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March 11, 2018 - Kearney Nebraska US
Well, I did take a long break off from Flickr. I've had some downtime over the past few months. Had Surgery, and it was bad and required. I have been on the mend.
Wanting to be physically healthy enough for the 2018 storm chasing season, I have recovered healthier than I have been in the past 10 years.
So something came over me just recently, as winter is now chaining over to spring here in Nebraska. I've had an itch to get out and do some photography.
So with not a cloud in the sky, lol, I decided to blow the dust of the camera case and catch this sunset. It had been cloudy for the past few days. That deep spring grey gloom. Cold winds etc. The sun finally peaked out @ sunset, and I couldn't resist the ambient light.
So your seeing something rare from me. I vary rarely post pure sunset images. I wanted to have a warm up before my first storm chase in 2018, which is just days away.
So enjoy this Nebraska Sunset Eye Candy and come and visit one of my new Flickr groups which is blooming this spring.. called. Sunset Sunrise *Ambient Light* through the Trees flic.kr/g/Fk15k It's kind of a theme for my first set of images on Flickr 2018!
BTW: The birds you see in these images are the migration of the Sandhill Cranes . There are a few million of them here, this time of year, in their journey across Nebraska.
Cheers to the 2018 Storm Chasing Season!
*** Please NOTE and RESPECT the Copyright ***
Copyright 2018
Dale Kaminski @ NebraskaSC Photography
All Rights Reserved
This image may not be copied, reproduced, published or distributed in any medium without the expressed written permission of the copyright holder.
#ForeverChasing
#NebraskaSC
This year, I was juried in more shows than I'm capable of doing physically and psychologically speaking. I wish I could travel more...
Well, these are the TOP 25 nationally ranked shows in the U.S. A few years ago, I could only dream of being invited there. Today, I have to admit that I am proud and honored to share my work at these highly competitive art festivals in the nation. It makes me feel like a professional artist.
Here's my updated schedule for 2023:
•LA QUINTA ART CELEBRATIONS, LA QUINTA, CA, MARCH 2-5, 2023 --->>BOOTH # 810
• THE WOODLANDS WATERWAYS ARTS FESTIVAL, THE WOODLANDS, TX, APRIL 14-16, 2023
• MAIN STREET FORT WORTH ARTS FESTIVAL, FORT WORTH, TX, APRIL 20-23, 2023--->>BOOTH # 305
•BROOKSIDE ART ANNUAL, KANSAS CITY, MO, MAY 5-7, 2023
•OLD TOWN ART FAIR, CHICAGO, IL, JUNE 10-11, 2023
•CHERRY CREEK ARTS FESTIVAL, DENVER, CO, JULY 1-3, 2023
Masai Mara National Reserve
Kenya
East Africa
A hyena is more physically like a cat than a dog. Unknown to many people, the hyena spends 95% of its time hunting and not scavenging.
The spotted hyena (Crocuta crocuta), also known as the laughing hyena, is a species of hyena, currently classed as the sole member of the genus Crocuta, native to Sub-Saharan Africa. It is listed as being of least concern by the IUCN on account of its widespread range and large numbers estimated between 27,000 and 47,000 individuals.The species is, however, experiencing declines outside of protected areas due to habitat loss and poaching.
The spotted hyena is the most social of the Carnivora in that it has the largest group sizes and most complex social behaviours. Its social organisation is unlike that of any other carnivore, bearing closer resemblance to that of cercopithecine primates (baboons and macaques) with respect to group-size, hierarchical structure, and frequency of social interaction among both kin and unrelated group-mates.
The social system of the spotted hyena is openly competitive rather than cooperative, with access to kills, mating opportunities and the time of dispersal for males depending on the ability to dominate other clan-members. Females provide only for their own cubs rather than assist each other, and males display no paternal care. Spotted hyena society is matriarchal; females are larger than males and dominate them. From Wikipedia.
It seems to me that one never really leaves Yosemite N.P. We always return mentally if we can't make it to be there physically.
Click the image please it looks best large.
3 droplets.
I am still physically unable to get out in the field, so here is another from the archives.
© 2008 Chuck Lapinsky Photography.
Copyrighted and All Rights Reserved. All Images are registered with the United States Copyright Office. Unauthorized use, copy, display, or distribution of any photographs taken by Chuck Lapinsky, is strictly prohibited. You do not have permission to use this photo in any form without the written consent of Chuck Lapinsky or Chuck Lapinsky Photography.
Illinois. 2016
© All rights reserved. All my images are copyrighted. Any unauthorized use is strictly prohibited. No image can be copied, reproduced, shared, altered or used in any way, both physically or electronically, without my prior written permission.
So far 2014 has been a frustrating year. Physically, at work & in my personal life - all have experienced unwanted change. My reluctance to accept them just compounds my unhappiness and does nothing to improve the issues.
I see more changes coming. I would like to move forward, adapt and influence the new directions. I guess that choice is up to me.
“A good photograph is knowing where to stand.” - Ansel Adams
......or in my case, where to lay on the ground....
I crawled army-style on my stomach, about 30 feet through mud and water, to get a close up, low angle view of this Dunlin and a few of his buddies. Carrying the 500mm + extender + camera, plus wearing thick and heavy waders with steel shank boots, was physically exhausting. While I was hand-holding the rig, I was wishing I had my skimmer pod. I’m a bit sore, but it was worth it!
These Dunlin are really cute, and I enjoyed watching them chase the waves back and forth, especially when a splash caught them off guard. Good times!
I appreciate all comments, faves, and follows.
Matthew
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©Matthew Schwartz, All Rights Reserved.
This image is protected by Copyright, and is not available for use on websites, blogs, videos, or any other media without the explicit written permission of the photographer.
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Excerpt from artgalleryofburlington.com
Holding Space is an exhibition of over 1000 ceramic components exploring our multi-faceted relationship with space – both physically and philosophically. Hung from the ceiling, suspended on the wall and standing tall – raw, abstracted forms interact within the installation as an interface between our human and spatial experiences; the relationship between the lived and the abstract or conceptual. Holding Space uses multi-component sculptures to prompt visual explorations of Space as Emptiness; Space as a Conduit for communication; and Space as held Containment.
Excerpt from samanthadickie.com:
Holding Space
A solo exhibition at the Art Gallery of Burlington, Perry Gallery in Ontario, Canada, 2019/2020. The creation of this project was supported by a Visual Arts Grant from the BC Arts Council.
Space is where we live.
We cannot move without space. We cannot breathe without space.
We entangle ourselves with space and the space reshapes us.
Space is what we fill. Space is what we hold. Space is what we leave behind.
We are merged with the spaces around, between and inside of us.
My belief that our humanness is essentially rooted in relational dynamics provides the impetus behind using scale and multiples to create large-scale, multi-component groupings and immersive installations. As this attention to the relational is central to my work, dualities serve as a fulcrum for my practice and allow me to explore particular dyads such as subject/object, seen/unseen, individual/collective, viewer/viewed. Holding Space uses abstraction and expressionism to explore our multi-faceted relationship with space, both physically and philosophically.
This project considers notions of space with 3 assemblages:
STILL POINT
Space as Emptiness. This emptiness can either be experienced as a void, as nothingness, or it can be experienced as unbounded potential; the seed where everything that is new begins. Held in the palm of your hand or inhabiting everything that surrounds, this space holds energy, simultaneously minute and infinite. 1000+ porcelain components define the surface area of 7-foot diameter sphere, dissected in half. Each small component is hung individually with filament from the ceiling, creating a reflective and light buoyancy as the piece undulates in response to movement in the room.
Not only are these beauties frayed at the edges but they are also duo-toned, they’ve got it all!
Definition of frazzled:
Past tense of the verb to frazzle.
To wear away along the edges; fray.
To exhaust physically or emotionally.
A frayed or tattered condition.
A condition of exhaustion... NOT ME! LOL
Saw this bouquet of tulips, of the fringed variety.
I don't talk to flowers, they talk to me and I gladly listen!
What attitude yet again
Hope this makes you smile again, have a great day and thanx for your visit, so very much appreciated, Magda, (*_*)
For more of my other work visit here: www.indigo2photography.com
IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY image or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
His name is Baxter, 10 years old. He may be slowing down physically but that doesn't stop him from requesting walks!
I visited Mini-C at his Mom's house. He hasn't grown much physically, but he has certainly grown in cuteness!!! He is adorable! Here he is sitting on the couch with me.
When an alga and fungus physically intertwine in a very close symbiotic relationship, they actually form an entirely new growth called lichen. Lichen is a kind of primitive plant species that's nothing more than strands of alga linked with roots and branches of a fungus that together absorb minerals from the ground and conduct photosynthesis. They can grow almost anywhere, from moist bark to recently cooled lava to frozen rocks.
Unlike most parasitic or symbiotic relationships, when a fungus and alga grow together so tightly they can't be separated, they qualify as a different kind of material. Biologists have agreed that lichen straddles the monera and fungi kingdoms of living things since it is part one and part another. Its body, called a thallus, can be made of different types of fungi and blue-green algae, which will determine how much water it needs or to what it can attach.
The alga, called the physobiont, contains chlorophyll, so it can photosynthesize energy that it passes onto the fungus. The mycobiant, the fungus, has roots that leech minerals and water from rocks or plants that it, in turn, passes onto the alga. This allows the new growth to thrive in a greater diversity of climates than either algae or fungi do alone. It can even dry out during drought and reconstitute itself when the rains come.
Whatever you are physically...male or female, strong or weak, ill or healthy--all those things matter less than what your heart contains. If you have the soul of a warrior, you are a warrior. All those other things, they are the glass that contains the lamp, but you are the light inside.
Cassandra Clare
An elephant's skull needs to be physically large in order to support the heavy tusks and powerful trunk. To minimize weight, the huge skull has a thick wall but contains large honey-comb like spaces. Male African elephants have a curved forehead. Females are more square in profile. Elephants have short necks and cannot turn their heads completely sideways. Elephant eyes are almost identical in size to those of a human. They are normally green or hazel in colour and are protected by long eyelashes. Elephants do not have tear ducts. In bright sunlight, elephants have poor eyesight. They can see best in dim light. An African elephant's impressive ears are not just used for hearing. They help regulate the animal's body temperature and may also be spread out wide in threat displays. Elephant ears contain a large number of blood vessels which are covered by very thin skin. When the ears are flapped, air flows over the blood vessels and the animal loses heat from them. Measuring up to 2m high and over 1m wide, 12 litres of blood can flow through each ear every minute and the animal's body temperature can be reduced by three degrees. An elephant's average body temperature is 35.9 degrees Celsius, just below that of a human (37 degrees). Elephants have excellent hearing and are thought to be able to communicate with other individuals several kilometres away. They can hear low-frequency sounds which are not audible to humans. The distinctive tears and nicks in elephants' ears are used by scientists to help identify individual animals in the wild.
