I chose the "green" ones ! and even dug up some "nature" photos to put on them ! The difference in box size is deceptive since Business cards are packed horizontally as opposed to the vertical packing of MiniCards !
Essai du nouveau télé objectif 140-600 mm Olympus en photo rapprochée sous vent violent. Je n'ai fait pour l'instant que cette photo mais ça promet. Attention toutefois à la lumière et à l'utilisation d'une vitesse suffisante. Ceci étant la vitesse ici était lente et en plus il y avait un vent assez violent qui agitait furieusement la fleur. Des promesses ...à suivre dans d'autres photos en usage conventionnel pour ce type d'objectif.
Et de bien jolies roses pour faire rêver les visiteurs.
Behind everything
I see, something I don't
Know how to look for.
~Forrest Gander
Photo, video or song... Show us laughter.
La roseraie abrite des roses anciennes et des roses de créateurs.
PRESS RELEASE FOR ZEPHER SHOW AT MONKDOGZ URBAN ART NEW YORK For Immediate Release Contact: Marina Hadley marina@monkdogz.com Opening reception on Thursday July 19 Show runs until August 6, 2008 Monkdogz Urban Art’s final show of the season rolls out like a soft cool breeze on the pre-heated summer sidewalks of New York City. It brings together an exciting group of International artists whose work, styles, and interests range from painting, mixed media and sculpture and span the globe in both time and imagination. Noël Dorado, France Dorado’s work bridges both the eloquence of couture fashion and the fine art of sculpture. With the fine eye of a jeweler, Noël’s dedication to line and detail allow his three dimensional creations to breath and dance within the viewers’ imagination. Betina Jung, Denmark Jung’s application of paint on canvas brings forth what appear to be mythical creatures searching for the road to connect the erotic instincts of both men and women to society and its pre conceived notion of morals and values, and the individual’s base instinct to seek freedom and acceptance. Within this battle ground conflict the viewer becomes a participant in the understanding they are not alone and the world becomes a warmer, more interesting and accepting place to live. Joyce DiBona, U.S.A. Texas based DiBona’s life form tattoo sculpture creates a language all its own. Viewed extensively within the United States the work is finding its way into the International community’s collective awareness. Her work using images, symbolism, and the written word tells a story that is both powerful and beautiful. Each work is an exhibition on its own right. Her recent show at Basel in collaboration with Pietro Franesi and the upcoming show at the New York Art Biennial will give viewers more opportunity to see the development of this exciting artist. Bjørn Eriksen, Denmark Eriksen’s classical figurative human forms, due to the artist’s use of color and structure, at times appear to be almost supernatural and free floating in a space all their own. They reach out and hold the viewer by simultaneously projecting a serious and whimsical expression. As if trying to communicate something that is both profound and irrelevant, leaving the viewer with the feeling of waking up from a dream you can’t quite remember the details of and at the same time desperately feeling the need to remember and understand. James Armstrong, U.S.A. There is a simple inherent beauty that is captured in Armstrong’s glass sculptors that just touches the viewer’s heart. Although each piece is unique and impressive in structure and design, the work exhibits its own sense of freedom and movement as if watching a natural cloud formation or waves break on a sandy shoreline as the sun rises. There 547 W 27 Street New York, NY 10001 - 212 216 0030 547 W 27 Street New York, NY 10001 - 212 216 0030 is a feeling of the past with his work; not just with time and history but within the viewer’s own life that is embraced like a warm memory. Kasper Holten, Denmark Holten is a master of incorporating fun into highly erotic art. Mixing fetish experience with gnome like creatures thus producing work that is both sublime and extraordinarily unique. The artist is a testament to imagination and self will run riot. Karina Sala, Argentina A young Buenos Aires counter-culture artist whose works are designed to highlight trends and movements of the X, Y and Z generations in style and attitude. Her current works are morphing into a somewhat more personal reflection of sexuality using the human form to shed pretense and chart self discovery. Marcus van Soest, Holland Multiple dimensions intertwine themselves to create a psychedelic environment where humor and mysticism live side by side to illustrate his sense of reality. The explosive use of color, symbolism and definition by this artist puts him in league with that of a master story teller. Randy Thurman, U.S.A. Thurman’s eclectic style of art moves in a multitude of directions from figurative to geometric abstraction and digital expression. Each individual work is driven to build a relationship between the artist, viewer and the expression of the finished work. Jonna Pedersen, Denmark Pedersen’s structural forms of buildings and man-made products give the viewer a refreshing opportunity to see