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Friends of Grampian Stones 2003 Imbolc newsletter Vol.XIV #1

cleopasbe11 — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 10:58:24 +0000

February 2003 IMBOLC FoGS Newsletter volume XIV number 1

Pictish Cross-incised stone – Sacred setting threatened

PICTOPHILES are aware of accepted classification of carved stones of Eastern Scotland into groups denoting a rough time period and sculpting method:

Pictish ‘class I’ for incised carving, roughly dating to AD6-7thCC (some have suggested as early as 5thC) and ‘class II’ dating from Nechtan’s national initiative to convert his people to Christianity in the 8thC.

These stones are usually carved in relief with elaborate decorated panel infill reminiscent of the illuminated manuscript art of the period, notably from anglian Lindisfarne (which influenced Nechtan’s ‘romanizing’ campaign, deliberately separated from that of Iona).

Class III Pictish carved stone of King, Lord and monastic attendant
‘Class III’ stones, usually showing mounted aristocracy plus cross art, are more numerous in Moray and Angus and less evident in Aberdeenshire, where a simpler style of conversion sculpture appears:
the plain incised cross, called ‘class IV’ by Isabel Henderson (‘Early Christian Monuments displaying crosses but no other Ornament’ in Alan Small’s The Picts: a new look at old problems Dundee 1987).
Where Aberdeenshire misses out on mounted horsemen, it certainly makes up in cross-incised ‘pillow-stones’, so called in literature of the time because of the monastic habit of sleeping with head on the cross and sometimes carrying these portable ‘pillows’ on pilgrimages of conversion.

Crosses, both elaborate (rounded terminals) and simply incised, have been found at Fintray, Deer, Monymusk, Botriphnie, Tofthills Clatt, Culsalmond, Aboyne and Dyce. They are an important record of our earliest conversion as a Pictish nation, as well as a reminder of Aberdeenshire’s conservative approach to anything new! The most recently discovered cross-stone, however, found in the wall of an early 19thC steading at Kirkton of Bourtie, adjacent to Bourtie Kirk, 4m from Inverurie (newsletter Vol.XII-4, 2001)appears not to be important enough in the corridors of Historic Scotland to assign it the protection of ‘scheduling’ (private comm. FOGS/HS 2002).

The reason given is that the cross-stone, almost identical to another carved in similar pink granite and embedded in the Kirkyard wall a stone’s throw away, is

‘not in situ’ (HS quote) and ‘best way of preserving the stone is for it to be removed from the steading wall and to be deposited with most local museum.’

While professing to protect our most fragile heritage in situ, it seems the lumbering giant of bureacracy is poised to strike again, with little thought given to the sacred context or to local opinion. It is admittedly true that the ‘class IV’ cross-stones of Inverurie kirkyard disappeared after the Ministry of Works assumed charge of the cemetery post-WWII, but the Bourtie crosses are both embedded in structures associated with and meaningful to the Kirkton and as such are more likely to survive and be appreciated where they are than in a museum drawer.

The situation is marginally complicated by the fact that the steading owner is presently considering an application for planning permission to convert it for dwelling houses, but local planning/heritage (Gordon House, Inverurie) are well aware of its significance and are meticulous and dependable on ‘delicate’ issues.

Local MP/MSPs are investigating the illogical manipulation of stones of ‘national importance’ by HS, who also unfortunately have power over buildings (to ‘list’ or not to list).

Pictish and early-mediaeval historians such as Lloyd Laing and Nigel Pennick have written deploring this cavalier attitude by a government department, and magazines like Pictish Arts/ Northern Earth have featured the threat to the stone in recent editions.

However, if we do not stand up for our own heritage locally, a fate may befall it similar to that of the Pictish stones of Dyce (still in HS vault, unlikely to be returned until money is found to do up St Fergus church, Dyce).

As it stands, a ‘catch-22’ situation exists: because the stone has not been ‘scheduled’, HS has no power to remove it; but because it is not protected by ‘scheduling’, a non-heritage-minded councillor in committee is free to overrule planning for economic gain. May we ask those of you who scan local news to keep this little stone firmly in the forefront of your awareness and either write to planners at the appropriate time and/or write to your MP/MSP asking for a change in legislation at government level. Thank you.
FOGS ©MCY2003

Sixth Dark Age Conference
THERE IS still time to register for the 6th Day Conference in this series to be held 22 February 2003 in the Purdie building University of St Andrews: ‘Landscape & Environment in Dark Age Scotland’, chair Barbara Crawford; send cheque (£15, conc.£12) to Dark Age Studies at Dept. of Medieval History, 71 South Street, St.Andrews KY16 9AL

Venus, Jupiter as ‘morning stars’
WHILE scanning the heavens, as circle-watchers do, we are currently blessed with Jupiter as the brightest orb in the night sky; but while presently at its closest to earth (even with smallest telescope, its belts & 4 largest moons visible), the planet seems still more beautiful in pre-dawn sky when it is joined by the rising Venus (SE, with Jupiter setting in W).

‘Crop Circle’ still there
FOLLOWING equinox item (VolXIII-3) on the man-made bale circle, it is pleasing to know both farmer Peddie and NE weather are cooperating in maintaining its position on this wild and exposed slope [NJ 801 249]. As a sculpture and reminder of how the original recumbent stone circle may have looked, its bales will remain until July when decisions to plant oil-seed rape will be made.