Patisia sunset physically combined with instax polaroid large or rover in front of island home Patisia Attiki taken with instax 9s film analog #filmisnotdeadfilmisnotdead #film #analog #instax #patisia #katopatisia
This photo was taken almost a month ago, on 6 August 2016, when I went on a mushroom foray at Rod Handfield's acreage. Though this was a fungi day (well, morning), we also came across a few wildflower species, too.
I found the whole day physically and mentally exhausting (a mix of excitement and stress). It was a great day, too, thanks to friend, Sandy! She very kindly picked me up around 8:15 am and we drove SW of the city and SW of Millarville to Rod Handfield's acreage. For a number of years, this has been one of my favourite places to explore, as Rod's forest tends to be full of all sorts of beautiful treasures. It is one of the two best places that I know for mushrooms, remembering that I only get to a few places anyway, the other being Brown-Lowery Provincial Park. This year has turned out after all to be great for fungi, thanks to all the endless, torrential rain we have been getting the last few weeks, and are still getting, apart from the scattering of sunny days. This year has so far had such weird weather - a very mild, dry winter, a spring that was as dry and hot as a summer, and now a wet, thundery summer. We were expecting this year to not be good for mushrooms.
We met up with a group of other interested people, most of whom we didn't know, and we searched the land for fungi. Right at the start, I was telling Sandy that on the last visit there (or one of the last), maybe four years ago (17 August 2010, so six years ago - how time flies!), we had seen a beautiful Amanita muscaria / Fly agaric mushroom growing just a few feet from the start of the hike. Sure enough, there were several growing in exactly the same spot on 6 August, which was so exciting. Later in the walk, we saw two other patches of absolute beauties of this hallucinogenic, poisonous species, including ones that were at a younger stage. I'm not sure, but the mushrooms in this photo could be Pholiotas? The rain was spitting during our walk, and the forest was so dark, but amazingly, some of my photos came out well enough. Thanks so much, Karel, for organizing and leading this trip and for sharing your knowledge with us!
I have to admit that I always find a walk like this rather frustrating. It doesn't work too well when you have people who are photographers and people who are interested in picking mushrooms to eat : ) The latter tend to always be ahead and by the time you catch up to them, you can't see what has already quickly been picked and of course it is usually difficult or impossible to get a photo. This was private land, not a provincial or national park, and some of us know the owner, Rod Handfield. In places like the national or provincial parks, one is not allowed to remove anything from the area - but some people still do. You see people with large baskets full of mushrooms picked for cooking! This is especially an east European 'thing'. They have grown up with this tradition and seem to know which fungi are edible or not. Some poisonous mushrooms can look very similar to edible ones, which is why the warning is to never, ever eat any kind of fungus unless you are an expert! As our local Naturalist always says: "All fungi are edible, some only once!"
Sandy and I left the group around lunchtime, to go looking at vehicles at one of the dealerships. In the last year and a half, I have had to put far too much money into repairs for my poor old 17+ year old car and finally, I knew that I had no choice but to replace it. The muffler and catalytic converter had just died and, instead of spending a fortune on repair (estimate was $4,999), I decided I would rather put that money towards a new vehicle. I had been thinking about replacing it the last few years, but now, enough is enough!
Update re: car. Yay, I finally picked up my new car five days ago, on 29 August 2916, after waiting three weeks for it to arrive. Now I just have to learn how to drive it. There is a huge difference between a 1999 and a 2016 vehicle!
HaPPY BoKeH SKaTe
haha, the last time I was on a board, it was time for me to learn and to think about Tony´s quote………
watch here the coolest LoNGBoaRDiNG video I have ever seen.
20 years younger and I would be in Puerto Rico for my next holidays…………LOL
Have a great surf and………..
☺
This photo was taken on 6 August 2016, when I went on a mushroom foray at Rod Handfield's acreage. Though this was a fungi day (well, morning), we also came across a few wildflower species, too.
I found the whole day physically and mentally exhausting (a mix of excitement and stress). It was a great day, too, thanks to friend, Sandy! She very kindly picked me up around 8:15 am and we drove SW of the city and SW of Millarville to Rod Handfield's acreage. For a number of years, this has been one of my favourite places to explore, as Rod's forest tends to be full of all sorts of beautiful treasures. It is one of the two best places that I know for mushrooms, the other being Brown-Lowery Provincial Park. This year turned out after all to be great for fungi, thanks to all the endless, torrential rain we had in the summer. This year has had such weird weather - a very mild, dry winter, a spring that was as dry and hot as a summer, and then a wet, thundery summer. Winter paid the city a visit all Thanksgiving weekend (about a week ago), but now we are back to more sunshine and somewhat warmer temperatures.
We met up with a group of other interested people, most of whom we didn't know, and we searched the land for fungi. Right at the start, I was telling Sandy that on the last visit there (or one of the last), maybe four years ago (17 August 2010, so six years ago - how time flies!), we had seen a beautiful Amanita muscaria / Fly agaric mushroom growing just a few feet from the start of the hike. Sure enough, there were several growing in exactly the same spot on this day, which was so exciting. Later in the walk, we saw two other patches of absolute beauties of this hallucinogenic, poisonous species, including ones that were at a younger stage, as seen in this photo. The rain was spitting during our walk, and the forest was so dark, but amazingly, some of my photos came out well enough - this one could have been quite a bit sharper. Thanks so much, Karel, for organizing and leading this trip and for sharing your knowledge with us!
"A large conspicuous mushroom, Amanita muscaria is generally common and numerous where it grows, and is often found in groups with basidiocarps in all stages of development. Fly agaric fruiting bodies emerge from the soil looking like a white egg, covered in the white warty material of the universal veil... Amanita muscaria poisoning occurs in either young children or people ingesting it to have a hallucinogenic experience... A fatal dose has been calculated at an amount of 15 caps. Deaths from this fungus A. muscaria have been reported in historical journal articles and newspaper reports. However, with modern medical treatment a fatal outcome because of the poison of this mushroom would be extremely rare."
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amanita_muscaria
I have to admit that I always find a walk like this rather frustrating. It doesn't work too well when you have people who are photographers and people who are interested in picking mushrooms to eat : ) The latter tend to always be ahead and by the time you catch up to them, you can't see what has already quickly been picked and of course it is usually difficult or impossible to get a photo. This was private land and some of us know the owner, Rod Handfield. In places like the national or provincial parks, one is not allowed to remove anything from the area - but some people still do. You see people with large baskets full of mushrooms picked for cooking! This is especially an east European 'thing'. They have grown up with this tradition and seem to know which fungi are edible or not. Some poisonous mushrooms can look very similar to edible ones, which is why the warning is to never, ever eat any kind of fungus unless you are an expert! As our local Naturalist always says: "All fungi are edible, some only once!"
Sandy and I left the group around lunchtime, to go looking at vehicles at one of the dealerships. In the last year and a half, I had to put far too much money into repairs for my poor old 17+ year old car and finally, I knew that I had no choice but to replace it. After a three-week wait for my new car to arrive, I was finally able to pick it up about six weeks ago. A huge learning curve when going from a 1999 car to a 2016 vehicle, but I am so thankful to have reliable transportation!
Care in the Community (also called "Community Care" or "Domiciliary Care") is a British policy of deinstitutionalisation, treating and caring for physically and mentally disabled people in their homes rather than in an institution. Institutional care was the target of widespread criticism during the 1960s and 1970s, but it was not until 1983 that the government of Margaret Thatcher adopted a new policy of care after the Audit Commission published a report called 'Making a Reality of Community Care' which outlined the advantages of domiciliary care.
Although this policy has been attributed to the Margaret Thatcher government in the 1980s, community care was not a new idea. As a policy it had been around since the early 1950s. Its general aim was a more cost-effective way of helping people with mental health problems and physical disabilities, by removing them from impersonal, often Victorian, institutions, and caring for them in their own homes.
As we now know care in the community or anywhere else is seriously lacking in the UK - the number of "bed blockers" (people who can't be discharged from hospital as there is no "care" for them) continues to rise and ambulances wait for hours (sometimes days) to get a people into hospital.
www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/paramedic-crisis-struck-hos...
The pandemics strain on the NHS has highlighted where the real "bottle-neck" in the system is.
I just got home from a pretty long day at work, fortunately I am physically exhausted, unfortunately not so much mentally. Anybody else ever have that problem?
So a couple of random thoughts for tonight. I have a rather large essay on my mind I want to write, I am just not ready to just yet, nonetheless it's presence up there is still fairly distracting.
I generally walk home from work at night. I usually get off at about 7 pm from Blue Moon. Tonight it was 8:30. We had a bit of work to do. On top of that I spent another two hours there on my own attaching wire to my show going up in Astoria. I will make an official post on that in the near future. So I left the store about 10:30 with a 30 minute walk home. I love that walk, especially on nights like this. I generally think a lot on those walks, usually about photography. I always sort of joked that I walked to think and I ran to forget, because when I ran regularly I never thought much during those runs, I just sort of mentally flitted along.
Tonight was a particularly lovely night though. I once saw a sci-fi movie where it was possible for people to record their dreams on sort of a futuristic VCR player and the watch them after they woke up. I wish I could do that with things I see during the day. I miss so many photos that just occur too quickly to be captured. Tonight was sort of like that. The clouds in the sky were quite amazing. Sort of like cotton ball arrangements, lit up by the light pollution from the city. But there were so many different shapes and sizes. I could see exactly how I wanted to shoot them too. It would have been with a Hasselblad, probably a standard 80mm lens, because the square format just seemed appropriate. Black and white film, moderately fast, did not want any of the clouds or stars to blur much. It would have produced some lovely "portraits" cropped in tight on just sky and clouds without any terrestrial-based distractions. But I didn't take any of those shots, I just enjoyed with my eyes.
But moving on to this shot. This was just taken yesterday, imagine that speedy turnaround with a film camera! :-p We took Owen down to the Rose Festival yesterday and of course one of our stops was the Salmon Street Springs, my second most favorite fountain in the city (Ira Keller being first and Lovejoy being third). The fountain of course was super crowded on such a bright sunny day. Thankfully I was armed with a pinhole camera, which does not mind large crowds or shooting straight into the sun. Having no lenses means no lens flare. ;-)
Anyway both Owen and I were fascinated by the fountain, for different reasons I am guessing. He eventually moved on to the Snocone guy and the Portland Spirit. I lingered a while at the fountain and came away with this shot as the sun was setting behind the skyline.
For some strange reason this reminds me of the legend of Daedalus and Icarus, not sure quite why, perhaps the strong elements of water and sun, both key to that legend. Dunno, but the lone figure in this image struck me in some way as Daedalus, perhaps remembering his fated son. Anyway. Forgive my rambling, I think my mind is finally catching up with my body.
I do plan on getting back down to the waterfront at least a few more times this week, there are always interesting opportunities waiting to happen.
Ah, speaking of which, I shall leave you with one such occurrence from the night before last which I spent down there as well. I was strolling along the waterfront admiring the rides, carrying my camera backpack with my tripod across my shoulder when a homeless fellow flagged me passing by the other way. The exchange went as follows:
Homeless Man: Hey, hey. You know who you look like?
