15,000

Geometry, originally uploaded by Denise V&A Web Team.

Well, here’s a thing. A great big thing, made of lots of little ones. 15,000 little Swarovski crystals (black), to be exact. And the work is by Zaha Hadid, who has featured on peripathetic before — as if we matter beside her wider fame!

I don’t have many thoughts on it right now because it was only yesterday that I first came across a photo! But I’m going to do my best to stand underneath it and feel exhilarated, vaguely scared, and frustrated with my camera, when I’m next in London.

Speaking of London, another exciting thing is happening — yes, happening, at Hyde Park. Be sure you don’t miss it — we certainly won’t. We might even refresh ourselves with some coffee on the train on the way home.

Sexual surrogacy. I know: it’s rather jarring after the last thing, but very compelling all the same. Also compelling, a human mirror — a real, live human mirror on a train. People get puzzled and amused, gradually realising this is some glorious mass practical joke.

Not for the squeamish: death of a pig. From a live pig to bacon and pork belly. Videos included. Don’t say I didn’t warn you! But this is where your bacon comes from.

The other day in work, I wasn’t working. Instead I was perusing the work of Ansel Adams, having heard all about him (very famous photographer who had his heyday back in the early 30s and 40s and really made people realise that photography could be art) but hadn’t seen much of his work. And the links at the bottom of the article are really worth exploring. But then, surfing around, I forget where exactly, I came across a page full of old photos of New York City. Marvellous stuff, with which I will leave you. But hopefully not for quite so long, this time.

Rather worrying for when I next visit....

82-8000 VC-25 c/s AIR FORCE 1

82-8000 VC-25 c/s AIR FORCE 1, originally uploaded by Canon John's 40D.

Approaching Belfast for touchdown, earlier this week.

Prayer 24/7

Prayer 24/7, originally uploaded by bartmaguire.

A nice summer day in Belfast. Complete with relaxing prayer. All the time.

Heat in Belfast? No!

Victoria Square, Belfast, originally uploaded by dukeyandelmo.

It was hot last Saturday. That's true. But I didn't realise it was so hot that the dome at Victoria Square was closed for a time as temperatures hit 30 degrees.

I wandered through, briefly, for the first time, with my friend John and thought, hmm, it's nice. But not that nice. For a start, those wooden platforms could have been made with a single curving sweep of wood, not angular panels. And the surrounding architecture could have been a bit more cohesive.

But at least we have one place in Belfast that's truly hot. That's a first.

Well, I guess it's still May

Two posts in the same month! That is something, at least.

I was looking at this page of amazing designs by Luigi Colani. The kind of page which makes you want to blog it, too. And then thought, shit, my blog has been untouched for too long. Apologies — I transferred jobs and things have been... different lately!

Full service should resume soon. Or what passes for full service here these days.

Vintage wartime newspaper goodness

Allies move down road to Rome: Germans in full retreat, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

A family friend was clearing out a drawer and found that her mother (deceased when very old a few years ago) had stored a roll of chamois leather away. It was wrapped in some newspaper — this one.

There are many more pages, and closeups, to look at if you click the photo and then the photostream. There are advertisements for Guinness and Lux Toilet Soap. There are wonderful examples of typeface design and typesetting. There are all the telltale signs of old newspapers — a rubber-stamped masthead logo here, a rubber-stamped news item there, no colour, a hell of a lot more news, and some superb writing.

The date of the paper is October 17, 1943, a time when the Allies were moving up Italy as the Nazis, having rescued the deposed Mussolini, had taken temporary control and then been forced to retreat. There is a driven, enthusiastic tone to the main reporting, and this comes from the now abandoned style whereby fact and open speculation are frankly mixed into a single news story. It also, of course, comes from the need for propaganda.

Keith Jarrett - Tokyo Solo

Keith Jarrett: Tokyo Solo, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

It’s become chilly in the house today. But I didn’t notice until this DVD had stopped.

It still hasn’t stopped in my head.

After his bout of chronic fatigue syndrome, Jarrett returned to the stage with two solo concerts in Japan, one of which was recorded for CD and published under the title Radiance, the other recorded for this DVD. His style had changed — instead of the familiarly monumental, arching single-movement improvisations, these were a series of shorter, more impressionistic creations.

I said at the time that this new music was pottery very much still on the wheel before the comparative solidity of The Carnegie Hall Concert, and this DVD answers me with as much riveting music as anyone could ask for.

