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Brigitte Bardot visits Pablo Picasso, 1956.

[via retronaut]

A test audience reacting to the chestburster scene in ALIEN.

[via twitter]

I took this photograph five years ago. I still regret not buying the painting in it, like I regret not buying some green and white striped denim shorts I tried on in Madewell two years ago. Like I regret saying this or not saying that, doing this or not doing that.

Sometimes I wonder how the world still turns under the weight of things we should have done or the things we  definitely should not have done. And then I remember that not everyone feels like this. Not everyone has this thing that is always in the back of their head or this weight that is just above their heart.

I quit my job again. I signed up to a screenwriting course. Already, the stillness of my house is bringing things back into focus. There is so much to see, to do.

Speaker’s Corner, 1959/2011.

[1959 photos via retronaut]

Stevie Nicks breaks into song while getting her make up done for a Rolling Stone shoot.

Just Nabokov…

Catching and drawing butterflies. NB.

[via here and here]

It’s the first morning. I’ve taken things back.

Parking and driving. Stopping and starting.

70s apartments, Alghero.

The sea, the sea, the sea.

There’s a procession in Alghero on Good Friday. It starts at eight and winds through the streets until two. We watched it from the door of a restaurant, then stumbled across it again on the way home. There was a group of tenores singing in a circle and we stood and listened to them until the procession had passed again. This is what they sounded like, complete with old men and cars spluttering, with the quietened chatter of the nearby devout.

Just minutes before I recorded this, we’d seen the dead body of an old man covered in a sheet on the corner near the market. He’d fallen and hit his head.

Life is awful, terrifying, mysterious and wonderful.

There are tiny caves on the island of Sardinia. They’re known as fairy houses or Domus de Janas and were used as tombs by the Ozieri between 3400 and 2700 BC. They’re empty now, sitting alone on mountains and in fields dotted with acacias. The trees here make it look a little like home but it is nothing like home.

A rough sea, the constant threat of rain. On the road between Alghero and Bosa.

We drove to Grotta di Nettuno, a stalactite cave near Alghero. Only a few hundred metres are open to the public but we were told there are 4km of caves all together, growing constantly and silently in the cliffs of Capo Caccia.

Alghero, Sardinia.

For an Easter holiday to an Italian island that you booked wishing for gentle seas and endless skies, for skin warmed by the sun and legs freckled with sand. That instead, holds forecasts of rain, thunderstorms and wind. So you dress the part at least, in costume, layers under  which you wear your swimsuit, ever hopeful that the tides will turn.

From left to right:
Steve Alan Drawstring Coat
Irish Fisherman’s Sweater
Randall Solid Pocket T from Saturdays Surf
Anthropologie Natalie one piece
Atlas of Remote Islands by Judith Schalansky
RayBan RB 2143 Wayfarers
Bec Brittain Hand-dyed Rope Bracelet
Ocean/Eternal Return by I Hate Perfume
Blue Rebel by Chanel


These photos were taken on the same day, on the same camera, just metres from each other.

It is interesting to me how they capture the light and dark of it. Of the ocean and sky and the point where they vanish together as the earth curves from view, taking with it day after day after day.


I’m introducing a new category of posts around here called Babin’. It doesn’t need a real explanation. Just look at this picture of a young Salvador Dali and his wife Gala. And there you have it: totally babin’.

[photo by Brassaï]