Category Archives: Bonkers

“I wonder if Nas is still matic?”

Behind the scenes:

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Bringing Light to Where the Sun Doesn’t Shine

The town of Viganella in the Italian Alps receives no direct sun for 83 days each year. So in 2006 mayor Pierfranco Midali commissioned a 26-by-16-foot mirror to be placed on a nearby mountainside at 3,600 feet. Tracking the sun with computer-controlled motors, the mirror throws light into the town square for six hours each day.

The illuminated area measures 300 square yards. “I can already see my little old ladies coming out of the church after mass and just standing there, enjoying a bit of sun,” Midali said.

400

oldbuildings

This is my insignificant 400th post. This blog has changed a lot since it’s inception and that’s because I’ve changed quite a bit during that same time period. I’ve had many creative droughts, many ups, and many more downs. I think I’m back for awhile this time, and I hope you’re out there listening to the broadcast.

-PRW

“The Event of a Thread” instillation by Ann Hamilton

Thanks to Ann Hamilton for creating the piece, as well as Paul Octavious for bringing us the video.

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Enjoying the Moment

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Cascada

“So It Goes”

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The last greak auk in the British Isles was killed because its keepers feared it might be a witch. In 1840 five men discovered it asleep on the Scottish island of Stac an Armin. From John Alexander Harvie-Brown’s Vertebrate Fauna of the Outer Hebrides (1888):

It was Malcolm M’Donald who actually laid hold of the bird, and held it by the neck with his two hands, till others came up and tied its legs. It used to make a great noise, like that made by a gannet, but much louder, when shutting its mouth. It opened its mouth when any one came near it. It nearly cut the rope with its bill. A storm arose, and that, together with the size of the bird and the noise it made, caused them to think it was a witch. It was killed on the third day after it was caught, and M’Kinnon declares they were beating it for an hour with two large stones before it was dead: he was the most frightened of all the men, and advised the killing of it.

They threw the body behind the hut and left it there.

When the last heath hen, “Booming Ben,” died in 1932 on Martha’s Vineyard, local newspaper editor Henry Beetle Hough wrote an obituary for the species: “There is a void in the April dawn, there is an expectancy unanswered … We are looking upon the utmost finality which can be written, glimpsing the darkness which will not know another ray of light. We are in touch with the reality of extinction.”

Thank You to the Closet