There are times when he abandons note-values altogether; others when he shares his knowledge of Bach and Shostakovich within five minutes of each other and it doesn’t jar in the slightest. Times when, if you’ve heard Radiance or Carnegie Hall, you might wonder why the audience doesn’t applaud at the end of a piece — until you realise with a little excitement that nobody had ever heard him doing this before.

It shows, too — at one point, a person starts clapping late, thinking that the start of a new piece is the final hesitant blush of the last one. His face undergoes a quick crease like wind over water, the music stops for 10 seconds — and never returns, abandoned as he starts again with a completely different idea and carries it for 20 minutes.

Some of you won’t love the relative lack of big, broad tunes and immediately catchy hooks, but you will know everything is alright when you see him give the the audience a little glance of quizzical, playful agreement before each of the three Standards he plays as encores.

The sound is top-quality (5.1 Dolby and DTS if that matters to you), and the picture is just Jarrett and the piano surrounded by darkness, shot wide and closeup from different angles in perfect focus. My advice, as with that of others is, of course, to buy it.

Greenwich snow

Greenwich snow, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Jonathan sent me this photo he took this morning. It's April, for goodness' sake! And this is central London. Surreal and marvellous.

Splashes

Splashes, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

In the past hour, there has been a rare (for Belfast, that is) storm, with impressive, deep rumbles of thunder, flashes of sheet lightning, and minutes later a torrential downpour of hail.

I stood outside while the hail was coming down, and feared for the flimsy patio roof above my head, in the way you would feel a pleasing terror at a horror movie. When the thunder-flashes came, every few minutes, it was as if you’d blinked when you hadn’t; a tic in the visual field, nothing more. Which was dispelled when the rumbles arrived. Then I read this:

The speed of sound in air is approximately 344 m/s or 1130 feet per second or 762 mph. The speed of light can be assumed to be infinite in this calculation because one must know that there has been a lightning strike before starting counting. Therefore, the lightning is approximately one kilometer distant for every 2.9 seconds (or one mile for every 4.6 seconds). In the same five seconds the light could have circled the globe 37 times.

Ahhh. The world we live in.

twombly

twombly, originally uploaded by madabandon.

Well, I can’t wait until the summer, when I get to go to London again, and perhaps just as importantly, see a retrospective of Cy Twombly’s work in Tate Modern. Don’t worry — you haven’t missed anything because it isn’t there yet.

Truth is, I was trying to write a post in my head about a superb film called The Counterfeiters, which I saw last night. I couldn’t because it’s still too fresh. And then I found I couldn’t fully relax into a substantial post about anything much here, because the new way of blogging on this host makes everything seem rather... ill-fitting. It’s like having a new bed. Or writing with a type of pen you’ve never used before in your life.

Anyway, hopefully this post cracks it.

peripathetic has a new home!

Hopefully you should be able to see this post. peripathetic has a new home! I'm sorry that comments have been disabled for all posts except those written after the recent move - it was a side-effect of the migration and I can do nothing about it. Still, there will be plenty of opportunity in the future.

peripathetic may have yet another new home in a little while, but that would be the final move. Ever. I'm looking into options and will keep you all posted.

peripathetic is moving house!

I've been thinking about moving hosts (and blogging platforms, for that matter) for a while, and it's recently come to a head with the revelation that I only have about 3MB free here on tripod.

So I'm going to be moving this blog to (hopefully!) http://paperpete.blogspot.com/ as of now. Please update your bookmarks, feed readers, etc. A 'copy' of peripathetic will stay here for a while so that this post is visible, and if the new URL isn't going to be what I think it is, please use google. This is the only blog of this name in the whole world.

Please also bear with me just in case any nastiness of any kind crops up over at blogspot. I'm treating this move to blogspot as really only a halfway house until another possible move to another blogging platform, but we'll see how things go over there. One thing that I can tell you is that your comments aren't going to move across, and only flickr photos will stay. The rest will most likely be replaced with nasty tripod placeholders until and unless I can fix them. Layouts will be different, and I may play around with them or not.

Now, fasten your seatbelts and hope this isn't a bumpy ride!

Innuendo

Strange linguistic collision - only a wee butt, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

It's only a little butt. I can vouch for that personally. On the side of a bus, Belfast. This ad is about rubbish and smoking - I wonder if the authorities would accept this excuse for more... flagrant offences?

Itching to go

Itching to go, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Could anything be greyer? I can't wait to get home for a nice, long weekend.

