On May Day morning, I woke up to the puzzling combination of an onerous jet lag and a blog post bouncing at my fingertips. In various ways I’m beginning a different chapter, including a new iteration of the Alien Botany art series gestating after a period of recalibration. Plus, this quarter positively brimmed, and in these increasingly unsettled days it’s worth commemorating while I can. The result is this Postus colossus, illustrated with images entirely from my phone; I’m hardly …
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Asakusa Horikazu. This traditional tattoo master is the son of legendary Shodai Horikazu; I had the privilege of spending an afternoon in his private studio to watch and document his work. This method of tattooing repeatedly taps hand-mixed ink into skin with handmade tools: varying numbers of needles bound together at the endpoint of a long handle. It’s hypnotic to watch and, at its best, results in vibrant flesh tableaus akin to embroidered silk. Horikazu works in a traditional Japanese …
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I’ve finally been making progress in my protracted skirmish with long Covid, allowing G and I to take a holiday which wouldn’t have been possible a few months ago. G had never been to Paris, so we decided to include well-trodden highlights and new favourites. A trainzoom from London to Gare du Nord, a bus to our hotel, and we were off on a stroll to the Luxembourg gardens. We found refuge from the sizzling sunshine in the shade of …
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Kew Gardens in September are all deep greens, juicy reds, and crunchy browns. The spice of wilting roses drifts over the formal bits of the garden. Chestnuts and acorns are almost-not-quite beginning to fall, but the squirrels waste no time starting their annual stores. The waterfowl’s offspring are almost independent adolescents, and young gulls and crows chase each other high over the temperate house’s glint. It’s a busy time after the lull of summer and autumn’s advance is certain, even as …
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I’ve grown accustomed to January blur over the years, though it usually comes around by way of our two big anniversary celebrations (wedding, and the day we met), and boisterous productivity following a return from a holiday somewhere frosty. In the “blur” respect, this year’s no different, amidst America’s political circus culminating in a finale worthy of the past four years, Covid-19 continuing to ravage England, and feeling drained by renovation among other things. Still, Sunday’s heavy snowfall was needed more …
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A photo-post about longing for the brutal sorcery of Iceland in winter; churning currents tearing through thick ice, a sunrise threatening transient crystalline worlds, and watching cerulean-static infinity unfurl over the torrent from the top of a dangerous mountain.
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Last week, I finally visited Père Lachaise – the world’s most popular (and, perhaps, most beautiful) necropolis. Stretched across a formidable hundred acres of Parisian hillside with over a million interments and a veritable galaxy of star residents, it’s difficult to believe that this cemetery wasn’t popular in its early days because of its nondenominational status and somewhat remote location. It took a strategic transfer of Moliere’s remains to win the people’s favour back in the 1800s. These days, greeting …
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Abandoned buildings are poetic monuments to lost histories, the passage of time, the nuances of decay and inevitably, for now, the triumph of nature over all. What left some the deepest impressions from my recent trip to Scotland is its multitude of such spectral ruins. Driving along the west coast, the word “majesty” comes to mind without a trace of irony – the natural splendour is vast, grand, and breathtakingly beautiful. This land is old and born of fire, its colossal …
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Among the world’s architectural wonders built in the name of love, the Victorian neo-Gothic library built by Enriqueta Augustina Rylands in her husband’s memory on Deansgate in Manchester stands apart. Looms apart, in fact – and it does loom. Opened in 1900, this dark red construction of Barbary stone was designed to resemble a church with Arts and Crafts flourishes, vaulted stained glass windows, and an entrance echoing a monastery gatehouse. The entrance hall and main staircase are stonework masterpieces, …
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One of the most memorable days on our recent holiday was spent in the ancient, mythical Wistman’s Wood – a tangle of gnarled oaks growing against considerable odds on a stony hillside in Dartmoor, Devon. After a half hour’s walk across serene hilltops dotted with rainbow sheep (colour-coded by owners to keep track), approaching this tree maze took my breath away. Branches twisted together into a reptilian canopy stretched over roots gripping giant boulders. Plush moss covered nearly everything, creeping …
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Imagine being able to choose between hundreds of unique, historic landmark buildings for your holiday stay, with lighthouses, former catholic schools, old hospitals, castles, and medieval farmhouses available for rent as part of a nationwide conservation initiative. In England, you can, thanks to The Landmark Trust. Availability is scarce, but that’s just more reason to make A Plan, then pile your (well-behaved, responsible) crew into a private castle for a weekend. G and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to give the Landmark …
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I’m back from a glorious expedition across the English countryside, which is as good a reason as any to shake off the blogwebs and share some of the beauty and magic I’ve encountered along the way. There’s nothing like a road trip to reset and fall in love with a place, which is precisely what’s happened over the past two weeks. On July 20th, having just taken down a sizeable exhibition (a fantastic one, at that, read about it here), …
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I spent my winter holiday in Iceland – the place I’d been dreaming of for the better part of decade. With new year’s eve approaching, I stocked up on cold-weather gear, packed a minimal photo-configuration, and set off for the frosty shores of the North Atlantic Ocean. We set up base in Reykjavik, where the capital’s crowning jewel is Hallgrímskirkja – a brutalist spaceship of a church that’s visible from miles away. It greeted us everywhere we went, accordion wings peeking around corners, steeple waving …
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“How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?” – Dr. Seuss It’s December and I suddenly miss this place. It seems with the end of the year approaching, I’m slowing down with as much tenacity as when revving up in spring. But reflection isn’t the point of this update, that’s for another time. Today is …
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Someone recently asked me when I moved to London and it made me pause. Though we arrived in late November, it feels like it’s been just a few months. Perhaps it’s because the fist two months were spent touristing around town from our temporary apartment, or because we just built the final piece of furniture for our new semipermanent home two weeks ago – whatever the case, London didn’t really feel like we live in it until we returned from …
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