photograph by Hedi Slimane
Big Sur Noir
Miraflores, Lima
It was a revelation that was supposed to empty the underworlds, put them to supersonic flight and make us unearthly, disembodied and graveless: wireless listening stations widely dispersed through an inscrutably folded universe of signals and noise. Text and photo by Keefjnak
Florence
Photograph by Dustin Lynn
[Lost Generation] Voyager avec Annemarie Scharzenbach
An overview of the work of traveler, journalist, writer, photographer, Annemarie Scharzenbach, is set to be released as a collaboration publication with the French journal La Quinzaine Littéraire and Louis Vuitton. Annemarie, born in Switzerland in 1908, was an icon of the Lost Generation and the live fast die young ethos of the Weimar Republic, an interwar era of morphine and fast cars. Voyager avec Annemarie Scharzenbach - La Quête du réel is the first in depth look at her work, accompanied by about forty photographs taken by Annemarie herself. The book is set to be released in May. www.quintzaine-litteraire.presse.fr
Can't Buy Me Revolution
Image by Fredrica Duke
Jet Set: Marc Marmel
The idea came to Marc Marmel whilst vacationing in the French Riviera: "There was a time in history when travel was about the journey, not the destination. A time when custom made luggage was a privilege only afforded by the wealthy. A time when luggage traveled to exotic locations by steamship, railroad, and horse drawn carriage." So Marmel, based in Los Angeles, began to design and construct, by hand, one of kind luggage. Beautiful leather bags that undoubtably stand out in large contrast to the ubiquitous and ever so homogeneous black rolling suitcase: the exact opposite of unique. What with rolling sidewalks and flight attendants with an ever changing job title and muffin tops who serve bad coffee, I think soon we'll see a small revolution in the way we travel. Oh lord that blows the wild wind: bring back a time that hearkens back to Pan-Am, luxury ocean liners, and the great discovery of mysterious flora and fauna; all with a gorgeous blond at our sides, a ridiculously tiny unsafe car that reeks of leather and petrol, and a Marc Marmel bag in the trunk. www.marcmarmel.com
Greetings From Lake Champlain
Ice forms on the banks of Lake Champlain in Northern Vermont. A walk along the the old Island Line Causeway, an old abandoned railroad track that used to stretch from Colchester, Vermont to South Hero, Vermont. Trains crossed the causeway from 1901 ro 1961. Ice forms in mysterious machinations over marble and sleeping winter trees. Photography by Oliver Maxwell Kupper © 2011
Picasso the Snake
I'm sitting at JFK airport waiting for a puddle jumper to Burlington, Vermont. Its new year's day. The great year of the Rabbit has begun. In the Vietnamese zodiac, the cat takes the place of the rabbit. I find it incredibly fascinating the transmutation of animal spirits to interpret our human personalities and the age in which we live. Its as if we live vicariously through their mystery, whilst captivated by their obliviousness to their own power and magic. As we enter the year of the Rabbit I think of one the greatest personalities of the 20th century: Pablo Picasso; and his painting entitled Cat Devouring a Bird and a photograph of him holding his pet owl. Pablo Picasso was born in the year of the Snake. That says a lot. Or does it? I believe that the mystical powers of animals to represent cycles, years, epochs and their cosmic associations is more real than we imagine. If in the Chinese Zodiac the Rabbit is interpreted as agile, versatile, abundant, artistic, and compassionate than why can't we hope that in fact our lives in the the new year will be the same. The motto for the year of the Rabbit is "I Retreat." Hard to do in an airport with thousands of frantic, confused, wanderlust travelers. In the Chinese Zodiac each animal has a ruling hour of the day. The rabbit's ruling hours are between 5 and 7 a.m. Sunrise. Its currently half past 6 in the morning Eastern time. Today we are all Rabbits in one strange momentary paroxysm, in the inexorable gravity, the great miasma, always being pulled closer and farther away.
Text by Oliver Maxwell Kupper for Pas Un Autre