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Four-Star DE Princely Umanmielen in a Red River Showdown
Katy, Texas- This past Sunday, hundreds of future college athletes hit the field going through drills and most importantly, competing against one another. At camps like The Opening, you can see the best of the best compete and if you are a player like Princely Umanmielen, you are most likely going to stick out (In a good way of course). It didn't really matter who Princely lined up against because he won just about every single rep he took against opposing offensive lineman. Keep in mind, these aren't just any lineman, the guys he went up against are legit division one players on the offensive line.
You could have made an argument for Princely to win Defensive lineman MVP for the Houston regional camp, but he did end up making the top five overall on the defensive line. Princely is a VERY highly sought-after player with 19 total offers and just about every Big 12 school wants him. However, there are two Big 12 schools that seem to really have the attention of the four-star defensive end from Manor, Texas and I had the chance to catch up with Princely after his camp performance.
HCS: What was the most important thing you learned from the coaches at this camp today?
Princely: "Using my hands more and coming up with a game plan before the snap."
HCS: What are some of the Big 12 schools that stick out to you right now?
Princely: "Probably Texas, Oklahoma and Oklahoma State."
HCS: How do you see yourself fitting at Texas or Oklahoma?
Princely: "I really see myself fitting in at Oklahoma because of their defensive scheme and how coach Grinch (Oklahoma DC) is trying to use the defensive line now. And with Texas, I have a really close relationship with coach Herman (Texas HC) and coach Giles (Texas DL)."
HCS: You are close to Austin, does sticking close to home play a factor in your decision?
Princely: "It really doesn't play kind any factor in my decision. It has played a little factor in my recruitment because I have visited Texas so many times and it is close to my house."
HCS: You mentioned coach Grinch at Oklahoma but what are your thoughts about coach Orlando at Texas?
Princely: "I feel like he is a real intense guy. I am not too fond of the three-man front but if Texas is a school I am comfortable with and if I want to go there, I will make it work."
HCS: What is the one biggest thing you want to work on this summer?
Princely: "Definitely speed."
**Sign up here for our HCS weekly e-mails for a chance to win FREE Heartland College Sports and Big 12 team gear!!**


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The Bureau secretary desk is shown in Cherry wood, Antique Grey with details in Washed White. The piece includes a superior, removable compartment which can be transformed into a support table, internal drawers for office material, and two large drawers at the bottom of the piece. Note the elegance of the cabriolet feet and the marvellous, aged decorative ironwork of the handles.
- Handcrafted in cherry wood, oak, mahogany or painted.
- Hand painted in an extensive range of wood finishes.
- Available with any assortment of drawers and / or filing cabinets.
- Cable management available on request.
- Can be made as a partners desk with drawers in each side.
- Table top in any material including wood, marble and leather.
- Full bespoke service available.
- W 100cm x D 54cm x H 120cm
- W 39.4" x D 21.3" x H 47.2"
UK Delivery Service
The standard home delivery charge to any address in England is £100 plus VAT per order. Oficina Inglesa will contact you prior to delivery to arrange a date and time of your convenience for the home delivery to take place. On the day of the delivery, the furniture is unloaded, placed in a room of your choice, unpacked and the packaging is removed from the property.
The price for deliveries to Scotland is £150 plus VAT per order.
International Delivery Service
Oficina Inglesa will deliver anywhere in the world, but a carriage fee will be applied to all furniture and accessory deliveries. For orders outside the UK, the transport cost of an order is based on the weight and size of the items. For packaging, air/sea shipping and/or home delivery quotes, please contact Oficina Inglesa.
Our Standard Delivery Service applies to deliveries to Belgium, France, Germany, Luxembourg and Switzerland. On the day of the delivery the furniture is unloaded, placed in a room of the client's choice, unpacked and the packaging is removed from the property. The lead time for production and delivery to the above mentioned countries is 6-12 weeks. The Standard Delivery Service costs 150€ plus VAT to France and Germany; and 180€ plus VAT to Belgium, Luxembourg and Switzerland.
Lead Time
The lead time on most products is 6-12 weeks for deliveries anywhere in England, including London or the Home Counties, and 8-13 weeks for Scotland; including bespoke and custom-made pieces. Upon the placement of an order, Oficina Inglesa provides each customer with a guide as to the expected delivery date of the products. The lead time will vary depending on the size of the order and the customer's location.
If you are considering placing an order and wish to confirm the lead time for your products, please contact Oficina Inglesa. In case you require a delivery by a specific date, please do contact us to let us know your deadline and we will try our utmost to accommodate this. accommodate this.

subset: commoncrawl


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Have Jewish hands indeed wreaked the destruction of Israeli democracy? The real problem with polemics like these is not that they are critical of Israeli society, but that their basic descriptions of that society bear no relation to reality. For the truth is that Israel today is more democratic, and substantively so, than it has ever been before. Until 1977, Israel was essentially a one-party state, dominated by a secular and socialist Ashkenazi elite. Today, it is one of the most politically, ethnically, and religiously diverse societies in the world. Sephardi Jews, religious Jews, Arabs, Russian immigrants, and many others have a voice and a degree of political influence they could never have enjoyed in the past that is so nostalgically remembered by the Israeli Left.Finally, he suggests an explanation, having to do with the failure of the Oslo Process and the fading of hope for peace with the Palestinians.On this point Kerstein is correct, but too narrow. The real divide between intellectuals of the Zionist Left (in the case of Gideon Levy, it's probably the ex-Zionist Left) and the rest of us is cultural, not political. In a nutshell, the part of the Left which so bemoans Israel's decline is mourning a worldview in which the point of Zionism was to create a Hebrew-speaking and Jewish-majority Western European state, one which could comfortably fit into the EU and its project of shared sovereignty, weak nationalism, and belief in Human Rights as the overriding principle of social organization. Of course, this isn't what Zionism's founders had in mind, since the EU hadn't been invented at the time. But when you read Herzl's two books, The Jewish State and especially Old New Land (Altneuland), you'll see that he'd have been quite comfortable with the EU had he lived a century later.
