Black Spot

B/W layouts from a WonHundred catalogue that I really liked.

My mom just told me its snowing in Copenhagen

DIY type

I know this is ancient, but it still is a great piece of work by Corriette Schoenaerts found in Tangible.

Madame 1962

Old Man

Great Man

Jean-Luc Godard


Swim with the current and float away...


David Batchelor and a beasty 'blob'. Unusual for what I have previously seen by this artist. The ones at the Karsten Schubert Gallery were round/oval and colourful, slightly texturised by the foldings of the paint. Loved them.

Prism pendant

Nathalie Dewez pendants are worth a minute of admiration.


10th - 19th of September. Private view on the 10th from 7-10 PM.
37 Camden High Street, NW1 7JE. Click here for more information.

From Portugal with love

Rosewing Wood @ Galore

For the past 3 years in August, Galore opens its doors for young Danish creatives to exhibit their work as part of the non-censured art fair in Valby, Copenhagen. This year more than 100 unestablished artists filled up 5 floors with contemporary art, rangning from painting to installation to film to decorative graffiti to experimental music.

Valby Kulturhus & Kraftwerket, Copenhagen, Denmark
19th - 21st August 2010 // free entrance

Galore preparations

Internet Warrior

Click here for larger version.

Who's Jack Magazine

Issue 39 August // Interview with the Illustrator // Pages 74-77

Article written by Donna Marie Howard.

To read the article on Donna's blog visit this link;

For more infomation on the magazine and where to get a copy visit the web

I once had a farm in Africa...

"... The Equator runs across these highlands, a hundred miles to the north, and the farm lay at an altitude of over six thousand feet. In the day-time you felt that you had got high up, near to the sun, but the early mornings and evenings were limpid and restful, and the nights were cold.

The geographical position of the height of the land combined to create a andscape that had not its like in all the world. There was no fat on it and no luxuriance anywhere; it was Africa distilled up through six thousand feet, like the strong and refined essence of a continent. The colours were dry and burnt, like the colours in pottery. The trees had a light delicate foliage, the structure of which was different from that of the trees in Europe; it did not grow in bows or cupolas, but in horizontal layers, and the formation gave the tall solitary trees a likeness to the palms, or a heroic and romantic air like fullrigged ships with their sails furled, and to the edge of the wood a strange appearance as if the whole wood were faintly vibrating. Upon the grass of the great plains the crooked bare old thorn-trees were scattered, and the grass was spiced like thymw and bog-myrtles; in some places the scent was so strong that it smarted in the nostrils. All the flowers that you found on the plains, or upon the creepers and liana in the native forest, were diminutive like flowers of the downs - only just in the beginning of the long rains a number of big, massive heavy-scented lilies sprang out of the plains. The views were immensely wide. Everything that you saw made for greatness and freedom, and unequalled nobility.

The chief feature of the landscape, and of your life in it, was the air. Looking back on a sojourn in the African highlands, you are struck by your feeling of having lived for a time up in the
air. The sky was rarely more than pale lue or violet, with a profusion of mighty, weightless, ever-changing clouds towering up and sailing on it, but it has a blur vigour in it, and at a short distance it painted the ranges of hills and the woods a fresh deep blue. In the middle of the day the air was alive over the land, like a flame burning; it scintillated, waved and shone like running water, mirrored and doubled all objects, and created great Fata Morgana. Up in this high air you breathed easily, drawing in a vital assurance and lightness of heart. In the highlands you woke up in the morning and thought: Here I am, where I ought to be... "

- Out of Africa, 1937 by Karen Blixen