View allAll Photos Tagged lithics
Cranach made numerous paintings on this subject: some depict Venus with her son, the mischievous Cupid, bow and arrow in hand; others warn of perils of bittersweet love. Here, the goddess is alone, holding us in her gaze. As if mocking at modesty, the jewellery and thin veil only emphasize her nudity. Her lithe, slightly swaying stance and elongated proportions offer an idea of beauty different from contemporary Italian art. Cranach’s many Venuses have become emblems of the German Renaissance.
Another view of the very impressive and beautiful Margerie Glacier (Alaska)
----------------------------
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media
without my explicit permission.
© All rights reserved
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This is a flower longhorn beetle (Strangalia). Though most beetles are round and squat, flower longhorn beetles are long and lithe.
I decided to emphasize the long antennae in this shot as their namesake would imply. They are pollinators in adulthood but wood borers as larva.
Scanned lith print.
Mamiya 645 ProTL w/ M-S 120 mm/f4 macro.
Aug 6, 2025.
Fomapan 100 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Lith printed on Kodak Ektalure "E" and developed in Moersch Eaysy Lith (15A+15B+H2Oqs600).
Untoned.
Still lithable old paper.
Plants from the garden.
Trix in efd
Lithprint on Brovira Brilliant BW111 in Se5 + 2nd tray catechol/NH4Cl /omega + selenium
↓
↓
↓
↓
↓
Base brew + E for grain & tone
Second tray for the lights (difficult here) in order to not have to burn the hell into the misty part, and some colour enhancing
selenium (2mins) because you can with this paper and to get even more form the midtones in the mist
The end of a long, but rewarding day at the ACD Festival in Auburn, Indiana. September, 2018. Little did anyone know that in just two short years, our world would be forever changed.
__________________________ ◊ ________________________
1931 Auburn 8-98 Boattail Speedster
Despite the onset of the Great Depression, Auburn was still enjoying brisk sales in 1931 thanks to the 8-98 (8 cylinders, 98 horsepower). While traditional sedans and touring cars made up the bulk of the sales figures, it was a new Speedster that would be the sporting leader of the lineup. With a fabulously sleek body designed in-house by Alan Leamy; the Speedster featured a V-shaped windscreen, sweeping fenders, a disappearing top and a fabulous and flamboyant boat-tail treatment to the rear bodywork. A sportsman’s dream, the new Auburn Speedster stood at a mere 68 inches tall, and thanks to that sleek and lithe bodywork, the Speedster lived up to its name with robust performance and handling. The Auburn Speedster soon became one of the most sought-after motorcars in high society, despite it being one of the most affordable cars in the class, it served as the stepping stone to the Auburn-Cord-Duesenberg Empire.
Hope ya'all enjoy................
"A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil."
Scanned IR Lith/Moersch Polychrome print.
Rolleiflex T w/Tessar 75 mm/f3.5 with Rollei IR filter.
Rollei IR 400 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h. Summer of 2021.
Lith printed on Fomatone MG 131 (old school = lithable!) and developed in two baths:
1. Moersch Easy Lith 1+10.
2. Siena 25+Ammonium Chloride 15+Potassium Carbonate 15+H2Oqs600).
Toned in Se 1+9 60 sec.
PS borders.
Tasebo Mill in the western part of Värmland, Sweden.
Aquatic Nocturne
deep in liquid
turquoise slivers
of dilute light
quiver in thin streaks
of bright tinfoil
on mobile jet:
pale flounder
waver by
tilting silver:
in the shallows
agile minnows
flicker gilt:
grapeblue mussels
dilate lithe and
pliant valves:
dull lunar globes
of blubous jellyfish
glow milkgreen:
eels twirl
in wily spirals
on elusive tails:
adroir lobsters
amble darkly olive
on shrewd claws:
down where sound
comes blunt and wan
like the bronze tone
of a sunken gong.
[Acquatic Nocturne-Sylvia Plath]
Mamiya 645 ProTL w/ M-S 45 mm/f2.8 + Hoya R72 IR filter.
Rollei IR400 in Paterson FX-39.
