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Rosa Sawyers

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“When, thanks to the virtues of wine …” When, thanks to the virtues of wine, I let go of solid memory and a certain pleasure seems almost real to me having secretly picked up a scent in the john of a friend who uses that scent and I’m about to park, and I say to myself: “Go on, move, drive around the city, you won’t find anything, but maybe you’ll see a light on. You’re in love, aren’t you? So act like someone in love! Don’t people in love drive up and down streets like crazy?” But then, because I found easy parking, I stop, and while I’m stopped, comfortably stopped, I imagine you, in the helpless delay of my love, as mine. Patrizia Cavalli —Translated from the Italian by Mark Strand with Gini Alhadeff

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By August, we are sluggish with love and slide two barrettes into the night of my hair. Like twin fireflies. Like rabbit feet dyed blue and downhearted, stamping the side of my head. July’s shadow is almost rot and we haven’t spoken in days. I play pool with Mik and count the ways he sinks ball after ball while I await the doom of going second, soon regret letting him break. I bet on this game. I bet on the waning of light, fame. I know most things dim. It’s hot when I leave the bar and I say Come, sun, you muscular star, thinking heatstroke might strike this state of weather from my heart. The trigger of seasons, the treasons of these city streets. Orchard and Broome. We loom. We make reasons and room for why things can’t work; we lurk into autumn. We warm our hands for October’s plume. We say soon, soon, soon something will be revealed. We fool no one and are no one’s fool, least of all the late summer gods who know a burn, who rope in hope, who prepare us for a meal of dead light. In August, I want snow. I want July. Midsummer prophet sight. Belief. Faith. A cathedral with all her weight. A winter love. A new year. A regal infancy. A Sunday, born.

May to December

By Megan Fernandes

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Tinshed by Raffaello Rosselli

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Love’s Shadow (detail) vs Proud Maisie (detail) by Frederick Sandys (1829-1904)

oil on panel, 1867 and pencil and crayon on paper, 1868

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訪問：高松次郎－写真・羽永光利（秋山邦晴）

美術手帖 1968年4月号

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Wish You Were Here (1987). Japanese poster.

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Living heritage, part 1 - Ravnogor Two generations of Bulgarian village singers recall the old times when singing and chain dance were inseparable part of the everyday life.

Singing: Elena Pashkuleva (70), Stoyanka Angelova (73) and Spaska Aneva (89) Video by György Stuber and Nina Grantcharova (January 2014 in the village of Ravnogor)

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Zug Magazine #7: Plastic / Available at www.draw-down.com / Zug Magazine is a biannual collection of extraordinary artworks. Launched in 2010 by independent publisher Innen, each publication portrays culturally subjective depictions. Its free-style layouts are a combination of unusual photography, illustrations, brief texts, and collaged works. Do you remember Plastic Bertrand? They thought he’d be unforgettable. And do you remember when the word plastic had a positive ring to it? In a scene from Mad Men, a child runs around with a plastic bag over his head—and his mother doesn’t bat an eyelash. It was the sixties. But even then, usage of the word could be confusing: plastic bomb, plastic surgery, plastic sculpture. Let us build an imaginary bridge between Henry Moore and rubbery explosives. Plastic is the pre-manufactured utopia of the past. Plastic is the present. Plastic Bertrand is sure to make a comeback soon. Ça plane pour moi. Contributors to this issue include Boogie, Susan Cianciolo, Cali Thornhill Dewitt, Hendrik Hegray, Ken Kagami, Mélyi József, Thalea MV, Clayton Patterson, Tal R, Alan Schmalz, Benjamin Sommerhalder, and Adrienne Sós #innen #graphicdesign #typography #plastic