Muñoz

Muñoz, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

This, because i can't get it out of my head, is one of the haunting works in Tate Modern's exhibition. If you can, go before it leaves in the near future. Image from the Guardian.

Musical Habitat

Musical Habitat, 2, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

This is a former cinema on Regent Street, London, and is now a Habitat. The cinema Wurlitzer Organ is still there behind the grille on the wall; you can see the console on the shopfloor - and there's a recital once a week. We weren't there for the recital, but for coffee, but the coffeeshop has shut. Shame.

Shades of community

Shades of community, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

A community centre near Waterloo, opened last year. The colours and overhanging glass are wonderful. It just needed to be a bit sunnier, that's all.

Placeless balconies, Tate Modern

Placeless balconies, Tate Modern - 2, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Part of the Juan Munoz retrospective, Tate Modern, London. These were placed on the concourse on level 4, so anyone just walking past the exhibition entrance can get close to them. They started to unsettle me about 20 minutes after I'd seen them and had moved on.

Stepping into air

Stepping into air, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

I made this as light as possible so the dark grey sky would overexpose as white. It worked! Bankside, London.

Work, Wake, Woozy

Work, Wake, Woozy, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Typical morning scene, Greenwich.

Shameless

Shameless, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Notice who has nearly finished - and who has barely got a chance to start. Is this equality? Greenwich, London.

Undignified

Undignified, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

A bit of fish in the sink and your hauteur goes right down the drain. Greenwich, London.

Wild and lovely

Wild and lovely, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

The things you see on pavements! Seven Dials, London.

Upside-down venue

Upside-down venue, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

The Queen Elizabeth Hall entrance, reflected in freshly-fallen, foul, cold rain, South Bank.

Winter sheen

Winter sheen, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

I underexposed this as much as possible to approximate the strange effect that bright days can have on your pupils.

Reluctant

Reluctant, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Lee was unconvinced that a photo would be the best idea in the world. South Bank.

You *really* think so?

You *really* think so?, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Feline disbelief, Greenwich.

Fortified

DSCN1988, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

This building looks like it should be some Cold War era defence complex. In fact it looks a lot like the big spaceship which features in Aliens, in a way. Southwark, London.

Colours

DSCN1984, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Muted slightly by the grey afternoon.

Starts here

DSCN1995, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

And keeps going riiiiiight to the other end of the Turbine Hall. It's a lot of chasm/crevasse/dislocation.

Deep

DSCN2030, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

And dark. Can't see the bottom.

Photo opp.

DSCN2068, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

People were making a bee-line for this all the time. Once they noticed it. One girl said "where's the sculpture?" and had to have it pointed out. But despite its depth nobody seems very afraid.

This actually isn't...

DSCN2088, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

...a crack but rather a penetration. Apparently. But it did get surprisingly deep in places. Tate Modern Turbine Hall, London.

Acting

DSCN2074, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

...the fool for the camera, Tate Modern, London.

Ice Hotel

100_0680, originally uploaded by v8yugo.

No time tonight to do anything other than link you to this — the latest incarnation of the Ice Hotel. Salivate, but not too much. You’ll sully the furnishings.

Wisdom

Wisdom, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Having the tooth out wasn't a problem, but now i am condemned to drink warm, salty water and have no proper food for a while! I promise there'll be no photos of the clotted, gaping socket though.

The invasion of memory

The invasion of memory, originally uploaded by peripathetic.

Jonathan’s post about Googlereality got me thinking, especially as I’m switching over to a new mobile provider which gives me a fancy phone and free internet surfing / email over the phone as part of the deal.

Free internet surfing using a 3G network for only £15 a month?, I thought. There must be a catch. As it turns out, there is — but an intriguing one. You may surf the network’s website and news / sports / weather / info services for free. You may search the net with Yahoo or Google for free. But the moment that you click on a Google search result, you start to get charged for data transfer.

What’s interesting about this is that it’s the user equivalent of paying your library bills to get catalogue access only. And what’s strange about it is that they didn’t limit free surfing to their website only. So is the point that searching is fun, but the end result isn’t? The Google thrill-of-the-chase? Of course not — they want to dangle the carrot, get you to bite it, and then owe them money.

But the googling and reading of the result is like taking a snap of something amazing. It’s easier to lazily enjoy than it is to absorb, and quicker too. I’ve forgotten, very slightly, what the golf course near the forest looked like under the new year’s snow, but I remember very well how the photos look. If I’d left the camera at home, I’d remember more, but you wouldn’t be able to share it with me. Similarly, since we can all find the same stories online, the same glints of oft-linked wonder, are we storytelling less?