Lith printed on Fomatone MG 132 and developed in Moersch Lith Chemicals. No toning, no Omega, no "nothing else".
This is a contribution to the debate concerning what papers are lithable in this modern time (or not).
There was no debate back then, and back then in this case is 2010. All Fomatones were perfectly lithable, and lith Omega wasn't available (or certainly not needed).
So if I ask you: Was it better in the "old days"?
You've probably already guessed my answer...
15 years of lith decay.
Kummelön Nature Reserve, Värmland, Sweden.
Apocalypse Now.
Skara Brae on Orkney is prehistoric gem. Semi-Subterranean houses and workshops make up the site as it stands today. It is an impressive site much visited and intricately studied as it offers to reveal how prehistoric people lived. The site is said to be built into the community midden, or rubbish dump. The soft midden can be shaped and moulded with stones fitting in the voids to make a very safe stable environment for living and working in. Skara Brae is vaunted as the most complete Neolithic Village in Europe. House 5 as labelled in this picture has had a drain and still shows stone furnishings looking like lithic versions of kitchen dressers, a central hearth and a window too. This once inland village is now perilously close to the sea and needs sea defences to maintain the structure from destruction by wind and sea. It was rediscovered in 1850 after a storm uncovered part of the structure.
The companion pieces to this picture are here this is the first of three,
Skaill House previously pictured from House 5 Skara Brae and here I am wishing that I a had a tripod for few seconds to make a better picture 1 of 3
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Skara Brae, Sandwick, Orkney, KW16 3LR, 01856 841 815
“Long before Stonehenge or even the Egyptian pyramids were built, Skara Brae was a thriving village. Step back 5,000 years in time to explore the best-preserved Neolithic settlement in Western Europe.”
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/skara-b...
Skara Brae: view of house 5
canmore.org.uk/collection/337194
Skara Brae – the houses
www.nessofbrodgar.co.uk/skarabrae-houses/
Skara Brae Evening Tours
Selected dates from Monday 9 June 2025 to Thursday 28 August 2025
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/whats-on/event...
Orkney Digital Guide
stor.scot/products/orkney-digital-guide
Skaill House
“Overlooking the spectacular Bay of Skaill, Skaill House is the finest 17th Century mansion in Orkney. Covering thousands of years of history, Skaill House is renowned for its contribution to Orkney’s diverse and exciting past. Today, after careful restoration work, the house is open to the public.”
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It is a lesser but elegant temple built by Alaungsithu in 1131 A.D. Standing on a high brick platform, the temple faces north and access to it is made by a flight of steps at the north¬west comer. Both the hall and the inner corridor round the central mass have doorways and open windows which freely admit light and air.
The arch-pediments, pilasters, plinth and comice mouldings are decorated with fine stucco carvings. Its history is recorded on two stone slabs set in the inner walls. The lithic inscription in verse is celebrated for the style and elegance of its composition. It is mentioned therein that the temple was completed in seven months.Bagan, located on the banks of the Ayeyarwady River, is home to the largest and densest concentration of Buddhist temples, pagodas, stupas and ruins in the world with many dating from the 11th and 12th centuries. The shape and construction of each building is highly significant in Buddhism with each component part taking on spiritual meaning.
With regards to tour comparison between this immense archeological site and the other significant archeological gem of Southeast Asia, the Angkor sites, this analogy may be helpful:
Angkor ruins are like a Chinese Lauriat banquet where food is presented in spectacular servings with a suspenseful wait between items which are hidden beneath curtains of forests. On the other hand, Bagan is served in Spanish Tapas style, the ingredients exposed to the customer and shown in small bite-size servings, with the next attraction close and visible at hand, in shorter intervals.
Another analogy between Angkor and Bagan Sites when distinguishing temple structures is through their stupa and spire shapes.
An example is gourd for Shwezigon Pagoda and durian for Ananda, Thatbyinnyu, and Mahabodi Temples. In another way of imagining, Bagan temples are like topped with inverted ice cream cones.