Many Israelis today may not like what these groups have to say, or what they want to do. But that is not a threat to democracy. It is democracy. And here, in its apparent powerlessness to change the face of this democracy, lies the Left's insoluble dilemma. To paraphrase Brecht, its only recourse is to dissolve the Israeli people and elect—or, better, appoint—another one.
Most Israelis, however, aren't interested in that vision. Not that they've got a clearly defined alternative vision - they haven't. But they've got a healthy appreciation of the nation as an important component of identity, and many of them are of course committed to a version of Judaism as a religion. This forms a distance, and sometimes a chasm, between the majority of Israelis and the remnants adherents of the more universally-minded social-democratic vision of Zionism.
The sad part of the story is that some (not all) of the old elite, the one that founded Israel and fought for its success for decades, are refusing to accept that their vision has been replaced, and arguably they're willing to tear down the edifice if it doesn't look like what they imagined.
This needs to be fleshed out in greater detail than a blog post, but a blog post is all I'm offering right now.


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Were you unable to attend Transform 2022? Check out all of the summit sessions in our on-demand library now! Watch here.
GE announced plans yesterday to make the largest purchase in the history of electric vehicles — 25,000 cars by 2015.
The company said it will convert at least half of its 30,000-strong global fleet, and purchase 12,000 electric cars from GM, starting with the range extender Chevy Volt (pictured), which will start hitting dealerships next month. The purchases will be for its own fleet and for its Capital Fleet Services business, where customers can lease electric cars through GE.
GE has a big stake in the future of electric vehicle infrastructure. The company introduced its WattStation electric vehicle charger last summer and has teamed with electric vehicle infrastructure startup Better Place to accelerate electric car adoption. In fact, the company estimates it will reap $500 million in near-term revenues from electric vehicle infrastructure alone. Siemens has fired back with a charger of its own and teamed up with Better Place rival Coulomb.
GM's Volt is an interesting choice for GE given that the Volt isn't all-electric and the GM brand still suffers from some poor consumer sentiment, but it's worth noting that GM does big business in fleet sales. In fact, fleet sales look like they're going to be a key part of electric vehicle adoption. For GE, the Volt is a good, conservative baby step to electric vehicles. The car switches to gas power after going 25 to 50 miles on its battery, so drivers aren't entirely dependent on the battery. Although startups like Coulomb are quickly rolling out more and more charging stations across the country, it'll be awhile before there's a full web of charging infrastructure in place nationwide.
"By electrifying our own fleet, we will accelerate the adoption curve, drive scale, and move electric vehicles from anticipation to action," CEO Jeffrey Immelt said in a company statement.
Indeed, BusinessWeek has suggested that enormous orders from a heavyweight like GE could do a lot to push prices down and speed adoption. And this purchase underscores that fleets will be a big segment in electric vehicle sales. Corporate fleets sound a little less sexy than individual sales, but they make a lot of sense and are lucrative. Electric car startup Coda (which lost its CEO last week) has said it wants to sell 14,000 of its electric sedans by the end of 2011 and expects 40 to 50 percent of those sales to go to fleets. It's a strategy that almost every electric car player is pursuing.
Coda has inked a deal to provide 100 cars to Enterprise Rent-A-Car and recently hired fleet sales executives with backgrounds from GE, Mercedes-Benz and Chrysler. Its higher-profile competitor, the Nissan all-electric Leaf, has also landed a deal with Hertz car rentals.
Smith Electric Vehicles has done a steady business in fleet sales of its electric trucks — it's been chosen by Frito-Lay to supply 171 electric trucks in the snack giant's delivery truck fleet. Better Place is bringing an electric taxi program to San Francisco after the success of a similar pilot in Tokyo. With delivery services, the cars drive a fixed route, making it easier to manage charging. Since taxis typically can't wait for charge time, Better Place is bringing its signature battery-swapping technology to the program, where depleted batteries are quickly switched out for fully-charged ones. (In fact, I wonder if Tesla's much-anticipated Model S sedan in 2012 will target fleet sales.)
By all accounts, electric vehicles still face a long road to adoption. One recent report forecast that electric and hybrid vehicles combined would only account for seven percent of passenger vehicle sales by 2020. And yes, there are some serious consumer education barriers when it comes to electric cars, plus lingering issues about battery lifetime and the higher cost of the car. But they're still the most visible, sexiest facet of the cleantech movement, and GE's purchase gives the segment a definite boost.
Of course, not everyone's on board with electric vehicles. Daimler's CEO has called them overhyped — but also called for more government incentives to cut the price tag on electric vehicles.
Companies are also trying to get a foothold in the Chinese market, where the government is heavily pushing electric cars and charging infrastructure rollout — to the tune of 5 million planned electric cars on the roads by 2020. Companies like the domestic carmaker BYD are surely poised to benefit, but other players like Nissan, Daimler and Volkswagen are also planning electric cars for the Chinese market.
VentureBeat's mission is to be a digital town square for technical decision-makers to gain knowledge about transformative enterprise technology and transact. Discover our Briefings.


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Hitler's early life has long been an inscrutable mystery. Read any book about him and you will discover how little can be pinned down as fact. What does stand out is the paradox that he was clearly an unremarkable drifter who somehow managed to garner significant popular support in the early 1930s and ultimately became Reich Chancellor. All books to date struggle to offer a convincing explanation for this, posing more questions than they answer.
The origin of this problem stems from the highly distorted and selective historical record Hitler left us. His book Mein Kampf is his largely invented heroic account of his experiences as a soldier in the First World War and how that crucible forged his world view and 'calling' to lead Germany back to greatness. At this time he was becoming a prominent public figure taking pains to suppress, destroy or distort any evidence or any one threatening to contradict his own version of his life. Historians have had to rely unsatisfactorily on Mein Kampf along with the few surviving crumbs of credible historical evidence.
