Showing posts with label natural phenomena. Show all posts
Showing posts with label natural phenomena. Show all posts

Sunday, July 20, 2025

Leonardo's Cloud & the Shrine of Venus

 

A massive storm cloud touching down over the Sandia's, Albuquerque - June 10, 2025, 6:19 pm, DS.

(Note: While the memory of this cloud immediately came to my mind after reading Da Vinci's passage it is in no way representative of Leonardo's cloud.) (For more about my cloud see "The Cloud Matrix" at the end of the post.)

"Landscape with cloud effect

I have long had the opportunity of observing many different [atmospheric effects], and once, above Milan, over in the direction of Lake Maggiore, I saw a cloud shaped like a huge mountain made up of banks of fire, because the rays of the sun which was then setting red on the horizon had dyed it with their colour. This great cloud drew to itself all the little clouds which were round about it. And the great cloud remained stationary and retained the light of the sun on its apex for an hour and a half after sunset, so enormous was its size. And about two hours after night had fallen there arose a stupendous and phenomenal wind storm."

- Leonardo da Vinci via Leonardo da Vinci's Note-Books Arranged And Rendered Into English by Edward Mccurdy, 1923. (Book 2, Nature, p. 125).

Inset left is a chalk drawing by Leonardo - A Storm Over an Alpine Valley, 1480. A facsimile of this drawing accompanies the artist's text in Mccurdy's translation. There appears to be a few versions of this odd image on the web, mostly in red chalk. For example, this one was dated circa 1509.

I don't think that this drawing represents the mountain-shaped cloud Leonardo describes in his notebook. The cloud in the drawing seems to have the anvil-shape of a certain variety of cumulonimbus: the incus.

Admittedly, the drawing is difficult to make out. But, if you click on the image, you might find what is possibly the image of the artist with his beard and hat on the upper left side of the cloud - portrait, inset left - Leonardo's cameo appearance in the clouds!
(Correction. Actually, this bit of cloud looks most like him from a distance and not at all like any sort of face close up.)

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The Temple of Venus featured in one of a series of illustrations by Walter Crane
for Edmund Spenser's epic poem The Faerie Queene, 1590.


"For the Shrine of Venus

You should make steps on four sides by which to ascend to a plateau formed by nature on the summit of a rock; and let this rock be hollowed out, and supported with pillars in front, and pierced beneath by a great portico, wherein water should be falling into various basins of granite and

porphyry and serpentine, within recesses shaped like a half-circle ; and let the water in these be continually flowing over; and facing this portico towards the north, let there be a lake with a small island in the centre, and on this have a thick and shady wood. Let the waters at the top of the pillars be poured down into vases standing at their bases, and from these let there be flowing tiny rivulets."

-  This passage from Leonardo's notebooks appears several pages later in Nature; The Earth an Organism - on page 131. It is then followed by The Realm of Venus. (Both are discussed below the jump.)(Photo source.)


(Continued below the jump...)


Thursday, July 10, 2025

The Cloud Agenda

 

Cloud formations over the Sandia's, Albuquerque - July 6, 2025, 12:52 pm - DS

"I’ve always loved looking at clouds. Nothing in nature rivals their variety and drama; nothing matches their sublime, ephemeral beauty. If a glorious sunset of Altocumulus clouds were to spread across the heavens only once in a Generation, it would surely be amongst the principal legends of our time."

- A quote from Gavin Pretor-Pinney’s The Cloudspotter’s Guide, mention of which is found in two Marginalian articles worthy of a view. See here and here. (Note: This section was removed from the previous cloud post, and inserted here.)

Gavin Pretor-Pinney just happens to be the founder of the international Cloud Appreciation  Society... which even has it's own manifesto and an outstanding collection of cloud photographs!

Also, Pretor-Pinney has a talk over at TED; see Cloudy with a Chance of Joy. While there, also see another illuminating discussion: Can clouds buy us more time to solve climate change?

***

No, the photo above - with a cloud that suspiciously resembles a lion or an Egyptian sphinx (bull? dog?) - is not a book cover for the latest New Age exposé, nor is the title of this post. The Cloud Agenda is not a hidden agenda. The agenda is mine and there are no sinister aspects involved. I am simply recording clouds because they and I seem to be sharing the same location in space and time these days and I feel we ought to know each a little better. The clouds seem to agree, and I'm learning some amazing things I'd like to share.

Today's cloud - and, yes, each photo below represents the sequential transformation of the same single cloud - was a real surprise for me. I never saw a large cloud transform in place before. Generally, the smaller ones slowly float out of the camera's range and the larger ones dissipate. This one clearly wanted to be captured.

Below is its first incarnation. 


1st appearance - July 6, 2025, 12:27 pm - DS.


Clouds frequently form animal shapes and this is always delightful. What intrigues me though are the stranger configurations like the one above. I'm not going to even venture a guess on what this odd scene might represent. That it seems to represent something, however, is a peculiar quality clouds possess and one I suspect humans recognized the minute they crawled out their caves: clouds form interesting shapes; some of which seem eerily familiar.


1st transformation - July 6, 2025, 12:52 pm - DS.


