Zander Olsen does lovely, simple work that merges the natural world with the manufactured one (kind of in the style of Christo and Jean-Claude). Using a cluster trees, the horizon, and some white cloth, he creates a continuous line that defies expectations.
I think some of them are more beautiful than others, but the entire series is absolutely lovely. My favorite thing is when artists use nature as part of their toolbox, and Olsen does it perfectly.
{Via}
Since I’ve moved to Maine, I’ve had some gorgeous fall days—and some not-so-great weather. This weekend has been cold, rainy and kind of a drag. It doesn’t help that I’m sick (I seem to be getting the same cold over and over and over), which has me fantasizing about running away to somewhere warmer, somewhere brighter.
I came across these images of a lovely art installation in Portugal today on Pinterest. I think I’ve seen them before, but until today, I was never that inclined to post them. Everything has been so gray and dreary, and these suspended umbrellas look like something out of a dream.
{Originally captured by Patricia Almeida}
1. I’ve expressed before my love for Roald Dahl. As a kid, I always loved his children’s books, but it wasn’t until I was older that I really started appreciating his amazing sense of humor. His stories for adults are darkly hilarious, and his memoirs walk the line easily between making light of minor horrors (like being caned at the hands of a sadistic school master) to expressing real excitement and sorrow at huge life changes (including the death of a family member and his very first—very exotic—job overseas). The guy lives a fascinating life.
Anyway, I’m loving these papercuts by artist Jayme McGowan. Featured on the Etsy Blog, they’re such a whimsical tribute to the author. My favorite? The misunderstood bookworm Matilda, of course. 
I recently listened to an episode of This American Life about superpowers. One of the three stories in the show was about a man who began asking all his friends and acquaintances a simple question: Would you rather be able to fly, or make yourself invisible? At the end of his segment, he theorized that maybe there is a fundamental difference between people who wish for flight and those who desire invisibility. Maybe some people have more to hide, which makes flying the more noble—more honest—option. Or maybe the people who choose invisibility are more honest. They recognize that creeping, insidious, universal desire to fade slowly away. To sneak off, quietly and without a trace.
This is a very long and roundabout way of introducing the work of Japanese artist Natsumi Hayashi. In her series, “The Girl Who Loves To Levitate,” she glides above the ground, seeming to float effortlessly through the air. Of course, this is pure illusion. Every image takes multiple shots, as she runs back and forth between the camera and the pose, where she must jump into the air at exactly the right time. I imagine it’s a tricky process, but the results are lovely.
In a lot of ways, I always figured myself as the invisibility type, but Natsumi’s pictures make me reconsider. Though I never really thought of it this way before, flying could feel an awful lot like swimming. The freedom of limbs suspended, the ease of motion, the simple fluidity of body in water—if that’s not like flying, I don’t know what is. Swimming has always felt so easy to me. I don’t need to fake nonchalance or push further (I’ll leave that to the Phelps of the world), it just is.
Maybe I would choose flight, after all.
{Via}
And so it is official: I’m moving to Maine. It’s been in the works for a few weeks, I just signed a lease (and signed my first rent check) today. While it feels like it all happened with dizzying speed, I’m very excited about the change. I am going to be living outside Portland in a house with a huge yard and a big dog. This weekend I bought a couch from Ikea (it’s blue with beige flowers and very, very pretty) which is my first piece of big, brand new furniture. I’m leaving behind my friends and garden and Somerville and one of the best jobs I’ve ever had—so the change is bittersweet… but mostly sweet.
Starting in September, I’ll be working as the editor of Dispatch Magazine. It’s a really cool local publication, and I’m incredibly excited to be on board. New challenges, new house, new dog, new city. Fresh start (and I’ll keep the nostalgic pining to a minimum).
And I also plan to start blogging here more often. Hopefully, now that I’m moving more to the editorial side, I’ll have more interest in personal writing (when I’m not planting my new garden and playing house, that is).
Above Image: Corey Templeton/Flickr
Good pop music is hard to find. I mean, I enjoy a good Ke$ha dance party as much as the next girl, but let’s be real: No one has ever, in the history of Jack Daniels, used it to brush their teeth, no matter how much whiskey they drink or glitter they snort. And do all the hipster boys fall in love when she got her hot pants on? Only god knows for sure.
