You know Man Ray, the guy who was dispensing relationship advice to Owen Wilson in that Woody Allen movie. Interest in Man Ray has soared after Midnight in Paris.
David Bowie in The Man Who Fell To Earth (1976, dir. Nicolas Roeg) (via)
Roeg: “We really didn’t need to talk about the role at all; he was the part the moment he stepped on to the set. During the first week of shooting, there were some studio folks lurking about—more to meet David Bowie than anything else, I’d imagine—and they expressed a few reservations. ‘He seems a little…odd, don’t you think?’ And I told them, ‘The character is an alien; how is he supposed to act? Like he’s Gary Cooper?’
It wasn’t like David was unfriendly—we had dinner together numerous times, and he ran a lending library out of his trailer, which was full of books on every subject imaginable—but he kept himself separate to the point that others started to think of him as this mysterious ‘other,’ you know? So much of that performance is simply Bowie being himself—and that’s what’s so brilliant about it.” (via)
top fave shoot of..Evrr
“Bohemian Way”; Sasha Pivovarova photographed by Emma Summerton for Vogue Italia
Staying with those English gardens, another of the beautiful Hogarth Press volumes: Virginia Woolf’s short story, “Kew Gardens”…
FROM THE OVAL-SHAPED flower-bed there rose perhaps a hundred stalks spreading into heart-shaped or tongue-shaped leaves half way up and unfurling at the tip red or blue or yellow petals marked with spots of colour raised upon the surface; and from the red, blue or yellow gloom of the throat emerged a straight bar, rough with gold dust and slightly clubbed at the end. The petals were voluminous enough to be stirred by the summer breeze, and when they moved, the red, blue and yellow lights passed one over the other, staining an inch of the brown earth beneath with a spot of the most intricate colour. The light fell either upon the smooth, grey back of a pebble, or, the shell of a snail with its brown, circular veins, or falling into a raindrop, it expanded with such intensity of red, blue and yellow the thin walls of water that one expected them to burst and disappear. Instead, the drop was left in a second silver grey once more, and the light now settled upon the flesh of a leaf, revealing the branching thread of fibre beneath the surface, and again it moved on and spread its illumination in the vast green spaces beneath the dome of the heart-shaped and tongue-shaped leaves. Then the breeze stirred rather more briskly overhead and the colour was flashed into the air above, into the eyes of the men and women who walk in Kew Gardens in July.
Virginia Woolf. Kew Gardens. Richmond: Hogarth Press, 1919. From the library of Lytton Strachey. One of 150 copies, with cover hand-painted by Roger Fry and woodcuts by Vanessa Bell.