What makes the temples look romantic is the process of graceful aging. For some reason, there are no windbreakers around as shown by the barren, desert-dry mountain range to the west past the river, spinning occasional micro twisters that spawn loose dust particles everywhere from the eroded earth to the structures. This phenomenon had peeled off so much the stucco coating of the temples to reveal the brick structural blocks with its rusty, reddish, and sometimes golden brown-like patina when hit by the sun's rays.
Erosion is a significant threat to this area, not only the wind chipping away the buildings' plastering but also water from the mighty Ayeyarwady (Irrawaddy) River threatens the riverbanks. The strong river current has already washed away half of the area of Old Bagan. It used to be a rectangular-shaped piece of enclave protected by a perimeter wall. Now what remains is roughly the triangular eastern half part.
Other images of Bagan which make a lasting impression to tourists aside from the spire-fringed skyline; stupas sporting that tumbledown look yet crowned with glitter-studded golden miter-like sikaras; the ubiquitous pair of ferocious stone lions flanking a temple's door; the spiky and lacy eave fascia woodcarvings lining a monastery's ascending tiers of roofs; tall palmyras or toddy palms with willowy trunks, bougainvilleas, exotic cotton trees, and the likes bringing life to the arid landscape and abandoned ruins; squirrels playfully and acrobatically scampering on the walls and pediments of temples; horse drawn carriages lazily carrying drop-jawed tourists; sleepy moving grandfather's bullock carts grinding on a dust-choked trail; not to mention the garbage left around, stray dogs loitering, longyi clad men spitting betel chews in copious amounts everywhere, overgrown weeds and the pestering dust.
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maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Devils%20Landing/150/224/2
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maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cerberus%20Crossing/219/17...
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maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Forest%20Hill/89/182/2223
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Scanned Lith Print.
Mamiya 645 ProTL w/ M-S 45 mm/f2.8.
Fomapan 100 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Lith printed on Kodak Medalist F-3 single-weight FB.
Moersch Easy Lith (15A+15B+100Old Brown+H2Oqs700).
Untoned.
Three Boats in a Row.
Sunday Morning April 27, 2025. So that's the answer of how old this is. Less than one week, not 100 years ;-)
An old lithable FB paper with a lot of pepper grain attitude.
Taken on a lovely walk one summer evening. I was wishing I had a lithe female model wearing a pretty floaty dress but you have to make do with what you have :-)
Flypaper textured.
Delta 400 in EFD
Oriental (probbly) in Se5 + G + selenium + polysulphide
One may observe the leap in oxidation (especially with "E") compared to the last one. So lithing is quiet an intuitive process, more for borderliners ...
Scanned 2nd pass lith print.
Mamiya 645 ProTL w/ M-S 45 mm/f2.8.
Late April, 2025.
Fomapan 100 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Lith printed on Kodak Medalist F-3 single-weight FB.
Moersch Easy Lith (15A+15B+100Old Brown+H2Oqs700).
Bleached in Moersch Copper Bleach for Lith Redevelopment.
Redeveloped in Moersch Easy Lith (2A+2B+700H2O @ 30°C).
An old lithable FB paper with a lot of pepper grain attitude.
This one's perhaps interesting as a fuel price comparison (I'll link to my previous night shot in Nov, 2024 below). The trend is looking good!
Mosteiro de S. Martinho de Tibães
Braga, Portugal.
Lago
_____________
Árvores
O que tentam dizer as árvores
no seu silêncio lento e nos seus vagos rumores,
o sentido que têm no lugar onde estão,
a reverência, a ressonância, a transparência
e os acentos claros e sombrios de uma frase aérea.
E as sombras e as folhas são a inocência de uma ideia
que entre a água e o espaço se tornou uma leve integridade.
Sob o mágico sopro da luz são barcos transparentes.
Não sei se é o ar se é o sangue que brota dos seus ramos.
Ouço a espuma finíssima das suas gargantas verdes.
Não estou, nunca estarei longe desta água pura
e destas lâmpadas antigas de obscuras ilhas.
Que pura serenidade da memória, que horizontes
em torno do poço silencioso! É um canto num sono
e o vento e a luz são o hálito de uma criança
que sobre um ramo de árvore abraça o mundo.