Often, finding recognizable shapes in what is assumed to be a random pattern is referred to as pareidolia, a (sometimes derogatory) term often used by unimaginative skeptics. Wiki informs us, however:

"Pareidolia plays a significant role in creative cognition, enabling artists and viewers to perceive novel forms and meanings in ambiguous stimuli. Joanne Lee highlights that this phenomenon has been harnessed in artistic practices for centuries (Da Vinci for example)."

So, there.

Anyway, the transformation above is the most recognizable one of the group (to me) and it kind of blew me away. But, imagine my surprise when I realized that the "show" was not, yet, over...

(More below the jump.)

Thursday, July 3, 2025

Send in the Clouds (Updated - July 19)

 

Cloud formation over the Sandia Mountains - cellphone photo - June 30, 2025, DS.
(Note that the bird - left of center - appears to be a raptor.)


"I'm glad to be with you, Sam Gamgee, here at the end of all things."

- Frodo Baggins speaking to his closest companion, Sam, on Mount Doom while Mordor is consumed in flames, via this scene (also here) from The Return of the King, Peter Jackson's cinematic retelling of J. R. R. Tolkien's classic trilogy. 

The saga of Middle Earth from The Lord of the Rings was the first thing that came to my mind at the beginning of this year, when someone had apparently sent in a swarm of menacing clowns to replace the government here in the States.

In Tolkien's tale, the Great Eagles, led by the wizard Gandalf, saved the day for Frodo and Sam.

But, who will save the day for those of us in the West, who are currently suffering under the escalating Republican Reign of Terror?


Monstrous cloud over the Sandia Mountains - cellphone photo - July 27, 2025, DS.


I'm thinking... clouds. 

But, no, don't get me wrong. I'm not talking about the little fluffy clouds drifting by on a sunny day. I'm talking about the massive, icy thunderheads that spell doom for an unwary pilot.

(More below the jump...)


Saturday, May 24, 2025

GrowIng Roses in the Clouds - A Safe Haven (revised and completed May 31)

 

Clouds clustering over the Sandia Mountains (in the distance), Albuquerque, May 19 - cellphone photo - 2025, DS.

"A cloud forest, also called a water forest, primas forest, or tropical montane cloud forest, is generally a tropical or subtropical, evergreen, montane, moist forest characterized by a persistent, frequent or seasonal low-level cloud cover, usually at the canopy level, formally described in the International Cloud Atlas (2017) as silvagenitus ('created from forest')."

- A misty, moisty, mossy forest is the stuff of European folklore and fairy tales... bringing to mind a spooky sort of magic. The true cloud forests (via Wiki) - generally found on cloud-covered mountaintops -  are mostly a phenomenon of tropical climates but they can also be found in temperate zones. The Appalachian mountains are a stunning example. But, can they exist in the American southwest?

Large cluster over the Sandia Mountains, Albuquerque, May 26 - cellphone photo 2025, DS.

Probably not. But, I can dream... and I can wonder about the frequent cloud clusters that seem to stretch over the Sandia mountains, regardless of the weather. The photos above was taken during a bright respite after 2 days of rain but the Sandia cloud phenomenon was the first thing I noticed upon visiting New Mexico and it continued to amaze me all through my peak travelling days.

As for the cloudscapes - or cloud terrains - on top of the Sandia mountains, see the collection of photos linked to from this page, and see if you can find evidence of one. (There is!)

Large cluster over the Sandia Mountains, Albuquerque, May 26 - cellphone photo 2025, DS.

"Monteverde has unquestionably become one of Costa Rica's most popular draws, making it a must-do for 70,000 tourists each year. Its popularity is largely due to its many protected reserves, including the star of the show: the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve. Listed in National Geographic and Newsweek as one of the top cloud forest reserves in the world, the government even deemed it one of the Seven Natural Wonders of Costa Rica.

...Interestingly, its origins can be traced to Quakers who settled in the area in the 1950s. After fleeing the US to avoid the Korean War draft, the cool climate of Monteverde allowed them to set up dairy farms in the region."

- Via the article: Ultimate Guide to Monteverde: Costa Rica's Lost World. The photo of a suspension bridge inset left was found in the Wiki entry for the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve. Suffice to say, the world's cloud forests are allegedly vanishing... however, dreams of cloud cities begin to arise.

"Roses – native or naturalized wild roses, old roses (dating prior to the development of hybrid tea roses in 1867), and modern cultivars grow well in New Mexico. Perhaps you’ve admired them blooming in summer, in filtered light along mountain trails and in canyons, on abandoned homesteads or historic sites, and along irrigation ditches and streams, as well as in urban gardens."

- Excerpt from an illuminating article from the Santa Fe Botanical Garden. According to the article there are five species of wild roses native to New Mexico! The photo (Credit: Paul Rothrock) inset left is of an Asian, naturalized variety: Rosa multiflora. Allegedly, this beauty is considered an invasive species, but, in my estimation, if roses were invasive we would all live in paradise.

(Continued below the jump...)

Monday, May 5, 2025

Cinco de Mayo - the New Mexican Skies (revised & completed May 9)


Albuquerque clouds in May - cellphone photo - 2025, DS.