Congratulations to Meyn Mamvro

Meyn Mamvro magazine published since 1986
SISTER stones-loving organization Meyn Mamvro, who take care of business in Cornwall and have been instrumental in putting pressure on authorities to do a better job with sacred stones in the SW, have reached their 50th issue. We commend them on their work of 16 years. http://www.meynmamvro.co.uk/

Recommended Books
OCCASIONALLY we suggest titles from a list of recent publications: the following are recommended by our book reviewers:

Spynie Palace and the Bishops of Moray : history, architecture & archaeology by John Lewis & Denys Pringle 2002 ISBN 0-903903-21-0
Aberdeen: an in-depth view of the city’s past by Alison Cameron & Judith Stones 2001 ISBN0903-903-19-9 (both above are Soc.Antiqs monographs)
The Heirs of King Verica: culture & politics in Roman Britain by Martin Henig, Tempus 2002 ISBN 0-7524-1960-9.
Particularly interesting is his cultural commentary on Agricola, Mons Graupius (not a war historian).

Elphinstone lecture
MEMBERS may be interested in a contribution to the Elphinstone Institute’s programme for 2003 to be held in the Regent Lecture Theatre, University of Aberdeen: 18 February, 7:30pm Dr Emily Lyle of School of Scottish Studies Univ Edinburgh ‘The Guidman’s Craft & other special Places & Times’ £2.

WNYC-FM 93.9

max fumagalli — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 02:00:07 +0000

Era da molto che non mi trovavo a sentire la radio di sera, non in macchina viaggiando, ma scegliendo proprio la radio come compagna di viaggio verso morfeo.

Ecco mi trovo qui nella mia camera, con una bella vista sull’Upper West Side, vedo la in fondo le luci dell’Empire che domina sul sonno dei suoi cittadini. C’è un vento molto forte, lo si sente fischiare e non mi capita di essere al 16esimo piano e gustarmi tutto ciò.

Mi sono imbattuto in due stazioni, la 93.9 del titolo e la 104.3, due radio che trasmettono rock, per ormai posso dirlo, quei simpatici quasi quarantenni che non si sentono vinti dal tempo che passa

Sulla 93.9 c’è Brian Lehrer che parla ed intervista il regista Michael Moore, parlano del thangiving day, della mayflower ed di altro ancora. Sulla 104.3 invece rock, hanno appena finito gli stones di suonare, o come dicevano una volta di urlare nel microfono. Beh vi dico è rilassante, sto qui al mio mac con una tazza di caffè fumante, la radio che mi tiene compagnia e girandomi una bellissima skyline…

Sono passati il Thanksgiving Day e il blackfriday, sono iniziate le corse al regalo di natale, qui sentito più che mai.. ora a capofitto nello studio/lavoro fino a martedì ore 7.00pm, a quest’ora verrà acceso l’albero del Rockefeller Center, allora si che sarà NATALE

Never Enough Water

47whitebuffalo — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 01:11:22 +0000

More Line Creek

I "shopped" for rocks, antlers, feathers & twigs for all of YOU on Black Friday

centria — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 00:46:28 +0000

Let's pass the basket around first.

Dear Friends, Black Friday has come and (almost) gone. We’ve all decided to give natural items for the holiday this year, haven’t we? Especially for our virtual friends. Because most of us only know each other in cyber-realms, we shall have to exchange cyber-gifts. This avoids the prohibitive cost of mailing. Please sit down at your computer and prepare to open your gift. I suppose you can have more than one. You don’t even have to wait for the holidays. Please be considerate of the other cyber-recipients, though.

I shopped for gifts for all of you today. Oh my, there are too many of you to name with insulting at least dozens of you. But I am going to throw out some names at the top of my head. (All of the names not mentioned are at the bottom of my head, which doesn’t mean I love you less, it just means that for some reason you were waiting patiently at the bottom of the head and didn’t funnel out first.)

So here are gifts for the Susans, Cindy, Gerry, the Amys, Joanne, Dale, Kiah, Christopher, Craig, the many Jessicas, fountainpen, Gigi, Sybil, Emma, Julia, Pamela, Sandy, Christine, Carla, the Dawns, Deborah, Jen, Karen, Melinda, Catherine, Yellow Bells, Christie, Scot, Tim, Mom, Dad, Georgia Mom, Kim, Janet, Laurie, Raven, H. Forward, Mrs. Uhdd, Reggie, Maunderer, Kath, Bree, Nature Loving Super Mama, Iris, Tina, Doris, Margo, Nancy…AND IF I’VE MISSED ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS A PRESENT PLEASE GIVE A HOLLER AND YOU CAN CLAIM YOUR VIRTUAL GIFT TOO! (oh and all you unknown blog readers…please…take a gift. I am so thankful for all of you for stopping to read, even though we might never even have “officially” met in this virtual or earthly world.)

A sweet little white feather for all of you who like feathers

Of course this was all Sahlah’s idea. As I posted yesterday, she got the brilliant idea that we should shop for rocks and feathers and twigs and such on Black Friday for all our blog readers.

If we meet face-to-face on the street I will give you a real rock. I swear it. I will carry around that basket of stones in my car until the Solstice. However, I’m afraid that there’s only a handful of you within shouting distance. So the rest of you must be satisfied with virtual gifts. As we’ve only had virtual acquaintance, I’m sure you won’t be dismayed or disappointed.

A special antler for anyone who will treasure it.

These are some of my prized possessions and gifts from the woods. But I’m willing to give them away to you in spirit, because I know you will honor them. You readers, I can tell, share a deep love for the earth, for the blessings of the land, for the abundance which surrounds us everywhere.

This is one of the most precious gifts I could give you. Do you know why?

Rocks, feathers, pieces of woods, antlers, sticks.

As precious as Nintendos, computers (hmmm?), cell phones, iPods?

Stone on stone

In the above virtual stone gift you could have one rock or both. It’s up to you. It’s kind of hard to separate them in the virtual world, though.

Your final choice: a twig that really is a magic wand. (shhhhh....)

OK, tomorrow I really do have to hit a few stores for a few small gifts. I’m not a big shopper. (Can you tell? Maybe I could just shop virtually from now on. Tell the relatives, “Just log in on-line and you can see a picture of my gift for you.” Hmmm, wonder how far that one would go?)