© 1960, António Ramos Rosa
From: No Calcanhar do Vento
Publisher: Lisboa, 1987
______________
Trees
What trees try to say
in their slow silence, their vague murmuring,
the sense they have, there where they are,
the reverence, the resonance, the transparency
and the bright and shadowy accents of an airy phrase.
And the shade and the leaves are the innocence of an idea
that between water and space turned itself to lithe integrity.
Beneath the magic breath of the light they are transparent boats.
I don’t know if it’s air or blood budding from their boughs.
I hear the finest foam of their green throats.
I am not, never will be, far from that pure water
and those ancient lamps of hidden isles.
What pure serenity of memory, what horizons
surrounding the silent well! It is a song in sleep
and the wind and light are the breath of a child
who upon a bough of a tree embraces the world.
© Translation: 2002, Alexis Levitin
Obsidian Cliff was an important source of lithic materials for Native Americans in Yellowstone National Park near Mammoth Hot Springs, Wyoming. Literally boulders of obsidian are found here.
"Obsidian is found in volcanic areas where the magma is rich in silica and lava has cooled without forming crystals, creating a black glass that can be honed to an exceptionally thin edge. Unlike most obsidian, which occurs as small rocks strewn amid other formations, Obsidian Cliff has an exposed vertical thickness of about 98 feet (30 m). Obsidian was first quarried from this cliff for tool-making more than 11,000 years ago. It is the United States’ most widely dispersed source of obsidian by hunter-gatherers. It is found along trade routes from western Canada to the Great Lakes and Ohio. Obsidian Cliff is the primary source of obsidian in a large concentration of Midwestern sites, including about 90% of obsidian found in Hopewell mortuary sites in the Ohio River Valley (about 1,850–1,750 years ago)."
Cranach made numerous paintings on this subject: some depict Venus with her son, the mischievous Cupid, bow and arrow in hand; others warn of perils of bittersweet love. Here, the goddess is alone, holding us in her gaze. As if mocking at modesty, the jewellery and thin veil only emphasize her nudity. Her lithe, slightly swaying stance and elongated proportions offer an idea of beauty different from contemporary Italian art. Cranach’s many Venuses have become emblems of the German Renaissance.
Lillian is lithe and extremely beautiful with flawless skin of porcelain. She is thoughtful but not very talkative.
When I asked her where she came from she silently pointed to a place way beyond. I fully understood and we sat for an hour in companiable silence.
View large on black for some contemplative time with her.
Scanned lith print.
Mamiya 645 ProTL w/ M-S 120 mm/f4 macro.
Fomapan 100 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Lith printed on Kodak Polyprint RC surface E and developed in Moersch Eaysy Lith (15A+15B+H2Oqs600).
Untoned.
PS borders.
Still lithable old paper.
Google Maps would probably help you finding the right way here...
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Voodoo Unpacker: Voodoo VoodooXVhatis Resorts – Sunblock
These pictures from 2024 were taken on one of my best days. As well as the outline of a Large Blue Eye with a distinct blue spherical both iris and pupil there is a shadow at the left centre which casts very interesting even symbolic shades. The Witches' Stone just at the edge of the village of Spott is a good memorial of bad times and deeds. The Witches’ Stone always fills me with commemoration and remembrance of times not so long gone when Witch Hunts were after witches so upsettingly so that we still use the term Witch Hunt no more than ever for a falsely fuelled over active hunt often with vicious entanglements and outcomes.
The Witches’ Stone is on the East of Spott village and Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone is at the West of the village. In the village at the Church you can find The Jougs. From standing stone in the East past central stone church to a commemorative stone in the West there are three superb historic lithic sites. The Church has been a focal site to inspire and to contain history of the area and along with local archives there are some superb historic collections, myriad connections, and local recollections.
There are three tall Standing Stones near Spott, Easter Broomhouse, Pencraig Hill and Kirklandhill Standing Stones. Their placement in the landscape of natural bounties and hill forts is a key to some of the smaller monuments, This coastal area is full of life from the sea and the land and the stones stretch into the sky that keeps the seas calm and the lands fertile.