(Text added May 7)

This past Monday was Cinco de Mayo - the 5th day of the fifth month in the 25th year of the 3rd millennium. You might say, due to all the 5's, it was a golden day, and, coincidentally enough, one tradition of the holiday is kind of an unintended nod to the pentagonal golden spiral.

The China poblana, the colorful costume featuring a voluminous castor (circle skirt) worn by festival dancers - like the one inset left above (found here) - are really something to see in action. The circle skirts generate spiral shapes continuously as the dancer swirls through her routine. For a regular Phi festival view the short video below the jump break.
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Albuquerque clouds in May (#2) - cellphone photo - 2025, DS.


(Text added May 9)

I guess, in keeping with the times, it isn't too weird that this post has been almost completely revised before it was even finished. But, don't worry, I have no desire to address the "times" nor the shit-storms that (too) many of us are dealing with these days. My goal is to regain a vestige of mental equilibrium again and experience tells me there's only one place to go: back to the natural world. Some of my most serene moments in New Mexico were spent photographing the Sandia mountains, and, in ways, I'm doing the same again; but my view of the mountain range has changed... and, this time I'm obsessed with the clouds.

(Continued below the jump...)

Monday, April 7, 2025

Spring (Interlude)

 



Nature's Signature

Nature is sexy by nature.
Sexy is tactile and, yet,
magically enabled to cross all boundaries
w/ one vibrant,
undulating
curve.

- 2025, DS.

Video credit: Remmzo.


Spring sky, April 22, 2025, Albuquerque, NM - DS.


Contrails, April 22, 2025, Albuquerque, NM - DS 


Saturday, March 29, 2025

Go Tell it to the Olive Tree (4/4/2025 - Post Abandoned)

 

A living historical record: the olive tree of Vouves, Greece.


The Olive Tree - A Living Record


Oldest olive tree in the world is located in Crete

"The ancient Olive Tree of Vouves (Elia Vouvon) is located in the village of Ano Vouves on the island of Crete. It is believed to be the oldest olive tree in the world which still produces highly-prized olives.

Although its exact age cannot be verified using radioisotopes as the tree’s heartwood has been lost through the centuries, scientists from the University of Crete have estimated it to be 4,000 years old. It is presumed that the tree first appeared in 1100BC, in the sub-Minoan period of Cretan history." (2020, Andriana Simos of the Greek Herald)


Meet The 4,000-Year-Old Olive Tree That Saw The Rise And Fall Of Alexander The Great’s Empire—A Biologist Explains

"Deep in the heart of Crete, where myth intertwines with natural wonder, stands the legendary olive tree of Vouves. For millennia, this 2,000-year-old ancient sentinel has silently witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, outlasting even some of Greece’s most famous historical figures.

Olive trees have long been revered not only for their fruit and oil but also for the resilience encoded in their DNA. These trees symbolize endurance, wisdom and continuity. In a landscape where nature’s secrets are often obscured by time, the olive tree of Vouves reminds us that life can sometimes persist against all odds."

- The Olive Tree of Vouves was my initial inspiration for this post. It is a protected historical monument in Greece and has possibly witnessed over 4000 years of human history.

Ironically, less than a week later, what should appear in new's headlines, but articles about a different historical tree.

White House to remove magnolia tree dating to Andrew Jackson

•

Historic tree planted nearly 200 years ago to be cut down at the White House


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One American Political Party Attempts to Censor Natural History, a Nation's History and the History of the World


“Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And the process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.”

“And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed—if all records told the same tale—then the lie passed into history and became truth. 'Who controls the past' ran the Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present controls the past."

- Excerpted from George Orwell's novel, "1984", and sourced from this sobering article.

•

Trump targets 'anti-American ideology' at Smithsonian museums

"Trump has set out to radically reshape American culture, which he says has been contaminated by "woke" left-wing ideology. He has signed several orders that are intended to eliminate diversity, equity and inclusion programmes from the federal government - some of which led to legal challenges."

•

Trump Executive Order Targets ‘Anti-American’ Content at Smithsonian

"President Donald Trump has signed an executive order on Thursday directing the Smithsonian, a federal consortium of cultural and research institutions, to eliminate “divisive” and “anti-American” content from its exhibitions and restore “monuments, memorials, statues, markers” that have been removed from public spaces since 2020.

The “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History” order gives Vice President JD Vance the authority to determine what content is “improper” at the Smithsonian Institution. A fact sheet from the White House describes the order as opposed to “anti-American ideology.”

•

Unabashed Fascism': Trump Executive Order Targets 'Improper Ideology' at Smithsonian

"First Trump removes any reference of diversity from the present—now he's trying to remove it from our history," wrote one Democratic lawmaker. "You cannot erase our past and you cannot stop us from fulfilling our future."

•

US orders French companies to comply with Trump's diversity ban

"American interference in the inclusion policies of French companies, along with threats of unjustified tariffs, is unacceptable," France's Ministry of Foreign Trade said in a statement sent to Reuters.

"France and Europe will defend their businesses, their consumers, and also their values," the ministry, which is under the authority of the country's Ministry of Foreign Affairs, added."