the everyday, slightly askew and much more interestingly. Her choice of color and line give the works a dream-like quality that seduces the viewer into participating with the work. Carl McGrady, U.S.A. McGrady’s greatest influence is felt in the Ukyio-e masters of Japan. There is a timeless quality to simple yet eloquent lines of the past. By fusing western materials and historical ideas McGrady captures the best of both worlds. Paul Rousso, U.S.A. Rousso’s unique ability to take two dimensional works to the next level and create three dimensional sculpted works is amazing in both process and visual experience. Having said that, Rousso may be best known for his commitment to producing some of the most innovative collage work in North America. Kathy Ostman-Magnusen, U.S.A. Ostman-Magnusen is a multi talented artist whose primary focus encompasses the female subject, covering their dreams, fantasies, and day-to-day lives. Her style of impressionism and realism using a variety of materials from gold, silk, glass and paint allows her to give each work a distinct sense of life and purpose. Isabelle Ribot, Brazil A French artist living in Brazil for the past seven years, her current work evolved from a series of urban landscapes that produced an alter ego named “Idoru” who is both a reality and virtual reality. As the artist’s work evolves so does Idoru define herself. The genius of this concept is evident in the extraordinary imagination and execution of these powerful works. Steve Reinhart, U.S.A. It would be easy enough to say Reinhart is one of the more exciting artists to emerge from the New York contemporary arena, but the power and impact of his work gives it a timeless and explosive value all of its own. This is work that really needs to be seen in person to appreciate not only in scope but the details that permeate the canvas texture. Reinhart’s commitment to his work destines him for great things.
July 17th - August 12th 2008 | |
  |
James Armstrong (USA)
Joyce DiBona (USA) Noël Dorado (France) Bjørn Eriksen (Denmark) Kasper Holten (Denmark) Betina Jung (Denmark) Carl McGrady (USA) Kathy Ostman-Magnusen (USA) Jonna Pedersen (Denmark) Steve Reinhart (USA) Isabelle Ribot (Brazil) Paul Rousso (USA) Karina Sala (Argentina) Randy Thurman (USA) Marcus van Soest (Holland) Opening reception on
Thursday July 17th, 2008 from 5 to 8pm |
What do you find interesting or unique about your family history?
Anyway my dad came from a rich family while my mom came from a poor family, my dad's family didn't like my mom and her family but I guess Love conquers all, they got married eventhough my dad didnt get alot of inheritance from his parents and his brothers and sisters kind of cut him out from their family and now my grandma (my mom's mother) is sick and she turned out to have some lands to be inherited to her 9 kids and I heard my mom's siblings are now fighting over it, my family (me and my siblings) learnt from my dad, I know my dad left us some land, but I'm not sure why we never fight over it, who's going to get the big portion or how are we going to divide it among us, coz we learnt from my dad when he never even ask for anything from his family and he even returned back the money he was given as his portion when his mom passed away. I dont care who is going to get a house or a land, as long as my family still stick together and always be united, One and help each other.
Marius Vega had only been to his cousin's urban townhouse on a handful of occasions. While he could appreciate Brande's apparent interest in heirloom decor and art objects representative of his peculiar occult tastes, it was the air in the place. Felt like ghosts, felt like grief, as if drawn in intricate mapwork on every breath was the strange (and mostly hidden) course his cousin had been on for as long as he could recall.
Only in the sighing sepulcher of Brande's sanctum did Marius remember that they'd both been children once, reasonably happy, incorrigible, normal children.
He'd never claim to understand exactly what was with Brande, why sometimes he seemed able to command reality like an orchestra, why either stunningly coordinated good fortune or perfect, cruelly coincidental disaster always followed him. Never ordinary circumstances for the smartmouthed, fever-eyed alchemist; even though, hell, Marius was wholly willing to admit he had little idea at all what an alchemist was. He wouldn't as easily confess, though, how uncomfortable it all made him, how he sometimes had unpleasant dreams after spending too much time in close visits with Brande, especially in this house.
It was sort of a special set of circumstances, though. Every once in a while he had to go and make sure Brande still had both feet on the ground. He let the patterns of his visit be random, he'd pretended (even to himself, sometimes) that he only liked to see his cousin to request business participation or to gloat over his latest victories, his human, hedonist life that seemed to fly in the face of Brande's esoteric ideals. But truthfully, ever since the eruption of that awful little family scandal (was it fifteen years ago already)? Marius felt obligated, as he was obligatory custodian of all things he considered his business.
