
www.starnow.co.uk/christopherw33618
2016 Reel www.starnow.co.uk/media/623368
2015 Reel www.starnow.co.uk/media/500618
Crew CV <a crew.mandy.com/uk/crew/profile/chris-christopher-wilson
Artist Statement:
This piece explores the emotional residue of collapse — not just of buildings, but of ideals. The figure, headless and forgotten, once stood as a symbol of beauty, order, and permanence. Now, she presides over ruin. I created this environment to feel like the final chapter of a long-forgotten myth, where history no longer has a narrator and silence is the only remaining witness. The soft light through the arch isn’t hopeful; it’s indifferent. The debris isn’t tragic; it’s inevitable. I want the viewer to sit with that tension — the beauty in what endures, and the melancholy in what doesn't.
Hashtags:
#AfterTheFall #DigitalRuins #EmotionalDecay #SilentWitness #PostCivilization
#RhondaMelo #Melor #Melor❤️ #MelorArtist
#EnvironmentalArt #ContemporaryMythology #DigitalSculpture #DestructionAndGrace
my heart aches with this photo, a silent witness at the Grand Canyon hotel lobby, a reminder of how man can be the worst predator (worked with photoshop)
Grand Canyon, Arizona
U.S.A.
In 'One Day - Part Two', taking Emilia Fox's Dr. Nikki Alexander and her team back to Pleasant Manor, the tale took a darker twist on the abuse of the disabled this time around.
After the death of Kevin, Serena was questioned over the sexual abuse she had experienced at the home. Emotions ran high once again, with Silent Witness hitting a chord with many.
www.starnow.co.uk/christopherw33618
2016 Reel www.starnow.co.uk/media/623368
2015 Reel www.starnow.co.uk/media/500618
Crew CV <a crew.mandy.com/uk/crew/profile/chris-christopher-wilson
Several years of visiting the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition have passed where I have marched out afterwards announcing that I’m going to enter next year. The Royal Academy count on people like me to fund the next year’s show; they display just enough total crap so that we think that we could stand a chance of exhibiting, therefore enough of us idiots blithely stump up £25 to enter a piece – “Well if I’m entering one I may as well enter two” – so, £50 for most entrants – why bet on one horse in the Grand National when you can bet on a ¼ of them!
It was right after I had sent off my £50 that I discovered that all of the ideas I had scribbled smugly in my notebook whilst wandering around the show last year no longer seemed quite as clever or witty or interesting.
Multiple evenings in pubs were merrily spent thinking up peculiar pieces of concept art, offensive art, non-existent art and hideous art done by someone else, bought at a boot fair and passed off as my own. All were dutifully scribbled into my notebook – the notebook of inertia - every thought and idea I write in there, stays in there and never gets beyond rumination. The weeks vanished with no artwork created, but many pleasant nights in the pub enjoyed.
Two weeks to go.
F**K.
Like sluggish bowels excavating after a weekend at Glastonbury, one dehydrated little pellet of an idea eventually squeezed it’s way out of my head and wouldn’t flush, so that was the one I had to go with.
Fortunately the piece lent itself very nicely to more sitting in the pub thinking of filthy terms and phrases – any piece of work that requires research using the urban dictionary is hardly work at all! – why, I subscribe!
The biggest challenge though is not to get into the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, it is to get your work into a frame.
This activity took longer than the actual creation of the art.
Ikea and Habitat must experience a sudden flurry of frame buying in March and April every year. I bought about eight frames for two pieces of work, made two and a half sweaty-backed trips up to London to stand in the store for half an hour trying to visualise my work in each frame, bought the wrong kind (bad signage Habitat), realised on the way home at Finsbury Park that I had bought the wrong ones, sweaty-headed and sweaty-backed returned to the shop to swap them - by now sweaty headed, backed and breasted.
Frames bought, I then decamped to my mother’s house (ex-framer) for help with ‘fitting up’ - sounds like some kind of drug-taking terminology.
I arrived with all the equipment, and sweaty armpits. We both tentatively attempted a bevelled mount – not a sexual position – that would have been easier.
Only those who try to hand cut a bevelled mount on a table too small can appreciate the skill and stress involved, it would make an excellent method of torture for criminals.
“Where’s the body?”
“No comment.”
“I’ll make you talk you bastard. DC Hutchinson, fetch me some card and a mount cutter. Right, I want you to cut a mount for this charming watercolour my wife did of some kittens in a basket. I want a 1.5cm gap all around the image, don’t cut the signature off and that bevel had better be perfect. Well?! What are you waiting for?! GET ON WITH IT!”
5 hours and numerous failed attempts later. . . .
