100 years ago today...

Here.

Robert Doisneau was born.

Maybe this is a rather lame admission, but I first encountered the beautiful photo above in what is still one of my favourite movies.

The trailer does it no justice at all.

And as Steve Dunn suggests, love should always be like that photo.

I later saw an exhibition of Doisneau's work at the Side Gallery in Newcastle, and fell even more in love. The Kiss at the Hotel De Ville, cliché as it may nowadays be, is still on my wall.

75 Years Ago...

Here.

Here.

Here.

H.P. Lovecraft died.

"The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind."

200 Years Ago Today... & Some Beautiful Bookshops.

Paris.

It's the bicentenary of the birth of Charles Dickens - and he hasn't been out of print since the 1830s. So, in honour of one of the country's literary greats, and in lieu of my love of reading, I thought I'd share some of the worlds most beautiful bookshops - all taken from this delightful list over on Flavorwire. I'm lucky enough to have visited both the Milan and the Alnwick ones.

Milan.

Beijing.

Alnwick.

66 Years Ago Today...

From here.

Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated. And we remember those who lost their lives there, and in every other Nazi extermination camp across Europe, as well as those who have suffered since, and still suffer, the horrors of genocide around the globe.

We said, "Never Again."

Cambodia.

Bosnia.

Rwanda.

Darfur.

But that is why we have to say it again. Louder.

I swore never to be silent whenever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. - Elie Wiesel, Holocaust Survivor.

A Disposable Camera in Cape Town - Memorials.

A while back I posted some pictures from my trip to South Africa.

I spent some time debating with myself over whether or not to create this second post.

One of the main reasons I started this blog was as a release from the stress and sadness my studies can induce, and to give myself a space dedicated entirely to aesthetics. However, as my course progresses I have begun to consolidate a belief that undertaking a degree in human rights entails a certain kind of world view, and it isn't one that you can just switch off. This is one of the reasons I have decided to share these photos.

When I was in Cape Town, I visited several memorial sites to shootings and killings that occured during the apartheid era. For me, these memorials present a deeply significant intersection between art and human rights, and between aesthetics and grave abuses.

The monument in Langa township, dedicated to the memory of anti-pass law protesters who were killed by the apartheid security forces.

The Amy Biehl memorial in Gugulethu township. A white university student and anti-apartheid activist, she was killed by a group of black male protesters returning from a rally. They were pardoned by the Truth & Reconcillation Commission, Biehl's parents supporting the decision and forgiving her murderers.

The Gugulethu Seven memorial, in Gugulethu township - marking the spot where seven anti-apartheid activists were shot. There used to be plaques with names on, but these were no longer there, possibly stolen to be melted down for money. There was an intense tragic irony to this memorial - glossy marble next to shacks.

The Trojan Horse memorial in Athlone township - dedicated to the memory of three youths (aged 11, 15 and 21), and located at the sight of the ambush where they were killed by security forces. This monument was extremely moving in that it "fit" in its surroundings, and incorporated the original graffiti with the names of the victims.

100 years ago today...

From here.

"The Pole. Yes, but under very different circumstances from those expected."

Jewelry Junkie: Rose Gold & Jet Ring.

(Apologies for my ugly little bitten-down nails. It's a horrible habit I hope to break... I've been trying for years. New Year's Resolution: keep nails painted, as it dissuades me from devouring them).

Remember back in October, when I went to Whitby and wandered around the shops wishing I could afford the wonderful jet jewelry?

What a surprise it was to receive this rose gold & jet ring from my love for Christmas (who had subtly and swiftly purchased it on the same day - after I had been trying on rings and had amused a shop assistant with how small my hands are).

I love jet; it has such an amazing depth to it, and pairs perfectly with rose gold. I always thought I preferred it with silver, but somehow rose gold brings out warm tones in it... And I also enjoy the way this ring looks like an eye.

Whitby jet is actually fossilised monkey-puzzle tree, found in the cliffs and on the moors around the town. It first became popular during the mid 19th century after being favoured by Queen Victoria as a material for mourning jewelry.

This example from here shows how incredibly intricate jet jewelry could be - the interlinked letters on this brooch (c.1850) are highlighted here to show how the pattern actually spells out Victoria.

Next time I visit Whitby, I absolutely want to go to the last remaining Victorian jet workshop in the town.

The Heart of the Great Alone.

In a couple of weeks I'll be flying to Cape Town for a fortnight of field work. I'll have several hours to kill in London before heading to Heathrow, and I'm very excited because I'll be taking advantage of some time in the capital to see The Heart of the Great Alone: Scott, Shackleton & Antarctic Photography, at Buckingham Palace. I booked my tickets this morning, and the previews on the exhibition site have me buzzing.

In the mean time, I'll settle for catching up on Frozen Planet (<3 David Attenborough).

A Long-Awaited Trip to Whitby.

I first read Bram Stoker's Dracula when I was 12; needless to say, I had been wanting to visit Whitby for quite a while. Whitby Abbey & St. Mary's Church were just as atmospheric and amazing as I had always hoped for.

Gravestones eaten away by the sea breezes on the cliff top. If I had to choose a single favourite moment from the whole day, it would be standing among these mysterious and sad stones, looking out over the sea. It was almost surreal, finally being where some of my favourite scenes from Stoker's novel were set.

The Dracula Experience. Which I had heard so much about and was so excited for.

While wonderfully tacky, it was also genuinely scary, thanks to an actor dressed as The Count who leapt out at me from the shadows and left my legs shaking for about half an hour...

I was disappointed that they didn't have any teapots left though (I loved the idea of a Dracula teapot - so incredibly incongruous and ridiculous).

Add to this much wandering through cobbled streets wishing I could afford the amazing jet jewelry, and eating some of the best fish and chips I have ever tasted, as well as typically English moody weather... And you have the fulfillment of many of my wishes.

"We are very near the end..."

This lovely post over at icefloe brought my attention to a recently published book of photographs I absolutely need to posses.

Captain Scott's doomed Antarctic expedition captured my imagination early on, and has held fast ever since. These precious photographs were lost until gathered and published by the great-nephew of a member of the expedition.

We will finally be able to see the actual photographs taken by Scott.

These highlights, taken from here, have my spine tingling.