[all from this amazing resource]
The censorious said she slept in a hammock and understood Yeats's poems, but her family denied both stories.
• Not My Beautiful Home
• Ask Me Anything
gluppit the prawling strangles
gluppit the prawling strangles
Kotti / Kotti Revisited - Larissa Fassler.
From Failed Architecture:
Larissa Fassler’s works are inspired by everyday life in cities, and focus on perceptions, patterns and human behaviour within the built environment. She uses traditional architectural instruments such as drawings, models and maps, but adds anthropologic layers and personal impressions to them. The results are fascinating cityscapes that combine the hardware and software of a city: a mapped aggregation of the actions and perceptions of the users within the architecture they inhabit.
Forms in Nature by Hilden Diaz is a light sculpture that casts shadows resembling tree branches on the surrounding walls.
(via bendoverboy)
Tilda Swinton and Karl Lagerfeld during the making of the Paris-Édimbourg Métiers d’Art campaign for Chanel.
(via contra-band)
“
‘Killick, Killick there: what’s amiss?’
‘Which it’s your scraper, sir, your number one scraper. The wombat’s got at it.’
‘Then take it away from him, for God’s sake.’
‘I duresn’t, sir,’ said Killick. ‘For fear of tearing the lace.’
‘Now, sir,’ cried the Captain, striding into the great cabin, a tall, imposing figure. ‘Now, sir,’ - addressing the wombat, one of the numerous body of marsupials brought into the ship by her surgeon, a natural philosopher - ‘give it up directly, d’ye hear me, there?’
The wombat stared him straight in the eye, drew a length of gold lace from its mouth, and then deliberately sucked it in again.
‘Pass the word for Dr Maturin,’ said the Captain, looking angrily at the wombat: and a moment later, ‘Come now, Stephen, this is coming it pretty high: your brute is eating my hat.’
‘So he is, too,’ said Dr Maturin. ‘But do not be so perturbed, Jack; it will do him no harm, at all. His digestive processes -‘
At this point the wombat dropped the hat, shuffled rapidly across the deck and swarmed up into Dr Maturin’s arms, peering at close range into his face with a look of deep affection.
”— The Fortune of War, Patrick O’Brian (via verecunda)
(via auntiehornblower)
She has exited to a ledge on the 450th floor of a building, right in the middle of Manhattan, which we discover for the first time. The city has become monstrous. Buildings rise 600 stories. Cars fly. Subways run vertically.
