Friday, December 28, 2012

Imágenes de cuentos de Poe en revista japonesa vintage

 The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket

The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar

The Black Cat

The pit and the pendulum

Estas imágenes tan interesantes las estoy compartiendo de

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Christmas at Sea by Robert Louis Stevenson

A detail from Snow Storm - Steam-Boat off a Harbour's Mouth by JMW Turner, currently on display at Tate Britain. Photograph: Tate

The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;
The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;
The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea;
And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.
They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;
But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.
We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,
And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.
All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;
All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;
All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,
For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.
We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide race roared;
But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard:
So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high,
And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.
The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;
The good red fires were burning bright in every 'long-shore home;
The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;
And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.
The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;
For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)
This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn,
And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born.
O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,
My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;
And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,
Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.
And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,
Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;
And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,
To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessèd Christmas Day.
They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.
'All hands to loose top gallant sails,' I heard the captain call.
'By the Lord, she'll never stand it,' our first mate, Jackson, cried.
… 'It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson,' he replied.
She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,
And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood.
As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night,
We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.
And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me,
As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;
But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,
Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.

Poem and image shared from

Monday, December 24, 2012

The Jardin de la connaissance

This great post by asladirt has been shared from:
¨A garden fades back into nature¨

As part of the International Festival des Jardins de Metis, which is held annually in Quebec, Berlin-based landscape architect Thilo Folkerts, 100 Landschaftsarchitektur, and Canadian artist Rodney LaTourelle created a fascinating 250-square-meter garden using about 40,000 books to show how “culture fades back into nature.” 
 The Jardin de la connaissance, which was actually installed in 2010, was designed to change and decay. According to Dezeen, old books were piled up to create walls, rooms, and seats. Books laid on the forest floor created platforms. Then, eight varieties of mushrooms were introduced and “cultivated on select books” in order to spur the decay of the book landscape. 

The mushrooms include: Coprinus comatus (Shaggy Mane); Grifola frondosa (Hen of the Woods, Maitake); Pleurotus citrinopileatus (Yellow Oyster); Pleurotus columbinus (Blue Oyster); Pleurotus djamor (Pink Oyster); Pleurotus ostreatus (Pearl Oyster); Pleurotus pulmonarius ((Phoenix) Indian Oyster); and Stropharia rugoso-annulata (Wine Cap). In addition to being philosophically interesting, the garden creates “micro-environments for a range of local creatures,” writes Folkerts. “Seedlings and insects have activated the walls, carpets, and benches.” 
 Recently, to update the piece, the designers amplified the sense of decay by applying “sampled moss from the forest” to the walls of the garden as a “paint mixture.” They call this “moss graffiti.” Folkerts writes: “The cover of moss material will aesthetically expedite the slow disappearance of the garden back into the forest.”

Much more at:

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Caperucita Roja según Google

Para aquéllos que aún no han entrado a Google o para quienes desean ver otra vez estas imágenes, hoy en la portada de Google nos dicen que se cumplen 200 años de los cuentos de hadas de los hermanos Grimm. Y han dejado el cuento de Caperucita Roja en diapositivas muy divertidas, de las que comparto algunas.
Me encantó el detalle inesperado, el cazador se siente intrigado al ver la bufanda que teje la abuela dentro de la panza del lobo y que se extiende por el paisaje. Tirando de ella, saca a Caperucita y la abuelita por la boca del animal, lo golpea pero no lo mata, sino que el castigo es la cárcel.
Excelente versión no sangrienta del cuento!