I remember reading (yes, reading. Not reading the “reading” entry in Wikipedia) about countless new and strange things with every turn of the pages, and excitedly telling everyone at dinnertime, and wonderful filigreed conversation starting to emerge. A few nights ago, I was stopped short in one conversational gambit when my dad told me that yes, he’d read about that on the BBC website already. End of paragraph.

Luckily, photos are open-ended things, as are poems. If there was a search engine called Googleverse, which gave only poems as search results, and intelligently too, that would be quite something.

As it happens, Google does have something similar. But then, it would. And no, I won’t link to it.

Surface

Pulitzer courtyard -- Richard Serra's "Joe", originally uploaded by The Pulitzer.

I had to trump the surfaces mentioned in the last post. And, thankfully, I have found surfaces that aren't just surface at all, but texture and form and movement. And stillness.

Today, while dithering over what to buy in the bookshop with my Christmas giftcard, I came across this wonderful box of Gaudí for a very cheap price indeed, so much so that I managed to buy a book on Tadao Ando’s architecture also.

Ando’s work is austere...? No, I’m not sure it is. Half of his work is the design of the buildings, and the other half is where they are sited. He can put a concrete box without one side in front of a shallow lake, and the lake becomes the building’s missing piece. Equally, he’s not above siting objects outside. The photo above shows some of of Ando’s hard lines in the background, and Richard Serra’s sculpture Joe settles like a delicate — and monumental — curlicue in front.

Of course they put it there because they knew that it and the building would chatter happily away between themselves for decades, if not longer. And similarly, while concrete says “I’ll stay here and be strong and flawless,” so Serra’s big vortex of weathering steel says “Feeling” in the way it curls (up) and blemishes and gets rough-skinned under the weather.

Don’t think, either, that I’m leaving Gaudí out of this — his buildings, all riot and elegant dance in their sequinned dresses, are directly related. They are themselves the point and the setting doesn’t really matter, but the curves and the importance of the surface as a means of expression are... well, very obvious. If you want something to breathe plainness, make it smooth and unyielding. Otherwise... give it some feeling.

Pudding

There is a big difference between world events which happen while you are working, and those which happen while you’re not. Equally, there’s a difference between the smaller, everyday happenings, and in something of an inversion of Wordsworth, it is difficult to recollect emotions or events ‘in tranquillity’ when you got up at 6.15am and haven’t had a chance to stop until 8pm. Events are recollected in a rush, and emotions often writhe like fish out of water sometime before midnight.

But don’t worry. This isn’t a post about how, woe is me, Belfast is in work mode again after Christmas. I just noticed something about myself while slicing Panettone last night. Let me explain.

Panettone, properly made, is a joy. It is a bread so rich and moist and sweet, so packed with candied zests and fruits, that it is entirely fitting that it only ever makes an appearance around Christmas. I had bought a large loaf from Sainsbury’s and spent the holidays — among other activities — happily toasting several slices for breakfast and mumbling blissful sighs. Even if there was nobody else around.

But it’s a difficult bread to get your fingers around. Being soft, and encased in the paper equivalent of a cake–tin which has to be peeled away from the side, even getting a couple of good slices is a tricky affair. And delightful too, since you can pick at the wreckage of your latest attempt while happily surveying the pile of lovely books you got just a few days ago on Christmas morning.

Last night, however, was different. I’m off work today so I don't know why I got impolite with the latest loaf. I was, otherwise, relaxed. Perhaps it was the plane crash at Heathrow a few days back. Perhaps it was the wisdom tooth I will have extracted next month. (It isn’t painful but it’s coming out anyway.) There just seemed too many things to think about when the latest slice crumbled as I tried to keep it thin and even for a Panettone-and-butter-and-marmalade pudding. Suddenly, I hated the bloody thing.

Which was really unfair. I was hurting it far more than it was hurting me, after all. And torn Panettone actually looks far more interesting on the bubbling, golden, fragrant surface of the finished product than pristine pieces would. I don’t remember losing my temper with mince pies when news of the Boxing Day tsunami hit the screens a few years ago; I was positively calm and thoughtful in the face of the news that Bam had been more or less flattened by an earthquake.

What I realised about myself last night was simply this: that when my mind takes something in, it’s a while before it can put it down again. Awarenesses and concerns jostle beneath the surface. And when you’re in the frame of mind where the word –surface– conjures images of the grey plastic of your desk at work and the lighter grey of the dentist’s chair, you really do need a big serving of something special to clear everything up.