However not all of the credible evidence has been lost to us. Recently the German historian Thomas Weber got lucky when the Bavarian State archives recovered the dusty, previously lost war diary of the regiment Hitler served in during the First World War. It proved a valuable mine of information which contradicts many of the assertions Hitler made about his war service and the war generally. The diary also provided Weber with leads to other previously unknown sources such as descendants of the men who served with Hitler. His book Hitler's First War at last opens up a window on Hitler's early life.
Weber has revealed a young Hitler
more fascinating and intriguing than
any work of fiction could ever provide
What emerges is a fleshed out picture of what Hitler was really doing during the war and after, including one real bombshell about his political activities during a brief period in the early 1920s which was once a total blank to historians. Weber describes what Hitler's fellow soldiers thought of him but, equally crucially, he reveals the impact the war had on them in comparison to the impact it had on Hitler.
It is well known that Hitler blamed Germany's defeat in 1918 on 'spineless civilians and politicians' who stopped supporting the war effort – the infamous 'stab in the back' conspiracy. The 'lessons' Hitler drew from this would later be applied in fighting a new war – with devastating consequences. Thanks to this book, it is now clear why Hitler came to this conclusion. Hitler's fellow soldiers increasingly came to see the war as a lost cause. On the other hand, as Weber has discovered, Hitler's experience of the war was such an unusual one it gave him a very distorted perception of what was going on. A perception so at odds with that of his compatriots as to be delusional.
So what was it about Hitler's experience of the war that was so unusual? And what sort of man was he at this time? You'll have to read this book to find out – be ready for some surprises! Weber has revealed a young Hitler more fascinating and intriguing than any work of fiction could ever provide. Future accounts of Hitler will owe a huge debt to Weber.
Laurence Rees is a must-read writer of all things to do with World War 2. He is a master at explaining complicated matters in a clear but easy style which is why most of his books have been made into documentaries for television. He first came to prominence with his excellent book and TV series The Nazis: a warning from history. Recently his website WW2History.com became freely accessible and is highly recommended. His new book The Dark Charisma of Adolf Hitler (also to be made into a television documentary) endeavours to answer two big intertwined questions: how did Hitler, an obscure drifter, ascend to power and why did so many Germans support him?
Hitler's rise to power, rather than being the incomprehensible and insane aberration we tend to see it as, was actually a very plausible and logical sequence of events and circumstances
Hindsight shows us how insane Hitler and the Third Reich increasingly became. But Rees sweeps hindsight aside to analyse what qualities made Hitler charismatic and how these qualities appealed to Germans, whether a high-ranking general or a man in the street. Crucially, Rees also turns his attention to the many who were initially sceptical of Hitler's claims and promises or were resistant to his charisma. This is where Rees persuasively cracks the big paradox of Hitler: how he evolved from being a lowly drifter to final mastery at winning the sceptics over and why, once defeat was clearly inevitable, he retained the support (enthusiastic or otherwise) of most Germans.
In helping us understand these facets Rees shows how Hitler's rise to power, rather than being the incomprehensible and insane aberration we tend to see it as, was actually a very plausible and logical sequence of events and circumstances. Reading it is a sobering but informative reminder of who we are, what we think and how we react in difficult times.
If you are interested in learning more about Hitler and this period of history, search our catalogue for:
- resources on Adolf Hitler
- resources on World War I
- resources on World War II


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advantage of using the compiler is that it allows the application to be
independent from LED files during its execution. Since the interface
description is inside the executable file, there is no need to worry about
locating the configuration files.
advantage is that ledc performs a stricter verification than IUP's
internal parser. This makes error detection in LED files easier.
ledc [-v] [-c] [-f funcname] [-o file] files
|shows ledc's version number
|does not generate code, just checks for errors in the LED files
|-f funcname
|uses <funcname> as the name of the generated exported function (default: led_load)
|-o file
|uses <file> as the name of the generated file (default: led.c)
Several warnings and error messages might be generated during compilation. Errors abort the compilation. The messages can be the following:
warning: undeclared control name (argument number)
The name name was used as an argument where a IUP element was expected, but no element with this name was previously declared.
warning: string expected (argument number)
A name (callback?) was passed as a parameter for a string-type argument.
warning: callback expected (argument number)
A string was passed as a parameter for a callback-type argument.
warning: unknown control name used
An unknown element, called name, was used. The compiler assumes the element's creation function is called IupName, with name capitalized, and assumes the arguments' types based on what was passed on LED.
warning: elem declared without a name
An elem-type element was declared without being associated to any name. This declaration creates the element, but it will not be accessible, so it cannot be used.
element name already used in line number
The name element was already used in line number. In IUP, the same element cannot have more than one parent.
too few arguments for name
The name element expects more arguments than those already passed.
too many arguments for name
The name element expects less arguments than those passed.
name is not a valid child
The name element cannot be used as a parameter in this case. This happens when trying to insert an image into a vbox, for instance.
control expected (argument number)
A string was passed as a parameter for an element-type argument.
string expected (argument number)
An element was passed as a parameter for a string-type argument.
number expected (argument number)
An element or a string was passed as a parameter for a number-type argument.
callback expected (argument number)
An element was passed as a parameter for a callback-type argument.
hotkeys not implemented
Even though it is a LED word reserved to an element, it is not implemented.


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The spatulas are suitable for baking and cooking.
In order to avoid discoloration of the spatula when using it together with very coloured foodstuff, you have to rinse it with cold water directly after use.
The spatulas exist with wood, plastic and stainless steel handles. The plastic handles are available in white and black.
Spatula with plastic handle and white plastic blade. Made of EMA and PS. Heat-resistant to +70 C.


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Our publications keep professionals informed on the most important developments and issues in health security and biosecurity.
Find an article or report by keywords:
As the COVID-19 pandemic continues to progress, most jurisdictions have implemented physical distancing measures to reduce further transmission, which have contributed to reductions in numbers of new cases. As chains of transmission begin to decline, along with new COVID-19 cases, there will need to be decisions at the state level about how to transition out of strict physical distancing measures and into a phased reopening.