______________________________________________

Aphroditus - Gender in the Ancient World


"There's also a statue of Venus on Cyprus, that's bearded, shaped and dressed like a woman, with scepter and male genitals, and they conceive her as both male and female. Aristophanes calls her Aphroditus, and Laevius says: Worshiping, then, the nurturing god Venus, whether she is male or female, just as the Moon is a nurturing goddess. In his Atthis Philochorus, too, states that she is the Moon and that men sacrifice to her in women's dress, women in men's, because she is held to be both male and female."

(Continued below the jump...)

Sunday, March 31, 2024

Apple Blossoms

Apple Blossoms in Hopewell's Orchard - Photo credit: NPS/A. Kane.

"It is remarkable how closely the history of the Apple-tree is connected with that of man. The geologist tells us that the order of the Rosaceæ, which includes the Apple, also the true Grasses, and the Labiatæ, or Mints, were introduced only a short time previous to the appearance of man on the globe.

...Pliny, adopting the distinction of Theophrastus, says, “Of trees there are some which are altogether wild, some more civilized.” Theophrastus includes the apple among the last; and, indeed, it is in this sense the most civilized of all trees. It is as harmless as a dove, as beautiful as a rose, and as valuable as flocks and herds. It has been longer cultivated than any other, and so is more humanized; and who knows but, like the dog, it will at length be no longer traceable to its wild original? It migrates with man, like the dog and horse and cow; first, perchance, from Greece to Italy, thence to England, thence to America; and our Western emigrant is still marching steadily toward the setting sun with the seeds of the apple in his pocket, or perhaps a few young trees strapped to his load.

...Men could afford then to stick a tree by every wall-side and let it take its chance. I see nobody planting trees to-day in such out-of-the-way places, along the lonely roads and lanes, and at the bottom of dells in the wood. Now that they have grafted trees, and pay a price for them, they collect them into a plat by their houses, and fence them in,—and the end of it all will be that we shall be compelled to look for our apples in a barrel."

- Via the entertaining 1862 essay, Wild Apples, by American naturalist, Henry David Thoreau, available for free on Project Guttenberg. Note his Venus/Aphrodite-related description of the apple tree: "It is as harmless as a dove, as beautiful as a rose..."*  Biologically, the apple and the rose belong to the same family.**

Thoreau concludes his essay with the biblical quote (JOEL, Chapter I, Verse 12): “The vine is dried up, and the fig-tree languisheth; the pomegranate-tree, the palm tree also, and the apple-tree, even all the trees of the field, are withered: because joy is withered away from the sons of men.”


"But the first verdict seemed the worst verdict
When Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden;
Yet when the bitter gates clanged to
The sky beyond was just as blue.

For the next ocean is the first ocean
And the last ocean is the first ocean
And, however often the sun may rise,
A new thing dawns upon our eyes.

For the last blossom is the first blossom
And the first blossom is the best blossom
And when from Eden we take our way
The morning after is the first day."

- An excerpt from the poem Apple Blossom, by Belfast poet, Louis MacNeice. For another poem by MacNeice, see my latest post on PMB, A Lost History Retrieved.

***

I'm not a terribly nostalgic person, but as the years go by, holidays are increasingly becoming "remembered" things... belonging to experiences in the past-tense; belonging to childhood only; a time of wonder.

My earliest memory of Easter is posing with my little brother in front of an immense apple tree, one of two, in our - or, rather, the landlord's - backyard, while my dad snapped B/W photographs of us decked out in our annual Easter outfits. We both wore coats or jackets and "bonnets"; spring was very chilly in New England in those days. My coat had a lavender and white checkered pattern. My brother's jacket had a black and white pattern known as houndstooth.

Funny, the things you remember... while the rest you'd' rather forget. But, today I will go no further down memory lane beyond the grandeur of those two immense apple trees in the landlord's backyard, the like of which I'll probably never see again. The like of which only a few of us will ever see at all. Privilege is a relative thing.

The apple tree is an icon; it is also a meme and/or an element of a meme. It speaks of the beginning of new things and the continuous cycles of life - a "tree of life" - and the processes of growth. On an apparent (logical) level, living things grow and eventually decay. But, on a mythical (mythos) level, the life force is in perpetual expression; it can be transformed or modified, but never annihilated.***

But, I am no sage. I merely observe.

And, what I presently observe is that it's a rabbit, egg and apple sort of holiday for some of us - even if only in memory. And, yet, at its core (pun intended) it is a celebration of spring and a renewal of vitality.

Coincidentally, it just happens to be a beautiful spring day in NM. I hope it is wherever you are, too.

____________________________________________________

* "Harmless as a dove" is not exactly an accurate phrase and, as a naturalist, Thoreau would've known this. He was quite possibly referring to domesticated doves, which we might expect to be more submissive. Wild doves, however, in spite of their elegant appearance, will gladly take out any creature threatening their nests. I once saw a mourning dove throttle a blue jay - a more belligerent bird - holding it by it's neck.

** Interestingly, in our eventual (future) back yard, we had a small apple tree which grew close by a wild rose bush with clusters of small, 5-petaled blossoms, resembling those of the apple tree. The apple tree eventually withered, but the rosebush retained an apple-like fragrance.