© PHH Sykes 2024 and 2025
phhsykes@gmail.com
Witches of Scotland is a campaign for justice; for a legal pardon, an apology and national monument for the thousands of people – mostly women - that were convicted of witchcraft and executed between 1563 and 1736 in Scotland.
The Witches of Scotland Limited. This tartan can be worn by anyone.
www.tartanregister.gov.uk/tartanDetails?ref=14651
Witches of Scotland podcast
Claire Mitchell QC and Zoe Venditozzi, Author co-host the Witches of Scotland podcast. Over the forthcoming weeks we hope to bring you interviews from those who know about the history, law and stories of those accused of witchcraft. Join our mailing list and we will let you know when a new podcast is out.
www.witchesofscotland.com/podcast
Witches' Stone, Spott
canmore.org.uk/site/57667/witches-stone-spott
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1492/easter_broomhouse_...
Easter Broomhouse - Standing Stone (Menhir) in Scotland in East Lothian
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=6706
Spott Church
www.scotlandschurchestrust.org.uk/church/spott-parish-chu...
Welcome to Belhaven and Spott Parish Church
Witches' Stone, Spott
canmore.org.uk/site/57667/witches-stone-spott
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
canmore.org.uk/site/57622/easter-broomhouse
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
canmore.org.uk/site/56240/pencraig-hill
Witches' Stone, Spott
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/6453/witches_stone.html
Witches' Stone, Spott
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=8239
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1492/easter_broomhouse_...
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1494/pencraig_hill_stan...
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=6703
Kirklandhill Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1493/kirklandhill_stand...
I have not been well and failed to keep up with everything. My edits have been ill with me. The Witches’ Stone always fills me with commemoration and remembrance of times not so long gone when Witch Hunts were after witches so upsettingly so that we still use the term Witch Hunt no more than ever for a falsely fuelled over active hunt often with vicious entanglements and outcomes.
The Witches’ Stone is on the East of Spott village and Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone is at the West of the village. In the village at the Church you can find The Jougs. From standing stone in the East past central stone church to a commemorative stone in the West there are three superb historic lithic sites. The Church has been a focal site to inspire and to contain history of the area and along with local archives there are some superb historic collections, myriad connections, and local recollections.
There are three tall Standing Stones near Spott, Easter Broomhouse, Pencraig Hill and Kirklandhill Standing Stones. Their placement in the landscape of natural bounties and hill forts is a key to some of the smaller monuments, This coastal area is full of life from the sea and the land and the stones stretch into the sky that keeps the seas calm and the lands fertile.
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Witches' Stone, Spott
canmore.org.uk/site/57667/witches-stone-spott
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1492/easter_broomhouse_...
Easter Broomhouse - Standing Stone (Menhir) in Scotland in East Lothian
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=6706
Spott Church
www.scotlandschurchestrust.org.uk/church/spott-parish-chu...
Welcome to Belhaven and Spott Parish Church
Witches' Stone, Spott
canmore.org.uk/site/57667/witches-stone-spott
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
canmore.org.uk/site/57622/easter-broomhouse
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
canmore.org.uk/site/56240/pencraig-hill
Witches' Stone, Spott
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/6453/witches_stone.html
Witches' Stone, Spott
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=8239
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1492/easter_broomhouse_...
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1494/pencraig_hill_stan...
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=6703
Kirklandhill Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1493/kirklandhill_stand...
Oh, Glubs [1993-2010]
LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF A GOLDFISH
I forget how many companions
You saw off.
Was it just one?
I seem to think more…
At least two, maybe three.
Or is that me
Constructing for you
A determination to be
The one and only?
I was never often
Directly your carer and provider.
Just on those rare times,
Left alone in the house with you,
I had to feed you,
Switch on your tank light,
Switch it off,
Watch your lithe
Orange-bodied movements,
As you played a dance
With that nightly pinch
Of food confetti.
But that does not diminish
The love I had for you
Or make me feel less wretched
That you are gone.
Burying you in the garden,
I couldn’t help but think
Of your very first arrival
In this house,
So newly ours,
You so newly hers,
Who had wanted you so long
And been promised,
‘When we move, when we move…’
We moved.
We kept our promise.