This document provides an assessment of the risk of SARS-CoV-2 transmission in a variety of organizations and settings that have been closed during the period in which physical distancing and mitigation measures have been put in place. We outline steps to reduce potential transmission during the reopening of these organizations and settings, building on the proposed phased approach from the National Coronavirus Response: A Road Map to Reopening. Reopening businesses and other sectors represents one of many steps that will need to be taken to revitalize communities recovering from the pandemic, restore economic activity, and mitigate the unintended public health impact of the distancing measures that were necessary to confront the epidemic of COVID-19. A discussion of larger community-wide considerations for holistically enhancing recovery can be found in the Appendix.
State-level decision makers will need to make choices based on the individual situations experienced in their states, risk levels, and resource assessments, and they should do so in consultation with community stakeholder groups. Different parts of the country face varying levels of risk and have different resources available to confront these uncertainties. These decisions will need to be accompanied by clear and transparent communication to gain community engagement around the greatly anticipated reopenings. Individuals, businesses, and communities have a role to play in taking actions to protect themselves and those around them during this time. In this report, we offer a framework for considering risks regarding the likelihood of transmission and potential consequences of those transmissions. This is accompanied by proposed measures for nonessential businesses, schools and childcare facilities, outdoor spaces, community gathering spaces, transportation, mass gatherings, and interpersonal gatherings. This is followed by proposed action steps for state-level decision makers on how to utilize risk assessment findings.


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Happy to report I'm the proud father of a new "baby" just delivered to the Amazon Kindle stores (USA, UK and Germany). Only the tyke in this book--"Baby Talk"-- isn't the little bundle of joy that most daddies expect. At least not to Neil Becker, the protagonist of the story.
Neil is a miserable 19 year old who dropped out of college to marry and support Annie, a girl that he got pregnant. Neil was against Annie having the baby for the start, feeling that neither one of them were psychologically or financially prepared to bring up a child, and urged her to have an abortion. But Annie insisted on having the Natasha, and, pestered by a guilty conscience, Neal decided to marry her.
But all that's back story. When the book opens, it's five months after little Natasha is born...and she starts talking to Neal.
Or so he thinks.
Of course, little Natasha never speaks in front of anyone else, especially Annie. But soon, even stranger things start happening, and Neal begins to believe the baby is "out to get him. " Annie is sure he's cracking up--she thinks his breakdown is driven by the guilt Neal feels over wanting the pregnancy terminated.
By the end of the book, Neal and the baby are engaged in a knock-down, drag out battle of wills that goes far, far over the top. Yet, readers wonder...is Neal simply imagining all this, or is it really happening? The end of the book is as shocking as that of Wild Child, and readers will know the answer.
My beta readers say that story is both creepy and hilarious at the same time: a black comedy that borders on horror. It's not for everyone--some may find the notion of a "mean baby" distasteful, and they shouldn't read the book. But, as one reader recently said, "Anyone who ever brought up kids will tell you that they can be absolutely devilish at times."
You can read a sample here.
Better yet, buy it right now! Here are the links to Amazon:
| Amazon USA
| Amazon UK
| Barnes & Noble


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Buying a Vehicle From Our Japan Stock or In-transit Stock
1. Send us the URL or screenshot or description of the vehicle that interests you. We can get you more information on the unit.
2. If you want to make it yours and you have a $1,000 deposit & we can reserve it for you by CLICKING THIS LINK
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4. Let us know if you want it shipped to the Vancouver port ( 5-6 weeks avg ), or the Halifax port ( 6-8 weeks avg ). It'll be shipped with full insurance coverage.
5. Allow 3-4 business days for us to clear it through customs. The listed price includes everything up to this point, Including customs, taxes, and our margin. Let us know if you'd like us to arrange shipping to your door, or if you would like to pick it up at the port and take it home(no extra cost).
6. We can ship anywhere in Canada inexpensively. Again, with full shipping insurance coverage so you can have peace of mind. We can also have the vehicle delivered to a recommended inspection shop in your city if you prefer. We can also provide parts @ cost for as long as you own the vehicle as a thank-you for importing through B-Pro.
7. That's it! The whole process is simple, and we handle all the shipping, customs, paperwork, etc. to fully import the vehicle in your name. The idea is to make it as simple as possible for you, and to ensure it is an enjoyable and quick process!


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refusing to choose between traditional femininity and radical feminism: interview with anonymous artist ambivalently yours
In an unashamed defiance of the rigid conventions associated with female identity, anonymous artist Ambivalently Yours' witty illustrations celebrate the colour pink, 'cuteness', cats and being a badass who "doesn't take shit from anyone". These seemingly incongruous identities are reconciled in seamless pastel works that speak to women from all walks of life through its exploration of what it means to be a feminist in contemporary society. Inspired by messages sent from women all over the globe, Ambivalently Yours' illustrations flawlessly depict the everyday thoughts, feelings and obstacles of women in 2015.
How did you get started as an artist?
I've been interested in drawings since I was a child. I remember getting in trouble in kindergarten for spending too much time in the art and crafts corner. I was a shy child, so all I ever really wanted to do was draw. It made it easier for me to interact with other kids when there were crafting materials around.
What inspired you to start the Ambivalently Yours project?
When I first started Ambivalently Yours I was studying feminist art and working in the fashion industry, which seemed like a huge contradiction. At work, I was the feminist killjoy every time I raised a concern about the sexist undertones in our campaigns, and in art school I was the fashion girl who many assumed was duped by the patriarchy just because I liked cute clothes and girly colours. I felt caught somewhere in-between two worlds that I both loved and hated at times, in other words I felt ambivalent. Eventually, I decided to stop worrying about what others thought of me and embrace my contradictions. Ambivalently Yours became my way of exploring my feminist questions from this in-between place where things are undefined and pink can be powerful.
What does 'ambivalence' mean for you?