It was the maid that let him in, the bizarre creature (she, Marius said openly, creeped the hell out of him). The alchemist, almondine pale and savaged by morning sunlight, sat at the kitchen table by the terrace door, light through its glass yellow as a chapel halo, swimming in the fierce lines of Brande's face, seeming to originate from the fever of his citrine eyes. He seemed to have eaten; the kitchen smelled distinctly normal, at odds with how undefended Brande looked, in an undershirt and linen trousers, fury-eyed and pale-lipped. Looked a little too fifteen-years-ago for Marius' taste, and the snide greeting he'd prepared died on his lips.
Brande had his magician's tongue, his subtle entendres, his way of saying many things without ever telling the whole story, always keeping secrets curled fey in his mouth (Marshall's mouth, and Mercedes') . Even still, though, this particular silence of Marius', he did not care for. Eyed his cousin baleful, rawnerved, resistant.
"We found her kid," said the Vega son, simply.
"And?"
"We'll keep an eye on her." Furtive, that black-iron gaze, shifting with forced casuality for the window. Giving his cousin more information, now, would be like pouring accelerant all over a gas leak. And Brande simply nodded, simmering. "Also, you owe me a new cell phone for the one she ruined."
Marius had been keeping an eye on her. But something about the idea of classically volatile, destructive Jill made Brande's lips quirk into the palest ghost of a smile, reflexive fondness. Marius seized on that expression, tense scrutiny.
"Miss her?" Asked the Vega cousin archly, leaning against the wall beside the foyer archway.
Brande said nothing, but he didn't scoff, didn't dismiss, his hard edges like so much smudged chalk, dripped with dark wax, the way that all of his strange rooms were. After a sufficient pause, he permitted himself to ask, "How is she?"
"She's like a child," Marius said. "Like a kid who's got no parents and is trying real, real hard to be good even though no one's ever shown her how." Click of his lighter, the singular scent of his personal tobacco blend, Turkish tobacco and spice, filling Brande's kitchen. "Like a kid with no discipline," Marius added, exhaling white snakes from his silver tongue. He wasn't about to tell Brande, of course, about the place where Sylvie was being kept, about the Arab who wanted Jill's life, or any number of things that would threaten to set his cousin off. Any of it.
And Brande knew there were things, numerous things, wicked things being kept from him, and while the blacks of his pupils stirred, the unsettlement of his eye color shifted brief patterns in a face that would have been pretty if not for the dangerous hunger of it. And even still, the soft of his mouth resembled something like relief. It was better not to know, it was easier; in a world where the needs of others mattered little, where words were but lying trivialities, information was as good as a summons to action as could exist in his alchemically-ordered world.
There was one thing, though. "Alex Prince," said Marius, carefully, maintaining his face carefully so that his cousin wouldn't see the darkness in it. Brande didn't need any more of that to feed on. "I decided to find out what he was all about, and wouldn't you know, he was slapping your girl around like a petty thug."
Brief, reflexive convulsion, lean wire corded in Brande's throat flicked like a bullwhip. Where, when, where is he, who is he, I'll kill him, The Tower... but he knew it wasn't time yet, his hitched and pain-taut breath flicked through the graceful divot in his lip from his nostrils. "What did you do, Marius?"
Marius understood, on some level, that Brande had to divorce his rage until such time that it was opportune to act on it. But that reaction, so mild (to his eyes, at least), caused a darkening frown. "I cracked him in the fucking teeth, and I've got the Dragon boys all over his ass. That shit ain't going nowhere, don't you worry."
Silence, and that seemed to ease him a bit, those always-gloved hands relaxed just slightly where they rested on the table. Marius tossed his cigarette into the kitchen sink and strolled over to Brande's fridge presumably to see what he could have, stood in the open door. "You made a casserole?"
Delicate snort; as if Brande would make a casserole. "Shannon did," he said, afterthought, dazedly, while that something in Marius' body language - and the fact that he hadn't, once, made his customary joke about nailing Jill - sat in his flank like a thorn.
"Who?" When Brande did not immediately explain, Marius took the liberty of taking the foil-wrapped leftovers of Shannon's cooking that were beginning to proliferate in Brande's fridge and put one of the dishes on the kitchen counter, got himself a fork from the drawer and began helping himself. "Are you fucking telling me," he said, muffled as he ate, "that you've got Jill wanting you to love her so bad, and you have another woman over here cooking for your ass?"
Brande could see that Marius was actually, legitimately angry by the fact that he kept his body language so careful, so mellow.
"Jill doesn't want me to love her," Brande said, curl of delicate, practiced disdain on his mobile, dexterous mouth. The eyes, ringed with fatigue, were faintly evasive. "She's all but said that's the last thing she wants."
"Maybe she just doesn't feel comfortable telling you the truth," said Marius bluntly, who'd seen enough, heard enough to know better, as he went on eating Shannon's casserole. "And that's beside the fucking point. The hell's your deal? She's faithful as a nun to you --" Well. Technically. Marius took an extra bite to hide the Judas dance of his tongue.
