sisu

One picture is worth a thousand blogposts

"While the MSM slept, Michael Yon -- the self-employed, reader-empowered embedded journalist blogger reporting from the front -- captured the spirit of the age in one amateur photograph that has touched the hearts and minds of our fellow citizens in spades," we wrote two years back re the citizen journalist's image of Major Beiger cradling a fatally wounded Iraqi child.

"Our soldiers, those from countries such as the United Kingdom, Australia, Canada, Germany, France (yes, France) and the United States, are better in all aspects but one," wrote independent journalist and former Green Beret Michael Yon last March in "Ernie is dead," a FOXNews.com dispatch blogged here:

The terrorists somehow manage to beat us in our respective medias. We may own the air, but terrorists own the airwaves.

I believe we are losing the war in Afghanistan, but I have strong hope for Iraq. Nearly all of America and Europe believe Iraq is a lost cause, but there is hope here, and it lives in the thousands of stories about this place that are never told because they have not been witnessed by our media, or at least not reported.

The surge was just getting under way back then, even as broken-record types like Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, John Murtha & Company were stuck on all is lost, it's time to cut and run, and it's all Bush's fault.

"The Iraqis asked me to convey a message of thanks to the American people," the "blogosphere's own Ernie Pyle," Michael Yon sets the scene for this image of "men and women, both Christians and Muslims, placing a cross atop the St. John’s Church in Baghdad. They had taken the cross from storage and a man washed it before carrying it up to the dome." © Michael Yon 2007*

Now comes Michael Yon's latest photograph (above) to touch the hearts and minds -- and typing fingers -- of the immediate blogosphere. Gaius of  Blue Crab Boulevard has a good roundup of one-liners. Michelle Malkin is calling it an "iconic image of hope and unity in Iraq," and Wretchard of The Belmont Club compares Yon's image to Joe Rosenthal's flag-raising at Iwo Jima, musing "There are times when a single picture captures the essence of an entire campaign. Maybe Michael Yon's picture from Baghdad has done it for the surge":

It's important to remember that the flag raising on Suribachi occurred on the fourth day of a campaign that would last a month longer. In the War against extremism, as in Iwo Jima, the worst may be yet to come. But it's good to take a deep breath and remember what the journey is all about.

Instapundit reader John Ramsay sees "a poignant contrast with this picture":

From the caption of our early-Surge post "A vicious circle of shortsighted sanctimony" of last January: “By the time we reached the embassy, the gates were shuttered and armed Marines were standing guard above the concrete walls . . . Thousands of desperate Vietnamese, screaming and begging, were trying to climb the walls and get through the coils of barbed wire, only to be pushed back into the street by none-too-gentle rifle butts,” wrote Newsweek reporter Loren Jenkins of our countrymen's ignominious cut-and-run exit from Saigon when the city fell to the North Vietnamese in April of 1975. (Photo unattributed)

Indeed. 'Wish we'd thought of that. Great fodder for a new post or even a new category: The Good, the Bad and the Smugly?

"The toppling of Saddam’s statue seemed like the iconic moment, but it proved only to be the first frame," notes Jules Crittenden:

"Unlike the Saddam shot, an image of tearing down the old evil, Yon’s captured the Iraqis putting something up, restoring something good, themselves. There is still a lot of fighting and dying ahead, but here’s an image of hope and determination, a sign that victory might not be too far off.

Fighting with "hope and determination" for "something good" against "the old evil." It sounds downright American. Then there's The Anchoress's deep, dark and delicious take:

What I see in this picture is something more than a historic moment -- I don’t even know if that’s what we should call it -- I see the sort of thing people do when they are neighbors, when they are working together for their neighborhood, for the good of all who live there, and that makes it seem less “historic” than calmly, wonderfully normal, ordinary, wholesome and sane. I see tolerance, which so many are so certain cannot exist in Iraq -- or anywhere in the Middle East.Tolerance in the best sense of the word -- converting no one, insisting on nothing beyond ordinary acceptance; tolerance that gives people room to live their lives.

Day by Day says it all in 3022 words (three pictures = 3000 words + 22 words of text).

One picture is worth a thousand blogposts?

*NOTE. "Michael Yon is making this photograph available to media outlets, such as print publications and cable and television news broadcasts, at no cost for a limited period of time . . . He is entirely reader supported . . . If you value his work, please consider supporting  his mission."

