Hello Bauldoff is a greeting of multifarious stimuli as observed by designer and writer, Joe Bauldoff.
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    What a great photo of travelers hiking along the Mer de Glace glacier in the French Alps, 1867. BBC credits William England as photographer.

    Here is another colorized photo of a different group traversing the same area thirty-five years later, in 1902. via r/HistoryPorn

    Comments (View)34 NotesApril 19, 2014

    The Jump is an absolutely beautiful short by animator Charles Huettner, created for Late Night Work Club's 2013 independent animation anthology, Ghost Stories. via @snakesandrats

    Comments (View)19 NotesApril 18, 2014

    Really loving these porcelain Fruit and Vegetable Peels Cups by Taiwan’s ViiCHENDESIGN. The intent is to create a deeper connection between the contents of the cup and the exterior form, a connection which is reinforced by touching the textured surface and associating it with the food or beverage within. via MOCO LOCO

    Comments (View)58 NotesApril 16, 2014

    A million million spermatozoa, All of them alive; Out of their cataclysm but one poor Noah Dare hope to survive.
And of that billion minus one Might have chanced to be Shakespeare, another Newton, a new Donne— But the One was Me.
Shame to have ousted your betters thus, Taking ark while the others remained outside! Better for all of us, froward Homunculus, If you’d quietly died!

Aldous Huxley’s Fifth Philosopher’s Song (p. 45), c. 1918; a poem written to his elder brother, biologist Julian Huxley.
Photo of Huxley by Philippe Halsman.
    A million million spermatozoa,
    All of them alive;
    Out of their cataclysm but one poor Noah
    Dare hope to survive.

    And of that billion minus one
    Might have chanced to be
    Shakespeare, another Newton, a new Donne—
    But the One was Me.

    Shame to have ousted your betters thus,
    Taking ark while the others remained outside!
    Better for all of us, froward Homunculus,
    If you’d quietly died!

    Aldous Huxley’s Fifth Philosopher’s Song (p. 45), c. 1918; a poem written to his elder brother, biologist Julian Huxley.

    Photo of Huxley by Philippe Halsman.

    Comments (View)10 NotesApril 12, 2014

    It can be fun to play with your pareidolia, no? Fear and surrender is an interesting series of Rorschachian imagery from Brazilian artist and surface designer Tássia Bianchini. via @cargocollective

    Comments (View)51 NotesApril 10, 2014

    Still life with broken skull and phone, by UK artist Miles Johnston. A gentle reminder that, even if we cannot at present live in harmony with each other, or with the other species of this planet, or with our technologies, we will all eventually be united in our obsolescence.

    Comments (View)36 NotesApril 9, 2014

    How much better it isto carry wood to the firethan to moan about your life.How much betterto throw the garbageonto the compost, or to pin the cleansheet on the linewith a gray-brown wooden clothes pin!
Jane Kenyon (1947-1995), The Clothes Pin, as published in the Winter 1977 issue of The Paris Review.
    How much better it is
    to carry wood to the fire
    than to moan about your life.
    How much better
    to throw the garbage
    onto the compost, or to pin the clean
    sheet on the line
    with a gray-brown wooden clothes pin!

    Jane Kenyon (1947-1995), The Clothes Pin, as published in the Winter 1977 issue of The Paris Review.

    Comments (View)17 NotesApril 8, 2014

    Such absolutely stunning oil work by Baltimore surrealist, Jordan Kasey.

    Comments (View)96 NotesApril 8, 2014

    Sculptor Andy Yoder spent two years building this lovely globe from individually-painted matchsticks. His son, reddit user yoderaustinexplains that the frame is a mix of foam, cardboard, and plywood. One by one, Yoder attached the hand-painted matches to this skeleton with wood glue, before lastly—in an effort that one may consider to be of both precaution and irony—dousing the entire form in flame retardant.

    Be sure to note Hurricane Sandy collapsing upon the eastern American coast in the final photo above.

    The piece will be exhibited by Winkleman Gallery at this year’s PULSE New York Contemporary Art Fair, May 8–11.

    Comments (View)824 NotesMarch 30, 2014

    I began with physical anthropology. I was taught how to measure the size of the brain of a human being who had been dead a long time, who was all dried out. I bored a hole in his skull, and I filled it with grains of polished rice. Then I emptied the rice into a graduated cylinder. I found this tedious. 
I switched to archaeology, and I learned something I already knew: that man had been a maker and smasher of crockery since the dawn of time. And I went to my faculty adviser, and I confessed that science did not charm me, that I longed for poetry instead. I was depressed. I knew my wife and my father would want to kill me, if I went into poetry. 
My adviser smiled. “How would you like to study poetry which pretends to be scientific?” he asked me. 
“Is such a thing possible?” I said. 
He shook my hand. “Welcome to the field of social or cultural anthropology,” he said.

—Kurt Vonnegut, describing his “conversion” to cultural anthropology at the University of Chicago. After all, “it offered the greatest opportunity to write high-minded balderdash.”
As seen in the Address to the National Institute of Arts and Letters, 1971, from his book, Wampeters, Foma and Granfalloons (Opinions).
    I began with physical anthropology. I was taught how to measure the size of the brain of a human being who had been dead a long time, who was all dried out. I bored a hole in his skull, and I filled it with grains of polished rice. Then I emptied the rice into a graduated cylinder. I found this tedious.

    I switched to archaeology, and I learned something I already knew: that man had been a maker and smasher of crockery since the dawn of time. And I went to my faculty adviser, and I confessed that science did not charm me, that I longed for poetry instead. I was depressed. I knew my wife and my father would want to kill me, if I went into poetry.

    My adviser smiled. “How would you like to study poetry which pretends to be scientific?” he asked me.

    “Is such a thing possible?” I said.

    He shook my hand. “Welcome to the field of social or cultural anthropology,” he said.

    —Kurt Vonnegut, describing his “conversion” to cultural anthropology at the University of Chicago. After all, “it offered the greatest opportunity to write high-minded balderdash.

    As seen in the Address to the National Institute of Arts and Letters, 1971, from his book, Wampeters, Foma and Granfalloons (Opinions).

    Comments (View)105 NotesMarch 19, 2014