As it happens, cherries are also part of the Rosaceae family... and, like the apple and the rose, are celebrated with parades and festivals in the states and abroad.

*** (Regarding the revision): my original statement here was, for the most part, unintelligible. I must've dropped the thread and then, unsuccessfully, attempted to patch it up. I've since revised the statement, but, I'm afraid the original "thread" was lost. And, it's probably just as well!



Saturday, December 23, 2023

Five Spirals for December - #3 One Winter's Night... by Erté

Winter (1 of 4 from a seasonal suite), Erté. Geometry: DS.

One Winter's Night

As I walked along my favorite path through the trees that night, a path almost entirely obscured by drifts of snow, I stopped once to look at the crescent moon - for it was huge in the sky - when I saw something very curious on the slope below me. Leaning against an old tree and enveloped in its shadows was the form of a woman - sans clothing - lying in the snow, her white face faintly glowing against its trunk. Uneasily, I began to walk towards her. It was then that I realized she was never a living woman at all. She was made of snow; a snow-woman!

Of course, upon this realization, it also came to me that someone must have created her. My first thought was that some juveniles had vandalized my property. Who else but a teenaged boy would build a naked woman out of snow? And, then I thought my would-be Picasso must know quite a bit about human anatomy; the snow-woman was fashioned far too well. But who? There are no young people in the neighborhood... certainly no vagrant artists. I chose this part of the country for it's solitude.

But, the story gets stranger... because scraping against her frozen torso was a tree branch. At least, it appeared to be a tree branch animated by the wind, but it behaved like a hand; a hand with twigs for fingers. I can still remember this dark branch hand moving like an enormous insect shadow against the snow. It was as if the tree itself was perfecting the snow woman's form; a form it had created! Shivering, I turned and would have half-ran home... but then I saw the flower. A Christmas rose. They grew here and there across the countryside. It was if it had risen of its own accord up through the snow-woman's lap. But, I could see, even from my distance, that its stem had been carefully poked into the snow furrow where her inner thighs met. A joke? An enigmatic prank?

Or, was it art... created by the wind with cooperation from the falling snow... and a tree, who even as I produced this thought, seemed to rearrange it's branches, flinging snow in my direction? Now shaking from the bitter cold, I decided to continue my musings in the shelter of my living room. I'll write it all down... and then, hopefully, forget it.

- I figured, this image needed a narrative, so, I wrote it. Inset right is a photo of a "Christmas Rose," that is, the hellbore plant (helleborus niger) featured in Erté's image. A very interesting winter plant!*

As for the image, is it just me, or does that stump of a tree limb hovering over the snow-woman's shoulder kind of appear like a faceless head wearing a white wig? Moreover, doesn't the shape of the sky inside the spiraling tree look like the silhouette of a man's narrow head with the tree trunk extending from the area of his nose? In any case, Erté's snow-woman sure beats the standard snowman. 

"If you lived through the '70s and '80s, you saw an incredible revival of a still-living artist whose control over his meticulously rendered images never wavered. He worked up until the last two weeks of his life at 97. He was fond of the publicity he had from his revival, and made many appearances in his celery and lavender-colored suits with scarves and hats adding extra glamour.

Of his hallucinatory and decadent imagination he said, "I'm in a different world, a dream world that invites oblivion. People take drugs to achieve such freedom from their daily cares. I've never taken drugs. I've never needed them."


"This book's biographical text is fine enough and is peppered with interesting stories from Erté's career, including an amusing one from 1913 in which he showed up at a Paris dress rehearsal party as an anonymous lady in a red dress, leading the newspapers the next day to speculate as to who the mysterious lady was. In another, he threw one of the leading actresses of the silent cinema, Lillian Gish, out of his studio when she criticized his choice of fabric for one of her costumes, leading to his dismissal. In a tragic story, Erté's business partner and lover of 25 years, Prince Ouroussoff, died from a freak infection contracted from a mere prick of a rose thorn. The death coincided with a decline in Erté's career and fortunes until the 1950s' art deco revival."

- Via this Goodreads review of a 2014 publication of Erté's graphic work. The bit about Prince Ouroussoff and the rose sounds like another strange fairytale! Inset left (above) is a photo of Erté in his 20s.

"Not only do I do what I want to do, but I do my work in my own way and never have been influenced by another artist.  The sole influences on my art, through the course of my entire career, were the Persian and Indian Miniatures and Greek vases I saw in my childhood at the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg (now Leningrad).  I think that these influences have stayed with me to this day, although they were assimilated long ago."

- Excerpt from: Erté at Ninety: The Complete Graphics. Inset right is the cover graphic. Somewhere in that image... is gold!**

***

Born in the Russian Empire around the turn of the 19th/20th century, Romain Petrovich de Tirtoff was in line to follow his father into the Russian navy. But, then, in a marvelous coup, he moved to Paris in 1910, made art, fell in love with a Prince, and became Erté.

And, what an amazing body of art he produced, developing a distinctive style which combined the clean lines and geometrical elegance of Art Deco with the erotic, organic spirals of Art Nouveau.

Now, about those spirals...