Hope all of the rest of you had fun on your Black Friday shopping. Enjoy your gifts!

Interesting/Pointless/funny signs part 1

nicki1323 — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 21:43:06 +0000

Ok, so I was on Twitter, and there was a trending topic of pointless signs. This gave me an idea to go around collecting amazing signs and to put them in a two part post for all my readers. So I found them, and here they are along with my comments to each of them.

is rain supposed to be dry?

wait..warthogs?

my car will be fine though...

my car is supposed to work underwater thought

good luck figuring it out

I won't trespass on this property

it is a traffic light tree!

But I wanted to jump in the toxic waste!

this makes me want to throw a stone at it

haha wow

wow...

only in America

is this person dislexic?

where is the snow here?

I hope that people understand this sign

what do I need to obey?

isn't the bridge being out more important?

which sign do I follow?

we need a sign to let us know about a sign?

so if you need access, then you can get through?

dog
really? I couldn't tell

Parking for a drive through pharmacy?

penguines? are they the ones from Madagascar?

it is the other left?

I thought it was purple!

which one do I follow?

which way is the one way?

haha nice

so..if nothing happened then why is there a plaque

What's the difference between a rock and a stone?

theblogreallyaboutnothing — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 05:26:19 +0000

Also, why are there so many words for the most common of geological formations? Such as pebbles; couldn’t we just call them tiny stones or rocks? Or, perhaps the number of words there are for stones and rocks comes from society’s dissatisfaction with all the names. In that case, could we call all stones & rocks ‘Steven’? Wouldn’t the world be a lot simpler, and possibly funnier, if you could say: ‘Wait a sec, I’ve got a Steven in my shoe.’

Os Infiltrados: A (in) Justiça de Scorsese

Paulo do Valle — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 04:39:39 +0000

Grande elenco e roteiro agitado são os pontos fortes do filme de Scorsese

Por Paulo do Valle

“Um bom filme começa pelo seu elenco”. Se Levarmos em conta essa frase, Os Infiltrados pode ser considerado um excelente filme só pelo seu time de atores: Jack Nicholson, Leo DiCaprio, Matt Damon e a frieza de Mark Wahlberg fazem desse filme uma sangrenta obra de arte do Século XXI. Tudo isso somado à genialidade do diretor Martin Scorsese, o ex- injustiçado do Oscar, que graças a essa obra teve sua redenção e levou a estatueta de melhor filme para sua estante.

Frank Costello (Nicholson), é um típico mafioso dos tempos atuais. Irlandês vivendo em Boston (USA), Costello praticamente comanda o crime organizado da cidade. Com isso se torna inimigo número um da policia estadual. É ai que começa o jogo de gato e rato.

Querendo estar sempre um passo à frente da lei, o mafioso infiltra seu pupilo Colin Sullivan (Damon) dentro da policia. Por ter um ótimo desempenho e ser acima de qualquer suspeita, o rapaz sobe rápido de cargo e logo se encontra dentro da unidade de investigações especiais, que é justamente onde se encontra o caso de Frank Costello. Mas o que eles não contavam é que existe o outro lado da moeda (aí sim, fomos surpreendidos novamente), é quando entra o desacreditado Billy Costigan (DiCaprio), sem muito destaque na polícia e uma família com o nome sujo na praça, o rapaz é submetido a ser o infiltrado do lado policial no mundo do crime. Para que isso ocorra de uma forma perfeita, Costigan é dado como expulso da polícia e preso. O segredo é mantido a sete chaves pelos policiais Digman (Wahlberg) e seu superior Capitão Queenan (Martin Sheen), que são os líderes da operação para prender Costello. Não demora muito para que o rapaz consiga entrar no mundo do crime. Graças ao seu primo, um traficante pequeno, Costigan é introduzido ao submundo e rapidamente chega a Costello (em uma sequência que dói até em quem está assistindo, o mafioso, tenta pela dor física, descobrir se Costigan é um infiltrado da polícia). Assim, ambos os lados percebem a existência de informantes agindo por ali. Com isso, o filme torna-se eletrizante, chegando muitas vezes beirar o imprevisível.

A vida dos dois rapazes é cheia de coincidências e cruzamentos. Uma delas (inútil aos olhos do filme) , Sullivan e Costigan são apaixonados pela mesma mulher, a psicóloga da policia Madolyn (Vera Farmiga). O chifre no caso fica por conta do personagem de Damon. Em uma sequência de tirar o fôlego, Billy consegue descobrir onde Costello vai encontrar-se com o seu informante. Chegando ao local (pasmem, um cinema pornô), Costigan consegue encontrar os dois, mas não consegue ver a cara do outro infiltrado que, ao perceber que está sendo seguido, foge dando sequência a uma ótima cena do filme. Até o seu final o filme reserva boas emoções e surpresas para quem o assiste.

Com um desfecho surpreendente, é um ótimo exemplo do ditado ‘’ Jogar merda no ventilador’’. Scorsese apostou principalmente na força de seus protagonistas. Em mais uma atuação típica de Nicholson, beirando o sinistro e o cômico (assim como em Batman e O Iluminado) . E principalmente em DiCaprio, seu queridinho. Vale ressaltar também a excelente atuação de Mark Wahlberg, que mesmo não sendo um dos protagonistas, da vida à um corrosivo policial de mal com a vida.

Inspirado em Conflitos Internos, um filme policial de Hong Kong. Os Infiltrados pode ser considerado um clássico gangster do Séc XXI que deu a Scorsese (mesmo em meio a protestos a favor de A Pequena Miss Sunshine), um lugar ao sol entre os diretores que já levaram o tão cobiçado Oscar. Além de melhor diretor, levou para casa também como melhor filme, melhor montagem e melhor roteiro adaptado.