But anyway, I’ve recently been really into Jhameel. His album “The Human Condition” is pretty much the perfect pop record. Right now, I’m listening to “How Many Lovers” and bouncing up and down on my bed (which isn’t as odd as it sounds, because this is pretty much what I do all day long anyway). That song alone is enough to get him a place on my summer playlist—the non-embarrassing one, with Kimbra and Icona Pop, not the one with weird throwback songs by Brand New.
But since I like it, and you’re reading this, you might like it, too. Go download it for free here.
Like in her earlier collection of short stories St. Lucy’s Home For Girls Raised By Wolves, Russell imbues Swamplandia! with a healthy dose of magical realism, turning the decaying matter of the Florida swamps into a lush visual wonderland. In fact, it’s Russell’s writing that really elevates the book. If, as an English teacher once told me, Fitzgerald was famous for writing the perfect sentence, Russell should come in at a close second. Her descriptions are literary and visceral at once, as though she were drawing from a wonderfully rich case of synesthesia. “Convection caused your thoughts to develop an alarming blue tinge,” she writes of stage fright. “I had pictured the birds’ strident calls trembling through the air and dying, and then all of the sudden those same cries taking on a coloring—red, black, blue—until what had previously been an empty hissing splintered into a hundred separate dramas: males squabbling over carrion, a lover’s quarrel, a chick and its four siblings protesting their hunger.”
Why yes, I did just quote myself. Yeah, that’s a little weird. But I wrote a review of Swamplandia! for Literary Traveler and I would like everyone in the world to read it! If you are so inclined, you can do so here.
French illustrator and author Laëtitia Devernay recently won this year’s V&A Illustration Awards for her book, The Conductor. I have to confess, I had never heard of her before reading this roundup of winners, but I absolutely love her style. I’ve always been fascinated with children’s books, partially because I think it’s amazing how we present the world to kids, but also because the defining feature of children’s literature is mixing images and text. A truly great picture book is a piece of art. If you’re not on board with this statement, just take a trip to the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art (I went last summer for work and ADORED it) and you’ll see what I mean.
Or maybe you wont. Which, that’s fine, but we probably wouldn’t be friends.
More pictures after the jump…
Artist Kenji Sugiyama recreates the experience of going to an art museum on a very, very small scale. Using pasta boxes as his four walls, he creates lilliputian scenes of people gazing at art. He completely captures the weird physical motions of a museum (visitors standing quietly, still, heads forward and arms at their sides, poised as if about to take off, gestures of mock-thoughtfulness, etc.). Aside from thinking anything tiny is adorable (I don’t know why, I just do!) Sugiyama’s work is also just plain impressive. Can you imagine making something so intricate and detailed? My big clumsy fingers can’t.
More pictures…
I’ve been neglecting my blog. Things have been so busy with my day jobs (which is a good thing! I sometimes sound like I am complaining, but it’s a very, very good thing) that I haven’t had much time for personal writing of any sort.
But today I was pulled out of my blogging rut when I saw these pictures of land art installations by artist Sylvain Meyer. I love land art, and Meyer’s pieces remind me an awful lot of the first artist I ever knew by name: Andy Goldsworthy. When I was in elementary school, I had a friend who came from a very cultured family. My family was incredibly science-oriented, which meant I spent almost zero time at art museums—but a lot of time visiting submarines, science exhibits and battle grounds. But when I was eight, I remember spending one sleepless night at my friends house, leafing through this giant coffee table book and wondering how long it would take for the sun to rise so I could go home. Goldsworthy got me through the night with his perfectly arranged rocks and woven windows of grass.
Meyer’s art has a very similar feel, though it is slightly more… organic, is the word I want to use. It’s a little softer. He makes sunbursts out of dandelions and turns trees into claw-footed beasts. It flows more easily, and doesn’t have any of the harsh geometric edges that I associate with Goldsworthy.
Anyway, I’ll finish this like I do most blog posts, by just telling you how much I like it. Because I do.
Here are some more images:
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Katy Kelleher 