Ambivalence means loving and hating simultaneously, which is often confused for an inability to make up one's mind, or not having a strong opinion. Embracing ambivalence has given me the freedom to resist defining myself too narrowly. Part of being a feminist is about advocating for a woman's right to choose. This right, however, does not imply there is only one choice. For example, my commitment to feminism could only occur once I gave myself permission to also embrace my love of fashion and the colour pink, two things often associated with the patriarchal domination of women. This refusal to choose between traditional femininity and radical feminism allowed for another space to exist: not a space of indecision but rather a space of undeciding. I call this space: Ambivalently Yours. My commitment to ambivalence is about learning to ask more questions rather than get stuck with incomplete answers.
Tell me a little bit about the Ambivalently Yours journey so far?
When I first started Ambivalently Yours, no one was really paying attention, so my drawings were just an extension of something I had done since I was a kid. In time, people started finding me online and writing to tell me how much they could relate to my drawings. Some people also started sharing their own stories with me, to which I began responding with drawings. The act of sharing my emotions through my illustrations has allowed me to have conversations and feminist discussions with people from all over the world, and these exchanges are now the main inspiration behind my work. There is this belief that women who show too much emotion in public are either weak or hysterical, yet for me, the act of illustrating my feelings and posting them online is what has made my work more badass.
Why the anonymity?
My desire to remain anonymous online was initially motivated by fear. When I began this project, I was mainly being critical of the fashion industry, which also employed me and gave me the wage I needed to live. I decided to make my work anonymous to ensure that my artistic work would not affect my ability to make a living. The Internet can also be a volatile place and my work is always inspired by personal experiences, so I found that the only way I could be honest without making myself too vulnerable was to be anonymous. In other words, my anonymity was a form of self-preservation, which in turn gave me courage to be more daring in my art. Later, I realized that my anonymity allowed for people to find themselves in the lack of specificity of my online persona. People often assume that I live in their country, or that I am their age or attribute me with any other form of similarity they are looking for. With this, Ambivalently Yours becomes less of a reflection of my personal self and more of a representation of the ideas behind the work; she is my more daring and open alter ego.
Buzzfeed described you as the 'anonymous artist that illustrates your inner feminist monologue' what do you think makes these works so accessible to so many?
We live in a world that loves defining people and putting them into categories that never quite fit right, whereas my drawings unapologetically celebrate being flawed, being emotional and remaining undefined, which I think is something a lot of people can relate to.
What do you hope those who see your works will walk away with?
My hope is that my illustrations will inspire people to be unapologetic about their emotions and feminist beliefs by giving themselves permission to embrace their contradictions and decide for themselves how they want to be defined.
Your blog has turned into a forum of support and advice, encouraging people to submit their own 'ambivalence' as well as showcasing your illustrations. How do you see these two elements working together?
There is a huge support system for women and by women that exists online, especially on Tumblr, so this is not a format that I invented, but rather something that my work sort of mutated into as it adapted to it's online environment. What it really boils down to is empathy. The act of reblogging is in itself an act of empathy. It is a way of saying: "Yes I get this" or "I feel this way too." People began writing to me because they could empathise with my drawings, by responding to their messages with drawings I am acknowledging that I can empathise with them too. The drawings become an expression of that empathy, often illustrating things that words alone can't.
What has been the biggest challenge in creating your work?
Self-doubt. I worry a lot about what I do, I question why I do it, which is important, but can also be paralysing at times.
What are your plans for the future of Ambivalently Yours/your art?
Right now, I am doing an artist residency at the Centre for Contemporary Arts in Glasgow, Scotland (cca-glasgow.com/programme), until the end of June. I'm calling the residency a 91-day drawing marathon, and my goal is to attempt to respond to as many questions, comments and drawing requests as possible (I currently have over 450 unanswered messages in my inbox.) I am also taking this opportunity to question and reflect upon the motivations and influences behind my work on my sister blog: 91daysofdrawing.tumblr.com
After this residency I'd like to present my work as Ambivalently Yours in other contexts and formats, rather than just online. I'd like to see how the work changes by turning into a book, a short animation or a gallery exhibition.
You can check out Ambivalently Yours' illustrations here:
Tumblr (ambivalentlyyours.tumblr.com)
Twitter (twitter.com/AmbivalentlyYou)
Facebook (facebook.com/ambivalentlyyours)
Instagram (instagram.com/ambivalentlyyours)


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LuAnn Haley is the co-chair of International Friends of Tucson, a 25-year-old community-based organization that pairs international students attending the UA with local hosts for camaraderie and an introduction to Old Pueblo culture.
How does the process work?
We greet all the incoming international students at orientation. They have a separate orientation on campus every semester. We sit there at a table and try to get students to become interested in our organization.
How long do the guests stay with their host families?
It's not a live-in program. This is a program that provides a host family for direction, friendship and camaraderie while they're here. They don't actually stay with one. All the students are college students and they stay in their college dorms and/or apartments. We have what we call a one-year commitment to be their international friend for the year (but) it's not like after the year they end; we seem to create some friendships that extend even beyond their college years.
Who coordinates the program?
We have a board, and I'm the co-chair. We work in conjunction with the international student office on campus. We're not actually a part of that. That's the International Student Program and Services on Tyndall. That's where all the international students get almost all their information and help. We're a community board that's sort of a branch of that university program.
How does one become a member of your organization?
For a community person who'd like to be a host family or a host person—it doesn't have to be a family—for an incoming international student, we direct them to our website, ifriendstucson.org. It's a very friendly website where a person who wants to be a host can sign up. And then when we get the new students—for example, our students will be coming in Jan. 8 for the next semester—we'll let all of our hosts know by email that there's a new group of students online. They can go ahead and start the process of picking individual students. We give them information about various students and they can connect with one. We look at the match, approve it and send out the contacts.
Can a host entertain more than one student?
You can host more students. I always like to take two because it's nice to have a couple of students to do things with. For example, every semester we'll go to the Desert Museum and I always have them over for Thanksgiving. If you're going to pick up one, you might as well pick up two.