Wednesday, December 19, 2012


Christmas tree. Digital painting by Myriam B. Mahiques

Two little children were sitting by the fire one cold winter's night. All at once they heard a timid knock at the door, and one ran to open it. There, outside in the cold and the darkness, stood a child with no shoes upon his feet and clad in thin, ragged garments. He was shivering with cold, and he asked to come in and warm himself. "Yes, come," cried both the children; "you shall have our place by the fire. Come in!" They drew the little stranger to their warm seat and shared their supper with him, and gave him their bed, while they slept on a hard bench. In the night they were awakened by strains of sweet music and, looking out, they saw a band of children in shining garments approaching the house. 
They were playing on golden harps, and the air was full of melody. Suddenly the Stranger Child stood before them; no longer cold and ragged, but clad in silvery light. His soft voice said: "I was cold and you took Me in. I was hungry, and you fed Me. I was tired, and you gave Me your bed. I am the Christ Child, wandering through the world to bring peace and happiness to all good children. As you have given to Me, so may this tree every year give rich fruit to you." 
 So saying, He broke a branch from the fir tree that grew near the door, and He planted it in the ground and disappeared. But the branch grew into a great tree, and every year it bore wonderful golden fruit for the kind children. 

 * From "For the Children's Hour," by Bailey and Lewis. Used by permission of the authors and the publishers—Milton Bradley Company.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Hans Christian Andersen's 'The Tallow Candle'

Hans Christian Andersen. Picture from

The Tallow Candle was discovered by local historian Esben Brage in the dense private archives of the Plum family, revealed Danish paper Politiken, which printed the story in its entirety today. Brage was in the reading room at the National Archive for Funen in Odense when he stumbled across a small, yellowing piece of paper at the bottom of a box and realised it might be important. Two months later, experts have now confirmed that the story was written by Andersen.
"This is a sensational discovery. Partly because it must be seen as Andersen's first fairytale, and partly because it shows that he was interested in the fairytale as a young man, before his authorship began,"Ejnar Stig Askgaard of the Odense City Museum told Politiken. "And I am in no doubt that it has been written by Andersen." Experts Bruno Svindborg of the Royal Library and Professor Johan de Myliu have also agreed the text was written by Andersen. (.....)
The story is not "at the level of the more mature and polished fairytalesthat we know from Andersen's later authorship", according to the experts, and has been dated to his time at school, probably between 1822 and 1826. Andersen made his literary debut in 1829. The first real fairytale he published was The Dead Man, with two booklets appearing in 1935 called Fairytales Told to the Children. He went on to write hundreds of stories, including The Little Mermaid, The Emperor's New Clothes and The Little Match Girl.
It sizzled and fizzled as the flames fired the cauldron.. it was the Tallow Candle’s cradle - and out of the warm cradle came a flawless candle; solid, shining white and slim it was formed in a way that made everyone who saw it believe that it was a promise of a bright and radiant future – promises that everyone who looked on believed it would really want to keep and fulfil.
The sheep – a fine little sheep – was the candle’s mother, and the melting pot its father. Its mother had given it a shiny white body and an inkling about life, but from its father it had been given a craving for the flaming fire that would eventually go through its marrow and bone and shine for it in life.
That’s how it was born and had grown; and with the best and brightest anticipation cast itself into existence. There it met so many, many strange creations that it became involved with, wanting to learn about life – and perhaps find the place where it would best fit in. But it had too much faith in the world that only cared about itself, and not at all about the Tallow Candle. A world that failed to understand the value of the candle, and thus tried to use it for its own benefit, holding the candle wrongly; black fingers leaving bigger and bigger blemishes on its pristine white innocence which eventually faded away, completely covered by the dirt of a surrounding world that had come much too close; much closer than the candle could endure, as it had been unable to tell grime from purity – although it remained pristine and unspoiled inside.
False friends found they could not reach its inner self and angrily cast the candle away as useless.
The filthy outer shell kept all the good away – scared as they were to be tainted with grime and blemishes – and they stayed away.
So there was the poor Tallow Candle, solitary and left alone, at a loss at what to do. Rejected by the good, it now realised it had only been a tool to further the wicked. It felt so unbelievably unhappy, because it had spent its life to no good end – in fact it had perhaps sullied the better parts of its surroundings. It just could not determine why it had been created or where it belonged; why it had been put on this earth – perhaps to end up ruining itself and others.
More and more, and deeper and deeper, it contemplated – but the more it considered itself, the more despondent it became, finding nothing good, no real substance for itself, no real goal for the existence it had been given at its birth. As if the grimy cape had also covered its eyes.
But then it met a little flame, a tinder box. It knew the candle better than the Tallow Candle knew itself. The tinder box had such a clear view – straight through the outer shell – and inside it found so much good. It came closer and there was bright expectation in the candle – it lit and its heart melted.
Out burst the flame, like the triumphant torch of a blissful wedding. Light burst out bright and clear all around, bathing the way forward with light for its surroundings – its true friends – who were now able to seek truth in the glow of the candle.
The body too was strong enough to give sustenance to the fiery flame. One drop upon another, like the seeds of a new life, trickled round and chubby down the candle, covering the old grime with their bodies.
They were not just the bodily, but also the spiritual issue of the marriage.
And the Tallow Candle had found its right place in life – and shown that it was a real candle, and went on to shine for many a year, pleasing itself and the other creations around it.
H.C. Andersen.


