Portraits of Power (The New Yorker)
Mr. Ahmadinejad.
British photographer Platon, in this interesting multimedia gallery at the New Yorker website, shows some of of portraits with world leaders at the U.N.
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Sochi 2014 Olympic logo | Logo Design Love
The logo for the 2014 Winter Olympics, to be held in Sochi, Russia, was unveiled yesterday, becoming the first Olympic emblem to feature a web address—Sochi2014.ru—as organisers target the digital generation.
7 Super-Sized (And Somewhat Insane, and Mostly Unfinished) Soviet Projects
via mentalfloss.com
The Soviets had no lack of ambition when it came to grand projects. Unfortunately (for them), most of them either died on the drawing board (including the "Palace for the People" shown, which was to be taller than the Empire State Building) or were utter failures (like the Baltic-to-White-Sea canal). More regrettably, hundreds of thousands of political prisoners died during construction of even just the few projects that moved forward. Ambition unbounded by morals is the greatest of all evils.
Music Covers by Alexandre Efimov
Check new updates of Alexandre Efimov on Behance
http://www.behance.net/Gallery/Music-Covers/357954
Alina Nikitina
Alina Nikitina, or ‘Nappkin’ as far as the internet is concerned, is a hit. Her images are crisp and cool, and she seems to keep this lighting theme running through all her images. I found her photographs in a couple of issues of Афиша-Мир (Afisha Mir) magazine, the Monocle of Russia. Just look at that backlighting! Be-autiful! (Flickr; Blog.)
The Lute Player
I am drawn to stories that present the artist as hero, or shero in the case of the Russian folktale I have retold. The fact that the lute player in this story is also a middle-aged woman recognizes maturity and patience as qualities necessary for the fulfilment of a (s)hero's quest. One of the most inspiring quotes I ever read was by a 90 year old woman speaking of her women's group, comprised of other nonogenarians. 'We see ourselves as being role models for the 80 year olds.'
Everybody needs a role model or two. I am blessed with a courageous mother and friends who provide me with an abundance of role models. However, I don't confine my sheros to 'live' women. The 'lute player' in this tale is one of my literary sheros.
The Lute Player
There was once a beautiful and talented young princess who was courted by a handsome and noble young prince. In due course they were married and became King and Queen, and they reigned in peace over the forest lands for one score year or more.
My tale begins with the news of a barbaric ruler who invaded the countries to the north and east of the great forest lands. Though as ruthless as his marauding hordes and intent on conquest as far as the eye could see, the formidable mountain range that skirted the forest lands prevented any immediate plans of attack.
But the king felt the forest lands were vulnerable. When word of the barbarian's exploits reached his ear, he bade the queen take her leave and summoned his advisers to a council of war in his chambers. They debated long into the night and by sunrise, agreed that the only way to stop the barbarians encroaching on their lands, was to amass a great army, and march out to battle.
When the queen heard the plan she spoke against it. But she held no sway over the young men who saw war as an adventure and their fathers who saw it as a duty. Farmers became soldiers downing scythes and donning swords. They rallied under the king's banner, and marched through the forests and across the mountain ranges, until they came to the edge of the sea. Here the two armies met.
It was late spring when the battle began. The air was heavy with the scent of blossoms and blood as both spilt in the fray. The King envisaged a short and victorious battle. His vision could not have been further from the truth.
The barbarians were seasoned fighters, skilled in mortal combat. They descended on the peasant army, slaying them like beasts. Only the King's life was spared. He was taken prisoner and transported to the barbarian's stronghold across the sea.
A year had passed since the king and his army left the forest lands, and still no news of what befell them, reached the queen. During her husband's absence she was kept busy not only with royal duties, but overseeing the management of the village farms. The women of the villages were used to working in the fields, planting and gathering the crops, but with their men away they worked even harder. And it was not a rare sight to see the queen among the people, pitching in to help.
At night she retired to her chambers and, after noting down the food supplies and treasury stores, took out her lute. As a princess she had played at the courts of kings. They were entranced by the nimbleness of her fingers, the sweet clarity of her voice and her angelic beauty. She had plucked her husband's heart strings in this manner. But when she became queen, it was not considered seemly for her to engage in such girlish pastimes as musicianship. The lute was forsaken for the sceptre.
On a whim, the queen opened the chest where her instrument had lain in silence throughout the years of her marriage. She took off its velvet cloth and cradled the lute in her arms, remembering the pleasures it brought in her youth. The queen found comfort in its familiarity and within the time it took for the moon to wax and wane she rediscovered her passion and her proficiency for making it sing. A well played instrument often desires company. But the queen no longer sang the innocent love sonnets of her youth. Her ballads were richer, bolder, earthier, like the timbre of her voice. And no one criticised the queen's music, for she played in the seclusion of her chambers.
On the last full moon in Spring a messenger arrived at the palace, with an urgent dispatch for the queen. It was a ransom note from the king. He demanded that half the treasury's gold be taken to the barbarian, in exchange for his release. The queen wept with relief to know her husband still lived, and sorrow for his terrible plight. But she knew that grief was a luxury she could ill afford. Her husband's freedom was dependent on her action.
The ransom would never reach its destination unless taken by her alone. Gold, especially in large amounts, corrupted the most honest of men. And yet, if she took it herself, the barbarian, who she suspected was not a man of honour, would keep the gold, force her to be one of his wives and keep her husband imprisoned.