Monday, September 18, 2023

For the Birds: "Coco," Martha, Chér Ami, GI Joe, Irish Paddy & all the unsung others...


Pigeons Passing By (detail) - Thomas Bennet. A beautiful rendering of passenger pigeons in the wild.


"In 1760 an extraordinary Occurrence happened about the Centre of the Wachovia Tract, on a Creek to this day called the Pidgeon Branch, which has the Appearance of an Improbability, yet actually happened, to the great Amazement of the Beholders, viz. an incredible Number of wild Pidgeons assembled there every Night for a Month together, in a small District, perching manyfold upon one another, so as by their Weight to break down the largest Limbs of Oaks, bending the Tops of others to the Ground … The Noise was so terrible that a Man speaking to his next Neighbor could not be heard without bawling loud, and Waggonloads of Pidgeons killed with Sticks were carried off."

- Both the vintage quote and Bennet's image were found in the essay Pigeons Passing By written by T. Edward Nickens, describing what was purportedly a common occurrence across parts of North America in the 18th and 19th centuries: clouds of nomad passenger pigeons settling upon tree branches which broke beneath the weight of their great numbers. In some respects, it may have been this "plague of locusts"-like behavior which sealed their fate... especially when they sometimes settled on a farmer's crops.

"...And then, within a few decades, it all came crashing down. One of the planet's most successful birds went from billions to one, dwindling down to a final survivor named Martha who lived her entire life in captivity. She was found dead in her cage at the Cincinnati Zoo around 1 p.m. on Sept. 1, 1914, completing one of the fastest and most dramatic extinctions ever witnessed by humans.

...People used all kinds of maniacal tactics to kill pigeons, including burning down nest trees, baiting the birds with alcohol-soaked grain, trapping them in huge nets and even luring them with captive pigeons on small perches — the origin of the term "stool pigeon."

'There were 600 to 3,000 professional hunters who did nothing but chase the birds all year long,' Greenberg says. 'The people hunting them knew they were decreasing, but instead of saying 'let's hold off,' they hunted them more intensely. Toward the end, they just started raiding all the nests. They wanted to get every last bird, squeeze every last penny out of them before they were gone.'

For anyone who had seen torrents of passenger pigeons in the 1860s and 1870s, it was hard to believe they were nearly extinct in the 1890s. After the final holdouts in Michigan vanished, many people assumed the birds moved farther west, maybe to Arizona or Puget Sound. Henry Ford even suggested the entire species had made a break for Asia. Eventually, though, denial gave way to grim acceptance. The last-known wild passenger pigeon was shot April 3, 1902, in Laurel, Indiana."

- Quoted text is from the article: 100 Years Later, the Passenger Pigeon Still Haunts Us, recounting the sad tale of the extinction of the passenger pigeon, the wild North American bird which, in ways, resembled American wild doves (see painting above) more than the standard pigeon. Inset right is a vintage photograph of a juvenile of the species found here.


Illustration from Emil Schachtzabel’s Pigeon Prachtwerk (1906).


"This year marks the centenary of the death of the last Passenger Pigeon, the most numerous bird ever known, but one that did not survive the colonization of North America. I am willing to mourn that last captive voyager, a miracle of evolution, a postcard for extreme biodiversity, a bird more appreciated now than it ever was in life, except as a meal.

Many people, at least in cities where Rock Pigeons are common, think of them as “flying rats"... Perhaps the critics have forgotten a guy called Charles Darwin, who, despite his social position as a member of the country gentry, was interested enough to attend pigeon shows, buy birds, and bore dinner guests such as Charles Lyell with his obsessive table talk about them."

- Via this marvelous page Unnatural Selection: Emil Schachtzabel’s Pigeon Prachtwerk (1906), which reminds us that it was through Darwin's "obsessive" study of domesticated pigeons that he developed his ideas of "unnatural selection" regarding the evolution of a species. One pigeon fancier who was inspired by Darwin's theories was Emil Schachtzabel, who published Pigeon Prachtwerk in 1906 featuring numerous examples of exotic breeds illustrated by the German artist and critic, Anton Schöner (1866–1930) inset left. Directly above and below are two amazing illustrations from the book; many more can be found in the article.


Another strange breed of pigeons via the Pigeon Prachtwerk collection.

(Continued after the jump)

Tuesday, July 18, 2023

"Coco is Dead" - The Language of a Bird

A Eurasian collared dove.


"That all my life I have listened to the calls
of mourning doves, have heard them hidden far back
under the eaves, or perched among sycamore branches—
their five still notes sometimes lost in the wind—
and not known how to answer: this I confess,
lying here now, on a summer morning, in a dark room
no less lit by the sound of their soft calling..."

- From the poem Mourning Doves by American poet, Jared Carter,
found along with the quote which follows (below), on this Mythic Living page.

"The mourning dove of North America is, as its name suggests, sometimes connected to the notion of the soul’s passing from this life to the next.  Thus, the appearance of the bird has been associated with visitation from the “other side”.  This is not a new metaphor, nor is it only North American. It is usually understood to be a reassuring representation that life goes on, albeit separated from the still-living."