Me: (Thinking of plenty of responses but deciding to settle with simply) No, who?
HM: (Staring at me for a good ten seconds, weaving slightly). Umm you know. You know. That corn dog movie. The movie with the fellow that dresses up like a corn dog.
(Ok he got points at this point for coming up with a response I had never heard to this query before, I was intrigued at where this was going)
HM continues: You know, he was a four-eyed fellow.
Me: Uh huh?
HM: (with emphasis) You look kind of like a nerd.
Me: Ah well thanks (I resisted the urge to answer, really? Imagine that? You look kind of like a drunk homeless fellow)
Nonetheless I thanked him for the insight and continued on my way. I used to have things like this happen all the time, so I am rather used to it and ceaselessly amused by it. My friends used to tease me that I should start carrying around a video camera to film some of these encounters that I seemed to attract like iron filings to a magnet. This one made a good addition to the list, which has included being propositioned to star in an "erotic photo shoot" (which after I politely declined he tried to explain as back-up dancing to a music video), being asked if I was training to be in the FBI repeatedly, and when I assured him I wasn't, he then asked if I wanted a job because I was "either with them or against them". And then the time I was asked if I could take illegal passport photos, all because I was carrying my tripod with no other camera gear across the parking lot of Safeway.
Ah good times. But now it is bed time!
If any of you Portlanders are still up, go take a look at the clouds out there tonight, absolutely gorgeous.
This is a captive owl at the Howell Conference and Nature Center. All the birds in this set are physically or mentally injured and can't be released back into the wild.
I believe it is physically and psychologically impossible to walk through a forest with a wide angle lens and not take one of these shots.
Go ahead, try it.... I'll wait.
----------------------------
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media
without my explicit permission.
© All rights reserved
----------------------------
Took some time to go to Port Bruce on Saturday afternoon, after two extremely taxing days. It was an emotionally/physically exhausting experience that I may some day be able to talk about. Right now, I'm just glad it's over, and I'm trying to move on, best I can.
I had seen this paddler/fisher far out in the lake earlier, and while I had my back to Lake Erie most of the time I was there (standing knee deep in calm water looking for lake glass), I did turn around in time to see him paddle through the light's reflection. I thought the water was warm, though others were complaining about the cold. Almost fell in a couple times, with both cameras strapped to me. lol I have noticed a very strange phenomenon this spring/summer along the shore of Lake Erie. Both at Port Stanley, and Port Bruce, there is an almost complete absence of seagulls. I've never seen anything like it. I saw starlings, grackles, and crows, but, no seagulls. Weird. I should add, the water level is generally about 3-4 feet lower than you see here. We have had a lot of rain in the Great Lakes Basin this year.
I'd like to take this chapter of The Captain and The Engineer (TCATE) to wish all of my amazing Crewmates: Happy Pride Month!
And to celebrate I am officially shoving our star lovers out of the Rainbow Closet!
Vincent is a demisexual, cisgender male. Physically he has a more effeminate, slender shape and a slightly deeper voice than most people expect. However he is known for being able to imitate a woman's voice convincingly well and HAS been mistaken for a woman before. He has been in one relationship with a woman (his wife) and had two crushes on fellow young men in his teenage years that never grew into anything more. Vincent has always known that he's different and it would take someone special to love someone like him. He found love once and doesn't believe he can find it again. He would rather be a bachelor than to be with someone who can't accept and love him for who he is.
Aiden is a pansexual, cisgender male. He has always been sure of who he is and knew he'd never be ashamed of it. Aiden has never been in a relationship before but he had a crush on a young woman several years his senior when he was a preteen (who very gently told him they couldn't be together). His crush of Vincent has turned to presumably unrequited love but he still holds hope that his captain will one day feel the same. Aiden believes "all asses are created equally" and it is the soul that matters more than the face.
Representation matters and it lets people know they are not alone. That's why I write what I write. I want to make a difference; even if its in some small way. It is my wish for you, my Crewmates, that you can learn as I have: that its okay to be different. Its okay to love who you love. Its okay to be your true, authentic self and be unashamedly you!
Let your colors fly (whatever colors they are) and be proud forever and always.
Happy Pride Month! ♥
NOTE: The story of The Captain and The Engineer will continue in the NEXT chapter!
NEXT PART:
www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/53003592018/in/datepo...
To read the rest of the story, here's the album link:
www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/albums/72157717075565127
***Please note this is a BOY LOVE (BL/yaoi/gay) series. It is a slow burn and rated PG13!***
Special thank you to my husband Vin (Be My Mannequin? Pose Store) for collaborating with me on this series and co-starring as the Captain.
DISCORD SERVER: That's right! The Captain and The Engineer has a Discord Server! If you wanna join and chat with other crewmates and see what's new and happening before it gets posted to Flickr, click the link!
***NEW!!!!***
The Captain and the Engineer now has a FACEBOOK PAGE! Please come Like, Follow, and join the crew! Thank you so much for all your support!
FACEBOOK PAGE:
France. 2016
© All rights reserved. All my images are copyrighted. Any unauthorized use is strictly prohibited. No image can be copied, reproduced, shared, altered or used in any way, both physically or electronically, without my prior written permission.
Or: how one can become creative ... ;)
For me, the key is to have a relaxing, warm and sunny day where I can enjoy my garden and just melt into the peaceful beauty of Nature...
But ... I live in Denmark. If you know what that means, you also know that kind of weather is kind of rare, up here in the wet-cold-darkish North! :D More often than not it is windy, cold, and kind of wet - and I am physically allergic to that kind of weather, which often prevents me going outside then. So I sit at home and gaze out into the garden and dream ... and then, somehow revitalized by those visions, I go to the piano or the computer and - create! :)
Now, if someone should happen to be curious about the kind of weather we have outside these days, then I have a short little movie you can enjoy! (it also helps if you need to feel more cold, for some reason... ;) )
Fair warning though: it is not a musical video, just a view from out of my garden door ... :)
About me:
I am a composer and writer, and my photography is part of the art I create. Visit my channel on Youtube ... Click Here!
i'm drained. physically and emotionally. i had a great hike with cherron (which accounts for the physical exhaustion) and then helped counsel a friend this evening (the emotonal)... and now, all i want is sleeeeeeep.
Manhattan is the most densely populated borough of New York City, its economic and administrative center, and its historical birthplace.Locally it is often referred to simply as The City. The borough is coextensive with New York County, founded on November 1, 1683, as one of the original counties of the U.S. state of New York. The borough consists mostly of Manhattan Island, bounded by the Hudson, East, and Harlem rivers; several small adjacent islands; and Marble Hill, a small neighborhood now on the U.S. mainland, physically connected to the Bronx and separated from the rest of Manhattan by the Harlem River.
Manhattan is often described as the cultural, financial, media, and entertainment capital of the world, and the borough hosts the United Nations Headquarters. Anchored by Wall Street in the Financial District of Lower Manhattan, New York City has been called both the most economically powerful city and the leading financial center of the world, and Manhattan is home to the world's two largest stock exchanges by total market capitalization: the New York Stock Exchange and NASDAQ. Many multinational media conglomerates are based in Manhattan, and the borough has been the setting for numerous books, films, and television shows. Manhattan is historically documented to have been purchased by Dutch colonists from Native Americans in 1626 for 60 guilders, which equals US$1050 today. (borrowed from Wikipedia)
Tandra Quinn (USA 1931-2016) was a model and starlet whose stunning beauty lit up the cinema screen briefly in the early 1950s, in four Hollywood films; most notably the now-cult surreal science fiction picture, Mesa of Lost Women (USA 1953).
Born Derline Jeanette Smith in South Los Angeles in the Depression, her mother was determined that her daughter would not suffer the hardship she had herself experienced in her childhood; the best way as she saw it, ensuring that her child became a successful Hollywood actress.
Derline had an auspicious start winning Number 1 Perfect Baby in America award (as declared by the Chiropractors Association); and her subsequent childhood steps into show business were fashion modelling and attending acting lessons with the Meglin Kiddies, a famous drama studio for children.
However, even before these early curtain calls, Derline had suffered a tragic burning accident that would leave her physically and mentally ( she suffered a constant fight with depression) all her life; and ultimately undermine her confidence in her Hollywood career.
That is not to say that there was plenty of bright hope at the beginning: the startlingly pretty youngster auditioned alongside her contemporary, Elizabeth Taylor (USA 1932-2011) for the role that the 'well-connected' Taylor would win in National Velvet (USA 1944); and then had a small role as a schoolgirl in Weekend at The Wardolf (USA 1945), starring Lana Turner (USA 1921-1995).
After 20th Century Fox had signed her up to a 7 year contract, the spectre of her early tragedy reared its head, leading to her being dropped by the studio, after casting directors complained that a screen test highlighted an imbalance in her features, when photographed ( Derline had been told that the burns had hampered bone development). She was deeply hurt - but on screen there is no evidence that her beauty was marred; just evidence of the rife insensitivity and brutality of the studio system.
Happily, in 1950 she was chosen as “Goose Girl” at Hollywood Park; to 'preside over the geese in the Hollypark infield'; and as 'Goose Girl' she guested on the television show, Turf Topics, on KTTV. Publicity stills reveal her blossoming beauty.
Around this time the esteemed photographer Paul Hesse arranged an appointment for her at RKO to meet Howard Hughes. Hughes wanted her to pose in bright light while he hid behind a curtain, but she refused; and she would say in a 2006 interview, that she was probably the only girl ever to stand up Howard Hughes; known for his enticement of so many Hollywood beauties.
The road of B-movies inevitably lay ahead and interspersing modelling with acting, she tried various names including Tundra Nova, Jeanette Quinn - as she was billed in The Neanderthal Man (USA 1953), in which she played, with great sensitivity, a deaf mute - before settling on Tandra Quinn.
The irony was that in all her movie roles she had no dialogue, despite having an exquisite velvet voice which had impressed producers, to accompany her expressive beauty - and which, as can be confirmed by those who knew in her later years (including myself), endured agelessly.
Tandra Quinn crossed paths with a plethora of Hollywood stars during her brief film career; and in her last years recalled knowing Joi Lansing (USA 1928-1972), at drama school, working alongside fellow pin up model, Mara Corday (USA 1933 -), Beverly Garland (USA 1926-2008) & Helen Walker ( USA 1922-1968) in Problem Girls (USA 1953); and Dolores Fuller, Ed Wood Jr's muse (USA 1923-2011) in Girls of The Night (USA 1954). She also knew Marilyn Monroe (USA 1926-1962), with whom she shared a photographer and Rock Hudson (USA 1925-1985) & John Wayne (1905-1979) were amongst her neighbours, around 1960, whilst she lived in Newport Beach - where she would also see resident Mamie Van Doren (USA 1931-)
In 1954, she married a Beverly Hills builder Herbert Smithson ( who passed in 1995) who also taught tennis to the Hollywood Stars, including Gary Cooper (USA 1901-1961) and became a mother to two children. She then retired from films - and quite the entrepreneur, she embarked on various projects, never quite getting the right financial backing; but taking her all around the world - including to Australia and Tahiti. In the 1970s she became interested in gold mining which occupied her and her companion Phillip for the rest of her life.