“Please, no more mounts, I’ll tell you everything, the body is. . . . “
I may, in fact, submit a picture next year that is simply a perfectly cut bevelled mount, no, several mounts, stacked in decreasing sizes and quality. I shall name it ‘Ever Decreasing Perfection’
An hour or so went by with not much progress, and I started to think that this was going to drag on all afternoon – we might not even be finished by Tiffin time.
So to prevent us overrunning into the hour of the G&T I dashed to a local framers. They did a last minute mount-cutting job, wrapped it all up and I paid and gushed too gratefully. When I got home and unwrapped the mounts they looked as though the corners had been finished using a crow’s beak, a dirty and uncooperative crow’s beak at that. Some botching was done with chalk and the gentle coaxing of a pin and we deduced that the corner of a mount least noticed was the top right - that may or may not be true.
Next job, getting the image straight in the mount, this activity is like the bit in films where the cop is trying to diffuse the bomb while people around him bark instructions/threats his ears.
My mother hovered behind me wringing her hands (I couldn’t see them but I could sense them) saying, ‘No, the left margin is wider than the right.’ I emitted a prehistoric, guttural cry, we swapped roles and I then took over the hand wringing and over shoulder criticism. We alternated for some time.
Next and absolute worst bit, putting the image into the frame and closing it up - sounds simple enough?
Glass in, image in, hold up to look at. . . . . . .
Hairs, random dots, fluff, un-categorisable detritus was peppered all over the picture, the mount, the glass, everything. I opened it up partially – the more you open it the more gets in – it’s like some kind of dust black hole. Once again I was the cop trying to open up the bomb casing without setting it off . . . . I inserted a soft brush between glass and image and I tried to brush the dots away. I simply mixed them up like a tombola and deposited them elsewhere, you can’t even blow – spots of sputum are worse than dust.
I started to wonder at the nature of this detritus, tiny hairs that I have ONLY ever seen on mounts and behind glass appeared, red ones seemed to be particularly prevalent. My mother was wearing a red cashmere jumper.
“GET OUT!!!!! Get that thing off!!!” I screamed. “No! Not in here, get out and THEN take it off!”
She scurried off like a nuclear power station worker to decontaminate herself.
The process was repeated again and again: fit up, look at the front, swear, open it all up, brush more crap behind the glass, close it up, look, scream, open it up, poke about with the brush some more, replace image and glass, turn frame round, gurn. After a finite amount of times it is not that you finally get rid of all the dust, your tolerance has risen as your patience has dropped and you are now willing to accept the current constellation of particles in their respective positions. You are also no longer holding the frame up to the light and peering closely at it, rather now you are having a momentary glance at the front from across the room, through your fingers and with the curtains closed.
So my second submission for next year will be a frame with a blank white piece of paper inside and a myriad of random hairs and dust and dots and specks. I shall name it “That’ll do, I won’t get in anyway so it doesn’t matter.”
At every point of the process of preparing an entry for the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition you repeat this mantra without really believing it. When you get the rejection letter you blurt it out disingenuously again, “It’s ok I didn’t expect to get in.”
Not only do the failed entrants fund the show beforehand but they then all fork out a tenner to go and torture themselves. I imagine the majority of visitors are rejected Academicians scanning the rooms resentfully for pieces of mediocre work they consider inferior to their own. These types (and I was one on Friday night) must take with them a suitably deferential friend who will regularly blurt forth reassuring platitudes.
This must be one of the only exhibitions where people visiting act like sales reps who have just come back from the Far East with a case full of bargains. “Guess how much this one is, you’ll never guess, I’ll tell you, I bet that one is £35,000, was I close? I could get that done by a bloke I know in Beijing for £30. How much is that one? Look at the red dots on that one, let’s count, blimey he’s made five grand off that little etching of a hernia.” The act of looking up the piece in the book, checking the price, Googling the artist (if it’s in the print room and under £200 - to see if it’s worth buying) completely overshadows the enjoyment of an exhibition. I felt compelled to look up every piece and spent more time with my head in the book than actually looking at the work.
So, what was my favourite piece of work? – Page 103 of the List of Works, a beautifully laid out page.
Situated on the grounds of the Zollverein World Heritage Site in Essen is the Red Dot Design Museum, a parade example of industrial heritage and the transformation the Ruhr Area is going through. The Red Dot Design Museum, with more than 1,500 exhibits, is believed to be the largest exhibition of contemporary design in the world. A particularly impressive characteristic is the interplay between the design exhibit and the historical building in the Zeche Zollverein. Over an exhibition space of over 4,000 square metres, only current products are now displayed, commodities the visitors may recognise many of, and of which they may even have one or the other at home. What makes this exhibit different from other everyday articles, however, is a very special characteristic: good design...
...taken at the Red Dot Design Museum in Zeche Zollverein...