As first light approached, the queen had an idea. She took the pair of large shears from their place in the chest and lay them on the dresser in front of her. She sat before her looking glass and stared at her countenance. Worry lines etched upon her brow, dark rings encircling her eyes and drawn down lips. No longer was she a beautiful, young girl. But then a wise woman knows the transience of beauty in the face of Time, and cultivates wisdom in its stead. She held the shears in her hand and said farewell to her crowning glory. Her hair once golden as the sun's first rays, was now streaked with the grey light of dawn. In two strong snips it fell into a lifeless heap upon the floor. She kept cutting until she had cropped it short, in the style of a boy.
She clasped a moth eaten, cloak around her shoulders, slipped on leggings and a pair of calfskin boots, then smeared kohl on her cheeks. She hid the lute under her cloak and stole down the back steps of the palace.
In the guise of a minstrel boy, she traded songs for food, shelter and wagon rides, until eventually she came to a village by the harbour. Here she learned of the dreadful battle the previous spring, and the people's relief as the barbarians were forced to return to another war across the sea. That evening the queen secured a passage aboard a merchant vessel and sailed to the barbarians castle.
Once outside the castle the minstrel boy began to sing. The songs were so poignant that even the birds stopped to listen. Word of the wondrous music soon reached the ears of the barbarian king, who summoned the minstrel boy to entertain him.
That evening the minstrel boy found herself the guest of honour at the king's feast. The king was so taken with the boy's songs of courage and loss, treachery and passion that he bade him stay three days and play for him. At the end he could have his heart's desire.
When the minstrel's task was complete the barbarian king lay baskets of jewels and precious stones before him. The minstrel boy shook his head and smiled. His only wish was for company on the road. For the life of a traveler could be a lonely one. Was there not a prisoner in the king's dungeon who could be released to accompany him on his travels? The king roared with laughter and escorted the minstrel into the bowels of the castle.
'Take your pick,' he said, with a wave of his hand.
Before the minstrel were scores of emaciated, bedraggled men. Her eyes scoured the prisoners until she found her husband and pointed to him. The king was led away from the other prisoners and stood beside the minstrel.
'The road beckons,' declared the minstrel. 'We leave with the moon to light our way. Farewell your highness. Be sure that your deeds will make fine songs.'
The minstrel and the prisoner left the castle at a brisk pace and before dawn they'd boarded a ship and were sailing over the ocean. The queen did not reason the time was right to reveal her identity. Instead she listened to the man beside her speak of his deprivations. She studied the ravages of imprisonment upon his face and the wariness in his eyes. All the while waiting for a hint of recognition from him. None came.
It wasn't until they were walking in the forest lands that the prisoner stopped and looked around him. He grew in stature as he stared at the trunks of the trees and the shape of the hills.
'Stop minstrel,' he said. 'This is my land. The forest lands, where I am king. I did not reveal who I was before, but now we are safe, I can. Come with me to my palace and I will repay you for your kindness.'
'Sorry, my friend. I am a traveler. Perhaps one day I will visit your court. Farewell.'
With that, the king continued on his way to the palace, and the minstrel, knowing a shortcut, raced off in the opposite direction.
When the queen reached the back entrance to the palace she crept through the secret passage and up the stairs into her chambers, where she immediately cast off her minstrel clothes and bathed her face. She heard the sounds of the king's return, but had not yet completed her dressing.
When the king entered the palace he was greeted with great rejoicing. His advisers were immediately by his side. But the king was looking high and low.
'Where is my queen?' he demanded.
'The advisers looked from one to the other before speaking.
'Upon receiving news of your imprisonment, the queen disappeared. We have not seen or heard of her since,' they replied.
Just then the queen in a beautiful ball gown descended the stairs.
'There you are,' said the king. 'Appearing as though nothing had ever happened, while I languished in the barbarian's dungeon. I waited for the ransom that never came. And you ran away as soon as you heard of my trouble. Now you've returned and I say be gone treacherous and faithless wife.'
The queen fled up the stairs and threw off her royal attire. She donned her minstrel clothes, picked up her lute and ran down the back steps and round to the front entrance of the castle. There she was met by the king' s guard, who escorted her to the king. He leapt up and welcomed the minstrel boy.
'Welcome my saviour,' the king announced, and slapped the minstrel on the back.' I would surely have perished if this loyal fellow hadn't chosen me as his companion.'
And the minstrel boy played the lute and sang a song of such touching sentiment that the king was moved to tears. Then the minstrel removed the hood from her head, unclasped the cloak and revealed her queenly self. The king could not believe his eyes as he stared at the woman before him.
'Your hair, your beautiful hair,' he gasped, and tears rolled down his cheeks. 'Forgive me my wise and spirited queen. Never again will I doubt your honour or your valour.'
And true to his word, the king sought the queen's judgment in matters of state, and more often than not, he acted on her advice. Neither was it unusual to hear the queen's voice, rich as molasses, accompanying her lively lute playing. And yet it wasn't only the palace walls that resounded with the queen's music, the market place became her favourite spot to play in. And always within listening distance was her greatest admirer, the King.
Sources: “The Lute Player.” Chinen M.D., Allan B. Once Upon a Midlife: Classic Stories and Mythic Tales to Illuminate the Middle Years. New York: Jeremy P.I Tarcher/Perigree Books, ©1993
Fearless Girls, Wise Women, And Beloved Sisters: Heroines In Folktales From Around The World by Kathleen Ragan Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
© 2000
Sky in November. #iphoneography.
CameraBag is good & solid app. Немного Ростовского неба. Хорошая погода сегодня!
Отправлено с iPhone
From my window. #iphoneography.
Trying CameraBag App on my iPhone, amazing crossprocess filter.
Отправлено с iPhone