Com uma trilha sonora tão violenta quanto o filme ( De Stones passando por Beach boys até chegar na pesada gaita de foles do Dropkick Murphys) Os Infiltrados marca seu nome no cinema gângster mundial.

Os Infiltrados ( The Departed): 2006, USA. Direção: Martin Scorsese. Elenco: Jack Nicholson, Leonardo DiCaprio, Matt Damon, Mark Wahlberg, Martin Sheen, Vera Farmiga. Roteiro: Siu Fai Mak e Felix Chong. Duração: 149 min.

Notas:

Paulo do Valle [7.5] Ronnie Romanini [7.5]

Média parcial: [7.5]

Georgia Guidestones

priestnovykh — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 14:52:22 +0000

Hello Beleivers,

The Georgia Guidestones is a large granite monument in Elbert County, Georgia, USA. A message comprising ten guides is inscribed on the structure in eight modern languages, and a shorter message is inscribed at the top of the structure in four ancient languages’ scripts: Babylonian, Classical Greek, Sanskrit, and Egyptian hieroglyphs.

The structure is sometimes referred to as an “American Stonehenge“, though in comparison to the massive plinths of Stonehenge and the empty space of Salisbury plain surrounding that monument, the Guidestones are of a noticeably smaller scale.

The monument is almost 20 feet (6.1 m) tall, and made from six granite slabs weighing more than 240,000 pounds (110,000 kg) in all. One slab stands in the center, with four arranged around it. A capstone lies on top of the five slabs, which are astronomically aligned. An additional stone tablet, which is set in the ground a short distance to the west of the structure, provides some notes on the history and purpose of the Guidestones.

In June 1979, an unknown person or persons under the pseudonym R. C. Christian hired Elberton Granite Finishing Company to build the structure.^[2] One popular hypothesis is that the author pseudonym may be a tribute to the legendary 14th-century founder of Rosicrucianism, Christian Rosenkreuz.

A message consisting of a set of ten guidelines or principles is engraved on the Georgia Guidestones in eight different languages, one language on each face of the four large upright stones. Moving clockwise around the structure from due north, these languages are: English, Spanish, Swahili, Hindi, Hebrew, Arabic, Chinese, and Russian.

Maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature.

Guide reproduction wisely – improving fitness and diversity.

Unite humanity with a living new language.

Rule passion – faith – tradition – and all things with tempered reason.

Protect people and nations with fair laws and just courts.

Let all nations rule internally resolving external disputes in a world court.

Avoid petty laws and useless officials.

Balance personal rights with social duties.

Prize truth – beauty – love – seeking harmony with the infinite.

Be not a cancer on the earth – Leave room for nature – Leave room for nature.

A few feet to the west of the artifact, an additional granite ledger has been set level with the ground. This tablet identifies the structure and the languages used on it, lists various facts about the size, weight, and astronomical features of the stones, the date it was installed, and the sponsors of the project. It also speaks of a time capsule buried under the tablet, but the positions on the stone reserved for filling in the dates on which the capsule was buried and is to be opened are missing, so it is not clear whether the time capsule was ever put in place. Each side of the tablet is perpendicular to one of the cardinal directions, and is inscribed so that the northern edge is the “top” of the inscription.

The complete text of the explanatory tablet is detailed below. The accompanying image shows the overall layout. The tablet is somewhat inconsistent with respect to punctuation, and also misspells “pseudonym”. The original spelling, punctuation, and line breaks in the text have been preserved in the transcription which follows.

At the center of each tablet edge is a small circle, each containing a letter representing the appropriate compass direction (N, S, E, W).

Thanks for sharing!

Pebbles at Whiteford (3)

winderjssc — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 00:05:37 +0000

These pebbles were all photographed within a few metres of each other on the beach at Whiteford Point, Gower. A relatively small selection showing a wide variety of shape, colour, texture, pattern and composition. There are limestones, sandstones, conglomerates, and fossils. Ovals, triangles, rectangles and boot-shapes! Red, yellow, orange, brown, buff, grey and blue-grey. Rusty patterns made by the inclusion of iron minerals within the stone. Patterns made by an assortment of rock types of different sizes cemented together. Designs formed by the inclusion of fossil corals. Patterns made by quartz veins in the mother rock. Pebbles derived from local rocks like Old Red Devonian sandstone, Carboniferous limestone, Millstone Grit and Coal Measures. Pebbles delivered to the Point from much further afield courtesy of an ice sheet.

© Jessica Winder and Jessica’s Nature Blog, 2009. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material, including both text and photographs, without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Jessica Winder and Jessica’s Nature Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Photographs in this blog are copyright property of Jessica Winder with all rights reserved

Silver Jewellery Creating .... Getting Started ~ Nova Jewellery Thailand

tribalstonesjewellery — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 23:50:07 +0000

Well, over a year ago while we were living in Thailand for a while I studied Silver Jewellery making at Nova Jewellery Collection on Tapae Road in Chiang Mai Thailand. Partly because I absolutely love silver jewellery, there is something very ancient and seems sacred and somehow tribal….. perhaps all the different cultures who have used silver over the recorded history of art and humans. The other reason was that I was scared and fearful of failure, intimidated by the use of the torch and red hot heat and the precision of the art of it all. So, all very good reasons to jump in and just do it! With my husband Ralph giving me gentle nudges and encouragement off I went to the silver studio at Nova, with much trepidation and excitement a good recipe for creating.

As I enjoy design in so many forms, with my background in Interior Design, and exploration of multimedia art projects… I pulled into play my passion for beauty and my Buddhist meditation techniques on staying in the present moment. Our approximate three months studying Vipassana Insight Meditation at Wat Ram Poeng and Wat Chom Tong turned out to be some of the most challenging times of my life and the most rewarding life satisfying gifts ever! Being in Thailand with it’s heart centered people, tropical beauty and Buddhist beliefs was a very special place to challenge my self doubts….. and dive in I did!

