The soft bodies of humans are brief. Our heartbeats, our breaths, are measured in decades, not in millennia. Everything is impermanent. Even mountains disappear under time’s scythe.
Through photographs we create the illusion and comfort of a kind of permanence. For families and friends, photographs are a shared visual language of belonging. They preserve what we hold dear against future loss and connect us when we’re apart. They extend memory beyond what we hold in our minds, capturing and exteriorising treasured and vanished moments for ourselves and for eyes beyond the present generation—the creamy cheek of a drowsing infant, the snowy softness of a grandmother’s hair, the delight of a child unwrapping a birthday present, a beloved family house now long gone.
Last week, an atlas close to the length and weight of a newborn baby came into my hands. I leafed through its maps, my fingers tracing the blue lines of rivers veining the earth, and my mouth forming the syllables of far-flung places—Belogorsk, Kristiansund and Zanzibar. Thousands of named lines—tracks, paths, roads and highways—hatch every land. Along with places of habitation, gathering places with their origins in prehistory—like Stonehenge, and Allahabad on the Ganges (site of the world’s largest religious gathering)—are marked with circles. I began thinking about the peoples of mountains, hills and plateaux, of plains, deserts, forests and jungles, and of rivers, lakes and seas. I thought about the how and why of human movement around the earth. Of the significance in each hemisphere of winter and summer solstices and of autumn and spring equinoxes—so often times of travel and gathering for ceremonies and celebrations, and of natural migration for creatures of the non-human world. Read more…
Whenever I swing my suitcase over home’s welcoming threshold, with the dust of Manhattan, Milan or Madrid still clinging to my shoes, my feet start prickling indecently soon. The travel itch, I’ve learned—once scratched—is incurable.
It began with a duck egg—cold, smooth, a bewitching blue—pressed into my six-year-old palm by my mother’s friend, who suggested I use it to bake my first cake.
Until then, my kitchen deeds were confined to laying the table, sawing bread into wonky slices, drying dishes, and slipping under the spare arm of my aproned mother—the undisputed kitchen queen—for a quick squeeze while she peeped under the rattling lids of steaming saucepans, or pulled out the griller tray to turn sizzling, popping lamb chops.
‘You can read people from what’s in their bathrooms’, my friend said with an enigmatic grin, returning from mine to a dinner table of chattering friends, leaving his conclusions unspoken. Hmm. Squeaky bath ducks, art, plants and tropical shells—did I come across as Pollyanna-ish? Or did the toothpaste tube squeezed from the reckless middle rather than from the obsessive-compulsive bottom balance me by exposing my shadow side? Did I care?
Why Art Museums Matter. Visits to Vancouver’s Museum of Anthropology, and Toronto’s Art Gallery of Ontario
Art viewed online can’t beat the sensuous and psychological whole-body-and-mind experience of moving through the spaces of an art museum, of standing up close and personal to original artworks and to cultural artefacts that bear their makers’ distinctive gestures—the luscious topography of brushstrokes gleaming under lights, the chisel marks, the stitching, the warp and weft. These wonders of imagination and skill were once touched by artists’ hands, and by the small breezes of their breath.
On 10, Aug 2018 | In Travel & Culture | By jane
Two worlds. Outside, reflected in a stretch of café window-glass, a gleaming doppelganger streetscape. Elm leaves gust from city-grown trees, waltz around the Sturt Street bandstand’s cupola then scud across the road in golden flocks to rest at the feet of umbrella-sheltered outdoor patrons. By the door, lifting lazily in an autumn breeze, the points of a white cloth over a small table holding water jugs, glasses and napkins. Read more…
Click. Seatbelt fastened. With a 300-kilometres-an-hour roar, the Los Angeles-bound 560,000-kilogram Airbus A380 hoists itself skywards, pressing nearly 500 of us back into our seats. Later, levelled off, cruising over the Pacific, the pressurised space patrolled by hip Qantas staff becomes a vast, high-altitude mobile bedroom, filled with strangers sharing a crowded, less-than-comfortable sleeping space. Strangers secure in knowing that on arrival 13,000 kilometres away, after passported entry into the USA, they’ll collect luggage and soon find themselves in more agreeable rooms, with contented, safe slumber guaranteed.
From the moment you pluck the envelope from the mailbox you’re in swift sensory relationship with the sender. A day or two ago, someone with quickened heart held pen in hand and inked this snowy rectangle with your name and where you live. Soft breath whispered over the paper’s smooth surface. An ardent tongue moistened the line of fastening glue. Warm fingers left the DNA traces now mingling with yours. Inside, a Valentine’s Day letter, ripe with declarations of love, of admiration. And folded within, invisible messages of hope, and of anticipation. Read more…
We all love going to restaurants. The ritual of selecting a type of cuisine that follows a particular mood, or company, as a regular basis in our lives, is probably my favourite routine. Sometimes we like trying new flavours, new aromas, new menus. At other times we prefer to repeat a place that we enjoyed a while ago. Sometimes we choose proximity, sometimes we choose price. Sometimes eating out is an excuse to meet someone. Sometimes meeting someone is an excuse to dine out.
