As Mr Brown hung this picture ...

... above the fireplace in our bedroom, we both turned and looked at our Pingu, who was watching from the windowsill. "Let this serve as a cautionary example Ping", we both said, almost in one voice. Jinx.

illustration...

... and how I love it so.
My bloggy friend, Ms CookieCrumb, recently confessed she was, once upon a time, an illustrator. I love picture books, especially children's books, they get the best pictures.
So then I got to thinking about my favourite illustrator and children's book. There are too many really, but if pressed I'd have to say for illustrator, Norman Lindsay.
Now Mr Lindsay is most famous, I'd say, for this sort of thing. Plump, sexy ladies. Plump, saucy ladies.Pretty, plump ladies.
Then there's the cats.Mr Lindsay also 'got' cats, he captured them perfectly. He had fun with them too. And then there's this, if pinned to the wall I'd have to pick Mr Lindsay's The Magic Pudding as my favourite children's illustrated book. With picture like these, how could I not?I have such a battered copy, a remnant from my childhood. How I wished I could have a tree house like that one. I'd lie on the floor gazing and gazing at that particular picture. Perhaps that's where the germ of an idea of gardening for myself first wormed its way into my little mouse brain.

In other news, something on teh Internets* has given me a massive case of shitty-give-a-dams, so I'll be taking a little holiday, leaving it alone for a bit until I simmer down. Else I may post something I'll only regret.
Cheeryby, backsoon.

*Also, in googling teh Internets I saw something that made me want to vomit and then wash my brain, erk.

Wot's for dinner then, eh?

... yep, those are eyeballs, eyeballs on a plate.
Francisco de Zubaran's Saint Lucy, the patron saint of the poor, and eyes.
This is what you get for googling 'eyes on a plate'. Ummm, no, I don't think I'll tell you why, see if you can guess!

#5 ...

... in this post's list, well, that would be my #2, Fine Art from a Far off Foreign land!

MOMA ...

... O my.

Speaking of renovations ...

... when we finally DO get around to it, I've found the perfect 'feature' tiles. Only they are forty fucking five English Pounds each FFS!!They are Poetry Tiles by Iris Milward. A genius artist and they are so beautiful they are totally worth every penny but O my.I may possibly need to try a life of crime! All pics filched from Ms Milwald's site.

Poisson d'Avril ...

Paul Klee's The Golden Fish (image from here).

I read somewhere once that a skinned bear looks like a human being ...

... a skinned human being, obvy (otherwise known as flayed, a la St Batholomew, the ghoul in me loves how he's nearly always pictured with his skin, jauntily slung over his arm).
The thought stuck in my mind, for years and years, tucked away somewhere in the back of my brainbox, filed under "possibly useful".
The wee factoid popped to the fore the other day when I bought this book, Amazing Rare Things. It's the book of this exhibition that I'd have loved to have seen, the tyranny of distance, bah.
Anyway, the point is, in the book is this picture. An anatomical drawing of a bear foot, by the clever Mr Da Vinci.
Look closely and you tell me, if you disregard the claws of course, that, that isn't a human foot and ankle. Hell, when you consider the state of the toenails of some of the male of the species, it just plain IS a human foot.
Cool, eh?

They never taught any of the good stuff when I went to Catholic school ...

... probably because they knew things like the miracle of the lactation would make us roll our eyes and possibly question the faith.
Honestly, it's a bit too much like some oddity fetish (I googled that for you but didn't go further) to take seriously as a momentous religious event.
Men, particularly the celibate variety, can be weird little monkeys.
This one by Alonso Cano.

Historically possible ...

... but mind boggling just the same.
If Europeans stumbled upon the Americas in 1492, as is commonly stated, then I guess it is quite possible that guinea pigs had made it to the Netherlands. But still, my mind reeled when I saw this, painted in 1618, in my new book.
Are those guinea piggies in the foreground??
And this. Apparently the Dutch found chunks of this great southern land in 1606, so the sulphur crested cockatoo at the top left hand isn't entirely impossible for this undated masterpiece, the artists were around in the mid 1600s. But, WOW. Also, marmosets - squeeeee.
Pics from here and here.

More Loot ...

... my very own dragon. A last minute purchase, from the Met.He'll stop anyone from trying to pinch my books.Just LOOK at his stink eye!

Loot ...

