27.10.10

Mademoiselle Gabrielle . . .

Coco Chanel at work . . . .
the famous Chanel shoulder .
Mademoiselle Gabrielle . . .

home quietly . . .

home on a quiet day . . .
(c) bijou le tord

canoe . . .

canoe - alex katz  : The Colby Museum of Art, (Colby College, Maine)

25.10.10

matisse at home . . .

matisse revisited 2010 . . .
(c) blt

23.10.10

Miss Prune Fifi 's début . . .

h a p p i n e s s i s h a v i n g a n a p w h e r e e v er y o u f e e l c o m f y . . .

15.10.10

sweet furniture . . .



& living is easy . . .

13.10.10

red chair . . .

every home ought to have a red chair. . .

5.10.10

Citroën debut its new concept Lacoste car . . .



The French have a history of creating abstract art work and, similarly, out-there car designs which they launch at cars shows. Particularly at their own car shows. At the Paris Motor Show in a couple of weeks, Citroen will debut this co-developed Lacoste, Citroen Lacoste Concept.

4.10.10

Photos from The Forest of Serendipity . . . on FaceBook

_ always loved that photograph. . .
don't know who took it or the name of this magnificent
" langouste " (?) found it again on FaceBook's The Forest of Serendipity . . .



Little Hiawatha - Disney's magic . . .

3.10.10

the oceania project . . .


think of all the water animals saved . . .

humpback whale . . .

2.10.10

henry moore - reclining woman . . .

why I'm not a painter- Frank O'Hara

shaker in red . . .

Why I Am Not a Painter

BY FRANK O'HARA
I am not a painter, I am a poet.   
Why? I think I would rather be   
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.   
“Sit down and have a drink” he   
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. “You have SARDINES in it.”   
“Yes, it needed something there.”
“Oh.” I go and the days go by   
and I drop in again. The painting   
is going on, and I go, and the days   
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. “Where’s SARDINES?”
All that’s left is just
letters, “It was too much,” Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of   
a color: orange. I write a line   
about orange. Pretty soon it is a   
whole page of words, not lines.   
Then another page. There should be   
so much more, not of orange, of   
words, of how terrible orange is   
and life. Days go by. It is even in   
prose, I am a real poet. My poem   
is finished and I haven’t mentioned   
orange yet. It’s twelve poems, I call   
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery   
I see Mike’s painting, called SARDINES.