2 weeks ago
We have to learn to write fiction, but we have already, to varying degrees, had to learn to read it. And I felt like quite a good reader of fiction, when I began to write fiction, or at least a good reader of that fiction which I most keenly enjoyed. And thus are we shape as writers, I believe, not so much by who our favorite writers are as by our general experience of fiction. Learning to write fiction, we learn to listen for our own acquired sense of what feels right, based on the totality of the pleasure (or its lack) that fiction had provided us. Not direct emulation, but rather a matter of a personal micro-culture. Cite Arrow William Gibson
2 weeks ago
Cat on a Hot Foam Board
PEELED PENCIL, CHOKE
In 1914 Gertrude Stein published her first prose text „Tender Buttons“. It contains three parts. The title „Peeled pencil, choke“ is derived from the first part called „Objects“. As a friend of Pablo Picasso Gertrude Stein once called these diverse objects portraying textes, still life.
The text from„Peeled pencil, choke“ is so brief as the title itself. It is called „Rub her coke“.
Mrs. Stein always recommended to read her writings aloud. There is a difference whether to speak „Rub her coke“ slow or fast. When spoken too fast the sense will change. When spoken still faster, the words „rub“ and „her“ will be closer.They become the new word „rubber“. And when speaking fast is it difficult to find out whether „coke“ is calling „cock“ or „coat“.
„Rub“ and „her“ and „coke“ contain percussive qualities. „Rub“ is much harder than „her“ but softer than „coke“. „Coke“ could correspond to an intensive footstep on the floor, „rub“ to a banging clap and „her“ to a beat on the chest.
And another thing becomes clear. The reader reading aloud ( in this case a multivoiced choir of loud reading readers) is a bodily active one, a percussive moving reader itself. He reads with hands and feet, or in other words he „wrest“ from the text qualities in a way as if would being in a quarry of language which must be open.
(Poster by Eve Fowler, text by Gertrude Stein, commentary by Thomas Jahn.)

PEELED PENCIL, CHOKE

In 1914 Gertrude Stein published her first prose text „Tender Buttons“. It contains three parts. The title „Peeled pencil, choke“ is derived from the first part called „Objects“. As a friend of Pablo Picasso Gertrude Stein once called these diverse objects portraying textes, still life.

The text from„Peeled pencil, choke“ is so brief as the title itself. It is called „Rub her coke“.

Mrs. Stein always recommended to read her writings aloud. There is a difference whether to speak „Rub her coke“ slow or fast. When spoken too fast the sense will change. When spoken still faster, the words „rub“ and „her“ will be closer.They become the new word „rubber“. And when speaking fast is it difficult to find out whether „coke“ is calling „cock“ or „coat“.

„Rub“ and „her“ and „coke“ contain percussive qualities. „Rub“ is much harder than „her“ but softer than „coke“. „Coke“ could correspond to an intensive footstep on the floor, „rub“ to a banging clap and „her“ to a beat on the chest.

And another thing becomes clear. The reader reading aloud ( in this case a multivoiced choir of loud reading readers) is a bodily active one, a percussive moving reader itself. He reads with hands and feet, or in other words he „wrest“ from the text qualities in a way as if would being in a quarry of language which must be open.

(Poster by Eve Fowler, text by Gertrude Stein, commentary by Thomas Jahn.)

"Caldonia! Caldonia! What makes your big head so hard?"

2 weeks ago
"I GOT THE PIECE of Moammar Gadhafi’s house when we were shooting there for Parts Unknown. We had a sort of friendly militia with us, and we bumped into a less friendly militia. Before we had to leave in a hurry, I got a nice chunk. The bronzed deer head Marco Pierre White gave me after I was hunting with him in rural England. As a young cook, I worshipped White—never in a million years did I think I’d be hanging out, drinking beer and shooting animals with him. I grew up being a huge fan of Hunter Thompson and Ralph Steadman, who did that piece on the wall for me. The duck press was just an extravagant, pure object of desire. When I see these used in a restaurant, I practically weep. It’s like watching Joe DiMaggio playing his last game. The metal Montagnard bracelet is from Vietnam. Indigenous people in the mountains used to make them and give them to the CIA officers and Special Forces who were there prior to the war. The thicker bracelet was given to me by an African king while I was fulfilling my Heart of Darkness fantasy in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It likely goes back hundreds of years. The watch is my dad’s old Rolex. He died with it on his nightstand. He passed away before he got to see me do anything significant, but he loved me just the same. The pile of passports—all of them filled up—are a record of everywhere I’ve been. All my life I read about people doing interesting things in interesting faraway places, and I dreamed of going to those places and having those sorts of things happen to me. Underneath that is Raw Power, my desert island disc, and then the works of Michel de Montaigne—all wisdom and knowledge found here. Last, a drawing by my daughter of me and her. It’s a pretty good rendering, though a little flattering.”
Anthony Bourdain’s Favorite Things