Since when you have been
Such a significant household member
It will take a long time
To register you are gone.
And I never did get
A decent photo of you!
© Michael Thorn
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.
I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.
I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That's all for England!
-- farmland near Gisborne, in Victoria.
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NO GIFS AND ANIMATED ICONS, PLEASE!
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A poem, that gives a hint of the wide variety of subject matter covered in the poetry of Dorothea Mackellar. Although well remembered for her exceptional insight into the "Beauty and Terror" of the Australian landscape, Dorothea also understood the landscape of the mind. The frustrated hopes of life and love.
My Country
The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes.
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins,
Strong love of grey-blue distance
Brown streams and soft dim skies
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me!
A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.
Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us,
We see the cattle die -
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.
Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back threefold -
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze.
An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land -
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand -
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.
Dorothea Mackellar
Karina Bradley wore plenty of ultra sexy outfits during the “Dance Floor Diva” Music Video shoot. But the tight red leather catsuit might have just taken things to whole new heights of exotic! It accentuated every curve in her lithe body, and it looked extra sexy on the dance floor. And for that extra touchthe diva let down her flowing blond hair.
Pop star Karina Bradley has a strong background in modeling. She even appeared in a Victoria’s Secret Fashion show. Combine that with her dance moves and glowing personality, and she has a strong musical background that flows in the club. And it came out in full force during the music video shoot. Especially when she hit the floor in her leather outfit!
I am home near Edinburgh having been on a tour of Aberdeenshire taking in Stone Circles and Pictish Symbol Stones along with other lithic monuments and also enjoying the locality in finding whatever happenstance could bring. My memories are criss crossed in heavenly glimmering and my visions are still stellar shimmering. On one memory card there are just five images, from them here are three pictures and each photograph here has been edited to have a second version with the look of a painting. I have been editing these images in an ever darkening and darkened room and I may not like these results tomorrow in daylight. This day has ended and also tomorrow and tomorrow will end too. Some of these day to come might involve finding out where our ancestors chose to make their wondrous places and enduring spaces. Some of the days to come could be recovery and edit days like today where I could have done with more natural illumination, but the Sun waits not and it goes making monumental displays for those fortunate to be enjoying the sun setting rays.
© PHH Sykes 2025
phhsykes@gmail.com
First ever family portrait. It was agony making them behave.
L to R: Huxley Harmonie (HH) Caramelle Coeur (CC) Myrth Moire (MM) Birkin Way Teagan (BWT) Gamine Rio (GR) Petra Dish Amandine (PDAm) Pristine Aix-Melusine (PAM) Vixie-Leia (VL) Vedette Minstrelle (VM) Ninjane Moll (NM) Moxie Rilkean Malt (MRM) Minx Skylove Rue (MSR) Marzipanne Lithe Currant (MLC)
Little Wattlebird on Ginger Lily (Hedychium coccineum)
Western Lawn, RBGV Melbourne
These birds remind me of nothing so much as a powerful lithe muscle. Even when they are still, they emanate great energy.
As the Temptations sang in 1966 – ‘beauty is only skin deep‘. Now whilst I can appreciate a pretty lady as much as the next man this is definitely something of a truism. Surely we’ve all known someone who is the epitome of this – beautiful and lithe but also vain, arrogant and stupid. Ultimately somebody who steadfastly proceeds to shatter any preconceptions you may have had about them being beautiful. It’s people like this who just go to show that beautiful on the outside doesn’t necessarily correlate to beauty on the inside. Thinking about it though I reckon the converse is also true so you have to be careful. Just because someone isn’t physical beauty personified hardly makes them the nicest person in the world now does it? It’s a tricky world out there…
Saying that though in a world of 7 billion people there must be some people out there who are almost perfect humans – beautiful, clever and modest. But saying that they must be few and far between and i doubt it’s very easy to find them as they’re already probably the girlfriend of your local millionaire…
Cheers
id-iom
Title: Beauty is only skin deep
Media: Stencil, spraypaint & acrylic
Size: Approx 75 cm x 150 cm
Scanned IR lith print.
Rolleiflex T w/ Tessar 75 mm/f3.5 + Rollei IR filter.
