we all live in a gaudí submarine

Architectural photographer Anthony Lindsey captures the handiwork of several artists-in-residence studying at Granny’s University of the Imagination in order to renovate the master bath in the fashion suggested by Terry Gilliam’s 1985 film Brazil what would happen if the Yellow Submarine were to crash land on the beach house of Antoni Gaudí i Cornet (previously inspiring here, here and here). Their alma mater is the private home of Jaina Bee who presented a restoration project to some creative and crafty friends who’ve transformed the campus into an ever evolving artistic expression. Visit their home page at the link above for a virtual tour of all the rooms and perhaps arrange a tour in person.

daffodills wear yellow frills

apparatchik or all politics is local

With coverage of forty percent of American households—after the anticipated approval of currently proposed sales and mergers which are expected to get the rubber-stamp of approval as the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) was not only rubbishing net neutrality but was also tasked with removing the regulatory hurdles to media dominance in local markets, the Sinclair Broadcast Group has stakes in or outright ownership of some two-hundred thirty television affiliates all over the country (check to see how high the propaganda might be dialled up in your neighbourhood here) and has operated as a conservative ideology-forwarding mouthpiece for some time.

 
First infamously censoring reporting that did not portray Republican leadership in a flattering light like the broadcast of ABC news anchor Ted Koppel’s reading out of the names of the US soldiers killed in the invasion and subsequent occupation of Iraq in April of 2004, the group then in October of the same year, just ahead of a presidential election, ordered its stations to play a documentary that characterised the Democratic challenger to the Bush dynasty as a coward during the candidate’s tour of duty in the Vietnam war.
Political bias has continued to influence programming choices and journalism on the local level—surely burying stories deemed inconvenient or problematic and throttling others in line with their agenda if not dispensing with local news altogether. Stations have for the past two years been required to run the political commentary segments of one of the Trump regime’s Svengalis multiple times a day. And now, local news outlets have to make this rather chilling and Orwellian loyalty pledge (supercut above from Deadspin) to combat fake news wherever detected. Read more at the link up top.

thank you easter bunny - bawk, bawk!

unfold/enfold

We very much enjoyed making the acquaintance of artist and illustrator Květa Pacovská, born in Prague in 1928 where she still works and lives.
Her life-time contributions prompted the International Board on Books for Young People to honour her with the highest recognition that a children’s author or illustrator can receive—the Han Christian Andersen Award—in 1992 and Pacovská has a long list of credits (including cut-out and pop-up books, including the titular composition that was extraordinarily expandable and had other surprising elements to propel the story and the reader’s imagination well off the printed page) and educational software that she has graced with her talents. This particular series is sourced to a portfolio of work for the 1968 publication of Karlička a bílý koník (Karl and the White Horse) by Branka Jurcová, plus there are more galleries of Pacovská’s commissions at the link above

kreuzweg oder via dolorosa

Taking advantage of the fine weather, H and I rumbled about on the scenic Hochrhönstraße that’s a stretch of road that forms one of the few connections through the biosphere reserve, linking moor and mountain and on the return trip stopped in the village of Nordheim, near Fladungen.
Just outside of the village on a high hill is the Chapel of Saint Sebastian—dedicated in 1670 and then deconcentrated in 1804 with the secularization of church property by the Kingdom of Bavaria, though thankfully the chapel’s ensemble remained intact.
At the base of the hill there was a Marian Grotto (Mariengrotto, a shrine) and then the footpath up the slope was line with a series of bas relief sculptures depicting the Stations of the Cross.

The weather has been fair and there are signs of Spring (some activity we were afraid came prematurely before the last cold snaps) but it struck me that the only green on the great old trees lining the path was from mistletoe (Mistel) and I wondered if the plant that many consider just a parasite might not be more of a partner in regulating seasonal cycles.
The chapel, dedicated to saint and martyr Sebastian, featured him prominently in his most familiar iconographic form—though he survived that volley of arrows with the interdiction of Saint Irene only to be clubbed to death by Emperor Diocletian’s henchmen during the purges of the Christians for not being accommodating and succumbing to their first attack.

Everything was vibrant and expressive and one has to wonder how such visual brilliance might be the only exposure that the common person had to fuel their imagination and limn their artistic horizons in a world that was certainly not bleak or colourless but for whom art and artifice were rarer things.   It was also significantly colder inside the chapel than it was outside, for whatever reason, with our breath visible.
There’s also a shrine dedicated to Saint Anthony of Padua (Hl. Antonius von Padua) who is the patron of swineherds, bakers, social-workers, mine-workers and travellers as well as who to turn to to remedy infertility, match-making and lost things plus reputed to have once preached to a school of fish. It was certainly an impressive place to discover and we cannot wait to happen upon more local treasures.