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Tag Archives: rainbow

Some where over the rainbow, way over in LA, via British Vogue, the little blue gingham dress is up to fetch two hundred thousand USD. In my dreams, I think I’ll buy some cotton gingham, and make myself and updated classic – for next Spring.

The Joys of Books

The is putting a smile on my face this evening, I hope your’s too.

If that doesn’t, this sure will, I’ve seen this at least five times, and love knowing we are going to see more of this talent showing up soon.

never a dull moment on the nyc subway

Here is a great little piece of how one man’s iPhone changed one song-writers life in a big way by the examiner.

Black, white and red are at the most notable and primary colors used for significance. Red has been used to signify the blood that binds a group of individuals together and it is the blood shed during war and conflicts in burial grounds and rituals from as far back as 9000 B.C. White is related to semen and milk, both essential to life, and growth.  Contrasted with black which is associated with excretion, in addition to fertile earth, and “unity of widest recognized group sharing same life values.” Noted from page 25 of one of my favorite books: Colouring the Past Edited by Andrew Jones and Gavin MacGregor. These colors are more significant than ever today.

I first started to follow Occupy wall Street when two separate friends on Facebook posted the same disturbing YouTube clip of  Anthony Bologna macing young girls in a peaceful protest in Union Square on Saturday September 24, 2011.  I followed that week the media’s response, or lack thereof of what was really going on.  The following Saturday my dear friend and I decided it was a nice enough day to walk from Brooklyn to Manhattan.  Sunday morning I woke up and opened up the New York Times to see that not one hour after we cleared the Manhattan side of the bridge were hundreds of protesters who walked on the bridge to only become trapped and arrested.  I read as many news articles as I could about the event and started to follow #OccupyWallStreet on Twitter.

Due to my proximity to this history in the making, I had to see first hand what was really happening and meet some of the people making it happen. Monday, October 3, after work, headed downtown with a bag of hats I had designed and made, it was cold, and the occupiers had posted about needing donations for the cold and wet days ahead.  I thought this was the least I could do to support them.  What I experienced there was overwhelming and profound; organized areas of media, medical supplies, comfort areas, and a library.  All people were able to contribute in anyway they saw fit, giving each other a sense of belonging, and empowerment.  I found a girl who was just perfect for one hat I made a while back that was very much an experiment, but it was a lot of fun, and she was working in the comfort area.  I had a nice discussion with a young man, who I saw later in videos on you tube.  I mentioned that wanted to contribute more, but din’t know how and it was then that I put my name on a list to be called on for showers, should one want or need.  I was ready to head home and I realized I couldn’t find my metro card, and as I searched for it in my many pockets, the young man running the comfort area genuinely asked if I had enough money to cover my ride home. If I hadn’t, he would have given me what I needed, I would have been taken care of.  What a concept; if I can’t buy what I need, it will be provide for me.  Luckily I found my metro card, that has unlimited rides thanks to transit-check.

Three days later after many long days at work, I went down again, this time with the same friend I’d walked across the Brooklyn Bridge with on Saturday.  The amount of people in the park had quadrupled in my estimation. General Assembly was in session, food, comfort and medical areas were fully stocked.  The library was packed with books, and is where anyone could pick up a free copy of The Occupied Wall Street paper published in Spanish and English.  Except they were out of the papers in English, and I didn’t think to take on in Spanish.  It was a colder night than Monday, but in the park was at least 10 degrees warmer, but it just might have been the friendliness of the people and made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

Saturday morning I received a phone call from someone down in the park confirming if my offer was still available for a shower, and said that he would see who wanted a shower, hoping for Sunday, and that worked for me. I was planning on heading down to the park again anyway, and now thought it might be a good idea to meet first the person, or persons I’d just agreed to lend my shower to. On the subway to OWS, I ran into a couple who I helped to get out at the correct station, the man was from Georgia, the country, and the young woman, from Russia.  I asked them their opinion of the protests and they thought they were great, the man from Georgia said he thought American’s were dead and like robots, not ever realizing or caring about the corruption happening all around us that everyone else (non-Americans) can see, but we are somehow too in it to notice or care.