Sept 12, 2024.
Rollei IR 400 in Adonal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Same neg, different paper:
Lith printed on Fomabrom Variant IV 123 BO and developed in Moersch Easy Lith (25A+25B+40D+100OB+H2Oqs900).
Se 1+9 30 sec.
These are the differences between warmtone and coldtone lithable papers.
The Fomabrom Variant IV 123 BO was a "short living" attempt by Foma to make a paper which could be used for Bromoil (and maybe replace the original FB Variant IV 123, which was a very good lithable coldtone paper).
This one worked with both bromoils and lith printing :-).
When lithing coldtone papers, you want the "pepper" to appear. It's by far not as colourful as warmtone papers. But on the other hand not so "high contrasty", so you can get more b&w nuances from the process. Which, btw, is much slower than the warmtone lith process. Expect exposure times to be around 5 min and developing times up to or above 20 (!) min. That of course depends on your "soup".
This was perhaps too much boring information, but if I can pass the knowledge ahead to coming b&w analog printers, it's worth it :-). And I'm of course not taking credit of any knowledge that Wolfgang Moersch possesses. Almost everything I've learned comes from him. Kudos, Wolfgang.
THE TROUT
Y Brithyll
Swimmer in praise, gleaming trout,
Bright of discourse, fast as thought,
Fearless fish, feeding aflow,
Currents above, deeps below,
Swirling foundling, foster fish
Of Llyn Tegid, full of flesh,
Swim the Conwy, scry the stream,
Seek the highland, scales agleam.
None but you, water-father,
Serves me still: out of favour,
Exiled, spurned, sent from sight.
Swim the Tâf’s wave of light,
Valiant, immune to steel,
Undrownable, never still,
Speechless, breathless current-wender,
Cryptic shadow under water.
You do not need, by great God
To fear fly or willow rod.
Poet’s stalwart, spawn of Môn,
Flowing river’s talisman,
Torrent-fish of flux and flood,
Foam-rider, staunch of blood,
Ransom of the landing net,
Glimpsed by vagrants in the wet,
Twist and slither, snap two snares,
Short and sleek, free from cares,
Go by grace, be not taken.
For my heart, take this token:
A loving pledge – lithe fish, slender –
May I give the slip to slander!
To Creirwy’s court, by my whim,
Go forthwith, then cease to swim.
Handless go, as to heaven;
Footless, return to haven.
Linger not by ford nor burn;
Bring fishy tales when you return.
- Attributed to Dafydd ap Gwilym; paraphrased by Giles Watson. Most of the fourteen manuscripts of this poem attribute it to Dafydd; the remainder do not name a poet. Recent scholars have questioned Dafydd’s authorship, and although none of the manuscripts name him, Gruffudd Gryg (writing c. 1357-70) has been suggested. Llyn Tegid is Bala Lake, Meirionnydd, north-west Wales. Conwy is the name of a river as well as a town. The river Tâf flows southwards through Carmarthenshire, emptying into the sea at Laugharne. ‘The Trout’ is a traditional llatai poem in which a non-human agency is called upon to act as a love messenger. The poet’s beloved, Creirwy, is also traditional: a beauty whose name appears in Hanes Taliesin and in the Triads. I have taken certain liberties with meaning in order to preserve some of the tone and rhythm of the original. In particular, I have reversed the meaning of the phrase “croyw awdur o Fôn” (founder of Môn), since the meaning is rather obscure, and “spawn of Môn” seems to suit a fish. For metrical reasons I have also left out a phrase, “Deifr ni’th feiddian”, translated by Fulton: “the men of Deira cannot defy you”, which in context probably means that the trout is immune to attacks from the English.
This was done for the R3 Illustration jam on Third Rail Design Lab’s R3 Forum, the subject being Leelu, from The 5th Element.
I actually drew this piece many, many moons ago, where it fell into the ‘finish’ folder in my portfolio and never resurfaced until the other night, when I had the opportunity to ink a bunch of stuff in process. The original sketch doodle for the illustration, on Post-It, was done the day the jam was announced, and the actual pencils probably 6 months later. Not punctual.
