gertrudes street

The Visions of Sister Gertrude Morgan

Photograph by Michael P. Smith ©The Historic New Orleans Collection

Sister Gertrude Morgan, street evangelist, painter, poet and visionary, created worlds of exuberant joy and unflinching faith using bright acrylics, watercolors, tempera paint, felt tip pen and electric white shoe polish. She painted her vision of New Jerusalem — gardens, high rise apartment buildings, and angels and airplanes, with herself drawn in as the bride of Jesus — on paper, toilet rolls, plastic pitchers, scrap wood, lampshades, Styrofoam trays, wedding dresses and guitar cases. 

From “God’s Greatest Hits.”

New Jerusalem Court, Gloryland St.

New Jerusalem Rose Garden Court

House of Worship

The Angel John Saw

Born in 1900 as the seventh child of a rural Alabama farmer, Sister Gertrude moved to New Orleans in 1939, after hearing a voice from God telling her to spread her gospel through art and sound in the “headquarters of sin.”


Sister Gertrude with Allan Jaffe, a young Ben Jaffe and Sandra Jaffe. Photo by Lee Friedlander. Courtesy Preservation Hall Foundation.

Sister Gertrude Morgan using a megaphone and a tapper to assist in her service in the Prayer Room of the Everlasting Gospel Mission”, 1973, Collection New Orleans Museum of Art

In 1970, Preservation Hall captured a 50-minute recording of Sister Gertrude singing gospel songs in a Prayer Room of the Everlasting Gospel Mission, accompanied only by her stomping foot and a shaking tambourine. They are 14 songs of inflated spirit and deep, abiding faith. Though Sister Gertrude’s paintings achieved wide acclaim in her lifetime, her music remained obscure until 2005, when Philadelphia DJ King Britt re-released her album, Let’s Make A Record, with new beats and instrumentation.



For Six of Saturns, our Jazz Fest celebration, we’ll be celebrating Sister Gertrude. Together with Vinyl Me, Please, we’re re-releasing both the original and remixed albums with a collector’s edition double-LP on vinyl. You can get a copy at the King Britt show and after Jazz Fest on the Ace Shop. All proceeds benefitPreservation Hall Foundation


New Jerusalem Lamb and Wife

Self-portrait

We Are Soldiers In The Army.

dean/cas - one shot

Based off this prompt:  “My cat steals underwear and I come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back.”

[read on ao3]

“You fucking bitch,” Dean hisses for what must be the fiftieth time. The cat’s on the other side on the room, body poised to run, underwear - his underwear, to be more precise - clenched tightly between it’s teeth. Dean bets twenty bucks the little sucker is secretly rejoicing it’s tiny victory.

To think of it, the cat has been spying on him for god knows how long, more often than not spending it’s afternoons on a tree adjacent to the window of his room, it’s watchful eyes centred on the items in Dean’s room. In retrospect he shouldn’t have taken it with a pinch of salt; he should’ve been smarter and not chosen to open his windows today, out of all days, because today he plans to man up and ask the cute guy from the CD shop down the block out for dinner maybe, but now his plan is essentially foiled all thanks to that scheming asshole.

“I want my underwear back,” he says slowly and firmly, edging forward just a little more with each syllabus, arm outstretched a little to show that he means no harm. The cat tenses up even more at the movement and Dean can feel his heart pounding frantically against his ribcage, ringing in his ears. If that stupid cat makes it out of the room…

And it does, hind legs kicking into gear as it sprints out of the room.

With his only clean pair of underwear.

Dean’s grip tightens on the towel slung snugly around his waist and doesn’t think twice before dashing out of the room too. Damn cats and their lightning speed. He (unsuccessfully) plays a game of tag with the unwelcomed intruder, knocking down probably more of his furniture than the cat did, and stubs his toe on the couch too many times which hinders his mad dash and gives the cat ample opportunity to burst through the dog hole in his door and out of the house. Dammit.

Dean mourns over his delirious, unfortunate plight for a few seconds, cursing Sam for ever talking him into installing a fucking dog hole, and follows suit.

He ends up chasing the cat all the way across the lawn: half-naked and in broad daylight, he realizes too late with mortification. He prays old Mrs Gertrude across the street doesn’t get the wrong idea and try to invite him over for “tea” tomorrow.

They end up going one large circle around the house, then the cat leaps into the new next door neighbour’s house through the dog hole (what is up with the god forsaken dog holes?) with one graceful movement.

He almost crashes into the front door with how fast he’s running, but manages to skid to a halt in front of it in the nick of time. Well, shit. He prays and prays and prays that the front door is unlocked, testing the door handle, jiggling it vigorously and almost cries with sweet, sweet relief when it proves true to form, and slips inside. He briefly entertains the idea of getting arrested, since he is actually intruding on someone’s property, but oh well, too late; he might as well.

Never mind, he’ll explain all this to his new neighbour once he’s gotten his bloody underwear back.

The chase ends up being longer than expected, but in the end Dean’s triumphant after he ambushes the cat from behind the table and wrenches his precious underwear from it’s unrightful position between the slobbery jaws of the underwear thief. He snickers at the cat, feeling a rush of pride at his accomplishment - take that, cat! - before a noise snaps him back to attention.

From the front of the house, the door creaks open and Dean freezes up, eyes widening in horror. Oh shit.

“Gabriel, close the damn door if you’re going to crash my house,” a gruff voice from the living room calls out. The door swings shut soon after and there’s the sound of footsteps approaching, closer and closer in his direction.

Oh, fuck.

The cats quick to run, claws scratching against the wooden floor as it makes its exit (yet again). Dean scrambles up from where he’s shamefully sprawled on the floor, one hand still gripping his towel tightly and the other pushing him up. He wracks his brain for possible excuses and explanations. Sorry dude, your cat stole my underwear and I was chasing after it?