One this third visit, not doubt due to the beautiful unseasonable weather and long weekend-for some, made the amount of people in the park even greater that I saw on Thursday night.  I was stunned.  I stood in line where for a suggested donation of $10 anyone could get a t-shirt printed, while you wait, with one of three logos.  If you had not thought to bring a t-shirt of your own, one could either grab one from the comfort area, or use one of the available white fruit of the loom t-shirts.  I opted for a new one, and waited for my preferred graphic.

I am part of this 99% that feels frustrated by the courpt system that I feel like has been playing us like marrinets for years.  I am happy to know that many are no longer metaphorically asleep nor are we robots.  I also feel that I am a fraction of the 99% who actually have a job, and I LOVE my job.  I have my job soley because I choose to invest in myself, and borrow money for school that would buy me a mansion in my home town of Marcellus, NY.  I support OWS because I am taxed 30% on my salary, of my take home money, I then give almost 30% more back to the government at 8% interest in the form of a school loan, more than $700 of which is interest only, and is no longer a tax deduction for me at the end of the year. This is not right.  Education is expensive, I knew that going in, but paying it back was not made clear to me by anyone, until my tax guy said I made too much money. While I am extremely grateful for my job that provides me enough income to get by, I find it difficult to see that even five years down the line I will be much better off, or ever be able to purchase my own home.  My education was and is invaluable to me, as without it this blog and the content would never have reached the world- nor would I have my dream job.  While the government says we must have better education to have better jobs and lives now feels a little hypocritical of them to say if they keep us in lower middle class situations no longer able to achieve the American Dream.

The other reason I support Occupy Wall Street is I am 100% against Gas Fracking.  I do not think it is even a short term fix to a long term problem.  While the government touts that it is “Natural Gas” the process that is needed to go through in corder to get it is completely toxic, and therefor the end result is completely toxic.  It is no more “Natural” than Corn Syrup.  This is not a short-term fix because it will essentially ruin people properties and effect the water systems, effecting ALL parts of the eco system almost immediately.

On Sunday, October 9, I went down again, this time to pick up four protesters who needed a shower.  I took two young men of about twenty-one and two men I guess to be in the their mid-forties who seem to have fallen on extremely hard times back to my studio apartment in Brooklyn.  While one showered, the others sat on news papers- their cloths were too dirty for my rug or furniture and they asked each other how they had all found themselves for nights on end at the park.  The two younger didn’t really seem to know, they seemed a little lost and this was something they could hold one to, something tangible, and something positive that they could give back to.  One of the older men had a job, but was evicted from his apartment just the Wednesday night prior, and it was not from him not paying his rent, it was just something about a shady real estate deal.  The main organizer for the showers was a man from Los Angeles who after riding the high life in LA with a model and actress wife was in two bad motorcycle accidents and then identity theft which has left him with nothing but the bag he brought to change into clean clothes.  We war all bound together for a short time in an effort to help each other out.  There was a general consensus that everyone felt better about being part of a great good for everyone.

I started to google different news clips about the event of which they were a part of and their excitement for the event only grew and seems almost more anxious to get back down to the park. The protesters I harbored sniffled a bit and I made Yogi Echinacea tea for them.  The tea bags offering sound thoughts and advice that couldn’t be more on point with what’s happening; (Red) Trust creates peace. (White) Live for each other. (Black) Live in your strength.

This post was intended to be posted sometimes last week, but I had a preverbal bump in the road of life and spend twenty-four hours in the hospital, and am still on the road to what I’ hoping for is a very quick recovery.

via YAY! EVERYDAY by Chris Glass

via You Don’t Even Know.

via Likeadesigner on Flicker, check out this one too.

Candy Colored outfit at the new Limelight MarketPlace, oh, wait, Candy Outfit!  Awesome!

One of the most basic necessities of living is shelter.  How one feels about their home can make all the difference between how one treats themselves and others.  The color of our homes has the power to transform ones’ life in it.  Jeroen Koolhaas and Dre Urhahn of Favela Painting, have pursued the art of transforming lives one paint can at a time.  They are indeed savoring the colors of life!  I’m a fan!

I’m also happy to report that this is a trend in other places in the world.

These innovators clearly know how to savor the coloUrs of life!