As a classic Hollywood film buff I was fascinated with the B-movie, Mesa of Lost Women, which I first saw on video in the late 1990s - and was intrigued to research any of the surviving actors; especially Tandra Quinn (Derline). Research on the internet lead me to contact Derline's younger sister Loretta in California in 2005. As an artist I had created cartoon tributes featuring Derline in her heyday as Tandra Quinn ( I had even depicted her with her own Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame) - and I was eager to surprise her and hopefully uplift her.
She was delighted - though humbly bemused and incredulous that anyone would remember let alone celebrate her - which only warmed me to her all the more. She had virtually forgotten "that corny old movie" as she called it, until one day in the 1990s, she walked into a half price book & video store in Dallas, spotted the cover featuring her pin up pose and said to herself, " I guess I'll buy one". Lightly mentioning to the cashier that she was buying it "..'cause this is me" provoked much excitement - "you're kidding?!" - and he and his co-workers asked her to sign the cover of another tape of the movie, as 'Tandra Quinn'.
We quickly became firm friends, initially through long letters (she wrote in beautiful script from her Texas home…. "I came here hoping to find a cute cowboy, but…") and then later by long telephone calls - sharing care, support (we both fought depression and suffered knocks in life), our Christian faith - and laughs; always thanking God for humour. Derline had the most wicked dry sense of humour that would be accompanied by the most infectious peel of laughter.
Derline had suffered much hardship in her later years and ever wanting to lift her from a sense of worthlessness , I would always remind her that she was a beautiful piece of film history, from a Golden Era of Hollywood; forever preserved on film. She was usually dismissive and I so wanted her to receive more recognition; so with her permission I contacted film historians Tom Weaver and Alan 'Al' Doshna to tell then that I had discovered Tandra Quinn- and she agreed to wonderful revealing interviews with them, respectively in 2006 and 2015.
Tom Weaver's interview, conducted both through a meeting and telephone calls was first published in Starlog (Issue 365 - May 2008); then again ( with a 'Tandra Quinn today' photograph, showing the former actress as a voluptuous blonde) in his book of Hollywood interviews, I Talked With a Zombie (McFarland & Co. Inc, 2009). Alan Doshna's interview, conducted by phone and in writing containing even more revelations from Derline's film past was published in FilmFax (No.141 - Summer 2015).
Tandra Quinn is forever preserved on celluloid but the lady behind the starlet was so much more: she was a loving, caring, generous, compassionate, often ingenious and feisty human being. She had an extraordinary knowledge of health foods and was an advocate for alternative therapies (although her one personal vice was sugar - "I'm an ice cream & cookies gal!") and a great passion for fighting against injustice . She also protested against cruelty to animals in which she took an active part in highlighting in no uncertain terms, when she tentatively joined Facebook in 2011; at the encouragement of her niece.
Derline and I sadly never got to meet in person - though our hearts most definitely met and bonded. I am completing and posting this tribute on what would be the 73rd birthday of my late beautiful mother Marjorie J. Whatley (1943- 1981), about whom Derline showed so much interest; and compassionate care for me, in my early bereavement
Whilst Derline had deteriorating health problems, she hid from everyone - including her sister - how widespread the cancer was becoming, that claimed her life on October 21, 2016. She passed away peacefully in Florida as she wished (" I'm an ocean gal!" she shared) supported by her son Scott.
I was naturally distressed to hear this past August that she had been admitted to hospital as an emergency - and with prayers, painted this portrait tribute ( photographed just after completion), primarily inspired by her role of Tarantella in Mesa of Lost Women (USA 1953), for which she was most known; determined that it would be painted in her lifetime. Two months later Derline was released from her trial of suffering.
I was deeply honoured to know Derline as my dear friend; though as a film fan I would I have loved a dedicated photograph I never wanted to bother her( I have a treasured batch of letters) - so I conclude this tribute with the inscription Tom Weaver arranged for Tandra Quinn to write in the cover page of his book in 2009:
" To my dear Sir Stephen ~ This one of Tom's Zombies has awakened to send her love! ~ Tandra Quinn (your Derline)"
Peace.
See the complete portrait here:
www.flickr.com/photos/stephenbwhatley/29235992841/in/date...
Stephen B. Whatley, November 18, 2016.
Tandra Quinn. 2016
Oil on canvas
20 x 16in/51 x 40.6cm
The tidepools at low tide, Ruby Beach, Olympic National Park, Washington's Pacific coastline. On a sparkling day!
In order to get this shot, we had to take a physically challenging hike down a mile of winding steep trail and then over another mile of literally climbing over full size trees that had become driftwood (or perhaps just under salt water for 50+ years). Was it worth it? To see something as pristine as this was worth the entire trip.
And it was by boat to the island (mostly basalt or volcanic I think) that we spied our first two puffins and more oystercatchers.
For tomorrow, I'll post what we saw at this and a higher tide and then perhaps more of the birds on the island.
Considering the diversity of Olympic NP, let me add this in for you: Originally created as Mount Olympus National Monument on 2 March 1909 by President Theodore Roosevelt, now Olympic National Park located in the State of Washington, on the Olympic Peninsula. The park has four basic regions: the Pacific coastline, alpine areas, the west side temperate rainforest and the forests of the drier east side. While this photo was taken on the "drier east side," it could just as easily been on the entrance to the Hoh Rainforest.
Within the park there are three distinct ecosystems which are sub-alpine forest and wildflower meadow, temperate forest, and the rugged Pacific Shore. These three different ecosystems are in pristine condition and have outstanding scenery. It is probably the largest national park, seemingly without borders (there are four entrances, but no ranger stations and no fees), and in my experience, the least visited so expect peace and quiet in the interior(s), and a fairly strenuous trek to get to the Pacific beaches and tidepools.
I guess this would be the exact opposite of all of the color photos I've posted in the past couple of days, and it makes sense; I'm drained.
Physically, my body is revolting against my me. I ate one thing of yogurt today and a lot of energy drinks. I'm starving. I'm shaky, I almost passed out on the way back from Maine (ugh, I know), and I'm tired. No wonder, right? Your body needs food in order to have any kind of energy. I've had ups and downs with eating and it is a little scary to me that the down that I'm currently facing has had side effects that made themselves known so quickly and boldly.
Mentally, I'm... well, I don't know what I am. Tonight was a full night. I love the group that I'm in where I volunteer. The kids bring me to a place that I can't bring myself on my own. I think I've finally found my place there. I love it. I'm surrounded by people who open their hearts to each other every week. Tonight people shared some very deep thoughts. Deep and honest. It got me thinking, which ultimately made me fold into myself and think about everything that they were talking about. At one point I felt like I was so out of it, so mentally just gone that I needed to feel the warmth of the woman sitting next to me (thank you). It helped. It actually carried me home, but after that I just checked out. I look back at the beginning of the night and I was full of pep and energy, and by the end of it I was in a place I didn't want to be. Cold and alone is the only way I can describe it.
I obviously have some problems that need working on. The eating is the tip of a very large ice berg. I want to be healthy, I want to get better, I want to be able to process things, I want to feel my emotions... I want to be "normal". I just don't know how. Is that stupid? I find myself asking "why is it so hard to be normal?" It should come naturally, shouldn't it? I don't know.
Right now, I'm feeling that gross feeling. I'm holding back tears and looking ahead to what I've got going for me and it makes me want to crawl in a corner some place and just forget about it all.
I'm sorry to bring this up. I feel like I'm a broken record. I don't talk about this stuff to anyone, I don't feel like I have the right to. Everyone else is way more important, intelligent, and worthy. Not me. I wonder when that was programmed into my brain?
Masai Mara National Reserve
Kenya
East Africa
There are two hyenas, there is another one behind the one in front.
A hyena is more physically like a cat than a dog. Unknown to many people, the hyena spends 95% of its time hunting and not scavenging.
The spotted hyena (Crocuta crocuta), also known as the laughing hyena, is a species of hyena, currently classed as the sole member of the genus Crocuta, native to Sub-Saharan Africa. It is listed as being of least concern by the IUCN on account of its widespread range and large numbers estimated between 27,000 and 47,000 individuals.The species is, however, experiencing declines outside of protected areas due to habitat loss and poaching.
The spotted hyena is the most social of the Carnivora in that it has the largest group sizes and most complex social behaviours. Its social organisation is unlike that of any other carnivore, bearing closer resemblance to that of cercopithecine primates (baboons and macaques) with respect to group-size, hierarchical structure, and frequency of social interaction among both kin and unrelated group-mates.
The social system of the spotted hyena is openly competitive rather than cooperative, with access to kills, mating opportunities and the time of dispersal for males depending on the ability to dominate other clan-members. Females provide only for their own cubs rather than assist each other, and males display no paternal care. Spotted hyena society is matriarchal; females are larger than males, and dominate them. From Wikipedia.
Thanks to everyone who took the time to stop and look at the previous photo I posted. Tonight I had meant to post this shot and discuss my thoughts behind it at a bit of a greater length, but we shall see how far I get. I have been at the computer all day scanning and editing an image for a job, so my neck is sore and my eyes are tired, and it is a thoroughly less pleasant fatigue than the one you enjoy physically after a good hike in the woods.
Anyway, my attempt with my last photo was just to change the pace a little. I know part of my opinion coming up is cynicism, but also not entirely. I just wanted to take a shot at the 5-second attention span many of us use to rule our lives. Regarding photography specifically you notice this by watching a person's viewing habits. What do we do when browsing Flickr, but flip flip flip.
And flip flip flip.
I am certainly not immune to this, and have been paying a lot more attention to it lately and trying to slow myself down. It is one of the reasons I have been leaving fewer comments is I have been looking at fewer photos and trying to leave more personal comments than the usual "Excellent photo!" or "stonking good shot!". Yes that last is a nod to our good friend RC, for those of you who know who I am talking about. ;-) He is sort of the antithesis of what I was trying to encourage with my last photo.
Whoa, speaking of short attention spans, cannot let myself get too distracted. Anyway, I just notice this behavior in people (again myself included) and it sort of bugs me. Well ok, it bugs me a great deal. I recently rented a car for my trip up to Mt. Rainier. It had Sirius radio. Something like 156 stations to listen to. You know what I spent most of my time doing? Flipping stations!!!
And flip flip flip. Eventually I just turned the radio off and read a book (not while driving though). It was ridiculous. I find I do the same in hotel rooms when presented with cable television. It is almost too hard to resist. Oooh so many channels, cannot decide. I'll watch Discovery for 30 seconds until a commercial, then flip over to History. Wonder what is on AMC or HBO?