My favourite place to eat out is when someone invites me home for dinner. No restaurant has yet beaten the unique flavour that home-made meals can bring to my soul. What’s special is the sharing of food, which I find one of the purest representations of love.
Danilo plans his dinners pretty much along those lines. His invite comes to you in the form of personalised email, surprising you with the chance to book seats at a table of eight. You might want to take it—it only happens once a month. The other diners won’t be revealed to you until arrival, bringing some sense of new flavours from the very start.
Expect a nice, small, tidy, cosy, colourful, designed-and-curated living room. Expect a table. Expect eight chairs and two hosts. Expect conversations. Expect music that matches the table setting. Expect fine cuisine and also a revolution. Expect a theme. Expect three courses. Also expect three wines. Expect smiles.
Danilo invites you to experience a new night that combines knowledge and passion from the start. Whoever Danilo is, he challenges traditional forms of dining out, setting you a dinner table where food and love are found.
Yes, on the night, you can expect both.
In the meantime, enjoy this exclusive signature Danilo Sweet Calamari Cerviche Recipe:
SWEET CALAMARI CERVICHE
70g of fresh calamari
6 mint leaves
1 skinless orange
1/2 a red and green capsicum, finely chopped
70g of pickled green mango
2 cups of veggie stock
4 limes, juiced
4 lemons, juiced
1/2 a red onion, finely chopped
1 clove of garlic, finely chopped
1/2 a cup of coconut cream
2 tablespoons of fresh orange juice
micro-greens for decoration
Combine the lime and lemon juice with the onions and garlic in a bowl.
Add approximately 1 teaspoon of salt and a pinch of pepper.
Clean and cut the calamari into 2 centimetres squares. Bring the veggie stock to boil. Add the calamari and leave to boil for four minutes. Strain the veggie stock and allow the calamari to cool.
When at room temperature, mix the calamari with the lime and lemon juice, onions and garlic. Let the mixture rest in the fridge for about 20 minutes.
Cook the coconut cream and orange juice on low heat for about thirty minutes. When cool, season with salt and pepper to taste.
Sliver 2 mint leaves and combine with the capsicum and some fresh cracked black pepper.
After 20 minutes, strain the calamari, then mix it with the coconut cream and orange juice.
Serve on a bed of green mango pickled. Garnish with a couple of skinless orange wedges, the mint and capsicum mixture. Decorate with micro-greens to finish.
Review by Natalia Alessi
Photography by Anthony Rodriguez
Visit Danilo Instagram
Recipe by Danilo
DALE EAGLESHAM is a veteran comic book illustrator who has been working in the industry since 1986. He has worked with Marvel, DC Comics, Dark Horse and CrossGen, among others. In January 2009, he signed an exclusive contract with Marvel, where he has been illustrating books that include Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, Read more…
1. The Pot-Bellied Wood-Burning Stove. I love wood heat. All my memories of my grandmother are connected to her wood cookstove that she had fired up, even in the middle of summer, baking her famous bread. I’ve always had a wood stove, and the rituals and routines that revolve around collecting, splitting and hauling wood make me feel like I’m home. The Tasmanian Tiny House wood stove came with all the benefits and none of the work as the wood was already split and just outside the door—which made me love it even more.
2. The Fern Gully Waterfall. The Tasmanian Tiny House is nestled on the edge of the Fern Gully and the centrepiece of the panoramic view is the Fern Gully waterfall. Gentle flowing water that adjusts to the rain or lack thereof, the Fern Gully waterfall creates a serene and peaceful environment.
3. The Wallabies. Being from Canada I’d never seen a wallaby until I stayed at the Tasmanian Tiny House, but I became quite familiar with the furry little creatures over the course of the stay. Every evening around dusk, the whole valley would come alive with feeding wallabies.
4. The Loft Bed. There’s nothing like sleeping under a tin roof in the rain unless it’s sleeping in a loft under a tin roof in the rain. A sleeping loft is incredibly space efficient in a tiny house. The Tasmanian Tiny House loft is equipped with a window and skylight which makes it feel spacious and like a whole other world lit by the stars. And, there’s just something adventurous about climbing a ladder to your bed.
5. The Claw-Foot Bath Tub. Placed directly beside the wood stove, there’s no better place to spend an evening than in a soaking tub looking out at the shimmering gum tree leaves lit up in the night by strategic outdoor lighting.