I spent thirteen day classes with a silver master, Nugoon and his beautiful assistant Junko, and my knowledge, experience and joy increased by leaps and bounds as I finished each new project I ventured on. The Nova Silver Studio has the ultimate in silver equipment and is set down one of the enchanting lanes off Tapae Road. I had a lovely walk exploring lunch options and enjoyed delicious adventures daily, where I regaled Ralph with the current inspiration or ‘uh-oh’ topic. I decided before I began that I would document this as best as I could so that when I get home to Canada I would be able to set up my own wee studio and begin exploring my newborn passion in silver. So I took notes and photographed every step along each project, and I’m so happy I did as now I have good refresher information and visual reminders of what I did.

When in doubt as to what to design I resort to my favorite image ‘Grizzly Bear Claw’ which resides in my Ojibway blood. Bear is also our family animal so bear is always a strong and sacred friend for me. The Grizzly Bear Pendant I created as my first project turned out quite lovely and I wear it constantly with my pride and joy! My next project design comes from my love of the Buddhist philosophy and the Lotus Flower, which rise up from the mud everywhere….. so the Lotus Flower feeds my passion for beauty and I played with the texturing techniques and learned so much! You know you are living your passion when time drops away and only the experience in front of you is beating in your heart. I was in heaven in paradise!

Let me show you some of the photos of the projects in various stages…. so often I said to myself, ‘well, this is ruined’… only to proceed to the next step and it would magically evolve ….. it really is alchemy!

Grizzly Bear Claw (2 in wide x 2-1/2 in ht) & Lotus Flower (2-1/2 in wide x 2 in ht) Pendants

Lotus Flower Pendant ~ Texturing Explorations

Lotus Flower Pendant ~ Creating Three Dimensional Textures

Lotus Flower Pendant completed

Lotus Flowers of Thailand

Nova Jewellery Silver Studio

Master Silver Instructor - Nugoon & Lovely Junko, Assistant

Ralph's Silver & Lapiz ~ Birthday Cuff

Ralph's Silver & Lapiz Cuff ~ work in progress

Ralph's Cuff ~ filing inside edges after cutting out opening

Ralph's Silver & Lapiz Cuff ~ work in progress

Ralph's Cuff ~ creating bezel for Lapiz feature piece

Ralph's Cuff ~ after Alum treatment .... looks ruined!

Ralph's Cuff ~ Lapiz in bezel mounted on Cuff finishing touches

Ralph's Silver Cuff ~ Finished... Shining & Sparkling ... like magic!

Ankle Bracelet ~ Two solid silver pieces soldered together

Ankle Bracelet ~ work in progress finishing bezel

Silver Lotus Flower Pendant, Lapiz Pendant, Ankle Bracelet & Ralph's Cuff (1-1/4 in width) & Earings

Tibetan Turquoise, Red Coral, Lapiz Lazule ~ My Semi-precious Treasures

Fire Dancer on Beach at Koh Lanta Yai ~ Spectacular Fire an Inspiration!

Well, I hope you have enjoyed a glimpse into my first experiences with Fire & Silver…. it was an incredible journey of passionate expression of inner visions! If you are in Chiang Mai Thailand, Nova Silver Jewellery is an amazing studio to study with!

1

huth — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 20:41:06 +0000

Some Girls

punktpunkt — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 17:33:55 +0000

Ibland går det över styr.

Jag måste börja med att fastställa att jag nog går i den duktigaste och finaste högstadieklass som någonsin existerat. Tror jag iallafall, och de tror nog resten av mina klasskamrater (bra ord, bra ord!) också. När vi ska vara tysta så är vi det, och då verkligen tysta. Man kan höra en poesisamling falla. Och när vi ska diskutera så gör vi det, och då engagerat (om inte passionerat) som få. På våra klassfester så leker vi tjuv och polis tills vi faller ihop av trötthet, och alla lärare är förhållandevis kära i (delar av) oss.

Men på syslöjdslektionerna blir vi (vi och vi, snarare en majoritet av oss. Så ta inte åt er) förvandlade, förändrade, förskräckliga! Jag tänker inte nämna några namn, men några beter sig som att ett IG bara skulle underlätta för dem i slutet av terminen…! De skriker och bråkar, går ifrån klassrummet mitt i lektionen och är allmänt dumma i sina stora, fula huvuden. Idag, när vår lärare hade skrikit på dem i exakt två timmar och femtio minuter, så fick hon nog och körde ut varenda elev ur klassrummet. Medan vi tog på oss skorna så såg vi att hon stod i fönstret och grät. På riktigt. Med blöta, långsamma tårar. Sedan var hon helt rödmosig i ansiktet och jag fick dåligt samvete trots att jag hade suttit snällt på min plats hela lektionen.

Jag har en nästan obehaglig respekt för lärare. De är vuxna, förhoppningsvis intelligenta och håller ovarsamt min framtid i sina händer. Och fattigdom betyder okunskap, visste ni om det?

Jag lyssnar på Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard och funderar över män (i bemärkelsen människor) som var före sin tid. Det var inte många som skrev om tonårig homosexuell kärlek 1972. Jag är imponerad, Paul Simon.

Ack, skivomslag som detta tillverkas inte längre. Skamligt.

Looking into other people's gardens

meanmagenta — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 12:08:26 +0000

"The Plane"

lynsey moseman — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 04:12:33 +0000

1-Revelations

I was running. No, what I was doing was more like gliding. There was no sensation of the earth beneath my barren feet, nor the thick humid air whipping angrily at my face and exposed skin. I should have goose bumps, my teeth should be chattering, threatening to break; my feet should be raw from their contact with the tough, uneven earth.

Where was I? I knew there were mountains to my right, and a dark ominous ocean to my left, but I could visually see neither. I could tell the moon was a thick crescent, high in the sky with all the stars visible to my naked eyes, but I couldn’t see them.

