Extremophiles unite!allaroundtheworldhegel:

Pompeii worm:“This extremophile keeps a cool head even in extreme temperatures. The  Pompeii Worm finds a habitat on or near Black Smokers, hydrothermal  vents on the sea floor, which give the worm its volcanic name. Nestled  within its cozy tube, its body stays at a very toasty 175º F, while its  plume-like head protrudes from the tube into water that is a much more  temperate 72º F. Weirder still, its fleecy coat is actually a colony of  bacteria that lives in a symbiotic relationship with the worm, fed by  mucus secretions produced by the worm. Truly an oddity, the Pompeii worm  (and its living coat) obviously has a lot to teach us about living in  an extreme range of temperatures.”
http://io9.com/5317662/extremophiles-i-have-known-and-loved?comment=14298987:14299781

Extremophiles unite!
allaroundtheworldhegel
:

Pompeii worm:

“This extremophile keeps a cool head even in extreme temperatures. The Pompeii Worm finds a habitat on or near Black Smokers, hydrothermal vents on the sea floor, which give the worm its volcanic name. Nestled within its cozy tube, its body stays at a very toasty 175º F, while its plume-like head protrudes from the tube into water that is a much more temperate 72º F. Weirder still, its fleecy coat is actually a colony of bacteria that lives in a symbiotic relationship with the worm, fed by mucus secretions produced by the worm. Truly an oddity, the Pompeii worm (and its living coat) obviously has a lot to teach us about living in an extreme range of temperatures.”

http://io9.com/5317662/extremophiles-i-have-known-and-loved?comment=14298987:14299781

The Creatrix, Mark Ryden, 2005 ( Tumblr layout  is cutting the bottom off, find complete  here, in gallery one)

Wow his paintings make me happy. And his artists’ statements lift my heart.
Here’s just one :

Artist Statement - “The Meat Show” - October 1998

Well, I have to admit I don’t really paint my paintings; a Magic Monkey does. He comes to my studio late at night, when it’s very quiet. Mysterious things happen late at night when most people are asleep. I help the magic monkey, but he does most of the work. My big job is to get him to show up. I’ve been learning just what that takes. He is very particular. The right frame of mind is important; I have to switch my brain from linear, logical thinking to creative, free feeling. If I start to think too much, then it’s time for a nap or perhaps build a fort out of blankets with my son. Things have to flow from a place that is more subconscious and uninhibited. When you believe and have faith things will flow. You can really feel it. It’s like magic. The Monkey comes tapping at the door, we get the paint and brushes out of the treasure chest and we have a great time making art.

When I was a child in school my teachers would wonder why my drawings of dogs would have their intestines showing or why my self portraits had a third eye. They disapproved, but I got a lot of support from my family and I learned to really enjoy confusing my teachers and even scaring them. Children have no inhibitions when making their art. I’ve never seen my 4 year old son have a creative block; and his art is much more interesting than most adult’s art. Children are miraculous.

I believe to get ideas you have to nourish the spirit. I stuff myself full of the things I like: pictures of bugs, paintings by Bouguereau and David, books about Pheneous T. Barnum, films by Ray Harryhausen, old photographs of strange people, children’s books about space and science, medical illustrations, music by Frank Sinatra and Debussy, magazines, T.V., Jung and Freud, Ren and Stimpy, Joseph Campbell and Nostradamus, Ken and Barbie, Alchemy, Freemasonary, Buddhism. At night my head is so full of ideas I can’t sleep. I mix it all together and create my own doctrine of life and the universe. To me, certain things seem to fit together. There are certain parallels and clues all over the place. There may be a little part of Alice in Wonderland that fits in. Charles Darwin, and Colonel Sanders provide pieces. To me the world is full of awe and wonder. This is what I put in my paintings.

It seems to me that everything I am going to paint I have already painted. Something will “click” and an entire image will flash in my head. I then just have to remember what all the specific details of the image are supposed to be. I will often get stuck on a minor detail like the pattern on a curtain or the species of a background animal. It is very clear when I have the correct answer and resolve all the pieces of a work successfully. I just come as close as possible to what is supposed to be there.

I believe if you follow your heart and do what you love, success will follow. If you enchant yourself, others will be too.

