This timeline of studio gear is awesome.
This house, designed by Richard Neutra, was destroyed by a hurricane just weeks after its completion in 1938.
Faster is obviously better, he says.
Ethan Iverson’s notes from Albert Murray’s memorial service in 2013. I would give a lot to have been there. Murray is a totemic figure for me, as I explained in this essay.
Chesterton, from Orthodoxy:
Stories of magic alone can express my sense that life is not only a pleasure but a kind of eccentric privilege. I may express this other feeling of cosmic cosiness by allusion to another book always read in boyhood, Robinson Crusoe, which … owes its eternal vivacity to the fact that it celebrates the poetry of limits, nay, even the wild romance of prudence. Crusoe is a man on a small rock with a few comforts just snatched from the sea: the best thing in the book is simply the list of things saved from the wreck. The greatest of poems is an inventory. Every kitchen tool becomes ideal because Crusoe might have dropped it in the sea. It is a good exercise, in empty or ugly hours of the day, to look at anything, the coal-scuttle or the book-case, and think how happy one could be to have brought it out of the sinking ship on to the solitary island. But it is a better exercise still to remember how all things have had this hair-breadth escape: everything has been saved from a wreck.
Thomas E. Miles on getting a liberal education in prison:
Brightness dawned over us. Our hearts and minds — our very souls — were bathed in “all the Light” Locke wrote about. It showed, too. It showed in our faces, in our comportment, in our demeanor, in our vocabulary, in our writing. Indeed, it showed in the mirror when we looked at ourselves.
This is why the professors came. They came to shed light on us: light that allowed the discernment of the new, resurrected image of each of us, formed by each new, additional bit of us, placed just so in a mosaic that made us once more visible to others, to one another, to ourselves. We were no longer shadow people, no longer hollow, condemned specters. We became men again. That is the point, and that is why college in prison is worth the bother.
I often wonder how things might have gone for my father, a highly intelligent but self-destructive and immensely cynical man, if an opportunity like this — or, altnernatively, Christian prison ministry — had been available to him when he was imprisoned. (He was a two-time felon.)
Study in blue