Apirlaat

Picture 126
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

That is the word for freshly-fallen snow in West Greenlandic, fitting because last night and this morning, a heavy and unexpected snowfall covered lots of Northern Ireland and very thickly covered my part of Belfast! I woke up and bounded out of bed like a child.

It was 6 inches deep on grass, and 5-and-a-bit on the roads. I live close to a forest, so there are plenty more appealing photos if you follow the link.

There was a star in the east last night...

Well, since this is my first proper written post for a while — for which I apologise profusely: it has been a very busy time lately — it might as well feature a proper link. And I can’t think of a better link to provide you with at this time of year than Nigel Slater’s final column in the Observer before Christmas. It isn’t a food column in the sense that any recipes are introduced. Instead, a wonderful evocation of the Christmas markets in Vienna. Studded with special little things, and just like opening one of the food cupboards in our house this weekend.

We have plump little mince pies, which would have scurrying legs and wide smiles if they were alive. There are bulging, slightly dented bags of sugar so dark it looks almost black, most of which will be beaten into a rich, cirrhosifyingly alcoholic rum butter this afternoon.

There is a ham from what (one hopes) was a large, floppy-eared, snuffly pig in Norfolk. It sits in the fridge, golden-skinned, beside a Stilton cheese which we hope will be intense and spicy. I feel like doing a little jig, for real, when I think of the presents I have wrapped, and the look on people’s faces as they rip the paper away. I don’t feel ashamed in the least to confess that I have even given the Veuve Clicquot champagne-bottle a brisk, gentle, utterly delighted pat as I have walked from hall to kitchen.

Before uncorking it on Christmas morning, however, there is a final bit of wrapping to negotiate, stuffing to prepare, and the turkey to smother in butter and rashers of streaky bacon. There is green, prickly holly to scatter around, and there are decorations from all over Europe to peer at between the branches of the tree. Merry Christmas, everyone.

St Pancras Churchyard, 2

St Pancras Churchyard, 2
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

You can see the gravestones heaped around the Hardy Tree in the right background, behind the fence.

St Pancras Churchyard, the Hardy Tree

St Pancras Churchyard, the Hardy Tree
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

St Pancras Churchyard - plaque explaining the Hardy Tree

St Pancras Churchyard
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

There are many historical filaments linking the site to the church, the church to the name of the station - and the station's development to the fate of the church and those buried there.

St Pancras church

St Pancras church
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

Another contrast. This church, in a quiet, leafy churchyard, is only a few hundred metres behind the rearing bohemoth of St Pancras station.

Russ in a mirror, St Pancras

Russ in a mirror, St Pancras
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

Barlow Train Shed, St Pancras

Barlow Train Shed, St Pancras
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

This wasn't built in 1990, you know. And it was built so early-on that they had to use wooden scaffolding. A marvel.

St Pancras

St Pancras
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

The contrast with King's Cross couldn't be greater. Marvellous building.

Poor neglected old King's Cross

Poor neglected old King's Cross
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

Next to St Pancras, but not yet restored. That comes after the authorities have run out of money on St P.

Docklands, from Point Hill

Docklands, from Point Hill
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

What a superb view to round the corner to every morning. Greenwich. The morning after.

Barbican, from the Terrace

Barbican, from the Terrace
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

Looking back to Jazz and warmth and Jonathan. I went back indoors within 20 seconds.

Lakeside Terrace, Barbican

Lakeside Terrace, Barbican
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

The tall tower behind is one of the residential blocks built here in the 50s, still the highest residential towers in London. I couldn't get its top because the camera was perched on top of a traffic cone for stability and would have fallen off if I'd moved it..

St Giles Cripplegate, Barbican

St Giles Cripplegate, Barbican
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

While the jazz was playing, I nipped outside onto the Lakeside Terrace and took this photo of an old medieval church, which survived the bombing in World War 2, in the middle of darkness and concrete architecture.

Multicolour Barbican lights, 2

Multicolour Barbican lights, 2
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

The Barbican Arts Centre in Barbican, London, is an extensive Brutalist structure and contains quite a lot of colour - like these lights. Jonathan and I had been to see the exhibition about art and sex from antiquity to now, and had stopped in the foyer for a beer and some impromptu jazz.

Covering tired eyes, Greenwich

Covering tired eyes, Greenwich
Originally uploaded by peripathetic

Aww. It had been a hard day for the cats.