14th Jul 2014


premiere: Glass Random - I Feel Better

"Everything I want, everything I see is waiting for you, waiting for you…" Love this new single from Winnipeg’s Dave Shaw.  

Previously: “Out from the Garden

13th Jul 2014
cable car in fog

cable car in fog

13th Jul 2014


Exploded Isos

Live-Work Unit, Workshop Unit

Workers’ Co-op, Stroud

13th Jul 2014


12th Jul 2014
dark is a way and light is a place (at 21_21 DESIGN SIGHT)

dark is a way and light is a place (at 21_21 DESIGN SIGHT)

12th Jul 2014

poem on his birthday

In the mustardseed sun, 
By full tilt river and switchback sea 
Where the cormorants scud, 
In his house on stilts high among beaks 
And palavers of birds 
This sandgrain day in the bent bay’s grave 
He celebrates and spurns 
His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age; 
Herons spire and spear. 

Under and round him go 
Flounders, gulls, on their cold, dying trails, 
Doing what they are told, 
Curlews aloud in the congered waves 
Work at their ways to death, 
And the rhymer in the long tongued room, 
Who tolls his birthday bell, 
Toesl towards the ambush of his wounds; 
Herons, stepple stemmed, bless. 

In the thistledown fall, 
He sings towards anguish; finches fly 
In the claw tracks of hawks 
On a seizing sky; small fishes glide 
Through wynds and shells of drowned 
Ship towns to pastures of otters. He 
In his slant, racking house 
And the hewn coils of his trade perceives 
Herons walk in their shroud, 

The livelong river’s robe 
Of minnows wreathing around their prayer; 
And far at sea he knows, 
Who slaves to his crouched, eternal end 
Under a serpent cloud, 
Dolphins dyive in their turnturtle dust, 
The rippled seals streak down 
To kill and their own tide daubing blood 
Slides good in the sleek mouth. 

In a cavernous, swung 
Wave’s silence, wept white angelus knells. 
Thirty-five bells sing struck 
On skull and scar where his lovews lie wrecked, 
Steered by the falling stars. 
And to-morrow weeps in a blind cage 
Terror will rage apart 
Before chains break to a hammer flame 
And love unbolts the dark 

And freely he goes lost 
In the unknown, famous light of great 
And fabulous, dear God. 
Dark is a way and light is a place, 
Heaven that never was 
Nor will be ever is alwas true, 
And, in that brambled void, 
Plenty as blackberries in the woods 
The dead grow for His joy. 

There he might wander bare 
With the spirits of the horseshoe bay 
Or the stars’ seashore dead, 
Marrow of eagles, the roots of whales 
And wishbones of wild geese, 
With blessed, unborn God and His Ghost, 
And every soul His priest, 
Gulled and chanter in youg Heaven’s fold 
Be at cloud quaking peace, 

But dark is a long way. 
He, on the earth of the night, alone 
With all the living, prays, 
Who knows the rocketing wind will blow 
The bones out of the hills, 
And the scythed boulders bleed, and the last 
Rage shattered waters kick 
Masts and fishes to the still quick stars, 
Faithlessly unto Him 

Who is the light of old 
And air shaped Heaven where souls grow wild 
As horses in the foam: 
Oh, let me midlife mourn by the shrined 
And druid herons’ vows 
The voyage to ruin I must run, 
Dawn ships clouted aground, 
Yet, though I cry with tumbledown tongue, 
Count my blessings aloud: 

Four elements and five 
Senses, and man a spirit in love 
Thangling through this spun slime 
To his nimbus bell cool kingdom come 
And the lost, moonshine domes, 
And the sea that hides his secret selves 
Deep in its black, base bones, 
Lulling of spheres in the seashell flesh, 
And this last blessing most, 

That the closer I move 
To death, one man through his sundered hulks, 
The louder the sun blooms 
And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults; 
And every wave of the way 
And gale I tackle, the whole world then, 
With more triumphant faith 
That ever was since the world was said, 
Spins its morning of praise, 

I hear the bouncing hills 
Grow larked and greener at berry brown 
Fall and the dew larks sing 
Taller this thuderclap spring, and how 
More spanned with angles ride 
The mansouled fiery islands! Oh, 
Holier then their eyes, 
And my shining men no more alone 
As I sail out to die

Dylan Thomas
2nd Jul 2014

House 2 For A Photographer, Spain by OAB

A 250 long by 18 meters wide plot perpendicular to the sea, with an arable area, leading from the beach itself to some old ruins, canes and lemon trees.

The house for the photographer II is at the end of the plot. Constructed on a platform 70 cm high above the level of natural floodable ground, three small irregular floor plan and section buildings dialogue through an empty space with fleeting views. A palm grove with 52 Washingtonian palm trees leads us from the beach to the house.

Photography: Alejo Bague

(Source: cjwho)

2nd Jul 2014

28th Jun 2014
26th Jun 2014
jet lag

jet lag