I love this poster so much. Narnia has had such a huge influence on my literary tastes (I know the entire series practically by heart), so when I saw these literary images on Pinterest, I gasped out loud. They’re really beautiful and witty.
Travel destinations for literary destinations from cedarMyna on Etsy.
I’ve started running outside for the first time in… years. When it comes to working out, I’ve always preferred the gym. I hate running on the road, and trails were always kind of frightening. In college, women were warned not to walk on the nature trails alone because of a horrible rape that occurred nearly two decades ago. Though it didn’t keep me out of the woods, it did keep me from spending too much time alone. And it definitely kept me from walking at dusk.
But having a dog has changed a lot of things. Deja forces me to go outside—she whines and fidgets until I take her for a walk. She also takes away much of my fear. Though not a fierce dog, she’s big enough and bold enough to make me feel a modicum of protection. Plus, nothing physically pushes you like running with a former sled dog.
All this time spent outside has given me a new perspective on the cold, quiet dark. I run either in the early morning, when the air is still, gray and thick with fog, or in the evening, when the trees start to turn purple and the sky above is the color of an old bruise. Instead of being lonely, I’ve started to enjoy the bleak solitude.
But I should explain these photos. These twilight images were taken by artist Thomas Jackson as part of his “Emergent Behavior” series. Fittingly, he describes these hovering sculptures as an “attempt to tap into the fear and fascination” causes by the phenomena of swarming. Though inspired by natural movements, like that of locusts, schools of fish, and flocking birds, Jackson uses manmade objects to create a sense of incongruity. Post-its gather at night and light-sticks form a glowing ball. It’s sinister and beautiful at once… which is kind of like how I feel about the woods.
For more on Jackson’s work, check out his website.
1. Fall is my favorite season, but these paintings by artist Samantha French are making me miss summer. French’s work is inspired by her memories of summers in Michigan. The images are sun-drenched and full of color. All I want to do is dive into a lake!
Just in time for Halloween: Creepy doll images by American photographer Rosalind Solomon. I first found these images from this post, on “Strange Dolls & Dummies.” The picture was so eerie, so morbid and awesome that I started researching Solomon. Her photographs remind me a little of Cindy Sherman’s dismembered mannequin pictures, but you can tell Solomon’s are older, more decrepit and somehow more child-like. Of course, that’s probably what makes them so creepy. As I’ve learned from numerous horror movies, nothing is scarier than a precocious, possessed child.
On a similar note, I’m currently reading Duma Key by Stephen King and it is so great. It’s so great! I never really read any Stephen King until about a year ago (I think I thought I was too literary for it, or something idiotic and snobby like that) but now that I’ve started reading his books… I just can’t stop. I’ll always love Melville and the Brontë sisters and all that jazz, but I’m starting to think King is a genius in his own way. Maybe it’s not beautiful prose all the time, but damn, I wish I could had this much creativity in my head.
When I was little, I was a pretty obedient kid, but I was really bad about one thing: I couldn’t keep my hands out of the neighbor’s gardens. I would steal their flowers, picking everything I could, even though my mom told me repeatedly that it wasn’t okay. I guess as far as Kid Issues go, it was pretty mild, though I also once stole a piece of pyrite from a store when I was eight. I did feel so guilty about my sticky fingers that I asked my mom to drive me back so I could return it. I guess I’ve always liked pretty things.
I wouldn’t necessarily steal these collages, made by Dutch artist Anne Ten Donkelaar, but I would certainly be tempted. She uses pins to affix pressed flowers and plants to a white surface, which plays with dimensions in a very cool way. The blossoms are flattened out, giving it an odd 2-D feel, yet they still cast shadows. It reminds me a little of old timey decoupage projects—but even more gorgeous.
Found via Honestly WTF
When I was at Bard, I once found a piece of paper on the ground that had been ripped from a notebook. I don’t remember exactly what it said, but I believe it was something like this: “The Greeks had a name for the smell of the earth after the rain. Isn’t that romantic?” It was written in blue ink on notebook paper, and it looked like a boy’s handwriting, though I’m not really an expert. I fell a little in love with the mystery writer and felt a little angry at the recipient of the note (because it must have been a note. It was folded so carefully) for letting it fall onto the ground.
I think I would have had a lot to say to the note-writer, because I also think there is something inherently romantic about the rain. I’ve since learned the word he was referring to: Petrichor. According to World Wide Words, Petrichor is “the pleasant smell that often accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather in certain regions.” Sadly, the writer was wrong about one thing: It is not a Greek word, though it does have its origins in the Greek word for stone petros. The second part of the word comes from ichor, which is the Greek word for “the fluid that flows like blood in the veins of the gods.” How romantic! But Petrichor doesn’t have the pedigree I would have hoped—it was named by two Australian researchers who discovered that the enchanting scent comes from an oil produced by plants that gets absorbed into the surface of rocks, only to be released again when it rains.
Normally, I consider this kind of knowledge somehow antithetical to romance, but I think I’ll always find rain (and the resulting earthy smell) somehow moving. Even when it’s cold and bleak, there’s something lovely about it, don’t you think?
Even if your answer is no, there are others who feel this way. Hence The Rain Room at Barbican’s Curve Gallery in London. Featured recently on Architizer, it is a unique installation that lets visitors pass through a room of rain without ever getting wet. Set on a dark stage, cameras map human movement through the room, sending instructions to the sprinklers to drop rain near people, yet never quite on them. As you move, the rain moves with you, keeping the visitor surrounded constantly by moving water, gently falling politely away from their day clothes.
If I could afford a ticket to London, I’d be on a plane right now. But I’ll just have to make do with Portland’s very real, very wet rain. Not that I’m complaining.
I used to hate alliteration. I thought, just because it’s simple, it was a lesser form of wordplay. Not so! When done well, alliteration can make a sentence sing; it can make words pop off the page and make music out of their syllables (these are bad examples, but it’s almost impossible not to get carried away. You try writing about writing, and see what happens).
There are plenty of authors that have made me change my mind, but more recently, io9 showcased the work of Nathan O. Marsh’s series Alphabet Apocrypha. For every letter, Marsh creates intricate illustrations following a set theme. Some are simple—m is maps, j is the jumping jackalope—but others are far more complicated. A few are almost a storybook unto themselves. As a whole, the project is very reminiscent of Edward Gorey, from the twisty, spindly little sketches to the alphabetical material. There’s also a touch of Hieronymus Bosch and a hint of M.C. Escher—which, now that I think about it, isn’t a bad way to describe either Gorey or Marsh.
So far, Nathan has made it to letter Q. He’s posting new illustrations all the time, which are only getting better as he gets further along. Naturally, I really like the entry for K (though L is truly my favorite).
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. 
Katy Kelleher 