Let's face the music and dance

Keeping the homefires burning, Tuck pursues his endless quest to repair and refurbish the clapboards and window sashes and all things both superficial and deep that make up the envelope of our awesome 1842 Greek Revival house, subject of our very first blog post ever way back on December 12, 2003. A Renaissance man, the Tuckster, for our postmodern age.

Taking a pit stop, Tuck attempts to get a few mouthfuls of supper last night before Tiny (left) moves in for the kill.

Update: In the light of day the next morning, we didn't like the tone of the last part of this post at all and have deleted it. Thanks to Goomp and Teresa in the comments for shaking us out of our snarky whine.

Photo ops

Baby Paws power naps after an all-nighter down Goomp's over the weekend.

Goomp's black beauty Lucie -- AKA the last of the Meow-hicans -- on the window sill beside the bed evokes Johannes Vermeer's "Young Woman with a Water Pitcher" (c. 1662, Marquand Collection, The Metropolitan Museum of Art).

Late-afternoon sunlight makes magic in the kitchen at Camelot-by-the-Sea.

Back home after an extended weekend Down East tending to things that needed tending to, Tuck invents the best potato salad ever -- Potato Salad a GeeGee -- a simple mixture of leftovers from yesterday's phantom cookout (no one broke bread with us but Goomp and Tuck and the poodies): our own to-die-for potato salad* mixed with thick diagonally-cut slices of leftover grilled Kayem (made in Chelsea) brats. Wicked delicious!

Updates: Modulator's Friday Ark is afloat, and the Carnival of the Cats -- #124 -- "has come home to TBIFOC."

*Amazingly, an Answers.com search reveals we've never published our elegantly simple but effective potato salad recipe. Steam together for about 20 minutes halved purple potatoes and chopped garlic. Transfer to a large bowl, chop coarsely and toss with freshly ground pepper and mayo. Proportions are up to you. As our favorite ex-brother-in-law David said about our astonishingly delicious cole slaw -- coarsely chopped cabbage and shredded carrots tossed with mayo -- the other day, in answer to how come it tastes so good, "It's because Sissy made it." We aren't about to argue.

Shell game

Beauty in unexpected places turned up on the kitchen counter this morning after we crushed a few egg shells in a paper towel, turned it around and then looked at what we had wrought (above).

Hippity, hoppity, Easter's on its way, and if you don't like it, don't immigrate! If you want to make Eggs Benedict, though -- as we did for breakfast this morning -- you've got to break a few eggs. Above, crushed shells in the morning light -- with a flash assist -- are candy for our camera's eye.

Eye of the beholder

Yet another Althouse Moment -- this is becoming something of a Christmas tradition -- as we print, crop, stamp with gold seal and tip in the inside vellum of our Christmas cards.

The Xmas Card Factory on our dining-room table is in full production mode. Tuck put in an order for 25 this year. We got the idea for the gold seal from President and Mrs. Bush's Christmas card. [Note:  White House website caption for Jamie Wyeth painting featured on card misidentifies black cat India as "Willie the cat." We've notified the WH webmaster. Update:  India's nickname is "Willie," according to her webpage within the official WH site.] Our message this year expresses "the tidings that dare not speak their name" by artfully implying without spelling out the forbidden word: "Hang a shining star upon the highest bough . . . [And have yourself a merry little Chrismas now]."

Beauty in unexpected places strikes again, this time as the morning sun backlights a fistful of frame shapes left over (behind card in top photo) after cropping.  Note whisper-thin black crosses articulating the space, the cropmarks and centerfold lines that had guided our hand now transformed into gestural accents guiding our eye.

Our throwaway handful of paper scraps backlit by the sun called to mind the effect of Noguchi's akari light sculptures: "the name akari, which I coined, means in japanese 'light' as illumination. it also suggests lightness as opposed to weight."

While we waxed poetic, Tiny once again went for the jugular, her gleaming eye transforming a Glue Stic into the object of her predatory desire.

The secret life of inanimate objects

Goomp's pool as oceancule, a miniature ocean, produces its own version of arctic sea smoke (pink fuzz, left, in photo) early morning. Totally awesome.