Wednesday, December 12, 2012

El esqueleto de un ¨vampiro¨ encontrado en Bulgaria

Photograph by Nikolay Doychinov, AFP/Getty Images

En mayo de 2011 publiqué un post sobre el vampiro en la historia, tomado del prólogo del libro El Vampiro de John Polidori . Les traduzco la introducción de mi post:
¨La superstición sobre la cual el cuento es fundado es muy general en el Este. Entre los árabes parece ser común: no se extendió, sin embargo hacia los griegos hasta después del establecimiento de la Cristiandad; y ha asumido su forma presente desde la división de las iglesias latina y griega; momento en el que la idea se vuelve primordial, que un cuerpo latino no se corrompiría si se enterraba en su territorio, ésto gradualmente se incrementó y formó el tema de muchas historias maravillosas, vigentes aún, de los muertos levantándose de sus tumbas, y alimentándose de la sangre de los jóvenes y bellos. En el Oeste se esparció con alguna variación, también por todo Hungría, Polonia, Austria y Lorraine, donde la creencia existía, que los vampiros chupaban por la noche una cierta porción de la sangre de sus víctimas. ¨
(Lea el artículo completo):

Al respecto, hoy leía muy entretenida en la National Geographic, que de la galería de fotos, la más visitada fue la que estoy compartiendo arriba, un esqueleto de 700 años encontrado en Bulgaria (se puede ver en el Museo Nacional de Historia de Bulgaria) evidenciando que el miedo a los vampiros es muy anterior a la novela Dracula de Bram Stoker.

Este ¨vampiro¨ fue encontrado sepultado entre las ruinas de una iglesia en el pueblo de Sozopol, del Mar Negro. El esqueleto aparece ¨apuñalado¨ en el pecho con una pieza de hierro, que se dejó próxima al cuerpo.
Adicionalmente, los dientes del mismo habían sido quitados. Los especialistas dicen que la barra de hierro y la remoción de los dientes eran técnicas que los habitantes de los pueblos usaban para prevenir que los muertos se volvieran vampiros.
La obsesión por los vampiros data de miles de años atrás a través de Europa. El artículo promociona un libro del historiador Mark Collins Jenkins, ¨Vampire Forensics¨ y confieso que me encantaría leerlo, porque no es una novela sino un reporte de las técnicas de prevención y matanzas de ¨vampiros¨ en la historia.

Lea el artículo de National

Monday, December 10, 2012

Installations by Architects

¨Installations by Architects: Experiments in Building and Design, by Sarah Bonnemaison and Ronit Eisenbach (Amazon USA and UK.) Publisher Princeton Architectural Press says: Over the last few decades, a rich and increasingly diverse practice has emerged in the art world that invites the public to touch, enter, and experience the work, whether it is in a gallery, on city streets, or in the landscape. Like architecture, many of these temporary artworks aspire to alter viewers' experience of the environment. An installation is usually the end product for an artist, but for architects it can also be a preliminary step in an ongoing design process. Like paper projects designed in the absence of "real" architecture, installations offer architects another way to engage in issues critical to their practice. Direct experimentation with architecture's material and social dimensions engages the public around issues in the built environment that concern them and expands the ways that architecture can participate in and impact people's everyday lives. The first survey of its kind,Installations by Architects features fifty of the most significant projects from the last twenty-five years by today's most exciting architects (...) Projects are grouped in critical areas of discussion under the themes of tectonics, body, nature, memory, and public space. Each project is supplemented by interviews with the project architects and the discussions of critics and theorists situated within a larger intellectual context.¨

Excerpt from:

And here´s some of my favorite installations: walking in the park and Sky ear.