-Mark Ryden - October, 1998

Out Of the Present

 Russian cosmonaut Sergei Krikalev’s ten months on board the Mir space station are captured in footage shot during his record-breaking visit to the heavens, which is contrasted with images of the collapse of the Soviet Union from 1991 to 1992. While Krikalev was away from Earth, the empire that sent him to space ceased to exist, his hometown of Leningrad became St. Petersburg, and the nature of global affairs underwent massive change.
Thank god for Elizabethan Dada. I grew up  on this,  and it saved my life. This was  a gift from my  bluestocking anti nuke bohemian English grandmother Diana Denney ,  born in 1910, who disappointed her  beauty of a mother by being an intellectual, who taught boarding school based on her own theories of awakening children’s minds   until a student asked if he could call her mummy and she realized she had to leave that  system, ( although, true to type,  she  sent my mother to boarding school at an early age herself)  who took us grandchildren   on  rainy  soggy fence jumping 4 hour walks through the  English countryside, while making up ribald songs, training us to see  the world’s beauty and strangeness, in her ancient tweed skirts lumpy shoes, ladders in her stockings , beads of blood on her legs from from  hopping  barbed wire   fences who had  this on her shelf so I read  it when I was 9, who had a Christmas tree lit by candles, who told us stories of her pet crow Corby who  used  to  light matches  under his wings and burn  the chairs down. She was my original source of magick, mystery, dada, joy, art,  a larger frame than  personal suffering and misery  and the amazing thing was it never felt systematic ( though it was) and it never felt like  wasn’t ‘her ’ way, more like she helped me to find  my own way of seeing the world as an artist. I am named after her, ( and it seems she was named after a boat!?)  and when  she died  I felt so sad, until I realized I have her inside me still. With untidy  hilarious people who have more books than money, who have a  million ideas and a mythical way  of holding the world and giving art to others, when I see myself teaching the way she might have done, when I touch   the sadness and compassion and hilarity of  making healing art and delicious food and filthy fart jokes  she’s with me.  Thank you Diana.

Thank god for Elizabethan Dada. I grew up  on this,  and it saved my life. This was  a gift from my  bluestocking anti nuke bohemian English grandmother Diana Denney ,  born in 1910, who disappointed her  beauty of a mother by being an intellectual, who taught boarding school based on her own theories of awakening children’s minds   until a student asked if he could call her mummy and she realized she had to leave that  system, ( although, true to type,  she  sent my mother to boarding school at an early age herself)  who took us grandchildren   on  rainy  soggy fence jumping 4 hour walks through the  English countryside, while making up ribald songs, training us to see  the world’s beauty and strangeness, in her ancient tweed skirts lumpy shoes, ladders in her stockings , beads of blood on her legs from from  hopping  barbed wire   fences who had  this on her shelf so I read  it when I was 9, who had a Christmas tree lit by candles, who told us stories of her pet crow Corby who  used  to  light matches  under his wings and burn  the chairs down. She was my original source of magick, mystery, dada, joy, art,  a larger frame than  personal suffering and misery  and the amazing thing was it never felt systematic ( though it was) and it never felt like  wasn’t ‘her ’ way, more like she helped me to find  my own way of seeing the world as an artist. I am named after her, ( and it seems she was named after a boat!?)  and when  she died  I felt so sad, until I realized I have her inside me still. With untidy  hilarious people who have more books than money, who have a  million ideas and a mythical way  of holding the world and giving art to others, when I see myself teaching the way she might have done, when I touch   the sadness and compassion and hilarity of  making healing art and delicious food and filthy fart jokes  she’s with me.  Thank you Diana.

Nabokov’s Diagrams/ The Myth of Vera

Ulysses

Ada

Wow.

If you haven’t read this yet,do it now. It will make you happy.

AND:

" On September1, 1942, The Nabokovs moved to Cambridge… at 8 Craigie Circle, apartment 35, a dingy little third-floor flat in a four story brick apartment house at the end of a cul de sac. They would live here for almost another six years… In this two  bedroom apartment, Vera and Dmitri shared one bedroom while Nabokov had the other, where he would write late into the night…under an ’ old lady with feet of stone and  above a young woman with hypersensitive hearing’… One hundred dollars worth of secondhand furniture was all they needed to deck out the apartment…Their friend Wilma Kirby Miller and everyone close to them at the time - and everyone close to them says much the same- ’ I never knew any family  who cared less about possessions, food, anything. Their only luxury was Dmitri.’- who had expensive toys and went to some of the most prestigious private schools in New England.

Sometimes part of the school fees would be paid off by Vera’s giving lessons or working as  secretary  at Harvard but as a rule she had quite enough work as  housekeeper and mother and in typing up the pages her husband had left o the floor after the previous nights’ composition. Wilma Kerby Miller called her a “one- man woman she worked with him, helped him, it was her great interest in life. She married a genius, and saw that he had every opportunity.” Harry and Elena Levin too were struck by Vera’s certainty that her husband was the greatest living writer, and the support she  afforded him with her business sense, her secretarial skills, her meticulous compilation of reviews, her sheer conviction and dedication.”- Brian Boyd, ‘Vladimir Nabokov; The American Years’

"From the start I knew that Mrs. Nabokov was the worst kind of subject: She was formal, she was stoic, she was private, selfless and capable of self-dramatization — all the qualities on which biography tends to founder."…

Although a “no trespassing” sign seemed to loom over the life of Vèra Slonim Nabokov (1902-91), Schiff ignored it. “Vèra lived by myths: She never contributed to Vladimir Nabokov’s work, she was never worried about the publication of ‘Lolita,’ never felt destitute when the family had no money, never raised her voice when her husband told her he was in the midst of an affair. All of these statements were false.” - Stacy Schiff, author of  ‘Vèra (Mrs. Vladimir Nabokov)’

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