What I find a bit unsettling though, is sometimes I wonder if this attitude is affecting how we perceive the world, and hence the photos we take. They tend to rely more on intense colors, dynamic compositions, shock and awe. They have to, the average person only looks at a photo for a handful of seconds, it has to have a hook.
Nothing really wrong with that, unless you sacrifice depth to achieve it. I was browsing a really cool book of Ansel Adams' photos today over lunch (no I really do never stop thinking about photography). His photos certainly are full of drama and contrast, but they also have depth to them. They appeal to the wandering eye as well as the lingering one.
This is where I worry about the trends of our perceptions. We continuously think that a photo has to be vibrant, punchy, and saturated. Our black and white photos have to be contrasty and impending. And notice how these words work into our vocabulary. How often do we talk about the soft palette of colors an image celebrates? Or the extensive tonal range? What about richness without contrast? Sure, these still come up, but less frequently than they used to.
A couple of comments I received sparked various thoughts in my head. On the last self-portrait I posted taken at Lost Lake with my pinhole (that 4 minute exposure) someone commented on the extraordinary patience I must have. Really? Is it that extraordinary these days to be able to stand still and occupy one's self for 4 minutes? And I will even be more honest, I was not even occupying myself. I had a gorgeous lake and mountain in front of me to do it. Is it really such a gulf between 4 seconds and 4 minutes that people think I must be superhuman to bridge it?
And the second comment someone left on my last photo about the machine gun nature of DSLRs contributing to this drive-by attention span we have going. I think there is definitely some validity to this. The ability to fire through 1000 shots without having to stop to reload or waste film certainly plays a role. But I think this is more a matter of the egg coming before the chicken. We use digital cameras in this fashion because we want to. No sense blaming our behavior on the camera. It is not like that D70 is whispering seductively in your ear "come on, just 50 more frames, no need to stop to think or enjoy any of this. Just shoot shoot shoot." As I have said before, the important stuff all happens behind the camera. If a DSLR becomes a photo-machine gun it is because the photographer makes it one. And that photographer is just as likely to do so with a film camera too. Trust me, I know some of these people personally.
Anyway, these are all late night musings. Things I have noticed. I am not saying I am right. I am not saying I have a solution if I am. I am not even saying if you do this, you shouldn't. The great thing about photography is we each get to approach it how we will, and we should.
I have just been noticing this behavior a bit in myself and am attempting to curb it, because I feel like I get better photos when I do. If we approach the world only looking for the flashy stuff, we will find it. And we will take photos of it. But if you make an effort to move a bit slowly, to find the scenes that suck you in and hold you enthralled for minutes on end, you stand a good chance of taking photos that do the same. Isn't that what a photographer should aim for, that is, a photo that draws the viewer in and holds them enthralled. Is it really that fulfilling to take a photo that impresses someone for 4-10 seconds before they move on to the next image? I would rather take one picture that stopped someone for 5 minutes, than 30 images that stopped them for 10 seconds each.
Anyway, looks like I got a fair distance down after all. But enough is enough. You know the drill, got enough time for a single minute again? ;-)
And Brian it is ok to want to taste this, makes me want to too, so there are at least two of us weirdos out there.
.
I've been AWOL 4 a while but only
physically, and never spiritually !
Today, being Sunday, I was allowed
to leave the porch for a short walk.
Short, meaning maybe 101 paces.
OK, lets talk about this photo ...
This is a young female dog that spends
a lot of time right here in our driveway.
She's possibly 90' to one hundred
feet from our kitchen building.
She waits right here even if
it's pouring monsoon rain.
For the last 6, 7 or, maybe 9 months we've
heard a young dog being beaten just out-
side our area. It was obvious someone
was holding the dog close while the
beating took place. This kind of
activity is unacceptable! ;0---
No# 1 wife has been able to touch the
dog 2 or 3 times showing it is safe
for her here. Twice, no# 1 was
able to bring her in close
and I too was able to
gently touch her ;)
The Monkey pays no attention to her
but Ms. Pumpkin isn't happy with her.
The Zoomer, Mimi, Mr. White & Ms. Black
pay absolutely no attention to her either.
But, this is Ms. Pumpkin Pies property!
After dark she disappears re-appearing
by daybreak taking up the same position.
I do wish this story was a
good one but so far it isn't.
Maybe in the future it will be.
It's been monsoon raining day and night.
I imagine the MCF is a deep muddy swamp.
Now in the past a deep muddy swamp would
be just what I thrived on. But sadly, not today !
Which brings up another topic.
What condition my conditions in.
Simple, some days are better than others.
Might take a while, right now I'm
just catching my second wind ;)
Jon&Crew.
Please help with your donations here.
www.gofundme.com/saving-thai-temple-dogs.
Please,
No Political Statements, Awards, Invites,
Large Logos or Copy/Pastes.
© All rights reserved.
..
不許紅日 教人分開 悠悠良夜不要變改
Khao Lak, Tsunami-hit, now renewed physically and in spirit. Thailand.
August 2006
Lost legs and right hand in a Railway accident some years back but how he returns today with rice purchased, holding on his thighs. That is confidence and will power.
Revolutions are external and internal, national and international.
A personal revolution spiritually, physically and emotionally. can normally occur if the real desires are there.
History is full of national revolutions that were sometimes successful.
Winners take over Governments.
Losers are incarcerated or killed.
Who can handle true LIBERTY under a rule of law? Unless handled carefully for all, LIBERTY is lost over time, right?
________________
www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/m/mark_twain.html
Mark Twain , USA Philosophizing Writer Quotes
Born November 30, 1835; Died April 21, 1910
To be good is noble; but to show others how to be good is nobler and no trouble.
The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.
Thousands of geniuses live and die undiscovered - either by themselves or by others.
What would men be without women? Scarce, sir, mighty scarce.
When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not.
EXPLORE # 322 on July 5, 2008; # 340, 465, 483, 493 on Friday, July 4, 2008
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not in Lettice’s flat, and whilst we have not travelled that far physically across London, the tough streets and blind alleys of Poplar in London’s East End is a world away from Lettice’s rarefied and privileged world. On Tuesday Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, discovered that Edith, Lettice’s maid, didn’t have a sewing machine when the Cockney cleaner found the young maid cutting out the pieces for a new frock. Mrs. Boothby made overtures towards Edith, inviting her to her home in Poplar in London’s East End with an air of mystery, saying she might be able to help her with her predicament of a sewing machine.
Friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) in Penzance as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, has commissioned Lettice to help redecorate some of the rooms in a lighter and more modern style, befitting a modern couple like the Channons. Lettice has decamped to Penzance for a week where she is overseeing the painting and papering of ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, dining room and main reception room, before fitting it out with a lorryload of new and repurposed furnishings, artwork and objets d’arte that she has had sent down weeks prior to her arrival. In her mistress’ absence, Edith has more free time on her hands, and so she was able to agree to Mrs. Boothby’s mysterious invitation. Even though she is happy with her current arrangement to take any items she wants to sew home to her parent’s house in Harlesden, where she can use her mother’s Singer** sewing machine on her days off. The opportunity of gaining access to a sewing machine of her own is too good for Edith to refuse.
So it is that we find ourselves in the kitchen cum living room of Mrs. Boothby’s tenement in Merrybrook Place in Poplar. By her own admission, it is a haven of cleanliness amidst the squalor of surrounding Poplar. Mrs. Boothby was just about to explain to Edith who someone called Ken is, when she was interrupted by the sound of his whistle. Moments later the door to Mrs. Boothby’s house flew open and the frame was filled by a tall bulking man wearing a flat cap with a parcel beneath his right arm wrapped in newspaper and tied up with twine.
“Ken!” Mrs. Boothby gasps, releasing a fresh plume of smoke as she exhales after drawing on her lit cigarette. “You’re ‘ome at last.”
“’Ome now!” he replies loudly and laconically as he steps across the threshold.
“Well don’t just stand there in the door, lettin’ all the cold air in and the ‘ot air out!” Mrs. Boothby scolds. “Come inside wiv you, and close the door behind you.”
The man pushes the door closed behind him with rather more force than is required and it slams loudly, and his violent slamming makes the crockery in the dresser behind Edith rattle. “Closed now!” he says defiantly.
Rather startled by the arrival of this man, Edith looks up at him with wide eyes filled with concern. Without the sun from the courtyard outside blinding her, Edith can see the man towering over them is very tall and muscular beneath his clothes, and rather than being Mrs. Boothby’s age, as she thought he was at first, she finds he is actually much younger. Clean shaven, he is dressed in a long grey coat and he has a collarless blue and white striped shirt and dusty black trousers held up by suspenders on beneath. There is a bright red and white spotted handkerchief tied around his neck. His face is as white as Mrs. Boothby’s, but his face is quite unlike hers. Where her face is drawn and pinched, his is fresh and rounded. He looks to Mrs. Boothby with bright eyes which are just like hers.
“Ken!” Mrs. Boothby says admonishingly. “What ‘ave I told you ‘bout slammin’ the door! Lawd you’ll frighten Old Mr. and Mrs. Blackfriar upstairs, not to mention Mrs. Conway next door.”
“Sorry Ma!” Ken replies in the same loud and rather toneless voice. It is then that he sees the Regency china teapot on the table. “Good pot, Ma!” He exclaims. “Good pot!”
“Well of course it’s the good pot, Ken. You knew I was havin’ someone ‘ome for tea today. I told you that this mornin’. You remember don’t you?”
“Nice lady!” he says loudly, and then suddenly he notices Edith sitting, rather frightened in his presence, in her chair. Realising Mrs. Boothby has company he quickly whisks off his cap with his empty left hand, revealing a mop of unruly curly red hair.
“That’s right. The nice lady I work wiv up the West End. Nah, Ken, this his ‘er. This is Miss Watsford. Edith, this is my son, Kenneth, but we just call him Ken, don’t we son?”
“I’m Ken! That’s me!”
“Yes son,” Mrs. Boothby says soothingly. “That’s you alright. You’re my big little Ken, ain’t cha?”
“Son?” Edith gasps. It is then she suddenly sees the gormless grin that teases up the corners of his mouth and plumps his lips and the childish delight highlighting his glinting eyes as he looks down at her. Only then does she realise that Ken might be big and bulky, but he’s never hurt another living being.
“How do, Miss Watsford!” Ken says dropping his flat cap on the table and thrusting the paper wrapped parcel out in front of him like an offering.
“Nah, nah!” Mrs. Boothby fusses, dropping the cigarette she holds in her hand into the ashtray and standing up. “Miss Watsford don’t want that right nah. ‘Ere.” She takes one of the shortbread biscuits from the plate and gives it to the bulking lad. “Nah, go sit dahn on your bed and play wiv your toys for a bit, and let Miss Watsford and I ‘ave a nice chat. Then you can show ‘er what you got when I tell you. Alright?”
“Alright Ma.”
“Good boy.” She reaches up and runs a hand along her child’s soft cheek before planting a tender kiss on it. “And later, after I’ve taken Miss Watsford back ‘ome, I’ll read you one of them Beatrix Potter books you like. Alright?”
