Literature’s Most Memorable Meals

« Fictitious Dishes » est un magnifique livre de Dinah Fried et édité par Harper Collins. Ce projet intelligent consiste à illustrer les repas les plus célèbres de la littérature du monde : de Marcel Proust et ses madeleines à The Great Gatsby et ses dry martinis en passant par le thé qu’Alice partage avec le Chapelier Fou.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson.

Heidi by Joanna Spyri.

Moby-Dick by Herman Melville.

Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson.

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka.

On the Road by Jack Kerouac.

Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett.

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole.

Chicken Soup with Rice by Maurice Sendak.

Fictitious Dishes.

Fictitious Dishes
14-Chicken Soup with Rice by Maurice Sendak
13-A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
12-The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
11-To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
10-Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
9-On the Road by Jack Kerouac
8-The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
7-The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
6-The Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger
6-The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
5-Swanns Way by Marcel Proust
4-Moby-Dick by Herman Melville
3-Heidi by Joanna Spyri
2-Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson
1-Alices Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
0-The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald

My Body My Rights for Amnesty International

Dans le cadre de la campagne mondiale d’Amnesty International « Mon corps, mes droits » Hikaru Cho, peint ses modèles avec une précision et des détails extraordinaires. Le maquillage prends une apparence réelle une fois travaillé sur le corps. Des trompes l’oeil impressionnants à découvrir en photos dans la suite de l’article.

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Duke Dumont – I Got U

Remy Cayuela a imaginé pour illustrer le clip « I Got U » de Duke Dumont un jeune homme avide de nouvelles aventures depuis chez lui, utilisant un casque imitant la réalité et lui permettant de vivre de fausses expériences. Un clip réussi, tourné comme si nous vivions son aventure à la 1ère personne.

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Cosplay Series Photography

Le photographe autrichien Klaus Pichler nous propose avec cette série Just the Two of Us les coulisses de la création de cosplays, montrant des personnes déguisés en différents héros de fictions dans leur cadre quotidien. Des clichés réussis à découvrir dans la suite de l’article.

Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013
Just the two of us, Klaus Pichler, 2013

Micro Empire

Clemens Wirth et Radium Audio présentent cette vidéo appelée Micro Empire. Avec une utilisation macroscopique, ces derniers parviennent à donner un aspect étrange et intriguant à cet univers du minuscule. Une utilisation originale de ce genre d’images à découvrir en vidéo dans la suite.



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The Shadow Industry

Everybody finds something.

by
Peter Carey

From Adbusters #100: Are We Happy Yet?

ANDREAS GURSKY

1.
My friend S. went to live in America ten years ago and I still have the letter he wrote me when he first arrived, wherein he describes the shadow factories that were springing up on the west coast and the effects they were having on that society.

"You see people in dark glasses wandering around the supermarket at 2 a.m. There are great boxes all along the aisles, some as expensive as fifty dollars but most of them are only five. There’s always Muzak. It gives me the shits more than the shadows. The people don’t look at one another. They come to browse through the boxes of shadows although the packets give no indication of what’s inside. It really depresses me to think of people going out at two in the morning because they need to try their luck with a shadow. Last week I was in the supermarket near Topanga and I saw an old man tear the end off a shadow box. He was arrested almost immediately."

A strange letter ten years ago but it accurately describes scenes that have since become common in this country. Yesterday I drove in from the airport past shadow factory after shadow factory, large faceless buildings gleaming in the sun, their secrets guarded by ex-policemen with Alsatian dogs.

The shadow factories have huge chimneys that reach far into the sky, chimneys which billow forth smoke of different, brilliant colors. It is said by some of my more cynical friends that the smoke has nothing to do with any manufacturing process and is merely a trick, fake evidence that technological miracles are being performed within the factories. The popular belief is that the smoke sometimes contains the most powerful shadows of all, those that are too large and powerful to be packaged. It is a common sight to see old women standing for hours outside the factories, staring into the smoke.