We brought home a few, little, things from our recent trip away. And we were given a little thing too. A small piece of beautiful pink granite, by Lee from over at Pink Granite. It now sits with other, significant stones, one Mr Brown brought back for me from Middle Earth, a stone from the table decorations at my brother's wedding, and a decorated stone that used to belong to Mr Brown's mum. There's also a bit of holly from Mr Brown's mum's garden, a walnut from the front table at Stephanie Alexander's now long-gone restaurant, and a gum nut, picked up on some long-past holiday or other.

We also brought home a tiny glass lobster, very, very carefully packed by a nice young lady who understood the trials of travelling with fragile things. He now lives with some other dust-gatherers, on the fishy shelf (Lalique fish, the emergency can't think of anything else to get her gift).
It was at the same gallery, in Newport, that we picked up this.

It's a lovely artist's proof by Parker Beach (no web presence, wtf?). Yes, more lobsters with claws, we became quite the clawed-lobster fans. We will still force ourselves to eat local crayfish though, they just aren't as well defended as their American cousins.

I love this stuff...

... it's my favourite kind of art I think, the quirky, elderly still life. I love the detail, the bloom of the peach, the browning of the cut fruit.

Something about it just appeals. Just look at that glass of wine, you could sip it.

And the wee quirks, the lizard. The forgetmenots and the wiggy worm.So it was nice, really lovely, to find so much of it at the Met, when we visited. If only we'd brought the sort of bag that could safely transport posters ... never mind. Next time.

Today I took my new cold & my recovering feet to the Met ...

... Mr Brown had to spend the day having the boat measured, hearing how races would be run, sticking things to his sails and such like.
So I took myself back to the Met, to see all the bits we'd missed earlier. And my o my had we missed a lot. There was all the Medieval stuff for a start, including reliquaries! And the Egyptian stuff, the Temple of Dendur, the European Sculpture & Decorative Arts, the American Wing Period Rooms, the Arts of Africa, Oceania and the Americas, and ... I still have to go back because I ran out of time and missed the Musical Instruments, the Japanese and Chines Art and the Drawings, Prints and Photographs, o, and the Ancient Near Eastern Art.Sigh, I'll have to start saving up my running away money again.
It's just such a wonderful place, I could live there, just like Claudia and Jamie Kincaid (which, btw S, I've located a copy of for the young Miss). About 3pm or so my feet, carefully wrapped and incased in boots not docs, decided a little rest was in order, so I hoofed it to the Petrie Court Cafe & Wine Bar for a delightful High Tea of dainty crustless sandwiches with Smoked Salmon, Cucumber and Mint, Tarragon Egg Salad and a mini Croque Monsieur (squeeee, so cute). Then Currant Scones, Fruit Tartlets, Petits Fours, Lemon Curd, Devonshire Cream and Peach and Blueberry Preserves. Along with a refreshing cup of green jasmine tea.
Then a little more artand back on the 4 train (see, I'm almost a local) to find Mr Brown all clean and lovely and rushing out the door to something. He's coming back to take me to dinner, I hope!

In which my feet whimpered and sobbed in the corner ...

... We were absolutely determined to get to the Guggenheim today - we were up and out of the hotel by 8:45, deciding to try a "classic diner" breakfast recommended by one of Mr Brown's American expat friends. On the way I spotted the biggest pet shop I've ever seen (Petco Lexington Ave). People were wandering the isles with their dogs! So, we popped in to get Ping and Small a little giftie. Most of the cat toys were unsuitable, being full of cat nip. Australian Customs would have snatched them from my grasp, stamped them, burned them and then thrown me in goal. But I did find something.
We landed at the Lexingon Candy Shop Luncheonette (ext 1925) and did the eggies, bacon & bagel thing, and wandered down to the Gugg. It turns out the Gugg is not open on Thursdays. Thwarted - that's 3 times we've missed it. We're going to try again after the sailing is done, but I'm not holding my breath.
Since we were in the area we popped into the Whitney, via Williams Somoma for some nice teatowels. Hmmm, mostly not my cup of tea, though I did really like Winter Fields by Andrew Wyeth. Mr Brown wanted to see Washington Square, because he admired the house Will Smith took over in that movie, about the vampire disease. The "house" is actually flats! Very nice though. It must have been stone week or somesuch, the place was packed with hip young things wandering about being terribly, terribly cool. I was terribly, terribly UNcool and patted a nice police horse.We lunched in the park then dashed down to Soho to look at Bloomingdales. Meh, it was just a big shop really, thought the shop girls were all terribly nice. I bought some tights (so I could get a little brown bag, sad, I know) and the shop girl gave me her card!
By this time the feet were becoming fractious but Mr Brown wanted some suits and shoes and had been told Century 21 was the place to go. I'd been told by several that I'd like the place. I did not, I did not like it at all. I hate chaotic, messing shopping with crowds and this place was a shit fight. The only thing that tempted me was a divine pair of red suede Jimmy Choos that made me as tall as Mr Brown. But there was no way I'd ever walk in them, so they were returned to the shelf.
The men's section, on the other hand, was calm and a lovely wee man came over, took Mr Brown under his wing and helped me talk him into a suit with just the smidgen of colour in the pin stripe. Then he took him downstairs to find shoes - and bargains were found. Why that sort of service isn't available to women I don't know. Not fair!
The feet packed it in at that point, so we took them home via a nice cafe where I drank my first Manhattan. That was a terrible, terrible mistake. I got thoroughly pissed and didn't even enjoy it.