"It's not like that with Shannon," Brande said, heavy sigh, fatigued, because god, how juvenile and obnoxious he found these sorts of discussions, and he'd found himself in nauseating proximity to them again and again, lately. "Persephone, go get my medicine," he said, raising his voice just enough to stir the maid where she was dusting in the study on the other side of the foyer, presumably accompanied by the serpentine she-Samael.
"Yeah?" Marius put his back to the counter, pointed elegantly with his fork at the alchemist. "So what's it like with Jill?"
Brande closed his eyes, squeezed the bridge of his nose, cold wall of will and aether abruptly shutting Marius, with his careful little secrets, his casual power, his determined interference, away from himself.
"Jill won't be happy if I tell her you've got some broad in here playing house with you," added Marius. "What's it worth to you to get me not to tell her?"
Silence.
"No ideas? Good, because I only want one thing. For you to quit being such a fucking prick and go see that girl and do her properly. She... seems frustrated, to me." Smoke-edged, whiskeyvoiced humor, edged with his resentment.
Brande was unwilling to explain to Marius why he felt he couldn't right now, how his control was a film of gauze, he could hear Hell's howling mouth forming the knell of his name, and now if he allowed himself one more thrust and shred of intoxicating bliss with that girl -- if he saw one more time that white, dying dogwood orchard inside her body and caught his sister's scent, and worst of all, if he saw that hurt, unfortunate child that Jill had been, soldier in a Misfits tee and panties, he'd just lose it, or worse.
Brande was too tired, too close to the edge even to hate Marius or feel fury at him; in his cousin's handsome lines and casual, decadent emperor's grace the man that maybe he was meant to have been, the man that perhaps his father would have preferred him be.
And, unwilling to explain himself, all he said was, "Frustrated? How convenient for you."
Marius caught on to the sound of unconscious relief in Brande's voice. Relief.
"Fuck you, Brande," he said, quietly. "I know you're barely human and that you have arcane alchemical callings, but if you don't get your shit together, I'm taking that woman from you."
Silence, hoarse decay like dandelion milk tumbling dead through the grass, bitter, sap-bleeding silence.
"Fuck you, Brande," Marius said again, with more emphasis. Clatter as he tossed his fork in the sink, put the remainder of the cold casserole back into the fridge and shut the door, hard. His obsidian eyes were so fierce that even Persephone seemed to cower on her way into the kitchen with a little silver medicine tray, that familiar, amber plastic prescription bottle and a small dosage spoon carefully laid out alongside it.
The unearthly maid bent gently to put the tray on the kitchen table in front of her Master, and black satin gloved hands clasped over her pleated, frilled white apron, she stared huge violet hollows of saucer eyes at their guest. The two of them made such a strange pair, two sets of unearthly eyes, that Marius' lip twitched at the corner, involuntary shudder.
"Whether or not you can keep your dick to yourself is your issue," said Brande, quietly taut, terrible, as if a tone of a second voice had underlaid his own with a sibilant, otherworldly whisper. Air seemed to bleed and bend his essence; he seemed so inhuman, like that. "Just make sure she gets her baby back."
"Oh, I will," said Marius, edged, restlessly casual. "But it's gonna take everything you've got to make up for what you owe me this time, Junior." Throwing him the petname he despised before departing the townhouse like a gliding shark.
Brande never took the laudanum at all, but shut himself in the library for hours.
Ingredients
175g/6oz rice flour
50g/2oz tapioca flour
1 tsp
bicarbonate of soda
2 tsp gluten-free baking powder
1 rounded tsp xanthan
gum
¼ tsp salt
150g/5oz caster sugar
60g/2½oz butter, melted and
cooled
1 egg, preferably free-range, beaten
60g/2½oz
buttermilk
150g/5oz fresh blueberries
12-hole muffin tin lined with paper
cases
Method
1. Preheat the oven to 180C/35F/Gas 4.
2. Sift together
the rice flour, tapioca flour, bicarbonate of soda, baking powder and xanthan
gum in a large mixing bowl. Add the salt and sugar and mix well.
3. Whisk
together the cooled melted butter, egg and buttermilk in another large bowl.
Make a well in the centre of the dry ingredients and pour in the butter, egg and
buttermilk mixture. Stir gently with a wooden spoon to combine and finally
gently fold in the blueberries.
4. Divide the batter equally between the 12
muffin cases and bake in the oven for approximately 25 minutes or until a skewer
inserted into the centre comes out cleanly. They are nicest served warm.
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