6. The Outdoor Trails. The Tasmanian Tiny House is on private property which has been lovingly sculpted into a wonderland of trails, lookouts and resting areas. In the seemingly wild surroundings the paths have been constructed using natural materials so they look and feel as if the forest itself created them. The property is a personal nature reserve where the land and animals are not only respected but the main feature.
7. The Fully Equipped Kitchen. There is everything one needs and nothing else in the space-efficient tiny house kitchen. Each dish, utensil and appliance is hand picked for its vintage functionality and fits perfectly in its place in the tiny kitchen.
8. The Focus on Conservation. Staying at the Tasmanian Tiny House requires minimal effort to live sustainably because its expertly set up for off-grid living.
9. The Vintage Flair and Decor. The Tasmanian Tiny House has been hand crafted with every detail in mind. The eco-lighting, the repurposed wood floors and the antique furniture show artisan attention. Features such as vintage trim and a pounded-tin ceiling show the craftsmanship and care that has gone into the construction of the building.
10. The Proximity to MONA. Tasmania’s pride and joy, MONA—the Museum of New and Old Art—is only 20 minutes away by car. MONA houses a stunning, shocking and forward-thinking private art collection, and the tiny house is the perfect place to retreat to after a day of having your mind artfully blown.
I had the opportunity to tour and play in Arnhem Land in the Northern Territory of Australia this past month. It’s a unique part of the world and we spent a week completely immersed in the local culture, the heat, and the languid pace of life. Arnhem Land is Yolngu territory and at the centre of the Yirrkala community is an art centre. A place where art, music, language and culture are celebrated. The stories of the Yolngu have been preserved and passed down through art in many different forms. This is not a unique concept, art has always been the living breathing language of culture. It is vitally important.
What provokes the birth of a business? In this particular case, a business in the tattoo industry?
My business partner Justina Kervel and I opened Liquid Amber Tattoo in 2001 for a multitude of reasons; one of these reasons being the blatant lack of female tattoo artists in a male dominated industry. Now some 15 years later, we are still in the midst of an exciting shift. There has been an exponential increase in not only female clients, but also in female tattoo artists.
In this matter, under motive, the unseen is a dial.
The lost space, in between, just enough to make a scene.
Light forms; lost and found again.
Black holes expanding;
This edition, Mojo Junction was lucky enough to catch up with Luvia Petersen, an actor/director hailing from Vancouver, BC. She’s best known for her work as the sexy and powerful character, Jasmine Garza on SyFy’s Continuum. Her first professional job came at the age of 25, when she was cast in the Emmy-nominated TV series The L-Word. She has most recently guest-starred on TNT’s Proof , ABC/CTV’s Motive the CW’s The 100 and The Tomorrow People, USA’s Psych and Dreamworks Falling Skies. Among her film credits, Luvia is proud to have worked on two features that originated as iconic television series, Battlestar Galactica: The Plan , and The X Files: I Want to Believe. It was a pleasure speaking with Luvia about what inspires her creatively and what goes on behind the scenes.
Canadian First Nations powerhouse Digging Roots are currently on their third Australian Tour. Playing Bluesfest, Brunswick Music Festival, Arnhem Land and club venues round the country, Mojo Junction was lucky enough to catch up with their percussionist Skye to hear about their adventures to date. Both world-class musician and photographer, Skye shares a little with us about what inspires his creative process.
Pure momentary creative release. Social commentary. Revealing public displays of emotion. The (often) clandestine art of reclaiming public space is fast turning our city streets into our most relevant galleries.
In the fourth of a continuing series ‘Street Art Trajectory’ on Mojo Junction, we explore street art in Los Angeles. These images were taken in the Arts District of Los Angeles this February, close to the famous viaduct where Grease, Terminator II and countless film-clips have been shot. A point of interest—the top-quality artworks in this particular collection are in close proximity, all within a few blocks of the super-hip Arts District downtown. Also notable is the position of the art on buildings. I purposely shot the space around the artwork to show the immense scale of some of the works.
This is a follow up article to Mojo Junction’s previous feature that introduced My Peace River, a project created in response to the threat of the Site C dam on the Peace River Valley in north-eastern British Columbia. The following is intended to keep readers up to date on the developments, struggles and small triumphs of the Treaty 8 First Nations and local farmers and ranchers as they fight to save Canada’s most endangered river.
Tom Boy Lamps are the latest creative project by Melbourne musician, Rosie Burgess. After many years spent touring the globe with her band, The Rosie Burgess Trio, she has happily settled into a little house with her partner and a conglomerate of cats, children and veggies, and most importantly, a rocking home studio. These days, when she’s not playing gigs, she’s writing lesbian romance fiction and turning drums into lamps.