Feet only complaining of assault & battery today ...

... Morning(ish) was spent at the Morgan, where I intended to buy everybloodything with Morgan on it. Ended up with a couple of mugs and a bag! There were NO T-SHIRTS! The disappointment could be cut through with a knife I tell you. The Illuminations were amazing, if not for the weight I'd have bought 107million books, and bought a new case to keep them in. I fell in love with Mr Morgan's actual library, 3 storeys! And a big stone fireplace I could stand up in. I so wish I was that sort of rich.
We stayed so long lunch was in order, and tres elegant it was too, with wine. Cost a bomb but what the hell, we are on holiday after all.
Next up, the Top of the Rock, the Rockefeller Centre. No vertigo here as the observation platforms were not even the littlest bit wibbly. We decided to do this rather than go up the Empire State Building, so we could actually SEE the Empire State Building, and so much more besides. Mr Brown displayed the patience of a saint and did not fling me from the top, bless (but if that gap had been wider ...). And then we made a wild dash for MOMA, and I'm so very glad we did, what a spot, what Art. The temptation to snatch and run was most strong within me.
What a beautiful sculpture garden, what a terribly saucy Picasso goat. We even bought Rupert a present in the museum shop, a sort of grippy tripod thingo. Again my capacity to carry and weight restrictions on the flight home restrained me from a major assault on the book section. Sigh, O for a private jet.
We ran out of time and missed the Guggenheim again. I'm wondering if it is our fate to never get inside.
A wild, woolly and fractious trip back to the hotel next, to shower, apply a bit of slap, pop on a frock (clean trousers for Mr Brown, we found a wash and fold place that did a shitload of laundry for $10, no more socks in the sink for me!) and get out to the River Cafe in Brooklyn for dinner. We made it, despite a wrong turn and forgotten MetroCard, only 5 minutes late.
Neither of us noted the "jackets required" rule, but the lovely young woman at the front desk lent one to Mr Brown, it even went with his trousers. No tie was required though, which was odd.
The restaurant floats, so when a stink boat whizzed past the whole room moved most disconcertingly. But the view, as the sun went down and the lights of Manhattan came on, the best view of Manhattan by far (except maybe from the Rockefeller, but still...)
The food was wonderful, and beautiful. I started with the Crab and Coconut Bisque, because I could not go past a dish with "peekeytoe crab", who could? Well, Mr Brown could because he had the ravioli special, nice but no peekeytoes! I'll admit, "peekeytoe" was said many, many times and will continue to be said for some time to come.
This was followed by the duck (of course) and the salmon. Mr Brown won the dessert prize with his Chocolate Marquise Brooklyn Bridge, though my Goat Cheese Cheesecake was wonderful, just the right touch of "farmyard" and very passionfruity.
I must say the service thing in the Excited States is way over the top. We were attended to, throughout the night by at least 6 different waiters, all with their own tasks. There's the water guy, the bread guy, the chap who takes your wine order, the fellow who takes your order, the servers ... back home this would all be covered by one person. And the underselling was surprising. Nobody suggested a pre-dinner drinkie (so we did), nobody suggested a dessert wine (so we did, we think we may have come across as a couple of pisspots), again, totally different from home.
O, and (tee hee) Mr Brown sat for ages waiting for someone to pop is serviette in his lap, until I reminded him this was not the American way (I remembered reading about how Americans in Australia are shocked but the placing of the serviette in one's lap by one's waiter, apparently it is considered shocking to have some chap's hand so close to one's groin).
Then home, by clean, cool, uncrowded, vomit-free subway, where we took pictures of each other's blisters - no, I won't be posting those shots, promise.