Monthly Archives October 2010
Dance with me.
The festive sculptures of Medici Venus and Dancing Fawn, by Pietro Cipriani, as they stand at the Getty Center.
Los Angeles, California. Revelry – DK
The collar was a felicitous one and three-quarters of woven Egyptian broadcloth upon his neck. He stood at the conference table of translucent glass from the Mulberry Niflheim Collection, decidedly transfixed upon a scale model of the home he was to design within an opulent enclave, of the Upper East Side. The aqueous panoramas of SoHo played behind as he illustrated the architectural specifications, in detail, to the Russian industrial behemoth. Gesturing indicatively with his tempered, manicured hands, the Bvlgari cufflinks accommodated the light as he spoke.
“Beyond the primary entrance, I’ve imagined an unadulterated space, thus highlighting the grandeur of the main stairway. The interior will be sculpted in Cuban mahogany and massaged with tsavorite, just through the portico.”
Viktor Aleksy Chernov, the Byzantine founder of Chernov Energy, the global nuclear consulting engine, headquartered along the broad Nevsky Prospekt in St. Petersburg, observed the demonstration with careful note, whilst his assistant, Desya Pachkaev, translated in accord.
Mr. Chernov nodded, gaze affixed upon the model.
He then turned to Desya, speaking forcefully in his native tongue. The young man, educated in the United States and throughout Europe, acknowledged his mentor before addressing the Platonist architect.
“What is this, Cuban mahogany?” Desya began. “Is it of superior quality to other mahogany?”
Maxwell observed the young apprentice, bemused.
“This same wood exists in my home in Madeira.”
Desya rumpled his brow, uncertain. Maxwell graciously expounded.
Implode. Part LVIX – DK
The poetry in lines.
A courtesy lounge, upon entering the impressionist wing of the Getty Center.
Los Angeles, California. By design – DK
It was horological genius, crafted by hand at 61 Strand and 34 Royal Exchange, London. It was called Elizabeth, by the enduring skill that crafted the great clock, harbored at the Palace of Westminster, as well as a timepiece for the last emperor of Russia. And though his namesake towered steadfast in the midst of London, Benjamin could not persuade his person to arise from the comforts of the Mulberry Vor, a circular divan, composed of handcrafted Macassar ebony and amber citrine, appropriated from the depths of Rio Grande Do Sul.
The liquid globules continued to pelt the French glass. He briefly considered a halt of his breathing, within the silken pause of the goose down pillows. For the world beyond the deftly crafted windows did not mirror the comforts of the artisan’s guest quarters.
Instead, he turned to observe the rarified Dent clock once more.
And now, a torrential assault accosted the solitude of the window pane. Benjamin sat forward, his gaze fallen out onto the saturated corridors of SoHo. It would drizzle this way in the rainforest. A continual emulsion, comparable to contrition in ichorous, beneath the nurturing shade of emerald canopies for days on end. He remained still, his gaze continued on the city, which was once his fiefdom.
Perhaps today, he would have it back.
Implode. Part LVIII – DK
The sport of kings.
Nacho Figueras and his team, Black Watch, in vigorous pursuits above the Pacific Ocean.
Pacific Palisades, California. Classic – DK