Forcing myself to stop, I looked down to search my hands, desperately trying to see something that was anchored, something that couldn’t be distorted so instantly. They were glowing in the light, beautiful and unscarred, with nails perfectly polished and even.

I was dreaming. I must be dreaming. I knew that my hands were scarred, and that my nails were uneven and never polished. That’s when I found the muscle power to examine the rest of my features; I was in an old tattered pair of plaid red boxers and a faded black spaghetti strap tank top, but these belonged to me. I studied my face with the beautiful hands that I knew weren’t mine; my piercings were gone, as were the plugs in my ear lobes and the dreads I called my hair, all replaced by smooth untarnished skin and long silky curls. I was completely pure; I wasn’t even wearing the glasses that, on a regular basis, I so desperately needed if I wanted to stay alive.

These new revelations gave me the authority to inquire about my surroundings. In front of me, and behind, stretching for as long as I was capable of seeing, a rocky grey beach stretched on, gloomy in the cheerful glow of moonlight. Turning to my right, with scrutinizing eyes, they were much more beautiful and familiar, these mountains.

I knew them intimately, and I instantly became crushed by a thousand emotions, spanning a thousand years. They pushed me to a tearful kneel on the sharp white rocks. I was shaking; the tears were running at an enormous and angry speed. It was too much to take on, too much to feel for such a small-untouched body. They had no mercy! Why wouldn’t they stop? I couldn’t take anymore; it was all crushing my energy and existence into a body of dust. Hitting the ground, I screamed repentant, but soundless words. I became crazed at the sight of blood that was not mine, pure and such an innocent bystander to this disquieting wrath. Painting these silent spectators, these white, sickeningly sharp rocks, red with innocence. They didn’t deserve it; they were the thirsty eyes of the enormous mountains, the tongues of rich and spoiled children.

Then I heard it. I was immediately silent, red with defeat and anger, blood and tears. My ears strained to hear it again, but minutes passed and there were no sounds known to me but the thrum of the waves at my back, and my ragged breaths in synchronization with the breaks.

Becoming instantly aware of a presence looming over me, my breathing stopped. I slowly moved from my bloodied knees and hands, to stand weakly on that I did not recognize. Was this the ocean now? Ready for its turn of torture? This body didn’t deserve such beatings, this body had done nothing, had made not one sin, nor a single self-infliction. I wouldn’t stand for this injustice a second longer.

“Take me. Ignore this beautiful body, and torture me. This body has done nothing.” I was shocked when the rough whisper came from my mouth. I had expected silence.

And there it was again, that light airy chuckle, disgustingly delightful. Though it was at my ear this time I was no longer surprised by it, I was intimidated. I kept my eyes low, and my body tense, waiting for the imminent persecutions to come.

“Helena Gala Aurelia Rhode,” the musical, tenor voice started, “I must say this version of you is… quite agreeable.” The feeling of eyes taking in every bit of my appearance sickened me.

So, this body is me? Did this mean that I wasn’t dreaming? Was I… No. I couldn’t think the word, it was impossible, and it simply couldn’t be true. I’m merely a hostage to this dream. I’ll wake up.

But my quick reassurances faltered, and I worried if I really would. I needed answers, and now.

“Who, who are you?” I stuttered, uncomfortable with the light alto my voice had become.

“Eamon Ranost Colgan, at your service,” the cheerful voice replied. In my line of eyesight, there were two, large bare feet, connected to two, large, muscular legs.

I took in my company, bit by bit. The skin was a pale cream, smooth and perfect, garnished by tattered red plaid boxers and a faded black tank. The skin was chiseled and hard, large and glowing in the moonlight. The face was beautiful, with Romanesque features; dark eyes, shoulder length, dark curly hair and thick lashes. The lips were curved in laughter over two rows of perfect teeth, accompanying the brown eyes full of amusement.

I stared at Eamon’s face, mesmerized by his disgusting beauty. I must have had quite an expression on my face, for he laughed, an obnoxiously booming, yet delightfully musical sound. I shook my head, breaking out of my tenseness. I still needed answers.

Gazing in the laughing eyes, I asked, “What is this place?”

He chuckled, “You know this place.” He glanced around with a confusing expression, one I could only read as smugness, with a complex and dark gaze, “You know it quite well actually,” he added dimly.

I broke his gaze, and took in my surroundings once more. I did know them, I just didn’t know how, or when, or where for that matter. I could not remember previous dreams with similar seclusions, or vacations with landscapes comparable. In fact, when I tried to think about anything I should have remembered, I didn’t remember anything at all. My life was slipping from my memory, each second I tried to remember it. Bit and pieces fluttered by in incoherent trains of thought, then immediately drifted away.

Eamon chuckled— this loathsome act ripping me from my broken thoughts. I was growing tired of his mocking. “You don’t know, do you? C’mon, think!” he said.

I truly couldn’t grasp my familiarity of this place.

Then it hit me. I had been here many of times, hundreds of times even. But it was different now. “I’m not dreaming,” I said, monotone in my bleak comprehension.

He nodded, proud, though less cheerful this time, “No, this is not a dream.”

So, that was that.

I was dead.

I was suddenly very nauseous— this revelation was hard to swallow, but I was too shocked to collapse like I so wished to do. There were only two alternatives to the name of this place, and I had a hard time thinking of either.

I tried to choke out my most pressing question, but all I could muster was, “Is, is this, this…”

He wasn’t smiling now, “This isn’t heaven.”

I wanted to cry, but I wasn’t really surprised. When I looked back at him, I was attacked by a new question, “Then why, who…”

He smiled a tired smile, “I’m not your best friend, nor am I your guardian. I…” He scowled, clenching his teeth, unable to finish his sentence.

