Home (troisième partie)

It would take the likes of William Weaver to properly translate these ultra-simple stanzas.  L'Hiver Québécois by Jim Corcoran & Bertrand Gosselin:

J’ai envie d’sortir à soir, c’est l’hiver

J’veux voir tomber tous les flocons de neige

J’ai besoin d’entendre chanter le ruisseau

Sentir le froid pénétrer dans ma peau

Na-na-na-na-na-na

J’arrive du Mexique

Y’a fait chaud là bas

Na-na-na-na-na-na

Maintenant j’veux goûter l’hiver Québécois

J’mets manteau d’fourrure, foulard et mitaines

J’men vais dehors jouer avec mes deux chiens

On va courir et lancer (dancer?) en forêt

On va r’venir ben gelés mais satisfaits

Na-na-na-na-na-na

J’arrive du Mexique

Y’a fait chaud là bas

Na-na-na-na-na-na

Maintenant j’veux goûter l’hiver Québécois

Maintenant j’veux goûter l’hiver Québécois

Maintenant j’veux goûter l’hiver Québécois

Jim Corcoran & Bertrand Gosselin

Fashion Week: Paris the savage

If Milan was cheery and full of exuberant and sophisticated colour, Paris is dark and pagan, a wild beast in the night.

A.F. Vandevorst

Ann Demeulemeester

Gareth Pugh

Isabel Marant

Balmain

Damir Doma

Lanvin (Iamges: Style.com)

Home (deuxième partie)

Ah Miuccia!

Mrs. Prada never fails.

Images: Style.com




 

Home (première partie)

 (my mother's records, sitting in a chair in the sunshine, picnics in the park, the east coast wind, grass in the springtime, the streets of montreal...)

1stDibs-ing

Shoot.  Someone bought this table already.  It would have been such a nice birthday gift for my friend Gregory:

Italian Beidermeier table, signed Magiorelli, c.1828

Jens Quistgaard flatware, Finland, 1967

Chinese latticed doors, Shanxi Province, c.1850

Galvanized table, England, c.1930
This I want.  In front of a window, laden with plants (scented geraniums among them, the spicy kind) with baskets underneath.

Pair gilt-steel lanterns, France, 1940s

What the Dog Saw

Malcolm Gladwell wrote a riveting essay for the New Yorker about the Dog Whisperer ("Cesar Millan and the movements of mastery").  I think this essay is what launched my obsession with CM.  Here is an excerpt from somewhere in the middle.  JonBee is a dog.  Suzi Tortora is a dance-movement psychotherapist.

JonBee was investigating Cesar, squirming nervously. When JonBee got too jumpy, Cesar would correct him, with a tug on the leash. Because Cesar was talking and the correction was so subtle, it was easy to miss. Stop. Rewind. Play. "Do you see how rhythmic it is?" Tortora said. "He pulls. He waits. He pulls. He waits. He pulls. He waits. The phrasing is so lovely. It's predictable. To a dog that is all over the place, he's bringing a rhythm. But it isn't a panicked rhythm. It has a moderate tempo to it. There was room to wander. And it's not attack, attack. It wasn't long and sustained. It was quick and light. I would bet that with dogs like this, where people are so afraid of them being aggressive and so defensive around them, that there is a lot of aggressive strength directed at them. There is no aggression here. He's using strength without it being aggressive."
[...]

"Timing is a big part of Cesar's repertoire," Tortora went on. "His movements right now aren't complex. There aren't a lot of efforts together at one time. His range of movement qualities is limited. Look at how he's narrowing. Now he's enclosing." As JonBee calmed down, Cesar began caressing him. His touch was firm but not aggressive; not so strong as to be abusive and not so light as to be insubstantial and irritating. Using the language of movement—the plainest and most transparent of all languages—Cesar was telling JonBee that he was safe. Now JonBee was lying on his side, mouth relaxed, tongue out. "Look at that, look at the dog's face," Tortora said. This was not defeat; this was relief.

Cesar Millan & pack (including the one missing an eye, see)



Gladwell is a fabulous writer.  And Cesar Millan is the man.