(If there's one thing I've learned about Camus during the course of our dance is that the man is infectious. He makes a writer want - actually need - to write. So, to all of you who write - not necessarily to make a living, but because you need to bring some kind of order and meaning to your life - when blocked, read Camus. There's something to be said for a writer who - without saying so - encourages you to just open up and spit it out.

That being said, I think I can safely report: I've come back to this blog for a bit, and my heart seems to be in it. So, that's good. As to why I suddenly need to blog so much  - and I do not really consciously know - well, it's a slightly unsettling question... which need not be addressed presently. We'll just run with it.

Today's story is about a bird. A bird who can, potentially, talk. A bird who is hunted... perhaps haunted. A familiar bird to many humans as it has emigrated to numerous locations across the globe. It is a refugee, and, this is why it is, perhaps, more unbound than other species of birds. It might also be more intelligent than some of them... it has, after all, learned to adapt to many different countries and has seen many nationalities and races of people. It has heard snatches of human conversation in many diverse languages - gathering them into its memory banks - by, what we can assume to be, a brain's osmotic processes - as it sat quietly, sometimes invisibly, on its high perch overlooking its adopted land.

But, I wasn't aware of any of that when this story first began... a true story, regardless of my interpretation.

Above, inset right, the Watcher, a dove parked outside my bedroom window... as it often is every day.)

***

The star(s)s of my story - the Eurasian collared dove, is related to the mourning dove, unique birds when you think about it. On the eastern coast of the US the mourning dove (inset left & inset right below) is such a common sight and its song is so instantly identifiable, one never fully grasps it's oddness. It is considered a songbird but it's song is short, wistful and slightly melancholy, often described as "a lament". Think: graveyards, willow trees and grey gardens... (Listen to it here.)

But, NM is a different sort of place. It is not near the ocean - the land is trapped... and its ghosts know it. The birds, however, do not. Many of them migrate. Even seagulls, ocean birds who will find no large bodies of water here, fly into NM's dry interior. There is, no doubt, a scientific explanation for this, but, I'd rather imagine the seagulls can sense the ancient oceans which once flowed here thousands of years ago, and are following deeply embedded biological markers in the landscape and atmosphere.

Then again, there is something about birds which demands we endow them with magical powers... whether they possess them or not. However, we must consider: their bodies are flying vehicles. Can't touch that.

Anyway, the story begins in a vague sort of way... that is I began hearing some mysterious bird every morning when I woke up. It had a strange vocalization; not a song really. In an eerie way, it seemed to be saying something. Now, I could go into the general setting in which I live, but, for the sake of economy, I'll skip all that. The fact is, that I heard a bird calling outside of my window every day... and sometimes on the launchpad (my dedicated smoking room). And, it's "song" began to bother me. Abrasive, the bird's vocalizations were not patterns of musical notes. They uncannily resembled human speech, but I couldn't make it out.

Then, one day, it suddenly came to me that I could understand what the bird seemed to be saying. I cannot identify what had changed enabling this to happen. It just did. In fact, it seemed obvious; in it's weird, hollow, bird-voice - which seemed to originate somewhere in its belly - it seemed to be repeating the same phrase over and over again:
 "Coco is dead."

During this same period I had a weird bird encounter. What looked like a mourning dove flew onto the fence surrounding the launchpad (see: Dancing with the Ghost...). It startled me because it came quite close to my face, peering at me with one large dark eye. Then it lifted off and flew away. For anyone familiar with mourning doves, this was unusual; they're timid birds. But, I noticed the band around its neck, and wondered if it might be a slightly different variety of dove, maybe an exclusively southwestern variety. At this stage of the game, I didn't know.

Meanwhile, my bird with its grave announcement had somewhat changed its message. In fact, it was changing its message every other day. I now alternately heard: "Coco is dead," "Coco escaped," "Coco has escaped," and one day, "Coco is ALIVE! Sometimes different names replaced "Coco." There were three different names but I wrote down (and remember) only 2 of them: Yahghol and Jockarelle. (I've spelled them the way they sounded and  would be pronounced - in English - with the accent on the first syllable.) I think it was at this point that I finally took my experience more seriously. I was beginning to imagine I was listening to an official avian town crier...

Friday, July 7, 2023

Dancing With the Ghost of Albert Camus

Dancing with Ghosts - cell phone photo - 2023, DS.


“At that time, I often thought that if I had had to live in the trunk of a dead tree, with nothing to do but look up at the sky flowing overhead, little by little I would have gotten used to it.”
- Albert Camus, The Stranger


(I am being inundated with politics these days... and politics is not my place. My place is culture. My place is my artist's meditative Zone... where politics with its conflict, chaos, ignorance, violence, tyranny, & lies are, in general, not welcome.

Unfortunately, politics are as inescapable as the current heat wave this summer.

 I am now staying in Albuquerque. It appears to be a strangely unpopulated place... or, rather, a thinly populated ghost town. There are rarely people on the streets unless they're homeless. And, yet, there are lines and lines of cars on its dusty roads... passing through? I don't know. I'm still a stranger in New Mexico... a refugee although I've lived here for 8 years. There are places in the world in which you can never be anything but a stranger, but, there are people who can never be anything but strangers, too.