“Peter Rabbit?” Ken points to the teapot of the rabbit coming out of a watering can standing on one of the upper shelves of the dresser.
“Yes if you want, son. Nah, go sit dahn on your bed, and I’ll call you in a bit.”
Snatching up his cap, Ken quietly plods over to a bed that Edith hadn’t noticed before, in the corner of the room. Around and on it sit a few precious toys: a stuffed rabbit and a teddy bear, both clearly very well loved, and a few children’s books.
“Son?” Edith says, her eyes darting about the room as she puts the pieces of Ken’s presence together in her mind. “Oh Mrs. Boothby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had a son. I… I…” she stammers in an embarrassed fashion. “I just assumed that with your husband passed away, and no mention of a child.”
“That I ‘ad no children.” Mrs. Boothby completes Edith’s unspoken assumption.
“I actually thought you might have had a son who… well, who died in the war.”
“Why would you fink that, Edith dearie?” Mrs. Boothby gives her a quizzical look.
“Well, there are so many widows and grieving mothers about.”
The old woman sits back down again and releases another fruity cough. As she clears her throat roughly she picks up her cigarette and continues. “Well ‘how were you to know that I ‘ad a son, dead or otherwise, if I ain’t never told you. ‘Ere, ‘ave some more tea.” She lifts the pot and pours Edith some fresh tea into her half empty cup.
“So how old is your son, Mrs. Boothby?”
“Well that depends who you ask. If you ask me, ‘e’s fourty-two, cos that’s ‘ow old ‘e is. I brought ‘im into the world in April eighteen eighty.” Then she pauses before continuing. “But if you ask any of them fancy do-gooder doctors, they’d tell you ‘e’s six, cos that ‘ow old they say ‘e is in ‘is own ‘ead.”
The old Cockney woman sighs and takes a long drag on her cigarette, the paper and tobacco crackling as she draws deeply, the sound clear in the sudden heavy silence that hangs thickly in the room like the acrid smoke of her cigarette. Edith looks at Ken sitting in his bed a childlike smile of delight brightening his face, playing happily like a six year old holding the floppy arms of his toy rabbit, making him dance on his knee. Mrs. Boothby follows Edith’s gaze with her own sharp eyes before continuing.
“So, nah you see why it’s a bit easier for me not to mention that I ‘ave a son.” She exhales another plume of bitter blueish grey smoke. “Not that I’m ashamed of ‘im, cos I ain’t. “E’s a good lad ‘e is, but ‘e’s got ‘is own cross to bear. I ‘ad problems you see, when ‘e was born. I’d been scrubbin’ floors right up ‘till me waters broke almost, what wiv Bill bein’ away in the merchant navy and ‘is pay not coverin’ all I ‘ad to pay for. I ‘ad to make ends meet someow and ‘ave everythin’ ready for Ken when ‘e arrived. Anyway, ‘e must ‘ave been in the wrong position, ‘cos the midwife couldn’t get ‘im in the right spot and she ‘ad to get the doctor.” She takes another long drag of her cigarette before stumping it out in the ashtray as she blows out another plume of cigarette smoke. She takes out her papers and quietly begins rolling another cigarette. “Not that I wanted ‘im. I couldn’t afford a doctor, but ‘e’s one of them do-gooder doctors what don’t charge those what can’t afford to pay, and that was me. I needed every brass farvin’ I could get my grubby ‘ands on. They said Ken didn’t get enough oxygen when ‘e was being born and as such that ‘is mind wouldn’t develop much beyond a six year old. That bloody Irish Catholic priest offered to take Ken away.” Mrs. Boothby spits angrily before putting the cigarette between her lip and lighting it.
“Priest!” Ken calls angrily from his truckle bed. “Priest bad!”
“Yes son! The priest is bad, but ‘e ain’t ‘ere so don’t you trouble your pretty ‘ead about it.” Mrs. Boothby says comfortingly. She looks over at her son, and just like a cloud momentarily blocking out the sun, Ken’s angry spat dissipates and he happily mumbles something to his rabbit before laughing.
“But you kept Ken.” Edith ventures gingerly as she watches Mrs. Boothby draw the rolled cigarette paper filled with tobacco to her lips and lick it, before rolling it closed.
“I ain’t no Irish trash. I’m a Protestant, not that I’m all that bovvered wiv God, and certainly not that Irish God when the priest said I should just give Ken up and put ‘im in one of them ‘ouses for unwanted kiddies with mental problems. But Mrs. Conway next door told ‘im to clear off quick smart. She told me that all kiddies is a blessin’, and she was right.”
“So you raised him then.”
“I did!” Mrs. Boothby replies proudly. “And when Bill came ‘ome from bein’ on the sea, I knew Mrs. Conway was right. Bill and I loved Ken, faults ‘n all. Mrs. Conway was right. Kiddies are a blessin’. Bill and I became closer ‘cos of Ken. ‘E still drank, but not like ‘e did before Ken were born. It were our job to raise ‘im propper and make sure ‘e could take care of ‘imself, and Bill took that serious like. They says it takes a village to raise a child, and well, I got a village right ‘ere outside this door. Mrs. Conway looked after Ken just like any uvver kiddie when Bill went back to sea and I took up charring again.”
“So that’s why you said you owe her so much.” Edith says, suddenly understanding Mrs. Boothby’s statement about Mrs. Conway earlier.
The old woman nods. “And cos ‘e was raised wiv all the uvver kiddies, they all grew up togevva, and they protected Ken, ‘till ‘e could protect ‘imself. When ‘e were older, when Bill were ‘ome, he taught Ken ‘ow to box, not to fight like some ‘round ‘ere, but just to defend ‘imself. You know what I mean?”
Edith nods. “Somehow, I suspect Ken wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Edith muses, smiling over at Ken.
“You got that right, Edith dearie. When Ken were a bit older, course ‘e couldn’t do school wiv the uvver kiddies, not bein’ as good wiv words and numbers like them, but ‘e were a big and strong lad, so I got ‘im a job wiv the local rag’ n’ bone man***.”
“So Ken is accepted in the neighbourhood then?”
“Course ‘e is, dearie. “E’s a local lad, and we look after our own dahn ‘ere. All the ladies ‘round these parts love ‘im when ‘e comes by wiv the wagon, cos they know Ken won’t try and cheat ‘em out of nuffink, and Mr. Pargiter and ‘is boys love ‘im too cos ‘e’s good for business, and they take good care of ‘im.”
“Did he have to go to war, Mrs. Boothby?” She looks again at the happy man now playing with both his bear and his rabbit.
“Fank the Lawd, no!” Mrs. Boothby casts her eyes to the stained ceiling above. “‘E were deemed mentally unfit for service,” The old woman blows out a ragged breath full of cigarette smoke before continuing a moment later. “And Lawd knows I ain’t never been so grateful as I were that day that our Ken came out baked the way ‘e did. Lads came ‘ome from the war more mentally unfit than the way they went to it. More mentally unfit than our Ken!”
“And some never came home.” Edith mumbles, dropping her head sadly.
Mrs. Boothby reaches out a careworn hand and takes hold of Edith’s squeezing it comfortingly.
“’Ere, let’s not get all upset when the sun is shin’ outside and Ken’s ‘ere wiv us.” Mrs. Boothby says, her voice full of false joviality as she blinks back tears. “Nah workin’ for Mr. Pargiter like ‘e does, Ken comes across a lot of good stuff. Ain’t that right, Ken?”
“What Ma?” Ken asks expectantly, raising his head from his toys and looking up happily at his old mother in her chair.
“You comes across lots of nice fings when you take Mr. Pargiter’s cart ‘round, don’t you?” she asks him patiently.
“Yes Ma.”
“Includin’ somfink you wanna show to Miss Watsford, ain’t that right, Ken?”
“Yes Ma!” Ken replies excitedly bouncing on his truckle bed, making the wooden frame squeak under his weight.
“So come show what you got to Miss Watsford then.” Mrs. Boothby says to her son encouragingly.
Obediently Ken tears the newspaper and twine enthusiastically from around the parcel he was carrying when he arrived home. Moving the gilt blue and white plate of uneaten shortbread biscuits to the middle of the table, Mrs. Boothby makes way for Ken’s surprise. With a groan he deposits a hand treadle Singer sewing machine on the edge of the table. Edith gasps.
“There you go Edith, dearie!” Mrs. Boothby says proudly.
“Oh Mrs. Boothby, I… I can’t afford this on a maid’s wage.” Edith stammers.
“You don’t know ‘ow much it is yet.” the old woman counters with a doubtful look.
“Well it’s sure to be exp…” Edith begins, but is silenced by Mrs. Boothby’s raised hand.
“Ken, ‘ow much Mr. Pargiter sell this to you for?” Mrs. Boothby asks her son.
“Five bob, Mum.” Ken replies proudly, smiling his gormless grin, turning his head, first to his mother and then Edith for approval.
“Well that sounds a fair price from old Mr. Pargiter.” Mrs. Boothby confirms as she eyes up the machine. “So if we add on an extra shillin’ for Ken’s time, that’ll be six bob, Edith.”
Edith gasps. “Six shillings!” She runs her hand lovingly along the machine’s black painted treadle and admires the beautiful gold and red painted decoration. “But it’s worth so much more than that.”
“But that ain’t what it’s bein’ sold for, Edith dearie. It’s six shillins. You fink six shillins a good price to sell this ‘ere sewin’ machine to Miss Watsford, Ken my boy?”
“Yes Ma!” Ken replies, nodding emphatically.
“Well, you ‘eard the man. Six shillins, that’s the price then, Edith dearie.” Mrs. Boothby says with a cheeky smile. "Take it or leave it.”
“Oh Mrs. Boothby, Ken…” Edith breathes with delight. “How can I say no?”
“You can’t.” Mrs. Boothby concludes as she blows out a final billowing cloud of cigarette smoke and squashes the stub of her cigarette into the ashtray with the others. “Nah, just pay me the six shillins when I come in on Tuesday.”
“Oh Ken,” Edith says, looking up at the tall man with his beaming smile and glittering eyes. “How can I ever thank you?”
*A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
**The Singer Corporation is an American manufacturer of consumer sewing machines, first established as I. M. Singer & Co. in 1851 by Isaac M. Singer with New York lawyer Edward C. Clark. Best known for its sewing machines, it was renamed Singer Manufacturing Company in 1865, then the Singer Company in 1963. In 1867, the Singer Company decided that the demand for their sewing machines in the United Kingdom was sufficiently high to open a local factory in Glasgow on John Street. The Vice President of Singer, George Ross McKenzie selected Glasgow because of its iron making industries, cheap labour, and shipping capabilities. Demand for sewing machines outstripped production at the new plant and by 1873, a new larger factory was completed on James Street, Bridgeton. By that point, Singer employed over two thousand people in Scotland, but they still could not produce enough machines. In 1882 the company purchased forty-six acres of farmland in Clydebank and built an even bigger factory. With nearly a million square feet of space and almost seven thousand employees, it was possible to produce on average 13,000 machines a week, making it the largest sewing machine factory in the world. The Clydebank factory was so productive that in 1905, the U.S. Singer Company set up and registered the Singer Manufacturing Company Ltd. in the United Kingdom.