Are these students from all around the world or just certain places?
All around the world. Any international student coming into the university. I would say, though, that with the technical areas of the university being well respected, we have a lot of students from China and India coming into the computer engineering and computer sciences programs. We've had students from Spain, South America. We have students from different Middle Eastern countries, some from Africa. But the primary source for students appears to be China and India.
What are some of the student's favorite Tucson activities?
We always have one event each semester ... what we call a roundup. It involves local churches. And we have a picnic in the spring at Reid Park. Other than those two group events, the host will take the students to the Desert Museum. They always love that. Hiking is another big thing. I just took my students to Sabino Canyon. I also just took my students from Spain to Sax Xavier Mission, and they loved that because of the Spanish tradition. It just depends on your students. I had one student from Switzerland who was a hockey lover, so I took them to a hockey game. But everybody goes to the Desert Museum.


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It was while lying in bed beneath the flowered sheets that I'd read to her the opening line of Mrs. Dalloway and we'd loved. "Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself." And it was while lying on the grass beside the northern spring lake that she'd read, less enthusiastically, the opening lines of To the Lighthouse. "Yes, of course, if it's fine tomorrow," said Mrs. Ramsay. "But you'll have to be up with the lark," she added.
I can remember lying on top of the sheets and reading that line to her. On the beach, we opened the book and already had in mind the idea that the next first line must shimmer, must shimmer as radiantly but also in its own way, had all this mind and then found Mrs. Ramsay's words wanting by comparison. I think we had wanted to love those lines just as much as we'd loved Clarissa's, but then we couldn't work ourselves up to the business.
In the years since we parted, I've mused about those opening lines: the invitation to a dinner party, the unforeseeable end of childhood. Here are cut flowers, stalks stout, eyes raised up from the table, welcoming all, and there the lark flying, its extravagant song, its flitting farewell to boyhood. In the years since, I've read the first lines of stories, essays, and books with an eye to… well, with an eye to an inexplicable something.
She said she'd pick up the flowers herself. Yes, but you'll have to be up with the larks. Compare with Gopnik (Adam–not his sister) from his book on winter for which I am to write a review: "I recall my first snowstorm as though it were yesterday, though it was, as it happens, November 12, 1968." After that sad start, it took some courage to read on.
(A note: the awkwardness of first lines: to be lived with, smiled about. An image, a real one: clinking teeth for a first kiss.)
The delicacy of first lines, like warm greetings, has led me to think about the pallor of last words. On his deathbed, Wittgenstein reportedly said, "Tell them it's been a wonderful life." Before then, nobody who knew him could have had any idea that Wittgenstein could manage to tell a joke. Though maybe, after having tried to build the perfect house–white, sharp, without eros–for his sister who'd spared no expense and after having failed miserably, he finally–I don't know–felt maybe that lives were nothing like modernist buildings or engineering projects. Or maybe he wasn't telling a joke after all; perhaps he really meant it.
Whatever it is he said or meant, I realize that, in interpreting his words, I am, as it were, talking over him, not letting him have the last word–his final words. And this all along has been my weakness: the desire to put in the last words. The desire to get in there in the nick of time, to be so clever till the very end. The stillborn dream of the clever one is to make the end his own. These, my dear, are my terms. Don't you love my mastery? Can't you see that this world I have made, with these words, my own?
Only a few days ago, I wrote to a beautiful woman about this problem: "Something I've learned over the past year or so is how to let the other have the last word. When I've done this, sometimes I've heard the other's last word resound. I think there's a restraint involved, at least initially, but after a while a learning to listen and let be." All well and good apart from the fact that I'd managed, once again, to talk over her when I'd written these lines about final lines. (Open parenthesis. In this case, I wanted to give her praise. Is this exculpation by another name? Close parenthesis.)
In my philosophy practice, I am now, or so I would like to think, much more attuned to letting the welcomed one have the first and final lines. At least I want her to have them. Want to give her the opening she needs in order to say the opening words and make the parting gesture. (Do you see how alluring that idea is? And do you see a radiant life just here: in all the giving all others the first and final words and in the not feeling as if you've merely settled for a few good words in between?)
Maybe the idea is to let every other have the first words and the last lines. And then, when it comes time, to be silent, letting the gods have the final thoughts.


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The midday sun reflected off the sea in a thousand broken glimmers, belying the cutting chill in the early spring air. Salt scoured Alrik's nostrils, the burn setting his nerves at ease. The vessel rocked casually amid the rolling waves, slowly inching its way to the black mass of clouds that hung off in the distance.
He scanned the islands that stood around them. More than a half a dozen jagged, rocky outcroppings where the gulls would gather and only the toughest trees could set root in the iron sheets.
He shook his head. This was a stupid place to be, especially now, at this time of year. He had heard once that a sailor should fear when springtime danced with storms, yet here he was on a ship with dark clouds looming in the distance.
"Time's up, snakes!" the captain roared.
Alrik turned back to the deck. The chains rattled as the Medmanari shuffled back into the deep dark belly of the ship. They dragged their feet slowly, trying to breathe in as much sea breeze as their lungs could carry before they were submerged in the stink of must and mildew again.
Medmanari were thin-framed to begin with, and the many weeks at sea had made it easier to see. Their scaled skin was wrapped tight around waning muscles and frail bones, and many had to cover their serpent eyes against the sun's harsh light after days of being mostly in the dark. The ship carried males, females, and younglings, all of whom received a few precious minutes each day to stretch their legs and clean the stale air out of their lungs.
Some of the crew herded them on, sabers in their hands, while the captain watched from the wheel. He was young and as brash and bold as the mustache that trailed across his face. And that brash boldness had led him here, taking cargo for some lord Alrik didn't care to know. The captain had said the Medmanari were servants, but an old sailor didn't split hairs. Alrik knew slaves when he saw them.