Asher DeGroot, David Gallaugher, Kevin James, and Jacob Jebailey, Walking in the Park. Photo credit: Andre Forget (via)
Usman Haque, Sky Ear, 0n September 15, 2004 at the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich Park, London

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

El Martín Fierro con dibujos de Molina Campos

Gonzalo Molina Giménez. Foto ANDigital

Molina Campos nunca pintó el Martín Fierro. Sin embargo, mañana se lanza un libro que incluye el poema de la “Ida” de Fierro acompañado por ilustraciones del gran pintor y dibujante argentino.
“La relación entre ambos siempre estuvo en el aire. Muchas veces se ven videos en Internet donde hay un payador y detrás de él aparecen los dibujos de mi abuelo. Es casi un lugar común, pero hasta ahora nunca se publicó un libro que los uniera”, comenta Gonzalo Giménez Molina, coordinador general del texto y especialista en la obra de su abuelo.
Es que Molina Campos siempre dibujó el campo argentino, sus gauchos, sus caballos y la combinación con los textos del Martín Fierro resulta completamente armónica. Parece que el texto hubiera sido escrito para esos dibujos y viceversa. “La idea es hacer del Martín Fierro un libro más amigable o incluso más divertido. De hecho hay partes del poema que son muy descarnadas. No quisimos ir por ahí sino hacer un uso menos solemne de la obra”, señala Giménez Molina. Para la tapa se eligió una imagen de un gaucho simpático, familiar y las escenas de lucha quedaron para la contratapa. “No es que busquemos una imagen naif pero sí queremos mostrar un costado más humano del gaucho, el costado que mi abuelo siempre privilegió”.
 El libro —llamado El Gaucho Martín Fierro. El arte de Molina Campos —sólo comprende la primera parte de la obra de José Hernández. “No quisimos hacer el texto completo porque en la secuela se habla mucho de la vida en las tolderías y mi abuelo no dibujó mucho indio. No sería auténtico”.
 Las imágenes muestran diferentes “Martines Fierros”, todos posibles, surgidos de la enorme cantidad de cuadros e ilustraciones que Molina Campos hizo en su vida y que aparecieron en formatos como almanaques o rompecabezas o hasta en el membrete de sus cartas. En tanto, el texto reproduce la doble acentuación y la oralidad del poema original.
Texto parcial del artículo de Juan Carlos Anton para Revista Eñe. Imagen bajada del artículo.
A continuación, comparto a los lectores otras pinturas de nuestro gran Florencio Molina Campos, bajadas de google images.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

How Tolkien imagined the landscape of Middle Earth

In the upcoming of The Hobbit, I'm reading at that Tolkien was an artist himself, and this is how he imagined the Middle Earth.

Tolkien imagined his otherworld of hobbits, elves and wizards in pictures, as well as words. The Hobbit was first published in 1937. As he wrote it, in the 30s, he made beguiling pictures and designs that map and depict the landscapes through which Bilbo Baggins was to journey.
Tolkien designed the cover for that first edition of The Hobbit. It immediately promises a rich and strange world within: layers of trees in green, white and purple fold over one another towards stylized mountain peaks and the great disc of the sun. Runes are inscribed along the edges of the design. Runic writing is the script of the elves in Middle Earth – but Tolkien did not invent it. Runes were used by the Vikings to inscribe memorials and spells. The Viking connection is telling, for Tolkien's art has a Scandinavian quality. The dreamlike elegance of The Hobbit's original cover is reminiscent of modern northern European art as well as ancient Viking designs." 
Read the article in full:

First edition of The Hobbit. Cover book

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