There are a few who say the smoke is dangerous because of carcinogenic chemicals used in the manufacture of shadows. Others argue that the shadow is a natural product and by its very nature chemically pure. They point to the advantages of the smoke: the beautifully colored patterns in the clouds which serve as a reminder of the happiness to be obtained from a fully realized shadow. There may be some merit in this last argument, for on cloudy days the skies above our city are a wondrous sight, full of blues and vermilions and brilliant greens which pick out strange patterns and shapes in the clouds.

Others say the clouds now contain the dreadful beauty of the apocalypse.

2.
The shadows are packaged in large, lavish boxes which are printed with abstract designs in many colors. The Bureau of Statistics reveals that the average householder spends 25 percent of his income on these expensive goods and that this percentage increases as the income decreases.

There are those who say that the shadows are bad for people, promising an impossible happiness that can never be realized and thus detracting from the very real beauties of nature and life. But there are others who argue that the shadows have always been with us in one form or another and that the packaged shadow is necessary for mental health in an advanced technological society. There is, however, research to indicate that the high suicide rate in advanced countries is connected with the popularity of shadow sales and that there is a direct statistical correlation between shadow sales and suicide rates. This has been explained by those who hold that the shadows are merely mirrors to the soul and that the man who stares into a shadow box sees only himself, and what beauty he finds there is his own beauty and what despair he experiences is born of the poverty of his spirit.

3.
I visited my mother at Christmas. She lives alone with her dogs in a poor part of town. Knowing her weakness for shadows I brought her several of the more expensive varieties which she retired to examine in the privacy of the shadow room.

She stayed in the room for such a long time that I became worried and knocked on the door. She came out almost immediately. When I saw her face I knew the shadows had not been good ones.

"I’m sorry," I said, but she kissed me quickly and began to tell me about a neighbor who had won the lottery.

I myself know, only too well, the disappointments of shadow boxes for I also have a weakness in that direction. For me it is something of a guilty secret, something that would not be approved of by my clever friends.

I saw J. in the street. She teaches at the university.

"Ah-hah," she said knowingly, tapping the bulky parcel I had hidden under my coat. I know she will make capital of this discovery, a little piece of gossip to use at the dinner parties she is so fond of. Yet I suspect that she too has a weakness for shadows. She confessed as much to me some years ago during that strange misunderstanding she still likes to call "Our Affair." It was she who hinted at the feeling of emptiness, that awful despair that comes when one has failed to grasp the shadow.

4.
My own father left home because of something he had seen in a box of shadows. It wasn’t an expensive box, either, quite the opposite – a little surprise my mother had bought with the money left over from her housekeeping. He opened it after dinner one Friday night and he was gone before I came down for breakfast on the Saturday. He left a note which my mother only showed me very recently. My father was not good with words and had trouble communicating what he had seen: "Words Cannot Express It What I Feel Because of The Things I Saw In The Box Of Shadows You Bought Me."

5.
My own feelings about the shadows are ambivalent, to say the least. For here I have manufactured one more: elusive, unsatisfactory, hinting at greater beauties and more profound mysteries that exist somewhere before the beginning and somewhere after the end.

Peter Carey is an Australian born novelist and two-time winner of the prestigious Booker Prize. Peter worked in advertising to pay the bills until successfully publishing his first piece in his early thirties. He is currently the Executive Director of the creative writing program at Hunter College. The above story was originally titled Report on the Shadow Industry.

Dancing Collection

L’artiste Niege Borges Alves a eu l’idée de créer une série d’illustrations mettant en avant les chorégraphies et les scènes de danse les plus connus du cinéma et de la TV. Visuellement réussis, ces images sont tirées de Pulp Fiction, Arrested Development ou encore Napoleon Dynamite.



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Wild Singularity

The moment we cannot escape.

by
Shane Adair

From Adbusters #98: American Autumn

Spooky, the cat

Spooky was a wild black cat with yellow eyes. She was taken off a farm and given to my older sister as a gift. I remember thinking about her all day at school. My brother and I would run home after school to play with Spooky. We trained her right from the beginning. We would wrestle with her and get her riled up. Then she would grab a hold of our arms and bite us. As time went on her jaw got stronger.