Next-to-longest day of the year, with the sun rising way north of that Stonehenge-in-residence, the nineteenth-century summer cottage on Eastern Point at the mouth of the river. As we've often noted here, the sun pops out of the horizon to the left (north) of the house on the longest day and then arises ever more to the right (south) day by day following the Summer Solstice -- the date of maximum tilt.

Sunrise at Camelot-by-the-Sea this morning, the second longest day of the year, when the sun is farthest north (left in picture) in its yearly declination cycle before it starts back south, hitting midway at the autumnal and vernal equinoxes September 21 and March 21 -- and the nadir on the winter solstice December 21.

Our mother always said that once you hit July 4, the summer was over, and now we know what she meant.  It's true there is nothing so rare as a day in June in these parts -- mid-coastal New England, with its soft breezes filled with the scent of roses. Here her picture as a young Jackson/Tufts undergrad c. 1938 or 1939, around the time she met her destiny, our own venerable Goomp:

An old-fashioned family heirloom card table with drop leaves in Goomp's livingroom, arrayed with a picture of Mummy in her salad days (center in photo) and precious mementos she treasured -- a multitude of ceramic and metal miniature boxes with alligators, kittens and frogs inside -- came to life in the golden early-morning sunlight of the second-longest day of the year.

Another magic moment with Tiny's fur catching the purple and gold of the sun's early light as she meatloafed atop the snail blog printout before heading outside for field exercises:

The light fantastic lent mystery to everyday objects throughout the house, in this case a Beatrix Potter ceramic Peter Rabbit, the same one Mummy always told us wanted us to eat our carrots:

The secret life of inanimate objects is a natural ally of the drama of early-morning light.

Update:  Carnival of the Cats -- brought to you by resident kitties Hakuna and Matata -- is up at the admirable Blog d'Ellison, where proprietor Ellison mistakes us for our father, Arthur -- better known as Goomp -- being as we sent our carnival posts from Goomp's email address yesterday -- but more to the point, Ellison has some information re printing out your blog:

There is, by the way, at least one blog binding service out there, and likely others -- for those of us who wish to see our Reams o’ Crap in print. I’d be interested in hearing from anyone who has tried it.

We'll have to scout that one out.

Losing touch with the spirit of the place

Seagulls in a frenzy at the New England Aquarium on Saturday afternoon, scavenging junk food bits from the tourists, and this little guy was defending a street lamp ferociously. Many challenges from birds of a feather. Didn't take any photos of the Aquarium itself. Too discouraging, or something. Last time we were down there, it was a classic concrete temple at the end of a short pier, with the sparkling waters of the inner harbor beyond. Now it has become encrusted, as with barnacles and seaweed, by all kinds of horrific, eye-wearying Gehryesque junk. And those shoes: AWFUL! Architectural/landscape architectural mistakes were made.

You know what's especially egregious about it all? They've lost touch with the spirit of the place. You have a heart-stopping location at the edge of the sea, and instead of subtly framing it to invite the mind to soar, you fill it up with clutter so there's no sense of anything beyond. Bad feng shui.

Haunting the site

Lauren fell for this 19th-century abandoned storage building along the waterfront during our historic Boston walking tour Saturday. Her photographic eye was drawn to the mystery and poignance of its derelict state. She's invited our participation in critiquing her School of Visual Arts photography portfolio, a work in progress. Everything starts with a visceral interest in your subject and the instinct for finding the spirit of the place (or person or thing). You've got that in spades. The second sine qua non, which we've already discussed, is always having your camera with you. We all had camera issues of various sorts this weekend so were reminded of the importance of having a backup camera just in case. Lesson learned.

Next, as Visiting Professor Richard Haag -- landscape architect of Gas Works Park and the Bloedel Reserve in Washington state -- told us graduate students back in the day, "Haunt the site" -- different times of day, different light conditions, rain, fog, snow, whatever. That should produce contact sheets worthy of including in your portfolio. Admissions interviewers are usually more interested in evidence of your thinking process than highly polished finished works (Who can blame them?). Your digital camera will open up a world of possibilities, as you know, since you can make instant, on-the-spot critiques of your own work. If you have Photoshop, the expressive possibilities expand exponentially.

Then, along with your photographic study of the place (or person or thing), do further research online or in the library to lend historical perspective to your visual study.