***A rag-and-bone man is a person who goes from street to street in a vehicle or with a horse and cart buying things such as old clothes and furniture. He would then sell these items on to someone else for a small profit.
This cluttered, yet cheerful domestic scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection. Some pieces come from my own childhood. Other items I acquired as an adult through specialist online dealers and artists who specialise in 1:12 miniatures.
The Singer hand treadle sewing machine with its hand painted detail I acquired from American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel as part of a lot of her miniature hats from a milliner’s tableau.
Mrs. Boothby’s beloved collection of decorative “best” blue and white china on the kitchen table come from various online miniature stockists through E-Bay. The Scottish shortbreads on the cake plate have been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. They actually come in their own 1:12 miniature artisan tin, complete with appropriate labelling.
Also on the table are Mrs. Boothby’s Player’s Navy Cut cigarette tin and Swan Vesta matches, which are 1:12 miniatures hand made by Jonesy’s Miniatures in England. The black ashtray is also an artisan piece, the bae of which is filled with “ash”. The tray as well as having grey ash in it, also has a 1:12 cigarette which rests on its lip (it is affixed there). Made by Nottingham based tobacconist manufacturer John Player and Sons, Player’s Medium Navy Cut was the most popular by far of the three Navy Cut brands (there was also Mild and Gold Leaf, mild being today’s rich flavour). Two thirds of all the cigarettes sold in Britain were Player’s and two thirds of these were branded as Player’s Medium Navy Cut. In January 1937, Player’s sold nearly 3.5 million cigarettes (which included 1.34 million in London). Production continued to grow until at its peak in the late 1950s, Player’s was employing 11,000 workers (compared to 5,000 in 1926) and producing 15 brands of pipe tobacco and 11 brands of cigarettes. Nowadays the brands “Player” and “John Player Special” are owned and commercialised by Imperial Brands (formerly the Imperial Tobacco Company). Swan Vestas is a brand name for a popular brand of ‘strike-anywhere’ matches. Shorter than normal pocket matches they are particularly popular with smokers and have long used the tagline ‘the smoker’s match’ although this has been replaced by the prefix ‘the original’ on the current packaging. Swan Vestas matches are manufactured under the House of Swan brand, which is also responsible for making other smoking accessories such as cigarette papers, flints and filter tips. The matches are manufactured by Swedish Match in Sweden using local, sustainably grown aspen. The Swan brand began in 1883 when the Collard & Kendall match company in Bootle on Merseyside near Liverpool introduced ‘Swan wax matches’. These were superseded by later versions including ‘Swan White Pine Vestas’ from the Diamond Match Company. These were formed of a wooden splint soaked in wax. They were finally christened ‘Swan Vestas’ in 1906 when Diamond merged with Bryant and May and the company enthusiastically promoted the Swan brand. By the 1930s ‘Swan Vestas’ had become ‘Britain’s best-selling match’.
The various bowls, cannisters and dishes and the kettle I have acquired from various online miniatures stockists throughout the United Kingdom, America and Australia.
The black Victorian era stove and the ladderback chair on the left of the table and the small table directly behind it are all miniature pieces I have had since I was a child. The ladderback chair on the right came from a deceased estate of a miniatures collector in Sydney.
The grey marbleised fireplace behind the stove and the trough sink in the corner of the kitchen come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Mrs. Boothby’s picture gallery in the corner of the room also came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop.
The green wallpaper is an authentic replica of real Art Nouveau wallpaper from the first decade of the Twentieth Century which I have printed onto paper. The floorboards are a print of a photo taken of some floorboards that I scaled to 1:12 size to try and maintain a realistic look.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today however we are not in Lettice’s flat, and whilst we have not travelled that far physically across London, the tough streets of Limehouse in London’s East End is a world away from Lettice’s rarefied and privileged world. Yet it is in Pennyfields in Limehouse* that Lettice now walks with her old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. The narrow street lined with old Victorian era buildings is busy and energetic, full of people of Chinese heritage going about their business and the cacophony of chatter in a different language spoken forcefully around them is palpable. The air is filled with a distinctive smell: a combination of spices, fried food, joss sticks and coal, all not able to hide the pervasive stench coming from the busy river Thames not far away.
Gerald looks anxiously over his shoulder as he and Lettice walk down the street past Chinese restaurants and grocers. Asian people standing in shady doorways and walking down the street glare at he and Lettice with distrust, or in a few cases outright curiosity. “When you asked me if I’d care to go for a drive with you on an excursion, Lettuce Leaf,” he hisses at his friend. “I was expecting a trip to Surrey or the South Downs for a jolly picnic – not Limehouse.”
“Don’t call me that Gerald!” Lettice scolds her friend. “We aren’t children anymore, and you know I don’t like it.”
“Well, I don’t much like walking around here, Lettice.” Gerald hisses. “The Morris** is likely to get stolen.”
“Don’t be such a worry wart, Gerald.” Lettice replies in an unconcerned fashion as she strides purposefully down the street slightly ahead of her friend, gliding elegantly around the citizenry of the street, seeming oblivious to their stares. “Nothing will happen to it.”
“Well, the locals don’t look very friendly.” Gerald counters anxiously in a mutter between his teeth as he hurries his pace to keep up with her. “Haven’t you heard of white slavery before, darling?”
“Oh, don’t talk such rubbish!” she replies with a dismissive flap of her hand. “We aren’t in ‘The Mystery of Dr. Fu-Manchu’***. We’re perfectly safe. The Chinese residents of Limehouse are relatively law abiding I’ll have you know, Gerald. Ahh! Here we are.”
Lettice stops in front of a large red brick warehouse with a heavy wooden door painted a rusty red colour. Gerald looks up and sees writing in Chinese characters above the doorway.
“It’s in foreign.” he remarks screwing up his nose with distaste.
“Please don’t be such a bore, Gerald.” Lettice replies, rolling her eyes. “I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t asked you to come.” She knocks boldly on the door with her grey glove clad hand.
“No-one else you know with a car would have been brave enough to come down here with you.”
“You’re about to meet a very good business colleague of mine, Gerald,” Lettice scolds with a wagging finger. “So do try and remember your manners.”
The pair are silenced by a deep creaking as the door opens. A pretty Chinese face appears from behind the grimy painted door. The girl’s dark eyes are framed by a lustrous straight jet fringe.
“What opium den have you brought us to?” hisses Gerald.
“Why ‘ello Lettice!” the Chinese girl cries with a pure Cockney accent as she smiles brightly, revealing a beautiful set of white teeth.
Gerald’s mouth falls open and his eye bulge in shock.
“Hullo. How do you do Ada.” Lettice turns to Gerald, then turns back hurriedly at the sight of his obviously startled face, a flush of embarrassment colouring her cheeks. “Err, Ada, this is my old childhood chum, Gerald. He seems to have left his manners in the car, I’m afraid.”
“Ah! Don’t worry Lettice. I’m used to it.” Ada opens the door, revealing her slim figure wrapped in an elegant red and gold brocade cheongsam. “No-one can believe a Chinese girl from Lime’ouse was actually born in Lime’ouse. ‘Ow do ya do, Gerald. C’mon in, bowf of ya.”
Lettice and the stunned Gerald step through the door which Ada closes behind them with a loud thud. The trio are enveloped by silence as the heavy door keeps at bay the cacophony of the street outside.
“Welcome Mr. Gerald, to Ada May Wong’s Oriental Emporium!” the Chinese girl says in a meek faux Anglo-Chinese accent, walking before them with open gestures as she indicates to their surrounds.
“Oh my goodness!” Gerald gasps.
Before him Gerald sees a beautiful array of imported Asian furnishings, ornaments and objet d’art all tastefully presented in a large, albeit crowded, showroom. Cabinets of Japanese tea sets and Asian ornaments jostle for space with ornately carved tables weighed down with cloisonné vases, Satsuma bowls and porcelain statues. Giant ginger jars on wooden feet stand about atop oriental carpets whilst the walls are covered in richly patterned wallpaper.
“So what can I do ya for?” Ada asks cheerily as she slips back behind a large wooden counter where she starts unpacking some garishly painted plates from a small wooden box. “Ere, I don’t s’pose ya want any of this cheap export ware from China, do ya?” She holds up a plate and a vase hopefully.
Lettice glances at the offending pieces, scrunches up her nose and winces in distaste. “No. Thank you, Ada.” she replies distractedly as she starts scanning the room for potential pieces for her newest interior designs.
“Nah. I thawt not. Youse a lady wiv good taste Lettice. You don’t want none of this trash. Can’t believe Dad sent this lot back. ‘E knows I runs a decent emporium, wiv discerning clientele like yerself. Nah. I’ll see if I can’t flog this lot down at Chong Chu’s restaurant down Lime’ouse Causeway.”
“Where is your father, Ada?”
“Dad? Shanghai, last I ‘eard.”
“Shanghai,” Lettice remarks with a smile. “How opportune.”
“Opportune, Lettice?”
“Yes, you see that’s why I’ve come to you. I’m decorating for an American woman who has been living in Shanghai for the last six months in the International Concession and has developed the taste for the exotic. She wants her love of the Oriental décor she enjoyed there reflected in her new home.”
“Well, youse knew where to come.” Ada beams. “So what are yer after?”
Lettice looks up from investigating a beautifully carved chair. “I think some dark wood furnishings and some ceramics.” She looks over at Ada. “Oh, she especially likes yellow, so any yellow porcelain would be of interest.”
“I’ve got a nice pale yellow celadon vase ‘round ‘ere somewhere. It’s got gold bamboo leaves on it.”
“That sounds promising.” Lettice remarks eagerly as she sizes up a tall blue and white vase.
Ada looks across at Gerald oddly as he wanders the room, silently admiring all the beautiful objects crammed into such a small space. “Why’d ya bring ya friend then Lettice? ‘E’s not much of a conversationalist, is ‘e?”
“She brought me, Miss Wong,” Gerald pipes up, shattering his silent contemplation. “Because I’m the only one of her friends in London with a Morris tourer readily available for her to requisition for shopping expeditions, who is willing to take her wherever she wants to go, foolishly without question.”
“Youse does talk then!” Ada remarks with a gleeful smirk. “Miss Wong! You’se a classy gent ‘n all.”
“You usually can’t shut Gerald up with his witty banter,” Lettice remarks looking back over at Gerald. “And, I’ll have you know that this is a business trip, Gerald. I’m shopping for Miss Ward.”
“And if you see something you just happen to like?” Gerald cocks an eyebrow.
“Then it will go in the rear seat of the Morris, along with anything else I wish to take away with me today.” Lettice smiles back.
“So, you run this import enterprise then, Miss Wong?” Gerald turns his attention to Ada.