So, there was a reason behind my disgust of him, no matter if it was mild at the moment. It was supposed to get worse.

Much worse.

“I’m your worst enemy, Helena. The one person that would drive you crazy for eternity,” he said dryly.

I looked away to the rocks below my feet, swallowing; my throat was dry. Would I need to drink something, despite being dead? Would I need to eat, sleep, or go to the bathroom for that matter?

But I was confused. “Why were you chosen to be,” I stopped, trying to find the right words, “the one to be with me forever? Did I know you in… my life?” I was sure I hadn’t, he didn’t spark any memory to me. I looked at his pain provoking face with scrutinizing eyes, searching for awareness— a light bulb to shoot from his skull, blinking the information. But, I found nothing.

His eyes narrowed, “I didn’t know you in life, no–”

I cut him off, repeating myself, “But why were you cho–”

“I was given flashes of the future, of meeting you,” he continued, motioning towards me, “Information of my mate, if you will. For me it’s only been minutes, but I know it’s been quite a long time…” He sighed, and solemnly looked down. I thought he wouldn’t answer my other question, but before I could repeat myself again, he continued in a quieter, less dignified voice, “I was chosen, more or less, to be with you because of our… compatibility,” he spat the word, with a disgusted look, as though it had left a repulsive after-taste on his tongue.

I rather liked his small moment of weakness; nothing so extremely beautiful could be so unwavering. And, that got me to thinking…

“Do I disgust you, like…?” I was suddenly very shy. Sickeningly shy; I could feel the heat, high on my cheeks, burning like spotlights.

“Like I do you?” He finished for me. He swallowed, shaking his head, continuing carefully, “No. On the contrary, Helena,” he stared at my eyes with an intensity that made me uncomfortable, enough so I shied away from them, finding solace in the rocks again, “No one, alive or dead could ever adore you more than I.”

I was suddenly fuming, insanely angry; an emotion beyond anything I knew was humanly possible. I felt the rage from this comprehension permeating through every molecule in my body. My hands balled into fist, my breathing became shallow, and I suddenly felt so hot my small amount of clothes felt like winter pants and jacket, thick and enormously heavy.

I didn’t realize what I was doing until I had the sharp, white shard clutched tightly in my left hand.

I was screaming. I wanted to stab the mountains, I wanted to stab the ground and I most wanted to hurt Eamon, so he would leave, so I wouldn’t have to see his face or hear him speak.

And then I was throwing the rocks at him. Picking them up faster than I thought I was ever capable of, faster than I knew it was possible to stop myself.

I couldn’t feel sorry at this moment, for the gasps of pain, the bruises forming and the slowly bleeding wounds. He was standing there taking my punishment, like he wanted it. So, I gave it to him; all of my anger I took out on him, he didn’t deserve it, but I didn’t care, I hated him. And nothing mattered more in this very moment than that primal disgust, and rage. It felt too good to discontinue.

But this primeval pleasure soon turned to a grisly pain and inward revulsion.

My screaming soon turned to violent sobs, and I crash-landed on the jagged stones, shaking— I was convulsing, every inch of me was in pain. I hated every bit of everything that I could see, feel, and hear. I hated these hungry teeth beneath me biting into my unprotected skin, I hated the ocean behind me that I couldn’t see; I hated Eamon for his existence and his affection I knew nothing of, and I hated, hated, those fucking mountains.

Somehow they were the reason behind everything. My death, my sordid manner, my confusingly frustrating hate filled emotions and thoughts. What was wrong with me?

And what was that smell; that disgustingly warm, and overly fragrant, and suffocating, yet delightful smell? Its power made me shake more violent than before. My sobs turned into ravenous howling, and every inch of skin burned, worse than the feeling of being weighed down by winter clothes. It was as if I were stuck in an oven, an oven that reached well beyond a thousand degree’s.

And, the mountains were no longer at fault; it was that stench behind every suffering. But in this insight, I became aware of the fact that I wanted that sour bouquet, whatever it was. It overtook my existence; in the second I acknowledged my yearning for it. This devil knew every weakness I had, every flaw to my mind, even the few blemishes of this faultless and angelic body.

I half recognized Eamon’s approach; I half realized what I was instinctually doing, until it was too late.

Eamon’s limp body was cradled in my arms, and my mouth was…

My god what am I? I’m a monster! The screams I could not define as my own, floated from the mouth that I could not admit was mine. I jumped to my feet letting the corpse fall heavily onto the pitiless teeth, staring, terrified and the wound my mouth had been around just seconds before.

So, this was hell.

2- Repetitions

And, I was running again. But I knew why this time.

Dragon's blood seeps into my den

Pixie Charms — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 22:19:10 +0000

Having abandoned my previous project on medical grounds – or at least, postponed it until I get my hands on some elastic I can actually see – I’ve focused on making bracelets and necklaces with wire instead. Much nicer on my eyes, and more durable to boot.

In an ideal world, I’d have magically deep pockets and I’d always work with semi-precious stones and solid silver, but sadly, the world is less than ideal and I have holes in my worn out pockets. It is, therefore, always a pleasure when I get to indulge.

I love dragon’s blood. This is, of course, partly (mainly?) due to my deeply founded obsession with all things magical. However, it wasn’t the name which first drew me to these wonderful stones. Their colours suck me in. It’s hard to put it into words, but it’s as though there’s a potion churning and bubbling under the glassy surface. The dark green undertone is set off by swirls of deep red. Magical!

I bought a set of dragon’s blood stones in BDI Jewellery in Bray a few months ago, and I tried putting them together in various styles, but it was only this week that I managed to make a set I was happy with. I threaded the beads into a simple necklace, interspersed with hollow silver plated spheres.

For the clasp and end ring, I used two silver crimps with a small red glass bead in between. For the earrings, I went with a simple approach: silver head pin, looped into a silver ear wire with ball. So here’s the finished product…

Tomorrow, I’ll be working on some charm bracelets. They’re pokey little things, but awfully satisfying when they’re done.

