Winnipeg, Canada
I’ve always been interested in the oral narratives that are passed on from one generation to another. The launch of INDIGO’s Mother Tongue project provided incentive to begin a series of graphic “copyfree” posters featuring such stories as told by First Peoples. Above are the first two pieces: Two Wolves features the well-known Cherokee tale of the battle between good and evil as told by an elder to his grandson; Turtle includes the Anishinaabe story of how the turtle got its shell, and passes on the knowledge of the 13 large moons and 28 smaller segments that appear on the back of every turtle (many First Nations descendants are taught that the turtle shell represents the perfect depiction of the lunar year—I learned of this from one of our Indigenous clients).
You can read the stories (or download, distribute, or print these posters) here: Two Wolves (1.2 MB PDF); Turtle (1.3 MB PDF).
Thanks to Adrian J. K. Shum for your assistance. Credit for the wolf images goes to www.firstpeople.us
Winnipeg, Canada
The great Canadian educator, philosopher, scholar, literary critic, rhetorician, and communication theorist Herbert Marshall McLuhan was born 99 years ago today and grew up here in the ‘Peg (he attended Kelvin High School). Fitting, then, that I would receive an e-mail today from good friend (and former Circle colleague) Kevin Guenther (who knows that I’m somewhat of a McLuhan fan)… providing a link to a video clip of a classic piece of Woody Allen cinema that Marshall makes a cameo appearance in (Kevin came across it via Boing Boing… Sorry link is broken).
Good fun. Thanks, Kevin!
On mountains, everywhere
This past weekend, Ev and I enjoyed a short sortie with the Westie out to Riding Mountain National Park to take in the latest of her Manitoba Crafts Council show openings in Wasagaming. We spent a delightful dinner and overnight with old friends Celes and Sue Davar (Celes and I were both partners in Praxis Photographic Workshops some 20 years ago; he now runs Earth Rhythms—Sue is a remarkably talented potter and book-maker, and a longstanding friend of Ev’s). During the course of our conversation, Celes asked me whether I had noticed melt-back on glaciers in the Canadian Rockies in recent years (which of course I have, quite visibly in places like the Columbia Icefield). So it seemed more than a little coincidental that David Breashears’ latest documentary initiative would cross my desk today…
Rivers of Ice: Vanishing Glaciers of the Greater Himalaya showcases the work of photographer and mountaineer David Breashears, who with Glacier Research Imaging Project (GRIP), has retraced the steps of renowned mountain photographers of the past century to recapture images of these mountains and their glaciers from exactly the same vantage points. Rivers of Ice displays his recent photographs alongside the corresponding historic images, revealing the alarming loss in ice mass that has taken place over the intervening years. Visit the website (reports, videos, comparative photographs) here.
Above images: Graphic evidence of the loss of glacier mass between 1921 and 2007; the dotted line shows the Main Rongbuk Glacier’s height in 1921, while this 2007 photo freveals a loss of 320 vertical feet (nearly 100m) in ice mass since George Mallory took the same photograph in 1921; the tiny climber (upper right corner) gives scale to the remaining ice pinnacles.
I’ve often wondered what consciousness might look like… until this explanatory illustration crossed my desk today, that is. Thanks to Robert Fludd (aka Robertus de Fluctibus, 1574-1637), I need wonder no more. Full explicative notations here. :-|
Auditus, Visus, Odoratus, Gustus, Tactus… all ports open for input.
Lisbon, Portugal
Pedestrian advocates in Lisbon have replaced the white “zebra” stripes in four crosswalks with the stenciled names of 137 pedestrians killed by cars. On the curb, the tagline reads: “1/4 das vítimas de acidentes de automóvel são peões,” 1/4 of the victims of automobile accidents are pedestrians.
Story and images found here.
Hard to argue with and also in keeping with the heuristic Occam’s razor…
No comments necessary… a terrifyingly candid portrait of the frocked ilk by talented illustrator © Brian Stauffer.
A mid-1960s Renault 8
I bought my first car for $300 in February of 1974, an amount earned by working for what seemed like an eternity in a window factory (in reality, it was a single two-week pay period). With some minor repairs, a set of well-used steel-belted radials, and a fresh paint job (by hand—but I swear you could hardly see the brush strokes) this beauty got me to where I needed to go in style… and while the 956 cubic cms (58.3 cubic inches) and whopping 43 horsepower could hardly be considered a powerhouse, the 40+ m.p.g. fuel efficiency and smooth performance of the svelte little five-bearing engine made up for it.
Key features included deep-sprung, super-comfortable polyurethane-molded seats, “aircraft-style air louvres,” four doors, a (synchronized!) 4-speed manual transmission, four-wheel disc brakes (a first in its class), a four-wheel independent suspension (read great road holding), a “huge luggage boot” (OK, 11 cu. ft.) in the front, and the advantageous rear-engine (complete with emergency hand-crank!) and rear-wheel drive—brilliant for muscling through snowdrifts on wintry prairie roads. My sweet little R8 also offered one of tightest turning radii of all time… which all has me waxing just a wee bit nostalgic for this diminutive French charmer.