“Well, technically it’s my Dad’s business, but ‘e’s always orf sailin’ ‘round the world like a pirate lookin’ for treasures for me to sell, so yes, I runs the London henterprise.” She looks down at her red fingers and polishes her red painted index fingernail with the pad of her thumb. “And I’m a pretty dab ‘and at it too, ain’t I Lettice?”
“You are Ada. You’re the finest importer of oriental antiquities I know. I’ll never shop anywhere else.”
“Gawn!” Ada laughs, waving her hand dismissively at her English customer. “Youse as much of sweet talker as me, Lettice!”
“Do you deliver, Miss Wong?” Gerald enquires.
“Of course I does! I’m a proper hestablishment.” Ada remarks loftily, sliding back from around the counter and gliding over to Gerald with fluid movements as he picks up a cloisonné vase. Lowering her lids she smiles and continues, “Why? See sumfink yer like, Gerald?”
“Perhaps, but I was just ascertaining whether there was really any need for me to come down here with the Morris.” He looks accusingly over at Lettice.
“Oh Gerald, you needed an excursion.” Lettice smiles back pretending innocence, running her fingers lazily around the opening of a large Chinese porcelain vase which she considers might make a good umbrella stand. “And I needed you for the company. Consider it an educational experience. Just think of the stories you can tell our coterie about how you visited the East End and lived to tell the tale! You’ll be able to dine off that for weeks!”
“That’s not fair, Lettice.” Gerald defends himself.
“I bet it’s true though.” pipes up Ada. “You toffs are all alike: nevva set foot past Tower ‘Ill, ‘cept when yer want a taste of the elicit or exotic. Do ya?”
“Do I what, Miss Wong?” Gerald asks, looking at her Chinese girl in alarm.
“Do ya fancy somefink exotic?”
“Well… err…” Gerald replies in a fluster, hurriedly putting down the vase he holds as he blushes under Ada’s sudden and obvious attentions. “Ahh, no thank you Miss Wong.”
“Gerald will be immune to your feminine charms and wicked wiles, Ada.” Lettice gives Ada a knowing look with her right eyebrow cocked.
“Oh pooh!” Ada looks crestfallen.
“Lettice!” Gerald gasps, blushing bright red at his friend’s indiscreet disclosure.
“Don’t worry Gerald. Ada’s seen far worse on the streets of Limehouse. Haven’t you Ada?”
“’Ave I ever!”
“I just wanted to save you breaking Ada’s heart.” Lettice teases her friend. “And save you both from embarrassment.” She winks at Gerald, giving him a warm smile that implies that no harm will come to his reputation.
“Oh, you are awful sometimes, Lettice!” Gerald huffs in a disgruntled fashion, his face still flushed with embarrassment.
“I know Gerald.” Lettice pouts teasingly. “But you really are too easy to bait sometimes. You make sport of yourself, really you do.” She pauses and thinks for a moment. “Think of it as a payment in kind for all the times you call me Lettuce Leaf.”
“You deserve to walk home with all your purchases, Lettuce Leaf.” Gerald sulks, enunciating Lettice’s hated nickname especially clearly.
“But you’re far too much of a gentleman to that to me Gerald.” Lettice adds.
“You’re just lucky we’re such good old childhood chums.” He looks at her with a mixture of exasperation and love.
“I know Gerald, and I’ll always be grateful for that.” Lettice replies in earnest.
The pair smile at one another and then chuckle, knowing that all is forgiven, and that their strong bond of friendship remains undamaged.
“Your secret’s safe wiv me Gerald.” Ada assures him with a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Pity. Youse a good lookin’ chap.” She looks Gerald up and down appraisingly and then sighs. “We could’ve ‘ad some fun, rufflin’ a few feathers wiv yer and Lettice’s fancy friends up the West End. Still, yer can’t win ‘em all.” She puts a finger to the cheek and thinks with her head cocked to one side. “’Ere, I could introduce ya to a couple of Chinese sailor friends of mine, if ya does fancy somethin’ exotic.”
*The mid-1880s had seen the beginnings of a Chinatown in Limehouse in London, with the establishment of grocery stores, eating houses, meeting places and Chinese street names in the East End. It was the only place in London where Chinese restaurants could be found. By 1890 two distinct yet small Chinese communities had developed: Chinese migrants from Shanghai had settled around Pennyfields, Amoy Place and Ming Street (in Poplar) and those from Canton and Southern China around Gill Street and Limehouse Causeway. The 1881 Census had recorded one hundred and nine Chinese migrants in London, the majority of whom resided in Limehouse. By 1891 the numbers in London had risen to three hundred and two but those in Limehouse to just eighty-two. Thereafter, the Chinese migrant population of Limehouse gradually increased, reaching three hundred and thirty seven by 1921.
**Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
***’The Mystery of Dr. Fu-Manchu’ was a 1913 novel by prolific writer Arthur Henry Sarsfield Ward under the non-deplume Sax Rohmer that portrayed Chinese as opium fiends, thugs, murders and villains. His book was so successful that he wrote a whole series of sequels between 1914 ad 1917 and then again from 1933 until 1959.
You might be surprised when I tell you that you could easily fit the entirety of Ada May Wong’s Oriental Emporium into the back of Gerald’s Morris four-seater tourer. This is because this emporium is made up entirely with items from my 1:12 miniatures collection and various Asian antique miniatures, some of which I have had since I was a child.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The wooden Chinese dragon chairs and their matching low table I found in a little shop in Singapore whilst I was holiday there. They are beautifully carved from cherrywood.
The large blue and gold vase featuring geishas on the cherrywood table is really a small Satsuma export ware vase from the late Nineteenth or early Twentieth Century. It is six centimetres in height. Also Satsuma ware is the autumn leaves bowl on the counter which is three centimetres in diameter. It is from the 1920s. The blue grapevine patterned vase behind the Satsuma bowl is also a small piece of Satsuma export ware. It is late Nineteenth Century and was the first piece of Satsuma ware I ever owned. I have had it since I was eight. Satsuma ware (薩摩焼, Satsuma-yaki) is a type of Japanese pottery originally from Satsuma Province, southern Kyūshū. Today, it can be divided into two distinct categories: the original plain dark clay early Satsuma (古薩摩, Ko-Satsuma) made in Satsuma from around 1600, and the elaborately decorated export Satsuma (京薩摩, Kyō-Satsuma) ivory-bodied pieces which began to be produced in the nineteenth century in various Japanese cities. By adapting their gilded polychromatic enamel overglaze designs to appeal to the tastes of western consumers, manufacturers of the latter made Satsuma ware one of the most recognized and profitable export products of the Meiji period.
The various vases standing about on the floor are all small Chinese or Japanese vases that I have acquired through auction. The blue and white one to the left of the photo in front of the counter is Japanese and is Nineteenth Century. The blue and white one on a china pedestal in front of the counter in the middle of the photograph is Chinese and I believe is Eighteenth Century.
The little sterling silver rickshaw sitting on the counter I bought in a box of odds and ends at an auction many years ago, so I don’t know any of its provenance, other than it is marked silver and also has Japanese characters stamped into it, so it must have been made in Japan. It is one centimetre in height and only marginally longer, and it has fully functioning wheels!
The three vases, teapot and plate in the crate on the shop counter top are 1:12 size miniatures that I acquired at the same time and from the same stockist as the Chinese style cherrywood china cabinet.
The mirror backed Chinese style cherrywood china cabinet in the background I have had since acquiring it as a teenager from a specialist dollhouse supplier. The yellow and peach floral Japanese tea set on the top shelf I have also had since a teenager after I bought it at an Asian emporium in London, perhaps not dissimilar to ‘Ada Wong’s Oriental Emporium’! The blue and white Japanese tea service on the second shelf I acquired from a tea shop in Kallista in the Dandenong Ranges. The red and white elephants on the third shelf are actually glass beads and used to be part of a necklace which fell apart long before I bought them. They came in a box of bits I thought would make good miniature editions that I bought at a flea market some fifteen years ago.
The two oxblood cloisonné vases with floral panels on the table to the right of the china cabinet I bought from the Camberwell Market in Melbourne many years ago. The elderly woman who sold them to me said that her father had bought them in Peking before he left there in the 1920s. She believed they were containers for opium. The stoppers with tiny, long spoons which she said she remembered as a child had long since gone missing. The larger white cloisonné floral vase is from the early Twentieth Century. I bought when I was a child from a curios shop. Cloisonné is an ancient technique for decorating metalwork objects. In recent centuries, vitreous enamel has been used, and inlays of cut gemstones, glass and other materials were also used during older periods. The resulting objects can also be called cloisonné. The decoration is formed by first adding compartments (cloisons in French) to the metal object by soldering or affixing silver or gold wires or thin strips placed on their edges. These remain visible in the finished piece, separating the different compartments of the enamel or inlays, which are often of several colours. Cloisonné enamel objects are worked on with enamel powder made into a paste, which then needs to be fired in a kiln. The Japanese produced large quantities from the mid Nineteenth Century, of very high technical quality cloisonné. In Japan cloisonné enamels are known as shippō-yaki (七宝焼). Early centres of cloisonné were Nagoya during the Owari Domain. Companies of renown were the Ando Cloisonné Company. Later centres of renown were Edo and Kyoto. In Kyoto Namikawa became one of the leading companies of Japanese cloisonné.
Behind the counter is a Chinese screen dating from the 1930s featuring hand-painted soapstone panels of scenes with mountains and pagodas. It is framed lacquered wood and is remarkably heavy for its size. The reverse features panels of flowers.
The Chinese lantern hanging from the ceiling was a Chinese New Year party favour that I was given in 1981 which I kept with all my other miniatures as I built up my collection. It collapses and lies flat in a presentation box. This is the first time I have ever used it in one of my miniature photos.
The carpet in the middle of the showroom floor is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug made in miniature by hand by Mackay and Gerrish in Sydney, Australia. The wallpaper is beautiful hand printed Japanese paper featuring a pattern of cherry blossoms given to me by a friend, who encouraged me to create the “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
Adult male. This species received its name from the resemblance of the male's colors to those on the coat-of-arms of Lord Baltimore, not because it was first discovered in the city of Baltimore. Like all New World orioles, it is named after an unrelated, physically similar family found in the Old World.
Ottawa County, Michigan, USA.
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The northern tip of Utah's Great Salt Lake is physically separated from the rest of the lake by a causeway. A photogenic side-effect is that the salinity and algae content of the separated bodies of water differ in a way that creates a dramatic difference in color as shown here from my drone hovering about 300' over the surface.
Sometimes different water levels and chemistry result in less intense and less attractive colors but my luck was good on this fall afternoon at Promontory Point. Plus, a total lack of wind created killer reflections of the great clouds.
History buffs remember that the 'golden spike' was laid near here completing the transcontinental railroad making it the most publicised place on Earth 156 years ago. Now it seems far from any excitement...just a peaceful and visually stunning vista.
Cheers!
Jeff
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More of my portfolio of images from the American Southwest can be seen at: www.firefallphotography.com/southwest-2021/