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Have you ever heard of Sofonisba Anguissola? Or Adélaide Labille-Guiard? Me neither, until reading this exhilarating, revisionist history of art, lauding female practitioners neglected by convention.
Miles of prehistoric polygonal stone walls still survive scattered across Italy―ancient ruins so stunningly unique, bizarre, and futuristic that scholars, historians, and philosophers once believed they were built by a now-extinct race of giant human beings called the “Cyclopes.” Their building technique resembles that of the Incas/pre-Incas of Peru: enormous stones cut into interlocking angles, placed without mortar. Sadly, modern scholars ignore these ruins while the wider world is oblivious to their existence. We’ll see why some Victorians believed they were built by survivors from Atlantis. They said to have been taller, stronger, more clever, and generally superior to modern man―has been known in all eras as the with the constructions they created termed “Cyclopean.”Many classical writers and historians posited in their writings the idea that the Cyclopean ruins of Italy (and of Europe in general) were erected by this now-extinct Cyclopean race.
Under the moniker Cobrasnake, photographer Mark Hunter captured the party scenes of LA NYC during the 2000s. The Cobrasnake: Y2Ks Archive is a love letter to a time before Instagram that brought together the new millennium’s rising stars. On sale March https://t.co/JgO8h9HgdH…
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On a Friday night in October of 2018, I took a bus from New York City down to Washington D.C. to run the Baltimore Marathon the following morning. As an obsessively frugal 20-something, I had elected the cheapest bus line possible. The dubious (now defunct) brand allowed riders to purchase a ticket for $20 cash from a handler outside Penn Station, operated largely without air conditioning, and on one occasion (yes, I was a repeat customer) dumped us all at a rest stop for an hour while our driver took a nap.
Of the many luxuries not afforded to passengers was the loading and unloading of baggage, so I found myself crawling around in the bus’s humid cargo hold in downtown D.C. trying to excavate my suitcase when we arrived. After a minute or two of shoving strangers’ bags out onto the street, I finally located my own and with one mighty yank, dragged it from underneath a pile of luggage. More focused on escaping the bus than paying attention to my surro