Two pieces from Boris Mikhailov’s series “Parliament,” on view at the Ukraine Pavilion in this year’s Venice Biennale.
“I tried to express the crisis through the Suprematist disintegration of the figurative by examining the broadcast of parliamentary debates and the interaction of verbal and visual manifestations that correspond with these images.”
We denizens of the 21st century have numerous ways to learn about our planet: seismographs, submersibles, and airborne snow observatories cover every continent. Some of the most remote Earth science instruments are the satellites that circle our globe to gather data about droughts, hurricanes, and tectonic shifts. NASA/Jet Propulsion Laboratory’s Orbit Pavilion, currently on display at The Huntington, brings these far-away vessels back to Earth, but with a twist.
The menagerie at Versailles, was a royal zoo built for Louis XIV. To the centre of the circular layout was an octagonal viewing pavilion for the King. This looked out into a series of enclosures for the animals which had bounding walls to three sides with open bars facing towards the centre. It is thought that this may have influenced Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon.
Carlos Scarpa is an Italian Architect influenced by the materials, landscape, and the history of Venetian culture, and Japan. Scarpa translated his interests in history, regionalism, invention, and the techniques of the artist and craftsman into ingenious glass and furniture design. Scarpa is buried adjacent to the Brion sanctuary. Several discrete elements comprise the Brion family burial site: a sloped concrete enclosing wall, two distinct entrances, a small chapel, two covered burial areas (the arcosolium for Giuseppe and Onorina Brion, and one for other family members), a dense grove of cypresses, a prato (lawn), and a private meditation/viewing pavilion, separated from the main prato by a separate and locked entrance, and a heavily vegetated reflecting pool.
That soft smile you so
saw often when he looked at Mai was back on his face. He reached up and cupped your cheek. “Y/N, believe me when I say that I truly do
care about Maile, and you. I love every
minute I’ve spent with you both, and I have a feeling it’s only going to get
better from here on out.”
“You know what? I think you just might be right about that.”
Leaning forward, you kissed him again, thankful for being so lucky as to have
him in your lives.
Sam was a fixture at your house from then on. He came over at least three times a week for
dinner, usually staying to put Maile to bed and spending some one on one time
with you after she was asleep. You were
in heaven; being with Sam was like a dream.
He was a true gentleman, holding doors open for you and pushing your
chair in for you at dinner, and he truly listened to you when you spoke, no
matter what the subject was. He was just
as interested in what you were saying when you told him about cleaning out the
car as he was when you’d first told him about Maile’s father.
Hairdryer chair in the Womens’ Wards at Seaview Hospital, one of the most historically significant tubercular sanatoriums in America. Designed by Raymond Almirall at the beginning of the 20th century, there were originally 8 ward pavilions - 4 for men, 4 for women. Sadly, the Mens’ Wards were demolished decades ago to make room for an ugly new building on the campus, which is now used as a rehabilitation hospital. This photograph is from my very first (of many) trips into the Wards, in 2005.
anon, i think this is the sappiest thing i have ever written in my life. BEHOLD.
Adam let out a soft slow breath as he slid the door closed behind him. He was flushed and overwhelmed from hours of being polite to an assortment of Gansey-invited guests, biting the polish into every word to match his Italian suit and freshly bestowed title. Between that and dealing with the flustered Fox Way ladies this morning, Adam was weary. Thankfully it had been easy to slip away now the sun had gone down.
Gansey’s mother had insisted on ‘a suitable venue’ but Helen’s firm hand and Blue’s determination had meant that this had been their compromise between something ridiculously extravagant and a literal clearing in the woods. Adam had no eye for anything like this, but he liked this one – the sprawling house that looked out over the trees, windows flung wide to invite in a non-existent breeze to stir the sticky air.
Adam was made for nights like this, sweet and slow. He inserted himself into the bay window where he had a clear view of the pavilion below. He had spent two hours affixing fairy lights to every surface yesterday with Orla and Ronan’s dubious assistance, but he had to admit that the effect was stunning enough to make the effort worth it. Underneath the bower of vines and lights, the guests sat or danced or chatted, the music creeping up from underneath to Adam’s ear.
“How’s it going, Doctor Parrish,” a smooth familiar voice said from behind him. Adam startled but caught himself almost immediately as a warm arm slipped around his waist and Ronan pressed himself into the nook beside him.
“I liked your speech,” Adam said, turning to place a kiss on Ronan’s jaw. He smelt of expensive cologne and fresh sweat, seeing as he had been twirling a laughing Blue around the dance floor when Adam had made his break for it.
Ronan hummed in acknowledgement. Adam and Blue had joked that he would almost certainly say something to scandalise Gansey’s mother when Gansey had asked him to be his best man. They had forgotten that Ronan had poetry bred into him though. Adam had been struck dumb, a little, by the maturity and honesty and beauty issuing from the mouth of the same man who had yesterday turned the air blue threatening Orla with strangulation by fairy lights.
He’d still sworn more than once, but it was the kind of curse that Gansey’s grandmother would look back on fondly after tonight. Ronan Lynch had always managed to do the impossible.
“I can’t believe they got married,” Adam said. He’d been thinking that periodically since the moment the Blue and Gansey had kissed in front of the celebrant and every other person alive who meant something to them.
“Yep,” Ronan replied, which meant that he’d been having the same thought. “You promised me a dance, Parrish.”
“Is that why you followed me up here?”
Ronan made a rude noise, squeezing Adam’s hip a little until he turned to put them face-to-face. Adam hadn’t really had a chance in the rush of the day to appreciate Ronan in his suit, cut close and modern to the broad line of his shoulders and his slim waist.
“Better let me lead, seeing as only one of us here knows what he’s doing,” Ronan said, his teeth flashing white in the dim room.
“You’re the one who wanted to,” Adam reminded him, winding an arm around Ronan’s back even as he said it.
“So you’re saying I’m asking for it.”
“Keep going with that if you want to lose a toe on purpose,” Adam replied. Ronan smirked and took Adam’s right hand in his left, folding their fingers close while his other stayed a brand on Adam’s hip.
The music was loud enough that Adam could still make out the beat when he bowed his head to rest it on Ronan’s shoulder. He didn’t need it, anyway – after all these years he could follow Ronan anywhere, and Ronan could do the same with him. They conjointly had a degree and a home and a dream-born girl to prove it.
Their best friends were married, and they were together, and Adam’s heart said here, here, here like it did all the time now in sync with every step and sway.
View of the Central Pavilion of the Nymphenburg Palace (“Schloss Nymphenburg"), Munich, Bavaria. This baroque castle was commissioned in 1664 and was a main summer residence of the Wittelsbach rulers of Bavaria.