Whether or not he liked it, the captain was still the captain, and he was just a deckhand, and deckhands didn't voice whether or not they liked to sleep with slaves beneath their beds or talk about negotiating prices when they reached port. Deckhands just did what they were told to do, keeping whatever thoughts they had for themselves.
The ship rocked backwards as a large wave crept beneath it. A deep rumble shook the ship's wooden frame. Crewman looked off the deck. Medmanari began to murmur to one another.
Alrik peered off the railing. Bubbles streamed up and trailed off from his side of the ship, leading his eyes to a gathering swell. A dark, shifting shadow seemed to crawl beneath the waves. Alrik's breath frosted on his lungs when the shape grew greater and he was certain his eyes were right. He turned to the crew and shouted, hoping they could hear.
A finned sail exploded from the surface, raining seawater down on them in sheets. The waves ruptured and sputtered and bled. Alrik gripped the railing as the force of the beast began to tip the boat. The spines between the webbed fins grew taller, casting a dark shadow on them. One of the crewmen flipped over the guardrail, catching the other side just in time to hang on. The Medmanari were tossed to the floor of the deck, tumbling and rolling. The ship sank sharply into the pit of a wave and another wall of water slammed them. The captain shouted for his men to hang on. Alrik gladly listened as the vessel tilted farther and farther on its side, almost certain it would capsize.
And then it was over.
The ship settled. The water sloshed back into the sea. Alrik's guts eased into place again and everything seemed much like it had moments before that spiny fin burst from the surface. The other members of the crew gathered themselves and set to undoing the mess the monster had made, righting barrels that had fallen over, re-coiling ropes, and untangling pieces and parts of the sail. Between the sound of sailors working and Alrik's heartbeat in his head, the scream almost went unnoticed by him.
"Nakir!" a Medmanari woman shrieked. She lunged toward the railing, but the chains on her wrists and blades at her chest kept her back.
A sailor cupped his hands around his mouth. "Snake in the water!"
Alrik scrambled. He moved almost without thinking, grabbing a long coil of rope from between some nearby barrels. He tied the one end to the railing and began to wrap the other around his waist.
The captain's voice boomed above the clamor. "Any man jumping off gets flogged!"
Alrik faced the man, whose eyes were locked on him. His long wispy mustache hung low with water, and his blue coat was soaked to the shirt beneath.
"You aren't worth losing, sailor." The captain's eyes fell to Alrik's waist. "Throw him the rope, but you stay up here."
"Help him!" The woman reached out to the water. "Help!"
Alrik flung the rope overboard. The Medmanari boy howled, hands flailing and head bobbing amid the monstrous whitecaps.
"Grab the rope!" Alrik snapped the length as best he could, trying to lead the rope to the boy. "Grab it!"
The boy tried to clutch at the lifeline. A current wrenched him under for a moment before letting him back up with a choking gasp.
Alrik should've jumped in. He knew that as he fished the rope around, trying to get the boy to grab it like a kitten with some string. He should've taken the flogging, it wouldn't be his first time feeling the lash, and he could think of few things that seemed more worth some scars than the drowning boy below. Alrik's hand pulled at the railing, his arm trying to wrench the rest of his body over and into the ocean. His muscles burned and fire ran in his blood. The Medmanari mother continued to scream, begging for someone to save her son.
Alrik didn't, and neither did anyone else. Despite the screams of a despairing mother and the howls of a drowning son, Alrik was still a deckhand, and deckhands didn't save drowners over the captain's command. Six ropes were thrown down to the boy, but they might as well have waved goodbye. Alrik watched as the boy's hands stretched out and another wave swallowed him. This time, he didn't see a head break the surface.
He turned back to the crowd and slowly shook his head. The woman crumpled, as if his head had been a hammer swinging at her legs. Her wail hung long and loud in the air and her sobbing never ceased, even when two crewmen dragged her below deck.
"That boy was a good thousand marks we lost." The captain stood at the end of the table, his hands spread over some ledgers and forms that meant little and less to most of the crew. He shrugged, as if he'd merely lost a bad bout of cards. "Have to charge a little bit more for the others to make up for it."
Alrik stared into his bowl. Chunks of old dry carrot and hard chalky bread filled the brown slop. One of the pieces drifted in a slow, soggy circle. He pushed it under with his spoon, not feeling hungry anymore.
A crewman pounded his fist on the table. "Damned sea snake." He pointed his spoon around. "Breeding season brings 'em up to shallower water and makes 'em come up more often." A devilish smile came on the man. "I say we hunt it. That'll bring in a few marks."
Laughter took the cabin. One of the men wiped his eyes. "I'd sleep with a wyrm before going fishing for a serpent."
Alrik looked around. They were all laughing, draining beer mugs and picking at their teeth. All of them save the captain, who stared at the wall across from him, his eyes far off and empty. The hair on his upper lip curled in a wane smile.
"We can't hunt a Siruveil," he said, lifting a finger into the air, "but we can get the eggs."
The laughter stopped.
The captain took the silence in stride. "They're worth a fortune, boys. Lords and ladies would pay good coin for Siruveil eggs." His eyes seemed to glitter. "Even just half a dozen of them eggs would pay off that snake-boy many times over."
"Speaking of snakes," a crewman muttered, "did anyone bring the pot to them?"
They looked to one another silently.
"I'll feed them," Alrik said, eager to leave the table. He got up and headed towards the door.
The captain pointed to the deckhand. "See? Couldn't let a good man like that go fishing for some snake-boy. He's worth two of them at least."
Alrik closed his eyes and saw those hands reaching out of the water again, looking for something to hold onto before being dragged into the depths. He shuddered, grabbed the pot of feed, and headed out of the cabin.
The night air was a welcome change from the stuffiness of the cabin. Alrik wished for a clear night sky, but the weather had decided otherwise. Inky clouds so dark that they could be seen even in the night hung low and full like ripened blackberries on the vine, and the moon and stars were held back from sight. A few lamps offered bare slivers of burning light while the sound of waves lapping against the ship's wood helped soften the silence.