On the other hand, 3 nights ago, the 4th of July (Independence Day), I couldn't get to any official pyrotechnic events, but the locals put on their own unofficial fireworks display - the People's Display - with some fairly sophisticated rockets... which lasted for hours. I watched from a window over the patio as they shot up across the horizon... and I felt quite patriotic; a feeling I rarely have...especially these days... that is, unless disgust and anger are symptoms of patriotism. Maybe, in a sense they are. It means you care. 

My current "backyard" - which really isn't mine - consists of a small fenced-in patio with very little green to be seen... but, upon closer inspection, enough green to support a small colony of grasshoppers! It's these little bits of natural life which anchor me to the corporeal world. Like the juvenile grasshopper - inset left - they bring me joy and, unlike everything else clamoring for my time and effort, they're refreshingly tangible and real. And, if you pay attention to them, they'll reward you in many ways. For instance, you can learn things. I learned that grasshoppers grow in a similar way to caterpillars. That is, they shed their skins to become much larger creatures... which somehow were illogically enfolded inside their former selves; a magic trick more interesting, more satisfying than you might imagine.

(7/24/23 Note: After a number of moults, the grasshopper became large, brown... and developed wings. While not as attractive as a butterfly it, too, transforms into a flying creature.)

In the photo, posted above, I am standing in the center of the patio on what is fondly referred to as the "launch pad." I appear to be dancing with myself. In reality I'm dancing with ghosts. Perhaps, I, too, have become a ghost... unconsciously haunting my own past...)

In this (brief) dream  I am in the house of my childhood... but, it is not not exactly the place I lived, for it has changed. Or, I should say, it has changed again. The first time it changed - in a long ago dream - a hidden room was revealed... positioned between my old bedroom and what was (in reality) a fairly unusual hallway featuring an array of closets, recesses, drawers and other enclosures. It was a phantom room but, in my sleeping mind, seemed both valid and logical.

I dreamt about this phantom room several times over the years. Its dimensions became an actual memory, as if it had always existed... somehow tucked away... enfolded in the recesses of a closet or at the bottom of a cluttered drawer.

In the latest dream, however, a screened-in porch had been added to the second floor of the family house...  in the front and, once again, where my bedroom was once located. It was accessed indoors from a newly created hallway... call it an Escher hallway, because it's position in the corporeal house was not (logically) possible. It was a phantom hallway... with another phantom construction nearby: the previously-mentioned "hidden room." I vaguely remember passing what may have been its potential doorway as I walked down the phantom hallway towards the phantom porch.

Now, the actual house was surrounded by tall trees: silver beech along the back, two enormous red maples in the front and a wall of massive pines. In the dream, they still existed. But, through the floor-to-ceiling screened apertures which composed the new porch, the trees were now fully visible, as if viewed from a treehouse.

The dream ended just as I entered the bright doorway and stepped into the screened enclosure. This, too, had a door, with stairs leading down to the ground below... a feature I may have consciously added in the process of waking up.

- From a note file created in May of this year. The addition of the porch was a fine dream-construction; an economical plan to let the outdoors in while also providing a third door - the house had two already - from which to escape. When I awoke from the dream, I felt refreshed. Perhaps, it was a metaphor for a new unconscious development and it felt like a positive one.

Which, is to say, it represented no part of my present-day physical reality but, rather, a vacation from it.

***

“Find meaning. Distinguish melancholy from sadness. Go out for a walk. It doesn’t have to be a romantic walk in the park, spring at its most spectacular moment, flowers and smells and outstanding poetical imagery smoothly transferring you into another world. It doesn’t have to be a walk during which you’ll have multiple life epiphanies and discover meanings no other brain ever managed to encounter. Do not be afraid of spending quality time by yourself. Find meaning or don’t find meaning but 'steal' some time and give it freely and exclusively to your own self. Opt for privacy and solitude. That doesn’t make you antisocial or cause you to reject the rest of the world. But you need to breathe. And you need to be.”

- Albert Camus (1913-1960), Notebooks 1951-1959. Camus was a French-Algerian writer, journalist, playwright, and philosopher and is most often considered an Absurdist. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1957.

My first introduction to Camus was in my art school days. I read The Stranger and it depressed me. Maybe I glimpsed my own future. Recently I read an online article regarding absurdist philosophy and in it I rediscovered Camus. I spent that night reading pages and pages of his quotes which exhilarated me; astoundingly, I could relate to just about everything he said. Via the Wiki entry for Absurdism:

"Absurdists, following Camus' formulation, hesitantly allow the possibility for some meaning or value in life, but are neither as certain as existentialists are about the value of one's own constructed meaning nor as nihilists are about the total inability to create meaning. Absurdists following Camus also devalue or outright reject free will, encouraging merely that the individual live defiantly and authentically in spite of the psychological tension of the Absurd."

The odd thing is, while I feel sympathetic towards Absurdism, my personal experience would require something a bit beyond it... Uber-Absurdism? I'm not sure.

"The modern mind is in complete disarray. Knowledge has stretched itself to the point
where neither the world nor our intelligence can find any foot-hold.
It is a fact that we are suffering from nihilism." - Albert Camus