"I GOT THE PIECE of Moammar Gadhafi’s house when we were shooting there for Parts Unknown. We had a sort of friendly militia with us, and we bumped into a less friendly militia. Before we had to leave in a hurry, I got a nice chunk. The bronzed deer head Marco Pierre White gave me after I was hunting with him in rural England. As a young cook, I worshipped White—never in a million years did I think I’d be hanging out, drinking beer and shooting animals with him. I grew up being a huge fan of Hunter Thompson and Ralph Steadman, who did that piece on the wall for me. The duck press was just an extravagant, pure object of desire. When I see these used in a restaurant, I practically weep. It’s like watching Joe DiMaggio playing his last game. The metal Montagnard bracelet is from Vietnam. Indigenous people in the mountains used to make them and give them to the CIA officers and Special Forces who were there prior to the war. The thicker bracelet was given to me by an African king while I was fulfilling my Heart of Darkness fantasy in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It likely goes back hundreds of years. The watch is my dad’s old Rolex. He died with it on his nightstand. He passed away before he got to see me do anything significant, but he loved me just the same. The pile of passports—all of them filled up—are a record of everywhere I’ve been. All my life I read about people doing interesting things in interesting faraway places, and I dreamed of going to those places and having those sorts of things happen to me. Underneath that is Raw Power, my desert island disc, and then the works of Michel de Montaigne—all wisdom and knowledge found here. Last, a drawing by my daughter of me and her. It’s a pretty good rendering, though a little flattering.”

Anthony Bourdain’s Favorite Things

3 weeks ago
Cinelli Laser Crono Strada

We waste about one third of all the food produced in the world. Bees are dying, monocultures are dominating agriculture, knowledge gets lost, many people eat alone and don’t know how to cook any more. Kids don’t see food growing any more. Our supply of phosphates - an essential ingredient for artificial fertilisers - is running out and without it we might not be able to feed the growing world population. Chicken in intensive farms get more antibiotics than needy children in developing countries. Oceans are damaged, fresh water supplies are getting short, oil is running out.

Fortunately we also see a big group of young people getting into action and trying to find different ways to change the food chain and to change our perception to food. I could even say that there might be a food revolution coming up. And we need one.

Cite Arrow Food is “the most important materialin the world” says Marije Vogelzang
3 weeks ago
"Smell this," the baker said, breaking open a dark loaf. "It’s a heavy bread, but rich." They smelled it, then he had them taste it. It had the taste of molasses and coarse grains. They listened to him. They ate what they could. They swallowed the dark bread. It was like daylight under the fluorescent trays of light. They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, and they did not think of leaving.
By Raymond Carver, Cathedral

"Smell this," the baker said, breaking open a dark loaf. "It’s a heavy bread, but rich." They smelled it, then he had them taste it. It had the taste of molasses and coarse grains. They listened to him. They ate what they could. They swallowed the dark bread. It was like daylight under the fluorescent trays of light. They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, and they did not think of leaving.

By Raymond Carver, Cathedral

Before the advent of photography, Japanese fishermen created a novel technique for documenting their catch. Gyotaku is a form of printing that creates accurate renditions through a relief printing process. Rubbing sumi ink onto the body of a fish, and then gently pressing rice paper onto it and peeling it away will net an impression of the fish—distinct enough to note the shape and size of the species as well as the subtle patterns and textures of scales, fins, and gills. 
Dating back to the 1800s, original gyotaku prints were minimal in their appearance—made only in black ink without embellishment of texture, color, or added elements. The emphasis of these early prints was to prove the size and species of the fisherman’s “trophy fish” and to record this permanently. It was not until later when gyotaku became an art form that composition and color were considered.
Gyotaku is still widely used today in Japan and other coastal communities. Often in restaurant signage, this technique allows chefs to advertise their seafood specials with immediacy and honesty. Traditionally, the fish is printed with non-toxic ink allowing it to be cleaned and prepared as a meal after the printing process has been completed. The natural precision of gyotaku offers a pure form of graphic clarity—its simplicity demonstrates detached documentation yet highlights the personal achievement of the proud fisherman.

Before the advent of photography, Japanese fishermen created a novel technique for documenting their catch. Gyotaku is a form of printing that creates accurate renditions through a relief printing process. Rubbing sumi ink onto the body of a fish, and then gently pressing rice paper onto it and peeling it away will net an impression of the fish—distinct enough to note the shape and size of the species as well as the subtle patterns and textures of scales, fins, and gills. 

Dating back to the 1800s, original gyotaku prints were minimal in their appearance—made only in black ink without embellishment of texture, color, or added elements. The emphasis of these early prints was to prove the size and species of the fisherman’s “trophy fish” and to record this permanently. It was not until later when gyotaku became an art form that composition and color were considered.

Gyotaku is still widely used today in Japan and other coastal communities. Often in restaurant signage, this technique allows chefs to advertise their seafood specials with immediacy and honesty. Traditionally, the fish is printed with non-toxic ink allowing it to be cleaned and prepared as a meal after the printing process has been completed. The natural precision of gyotaku offers a pure form of graphic clarity—its simplicity demonstrates detached documentation yet highlights the personal achievement of the proud fisherman.