“Dean?”

Oh, fuck.

He’d recognize that voice anywhere, because he’s heard it so many times whenever he goes to the CD shop to flirt with the cute cashier there. He’d love to hear that voice, don’t get him wrong, maybe in bed calling out his name but just not in this context, not when he’s naked with only a towel to shield his dirty bits and also caught red handed in the home sweet home of the person he secretly hoards the biggest crush in the whole history of crushes against.

“C- Hi, Cas,” Dean stammers, and smiles weakly at the surprised man in front of him.

Cas runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, his eyes swiftly darting up and down Dean’s body as he darts his tongue out to wet his lips. He’s at a loss of what to say, and neither does Dean, so he tries to maintain his futile attempt at an apologetic smile, praying that Cas will close his eyes and magically forget this all transpired and act like everything is perfectly dandy and go back to the CD shop tomorrow where Dean will flirt with him like he always does and in turn Cas will blush and pack his items into a bag and wish him a good day and they both can pretend that nothing happened. Cas opens his mouth as if to say something, frowns, his nose crinkling adorably and closes it again, and Dean counts to a whole ten before Cas speaks up and says, “Dean, why are you in my house? Half-naked?”

Dean gives what he hopes is a sheepish and regretful grin, and wills the blush rising up his neck to fade. He raises his free hand which goes up to the back of his neck to scratch at a sudden itch there, but abandons the movement to clutch at the other hand on his towel. “Ah. Good question. I-uh, you know, cat. Underwear. I mean, cat took my underwear and I, heh.”

Cas raises an eyebrow at that, looking even more baffled. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I quite-”

“The cat took my underwear and I chased it here I’m so sorry can we just pretend nothing happened,” Dean rushes out in a single breath, and in that moment of silence while Cas processes the information he wishes for nothing more than for him to melt into a giant puddle of embarrassment. He is painfully aware of the fact that the color of his face matches the color of Mrs Gertrude’s roses bushes in her front lawn, and does all he can to stamp it down, albeit rather unsuccessfully.

“Ah, you must be referring to dog.” Cas says, his frown softening and his mouth curved into the shape of an “o”.

What? “No! The cat took my underwear. Not the dog.”

The tip of Cas’ ears grow pink, and Dean briefly wonders if he’s hallucinating this whole absurd situation, but then Cas gives a nervous laugh and goes, “Her name is Dog.”

Silence.

Then Dean’s laughing. And maybe crying a little. He doubles over, clutching his stomach and almost loses his balance which results in him gripping Cas’ shoulder for support. “God, you’re hilarious Cas.”

When Dean looks up he sees that Cas has gone painfully still and there’s a steady blush rising up his cheeks. For a split second he grows worried because Cas refuses to meet his gaze and opts to look at the ceiling instead, and so Dean looks down and that’s when it sinks in. Ah, he’s let go of the towel.

“Shit,” he mutters, bending down to grab it. There’s a short, uncomfortable silence while his fingers work and twists the fabric tightly and fastens it securely around his waist. After Dean’s done, he begins to form an apology but it dies on his lips when Cas speaks up first.

“Maybe you should put on some clothes. I could lend you some of mine so you won’t have to, you know, run back naked.”

A wave of relief washes over him. Oh man, would it be violating social etiquette if he leaned forward and kissed the dude? “Thank you, oh man, I could marry you right now!” Dean laughs, and Cas freezes up momentarily and that’s when Dean realizes what he said.

“But that’d be too soon, wouldn’t it?” Dean amends quickly, slapping on a wolfish grin. “Let me take you on a date first.”

The smile that spreads across Cas’ face is gorgeous in every single way and the butterflies in Dean’s stomach does little flutters. “Dean, I’ve been wanting you to say that, I just never expected you to be saying it naked.” 

Three years later

For Sam’s best man’s speech, he fondly recalls the incident which lead to Dean asking Cas out on their first date, which elicits a lovely round of laughter. Underneath the table, Cas squeezes Dean’s hand and laces their fingers together, the wedding bands on their fingers clinking softly together.

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VENUE: Southpaw - Gertrude Street Fitzroy - Melbourne

DATE: 12/02/2014

SPECIAL GUEST: Amanda Palmer

7.5/10

Alright!!!

Southpaw… Paper bagged fries in a bowl!

Keeping it street, keeping it extra warm also perhaps ?

Both Amanda and I enjoyed these fries, they are nice… .. hot, crispy and salty making a good “ Mealy” batch!

Eat here! Southpaw!

“New York City Serenade” - missing scene fic

Ever since I first saw that episode, I’ve entertained myself by thinking about how a guy landed on this planet in the morning and by dinner-time knew about the Central Park Zoo. Yesterday I took a break from the novel, and I really wanted a break from angst-fic, so I finally wrote this out. (Merci beaucoup to @wingedlioness for the read-over; any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.)


Emma had a damnably accurate knee. Once his life finished flashing before his eyes, Killian straightened up and considered his next move.

The bean had deposited him at Emma’s door. The hall stretched in two directions, broken at regular intervals by doors – this was one of those warren-like buildings such as Baelfire had dwelt in. Most importantly, the place was quite devoid of cover. He could not afford to spend time ruing the ineffective kiss. He would have to convince Emma to take the memory potion somehow, and soon.

A bright autumn morning awaited outside, crisp and cool. New York had several advantages over cities he had known in the Enchanted Forest – lack of sewage in the streets for one, and their orderly layout made getting lost impossible. The crowds were thick and busy, and barely paused to consider one oddly-dressed stranger.

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