Thanks to www.bdijewellery.com for my supplies.

Stories and Stones…

julie — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 21:51:40 +0000

Just completed a two day storytelling workshop run by Honor Giles and Helen Stewart of Word Of Mouth. It was absolutely grand! Such a lovely group of people and a superb mix of stories told about:

snakes

a clever fool

a teacher-eater

children lost in the woods

Solomon

a talking donkey

words of advice

a sheep-headed girl

a child-eater

a Scottish ghost

a lost car

and a giant.

You had to be there!

And here’s more collages…

mccarthy on life, and the frailty thereof

sethbra — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 21:27:36 +0000

He lay listening to the water drip in the woods. Bedrock, this. The cold and the silence. The ashes of the late world carried on the bleak and temporal winds to and fro in the void. Carried forth and scattered and carried forth again. Everything uncoupled from its shoring. Unsupported in the ashen air. Sustained by a breath, trembling and brief. If only my heart were stone.
~Cormac McCarthy, the road

Stones of Remembrance

donnyhink — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 07:36:48 +0000

Keeping with the blogs about rocks, while having a conversation with someone the other day, I began recalling the story of my grandmother’s conversion. She was a wonderful woman who didn’t come to know Christ until she was 80 years young. I remember how a neighbor came and sat down with her and shared the Good News of Jesus Christ. What a glorious day it was for her and our whole family.

Thinking about that caused me to remember some other great events in my life. I have been so blessed throughout my years to have some great times with family and friends. In the midst of turmoil, it is good to have joyful memories to recall. No matter what happens, I will always have these embedded in my mind.

While certainly not being one who totally understand all of the complexities of the human mind, I’ve come to learn that major events of joy and pain cause a chemical to be released in the brain that in essence burns the experience in. What is so miraculous is that even many years later, you can still remember the smells and sounds of the occurrence. It’s not just confined to the emotional tag either. Many times a sound or a smell can trigger the emotional tag.

In the Old Testament they had sites where they piled some rocks and named the place after the event. They were called stones of remembrance. Everyone around knew what took place there. Some where places of great joy or victory. There were a few places where the memory was not one of happiness but of defeat or mourning.

This got me to thinking….why would you want to remember the bad things? Wouldn’t it be much better to only focus on the happy moments? I for one don’t want to think about the bad things that have happened.

I don’t believe we should focus on or dwell in the times of pain or regret but I do believe it is healthy to visit those places. Just don’t stay there. There is, however, one place of suffering and shame that we could all probably do better by visiting more often….the Cross of Christ. In fact, during the Passover, He broke the bread and gave them drink symbolizing His body and blood. He even said “as often as you do this, do it in remembrance of me.” What happens here is that a horrible act is remembered and because of that joy is birthed within. While I believe in being reverent during communion, there is also something to the joy that erupts within. His sacrifice bought my freedom. His death gave me liberty. His atonement brings me life eternal. For the joy that was before Him, He endured the cross.

I invite you to take some time to remember. Remember the good things. And old song I recall hearing in church asks God to remind me. It says to “roll back the curtains of memories now and then. Show me where You’ve brought me from and where I could’ve been.” Get into the discipline of taking communion at home once in a while. Remember the Cross. Remember the sacrifice. Remember Him.

This I recall to mind, therefore I have hope.
Lamentations 3:21

Rolling Stones

NAMOSCA - Camisetas personalizadas — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 04:41:18 +0000
Valor: R$ 40,00

These Stones Really are Rolling

santosamaru — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 13:12:57 +0000

These Stones Really are Rolling

These extraordinary pictures reveal a bizarre event that is puzzling the science world – rocks that glide across the desert. Amid the eerie silence and the 50C heat of California’s Death Valley these giant boulders appear to move smoothly – and unaided – across the desert.

The rocks, some as heavy as 17 stone, edge along in bizarre, straight-line patterns across the ultra-flat surface of the valley. They can travel more than 350 yards a year.

Scientists believe the phenomenon is caused by a coming together of specific weather conditions. Studies suggest a combination of 90mph winds, ice formations at night and thin layers of wet clay on the surface of the desert all help to push them along.

Photographer Mike Byrne, 40, has spent years documenting the stones’ mysterious movements. As his amazing pictures show these real-life rolling stones leave trails across the sand in places almost untouched by man.

He said: ‘Some of these rocks are as heavy as a person, it is really is strange to imagine them gliding across the desert like this.

‘They must be the original real-life rolling stones, they just keep moving through the sand and I don’t believe anyone has really 100 per cent worked it out yet.

‘Most of the stones are found on an old lake bed, known as the Racetrack Playa, where the ground is particularly flat.

‘It has been documented over the years and it is something very special to witness, although I know climatologists believe the phenomenon could disappear in a few years as the temps continue to rise.

‘One of the strongest theories about what the rocks move is that water rising from beneath the surface of the sand is pushed by the wind creating a surface the rocks can move along.’

Death Valley is the lowest point in the U.S., at 282ft below sea level. It is almost completely flat and holds the record for the second highest temperature ever recorded on earth, a blistering 58C.

In the 1990s a study by a team of scientists lead by Professor John Reid, from Hampshire College, Massachusetts, attempted to explain the rocks’ movement. His study concluded that the rocks may be moved when they become embedded in sheets of ice forming at night on the surface of the sand.

As the sand melts Prof Reid said that the rocks were moved along by the ice and wind, thus forming the patterns.

Để yên-vui-chờ-đợi.

Nguyen K. Do — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 10:41:12 +0000

Để yên-vui-chờ-đợi. (IMG_6235-W1), originally uploaded by Nguyen K. Do.

Eltham, November 2009.
Nguyen K. Do © 2009