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Gauguin and Bonnard
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Found
- Hits: 2360
A couple of interesting articles on a couple of recently recovered paintings by Gauguin and Bonnard. Following an art theft in '70, they were acquired for $30 in 1975, the paintings are currently predicted to sell for over $50 Million dollars at auction now.
Note the language used by the media to describe the "discovery" of the artwork - "Extraordinary discovery of 'Fruits on a Table' painting which hung on a factory worker's wall for decades before being found by Italy's art police" ... there are worlds to be read into "factory worker's wall" - as if it were some miracle that a factory worker should recognize or value art, esp. art of this caliber. The class hierarchy at it's worst, a far better leading line might be "Canny Factory Worker acquires Gauguin and Bonnard for $30..." or other such, but we regard the appreciation of "fine art" as a provenance exclusive to the "educated and rich".
Links: The Telegraph && CNN (the byline at the end is of interest...) && BBC. Note the fact that CNN doesn't lead with "factory worker"....a rare chance to applaud them for reporting the "relevant" news that doesn't reinforce negative class stereotypes. I would suggest shaming the BBC and The Telegraph, but it's Britain, and they are so far into 1984 that it doesn't matter.
The Wreck of the Madagascar
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Lost
- Hits: 2482
Some two tonnes of gold from the Australian Gold Fields went down with her. Reckoning at a conservative $1000 per ounce, the wreck is now worth somewhere in the neighborhood of $70,548,000 dollars.
Read more here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madagascar_(ship) and here: http://www.wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?56749.
Abundant more sites exist for the curious.
$81 Million Teaching the CIA how to torture
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: WTF
- Hits: 2533
Apparently psychology is not bound by any sort of Hippocratic Oath. Or, as these two clowns seem to explain, they're just doing a small evil for the greater good.
Whatever, given their lack of expertise on torture, interrogation or anything even remotely related, it seems they found their own sort of treasure.
Read more at the National Post: http://news.nationalpost.com/2014/12/10/two-u-s-psychologists-made-81-million-teaching-the-cia-how-to-torture/
Or the NY Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2014/12/10/world/senate-torture-report-shows-cia-infighting-over-interrogation-program.html?_r=0
If you made this up, nobody would believe you.
Slave Lake, Soul Capital
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 2668
I'm in Slave Lake, I think, winter, and I've just slid down a muddy embankment, frozen pools of water in little muddy hollows, there's a woman and a child and the child is clinging to me, he wants a father. I don't know them. He wants to go tobogganing here, and I'm a bit skeptical with the mud and all, but it's the best he's going to do and the woman is talking to me about how he needs a father and I've the uncomfortable feeling she's talking to me on another level...
It begins to rain, sudden, extremely localized cloudburst, the rain is coming down in torrents and I'm soaked, I look up to the sky, only a few small clouds but it managed to hit us good, the rain as suddenly stops and from the tiny cloud tendrils and fingers come down, hundreds of waterspouts upon the lake, I have to film this I think, and pulling my cellphone out try to record it...
...but I've hit the wrong app, not the camera, and my smartphone has been transformed into a thick, plastic handheld slot machine, I'm trying to find the button to make it change back, the waterspouts are disappearing, pushing the buttons, someone tells me I need to make it pay out first, it can't transform until I shake out all the jackpots and things inside, and so I'm shaking it and there are washers and bits of plastic, garbage coming out, it's finally empty and changes back into a phone, it's too late, the waterspouts are all gone, just a few wisps in the sky...
***
Now I'm supposed to be moving in with N, and I don't know what's become of us, her, haven't even seen her, only know that I'm moving in, moving all my stuff into a house that's set back from the street just past a jag that keeps it hidden, like a quick right-left on the street, the first house hides the second...and on the other side of the street there's a desk in the middle of a vacant lot, and for some reason I'm using this desk, have all my immediate supplies set up there, there's a party that evening with fireworks and everything...I've gotten most of my stuff moved in but still haven't come across N...
The jag in the street, the hidden house, my family was supposed to be helping me with this, but I'm worried they won't find the house...
...so there's been time passing and I've returned to the desk to gather the last of my things, my bag, my notes, but there's nothing there...I'm panicked at the thought that it's vanished, some kids are watching and I ask them where my stuff is and they gesture towards a nearby garage...going through it I enter a house, warmly lit and curiously furnished, artistic, a jagged hall leads past a common living-room, there are bedrooms off the hall, it's tenanted by musicians and artists, I'm looking for my stuff, recognize the girl with the child from the frozen muddy embankment, she greets me, working my way to the back of the house I find a short (Musician?), recognize my things, go to take them and he tells me no, it's his stuff too, and one of the curios, a small black misshapen dwarf-man with a beaded nametag (?) reading Haiti or Trinidad or Tobago or some such, in the vein of jaunty tasteless tropical souvenirs, attacks me ... runs like a little dog and beats me up and I'm puzzled, to retaliate, given his size and lack of consequence, make it ridiculous, beneath me, he's done, and goes to sleep contented upon a shelf ... this place is a circus, freak-show, I'll return later when the guy has sorted his stuff from mine, I'm not happy with this, I'm violently inclined, but I'll return...
***
Moving into N's house, everything there, and I still haven't run into her, across the street again to recover my stuff, comfortable house, now the musician in his room is a little more friendly, he's sorted everything out and going through it I find more than I expected, a little purse full of exotic coins, I recognize them but they're not mine I don't think (and he's indifferent, they're not his either...), other curios from the locker, little brass statues of the Indian Gods, I gather my things, make a small inventory and prepare to leave...there's a tall blonde girl at the kitchen table talking about "Soul Capital", and I remember her ad, she was looking for conversation on the topic, she's putting a show on and needs an hours worth of material, she corners me to talk about it; now, sitting with her back to us is little G, an ex, and while I recognized her chose not to notice her, now she's noticed me and demands that I provide the house with a couple of cases of beer, the least I could do for their efforts, and I apologize but I'm a little broke right now, get paid Monday, and she counters with "Is it any wonder I broke up with you", nonetheless she prepares to leave, getting her coat, and I'm a little confused, she wasn't invited, she's presuming, and now, finally, N has come and is at my elbow, I can hear and smell her, she's come over to help me back with my stuff, ...
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