One game we played with her was called “Barry in the Backfield.” This game consisted of two players. I was on one team and my younger brother was my opponent. Spooky was a neutral player. She was the all time running back and I was the quarterback. My brother kneeled across from us as a defender. Then I would say,

“Blue forty-two, blue forty-two, set hut.”

And I’d turn around and set Spooky on the floor. As soon as she hit the floor she’d take off around me and attempt to run around my brother. If my brother were able to tackle Spooky, I would get no points. If Spooky ran around my brother and off somewhere, I would get seven points. I don’t think we ever finished a game.

My older brother had his own way of training Spooky. He would hold a towel perpendicular to the floor, and Spooky would run at the towel. As she got close to the towel she would jump and clench her jaw into the towel. After some time she learned to lock her jaw into the towel and hang. My brother would shake the towel and try to make her fall, but she wouldn’t.

One gray and rainy day our family sat around the living room watching television. All of a sudden we heard this loud high-pitched shriek come from upstairs. It sounded like a girl in a horror movie walking into a room to find a bloodied corpse on the floor. Concerned, we yelled up the stairs to make sure sister was all right.

“Tina, what happened? Are you all right?’

“No. Someone come get this cat.”

My brothers and I ran upstairs. We walked into the bathroom and saw sister wrapped in a towel. Spooky had her claws dug into the towel and was climbing up our sister.

My older brother said, “Thataway Spooky. She’s learning.”

“She sure is,” I said.

“Get her off of me.”

“Okay, okay.”

We got her off of sister and brought her downstairs to the living room. My brothers and I laughed.

Spooky continued to grow until she was full-grown. When she stopped growing she was quite the cat. She looked like a miniature panther. She was large and very muscular. When she walked you could see her different muscles flexing.

At one point in time I believe our teachers began to worry about us. My younger brother and I would show up to school with a new scratch on our faces everyday. The worst one was on my younger brother. Spooky got him right under the eye and all the way down to his chin. He was lucky she didn’t get his eye.

After some time of getting beat up we began to learn. We learned we had to carry a blanket and a pillow. First you hit Spooky with the pillow then you threw the blanket on top. That gave you just enough time to get away. Every morning when I woke I’d grab my pillow and blanket. Then I’d crack the door open and look both ways to see if Spooky was around. If I didn’t see her, I’d run as fast as I could up the stairs and she’d dart out of some corner and chase me. When I got to the top of the stairs I’d slam the door and lock it. Spooky’s head would bounce off the door, then her paws would reach under. If she was there waiting right outside of the door, I’d have to use the pillow and blanket.

In the summertime the weather would be very hot and humid. And when there was nothing else to do, my younger brother, a friend and I would come looking for Spooky. She was the biggest and toughest cat in the neighborhood. She was usually good for some entertainment. One time the three of us were messing around one way or another when I heard loud hissing and growling. I ran around to the side of the house to see Spooky and another cat squaring off.

“Kevin, Larry, hurry up.”

They ran around to the side of the house, and the three of us began cheering Spooky on.

“Get her Spooky, get her.”

The two cats stood facing each other growling and hissing. After a minute or two the other cat tried to run around Spooky. When the cat got to Spooky’s side, Spooky pounced on her and got a hold of her neck. Her jaw clenched and locked. It was just like the towel drill. The other cat shook and tried to whip Spooky loose, but she wouldn’t budge. Her jaw was locked, and the rest of her body whipped back and forth like a flag. We saw blood start to gush out of the neck, and then Spooky let her go. The other cat wobbled off scraggily and Spooky watched her closely.

The following year Spooky got into many fights. If we heard the hissing and growling sound, we knew what was happening. She got us through some very slow times. Then one day she came home and didn’t look so good. A chunk of her head was bitten off and her eye was all bloodshot. A new cat was in the neighborhood, and this cat was twice the size of Spooky and twice as tough. For a long time Spooky was the biggest and toughest cat in the neighborhood. But shortly after she got beaten up, we never saw Spooky again.