Who can forget Leeloo, played by Milla Jovovich? Sure, she pleased many by being basically Milla naked wrapped in white hospital straps. But beyond that obvious affectation, I enjoyed the fact that she had this ultra-simple, super pure outfit which was at once both innocent and vulgar, this shock of violent orange hair, these giant eyes, the youthful enthusiasm and curiosity, and lithe gymnastic mannerisms. It was just a fun departure. Sure, she made a fictitious language which she shared with writer/director Luc Besson and used it on set (I guess that makes it not fictitious…) and sure, her hook up with him made the role seem retroactively a bit… indulgent for Besson, even surrounded by an entire FILM of juvenile indulgence. But the design was rock solid and ingrained in memory.
I did a TRDL Pinup for this one, this time being a propaganda poster.
Please enjoy, hell yes!
Read about it here:
http://www.thirdraildesignlab.com/blog/2010/06/30/trdl-tribute-leeloo/
:::
About the series:
Various and sundry commission illustrations, commercial projects, drawings done for the TRDL Illustration Jams, and so on. Plus, you know, fan art.
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It is a lesser but elegant temple built by Alaungsithu in 1131 A.D. Standing on a high brick platform, the temple faces north and access to it is made by a flight of steps at the north west comer. Both the hall and the inner corridor round the central mass have doorways and open windows which freely admit light and air.
The arch-pediments, pilasters, plinth and comice mouldings are decorated with fine stucco carvings. Its history is recorded on two stone slabs set in the inner walls. The lithic inscription in verse is celebrated for the style and elegance of its composition. It is mentioned therein that the temple was completed in seven months.
Bagan, located on the banks of the Ayeyarwady (Irrawaddy) River, is home to the largest and densest concentration of Buddhist temples, pagodas, stupas and ruins in the world with many dating from the 11th and 12th centuries. The shape and construction of each building is highly significant in Buddhism with each component part taking on spiritual meaning.
With regards to tour comparison between this immense archeological site and the other significant archeological gem of Southeast Asia, the Angkor sites, this analogy may be helpful:
Angkor ruins are like a Chinese Lauriat banquet where food is presented in spectacular servings with a suspenseful wait between items which are hidden beneath curtains of forests. On the other hand, Bagan is served in Spanish Tapas style, the ingredients exposed to the customer and shown in small bite-size servings, with the next attraction close and visible at hand, in shorter intervals.
Another analogy between Angkor and Bagan Sites when distinguishing temple structures is through their stupa and spire shapes.
What makes the temples look romantic is the process of graceful aging. For some reason, there are no windbreakers around as shown by the barren, desert-dry mountain range to the west past the river, spinning occasional micro twisters that spawn loose dust particles everywhere from the eroded earth to the structures. This phenomenon had peeled off so much the stucco coating of the temples to reveal the brick structural blocks with its rusty, reddish, and sometimes golden brown-like patina when hit by the sun's rays.
Erosion is a significant threat to this area, not only the wind chipping away the buildings' plastering but also water from the mighty Ayeyarwady (Irrawaddy) River threatens the riverbanks. The strong river current has already washed away half of the area of Old Bagan. It used to be a rectangular-shaped piece of enclave protected by a perimeter wall. Now what remains is roughly the triangular eastern half part.
Other images of Bagan which make a lasting impression to tourists aside from the spire-fringed skyline; stupas sporting that tumbledown look yet crowned with glitter-studded golden miter-like sikaras; the ubiquitous pair of ferocious stone lions flanking a temple's door; the spiky and lacy eave fascia woodcarvings lining a monastery's ascending tiers of roofs; tall palmyras or toddy palms with willowy trunks, bougainvilleas, exotic cotton trees, and the likes bringing life to the arid landscape and abandoned ruins; squirrels playfully and acrobatically scampering on the walls and pediments of temples; horse drawn carriages lazily carrying drop-jawed tourists; sleepy moving grandfather's bullock carts grinding on a dust-choked trail; not to mention the garbage left around, stray dogs loitering, longyi clad men spitting betel chews in copious amounts everywhere, overgrown weeds and the pestering dust.