I didn’t even know such awards were given, but I had a great sense on Sunday that I’m bound for bigger things in my future – Benjamin Moore offers lifetime achievement awards for those who show fearless work in color.  Although, I am not an architect or an Interior designer, but am someone who aspires to have a lifetime of color.  Wonder how I can get tickets?  Diamond Baratta is being honored this year.

Photo above as seen on The New York Times style page, work of Olaf Nicolai above.  I love how the ovoid holes in the sofa offer a way to focus on a few of the colors of the full palette.  Beautiful!

A few and many moons ago I met Maria Flores,  free-spirited adventurer, writer, artist, and photographer.  When I saw some of her photos from a recent trip to India, I asked her to write something for this blog.  Above her lovely photographs, and below her story.  She is available via e-mail at: manninoflores (at) yahoo (dot) com.

Thank you Maria for your contribution!

Enjoy!

India: A Color-Loving Traveler’s Love

Sometime during the economic downturn, I was fortunate enough to lose my job at a well-known art museum in the City. This led to another even more fortunate opportunity for me to do the unthinkable and travel to India just like I’d always wanted. My long-awaited destination isn’t the kind you should visit on a two-week paid vacation. It is one you slowly relish for months (or even better, years) at a time. So, naturally, I took my pittance of a savings account, exchanged it all for rupees, and got on a one-way flight to New Delhi.

Landing in that mad yet mesmerizing place was just the start of them, my sweet little love affairs. As the months passed, I officially consummated my loves with: all nationalities of fellow male travelers (yes, way, but I don’t kiss and tell!); an ancient culture that thrives in every recess of the crusty, shit-smelling streets; and, above all, the COLOR that permeates the entire subcontinent.

Arrival was just the beginning. At first, the onslaught of vividness was too much for this Midwestern girl, accustomed to the grays and beiges of corn fields and sprawling highways. After the first frightened week, a wicked bout with Delhi Belly, and the realization that one must give oneself over to the madness and beauty of it all, I noticed that the tropical and musty light isn’t like it is in the States. Sure, the air is thickly polluted, the Taj Mahal just a Moghul skewer stuck in gelatin-thick smog. The pavement is strewn with inconceivable amounts of droppings and dregs, cracked and straddling the open sewer below. The beds may already or soon will have bedbugs. But there is no millimeter of that country that isn’t celebrated, made sacred, or hand-painted with color.

One can travel 200km by railway and de-board in a new state with an entirely different language, alphabet, and cuisine.  Aside from being mad little nuances to keep long-term travelers on their toes, these worlds apart are stunning marinades of over 9,000 years of fast-paced cultural ups and downs, political invasions, and cluster fucks of Reality. I’d go as far as to say that the only commonality between the widely varied chaos that is Hindustan is its revered appreciation and skilled harnessing of color. A large part of the Indian consciousness, color not only marks daily life, but it influences it too. Goods carriers, rickshaws, chai stalls, dhabas, saris, temples, matchboxes — you name it — everything is colorful. Each suggests a unique sensuousness and intimacy between the people and their objects. Demanding attention from the countless Hindu gods and goddesses, and the color-loving traveler alike.

So, gather one billion people with their own love affairs with color, pack them into overcrowded litter-laden streets, pummel them with harsh monsoons for six months of the year, and then put purely toxic and brightly colored powders and dyes in their impassioned hands. The result: Holi, arguably the coolest, most raucous celebration ever sanctioned by a culture in human history, and is perhaps the only festival of its kind to utilize the power of color.

A rowdy annual hue-and-cry parade of vivid earth tones, classic pastels, and clamorous neons, this phenomenon is a springtime festival celebrated mostly by Hindu and Sikh practitioners, but can be enjoyed by anyone with a love for the coming of spring and, of course, color. Fresh of the plane and hating the fact that my visa expired just before the actual Holi day, I celebrated in Richmond Hill, Queens. See you there next year.

The sun is trying so hard to peek out today.  If it doesn’t, here is a lovely, ironic rainbow-if the white parts are light, may they hold all the colors in the spectrum?  What is reality outside our heads and what is reality inside our heads?  Both may or may not be true.

Happy Sunday to all.

Marc Johns work on view through April 14, 2010 at Giant Robot New York.