Indeed, yes, thanks. Tats never look good right after, all pink rimmed and shaved, but should look better with time. Anyone need ink done in NYC, go to Alex at East Side Ink, especially if it involves text.
The Ital still makes me shudder to this day – we had them as police cars for a while, perhaps why everyone got away! It was a wallowing, go no-where fast piece of shit!
British Leyland added insult to injury by only producing it in various shades of brown and beige. The ultimate combo was the brown version with the beige vinyl roof.
It is exactly what is in the painting, Phil. Classic Danish lunch: translates as ‘buttered bread’, means usually liverpaste or ham or cheese or shrimp or egg on dense rye bread, but can be fancy. Most people would make something like the smørrebrød in the painting, in their own homes, rather than the fancy versions. And always have it with a beer. Probably even at lunchtime, in the Olsen Band’s time.
There isn’t even any trace of it left, Sheila. It just lives on as a memory now. I know I was in the Land Of Italics, you know, Phil knows. We may be the only ones who know. Everyone else may deny it, and who knows, maybe one day one of us will also remain forever upright and lose memory of it too.
Derek
I’ve returned to look at it, here, several times. It is mezmerising. It induces “the gaze.”
A thought occurs. It is on your flesh. Which means, one day, it will be dust (unless you are mummified, then mayhap a few hundred more years before the inevitable). Save for this photo on c’flock which will likely be dust, or ephemera, some day down the road. One might think of it as a bloom, here today and gone tomorrow, but I’m thinking it ought to be carved, exactly as it appears, on a slab of stone by some wizard of monumental expertise.
This begs to be found and gazed upon. Deciphered by some expert in lost languages in a future world. Just beautiful and beautifully rendered.
Dash Snow’s woman wanted to photograph his tattoos as he laid in his coffin a couple of weeks ago. His parents thought this was not a good plan, and stopped her. One of those unfinished tasks. An impulse of the bereft.
Why thank you. I guess tattoo is a form of publishing which at least won’t go out of print in your own lifetime. Which is all that you can be sure of anyway. Though to think of their brief existence as they decay is also interesting to imagine.
hey, is that yours?
nice one.
That. Is. Brilliant.
Indeed, yes, thanks. Tats never look good right after, all pink rimmed and shaved, but should look better with time. Anyone need ink done in NYC, go to Alex at East Side Ink, especially if it involves text.
Derek, that really is quite stunning. I love the way it makes me linger and attempt to make sense of.
A side note – my eye is drawn to Ital. My association is unfortunate, but, I really love what you have there.
Very very nice segueway, Phil.
Why thank you, Lucy!
The Ital still makes me shudder to this day – we had them as police cars for a while, perhaps why everyone got away! It was a wallowing, go no-where fast piece of shit!
British Leyland added insult to injury by only producing it in various shades of brown and beige. The ultimate combo was the brown version with the beige vinyl roof.
I shall have nightmares tonight.
I’m sorry to hear that, Phil. But it looks like the kind of car that the Olsen Gang might have used as a getaway.
Well, I can’t imagine they would have got far! But then, with the obvious Italian design, who knows.
Olsen Banden never got very far. That’s the secret of their belovedness.
Oh, good. If their desire to go far was limited, the Morris Ital was the car for them. It would be able to take them nowhere really quite fast.
That’s usually where they ended up, but they always always had big plans.
Ah, big plans and lack of success, I seem to have much in common with the Olsen Gang.
Well they’d always feed you smørrebrød in København, Phil.
Lucy, I do like the sound of that, even though I have no idea what it is. I also like the painting.
It is exactly what is in the painting, Phil. Classic Danish lunch: translates as ‘buttered bread’, means usually liverpaste or ham or cheese or shrimp or egg on dense rye bread, but can be fancy. Most people would make something like the smørrebrød in the painting, in their own homes, rather than the fancy versions. And always have it with a beer. Probably even at lunchtime, in the Olsen Band’s time.
Sounds perfect – I love all of those things.
And there I was gazing at [ITAL] and thinking back with longing to those happy days when we inhabited the Land of Italics.
There isn’t even any trace of it left, Sheila. It just lives on as a memory now. I know I was in the Land Of Italics, you know, Phil knows. We may be the only ones who know. Everyone else may deny it, and who knows, maybe one day one of us will also remain forever upright and lose memory of it too.
Don’t want to JINX myself with an S.P.Q.R. thrown in there, so a land of [ITAL] suggestion as NEXT EXIT works for now.
Amazing, Derek. I love it.
This is remarkable! Derek, did you design it yourself?
Thanks, yes, “designed” it I guess you could say, just an accumulation of things I’ve wanted inked in the past 6 months.
Derek
I’ve returned to look at it, here, several times. It is mezmerising. It induces “the gaze.”
A thought occurs. It is on your flesh. Which means, one day, it will be dust (unless you are mummified, then mayhap a few hundred more years before the inevitable). Save for this photo on c’flock which will likely be dust, or ephemera, some day down the road. One might think of it as a bloom, here today and gone tomorrow, but I’m thinking it ought to be carved, exactly as it appears, on a slab of stone by some wizard of monumental expertise.
This begs to be found and gazed upon. Deciphered by some expert in lost languages in a future world. Just beautiful and beautifully rendered.
Dash Snow’s woman wanted to photograph his tattoos as he laid in his coffin a couple of weeks ago. His parents thought this was not a good plan, and stopped her. One of those unfinished tasks. An impulse of the bereft.
Why thank you. I guess tattoo is a form of publishing which at least won’t go out of print in your own lifetime. Which is all that you can be sure of anyway. Though to think of their brief existence as they decay is also interesting to imagine.
Yes, Derek. The brief, no matter the time-frame, as they decay, imagined.