Below deck, sweat and salt mixed with urine and shit in his nose. Hacking coughs filled his ears. Some of them were getting sick. Hopefully they'd reach port within the week; the thought of tossing bloated corpses overboard brought bile to the back of his throat.
He lugged the pot down the steps, lit by dim lanterns dangling on heavy hooks. The eyes were there to meet him at the bottom from behind the iron bars, staring with fear upon their faces.
It was the eyes that bothered him, shining from the light of the lanterns. Some of them were hollow, others full of anger, but most of them were just uncertain. None of them knew much of anything. What would happen when they finally reached port? Would they divide them up by group? Would families be able to stay together? What if the nobles traded them? He sighed and shook his head. Questions a deckhand didn't have answers to.
"Bowls out," he said quietly.
He pulled off the lid to reveal a bland, lukewarm paste of sweet-grain and water. Claw-tipped hands held out cracked cups and broken bowls. One by one, Alrik ladled the slop in and handed it back before grabbing another dish.
It took a long while to feed them, and Alrik felt himself lose track of time. His head was filled with the sounds of scraping steel, clattering bowls, and the sucking sound the paste made as his ladle dipped beneath its grimy surface. Fingers brushed and fumbled at him, eager to grab hold of whatever food they could have. He almost didn't notice when a hand latched to his wrist and held on tight.
He would have been surprised, but the grip was weak. Small, delicate claws tickled his dry skin. Her face was stone-cut. Her eyes flowed like rivers. They were yellow, bordered by patches of scales, rippling beneath a veil of tears. The mother's thin lips pulled back as her flat nose flared.
"You let him die," she said. Her voice was cold.
He looked at her for a long time. Her hair probably looked nice when it was well-kept, but the long, midnight colored locks were matted and tangled beyond what any comb could do. They'd cut her hair when she was sold.
"Nothing to say?" she asked.
The words sat in his mouth, making it slick with something bitter. "I tried."
She dashed the bowl against the wall behind him. Her face twisted into a snarl and she screeched like metal grating against itself.
"You tried?" Her voice ripped through the muffled quiet. "I saw the captain stop you. Some skin on your back was all it took for you to let him die." She shook against the bars, nails clicking on steel. "How many lashes would it have been? Ten? Twelve?"
He looked at her quietly. Standing there, skin and bones wrapped in a moth-eaten dress, fed by grief and fire. She knew right. Ten lashes was standard.
"Answer me," she said. "And don't you dare tell me that you tried."
He stayed quiet, picked up the bowl, and filled it again, holding it out to her. "I won't," he said. "If you don't believe me, I won't try to tell you any different."
She grabbed the bowl, handing it off behind her. "Feed someone who needs it," she told them. Her gaze came back to Alrik. "I hope whatever gods you have give you more mercy than you gave my son." The words were venom, dripping and smoking as they fell from her mouth and scorched his ears. "I hope they let you keep whatever you hold close to your own heart."
He didn't say anything. Alrik turned back to the stairs, the empty pot hanging in his hands. He pulled open the door. The air rushed in, cool and wet. He was glad to be gone from that place, which smelled so foul and stared with so many empty eyes.
He never told her the truth sailors learned about the gods. He didn't speak of the hurt in his heart when they would ferry him out to sea, setting his wife and boy to worry if he'd ever come back. He'd kept quiet about the time another man on another boat had gone overboard, and how his fingers had slipped through Alrik's hand because the gods had wanted him, too. There was a time long ago when Alrik had his own boat, even, but the gods had decided that his ship would look better on the ocean's bottom and that he'd do better as a deckhand for the rest of his days. He didn't tell her that story either.
He didn't tell her, but she had gotten a piece of the truth all sailors knew. The gods wanted many things, and they craved nothing more than what men held close to their own hearts. When they found what they wanted, there was little way to stop them. The waves had been ravenous, the wind too strong for the ropes, and a deckhand felt ten lashes was too high a price. The gods had a hand in all of that, and in the end, they got the soul they sought.
The storm greeted them in the morning with a booming voice and roaring downpour. Within the first hour, Alrik was drenched down to his bones. It was only rain yet, but he saw that the storm-clouds had more to give from their swollen, bloated bodies. The Siruveil's fin cruised off in the distance, and much to his displeasure, they were still following it.
He'd only ever seen the fins of the serpents, but this one was by far the largest. Its shadow beneath the waves easily ran six or seven ship-lengths, lending belief to the stories he'd heard of whole fleets being destroyed by a Siruveil they'd accidentally come too close to.
He set to tying some barrels down. The Medmanari wouldn't see the sky today. They'd sit below deck, breathing fear-filled gasps of moldy air as the boat rocked in the raging waves, every tilt reminding them that the boat could capsize and they would drown behind those bars.
He thought of the boy again. Was his hair black, like his mother's? Had he even had hair? He glanced over the railing, watching the whitecaps, imagining the body beneath them. Had the fish started to pick at his corpse? Were the eels already making their home in his bones?
The captain shouted from the wheel. "Keep the sails open, boys!" He uttered a voice-cracking bellow, challenging the storm. His yellow mane whipped in the wind and a mad smile sat across his face. "We'll get our gold yet!"
The crew roared back, smiles beaming amid the torrent. Alrik looked at them all. They were young, with hard lean bodies and smooth skin which had yet to spend many years beneath a seaward sun. Young and foolish men who should have known better, who should've been braver than he was, and who should've told the captain to turn their ship around.
Alrik sighed while he worked and the sheets of rain continued to fall on his back. Thunder boomed from someplace deep in the clouds, and he spat.
Lightning cracked the sky, giving Alrik the briefest glimpse of where they were going. They were skirting dangerously close to the islands now. The beast had submerged hours ago, leaving them to sail at the captain's direction. The man was certain that the serpent would emerge again before night's end. Alrik hoped he was wrong.
The night dragged on and the storm stayed strong. It held the stars out of sight, and the moon was nowhere to be found. Alrik worked for what felt like forever, losing himself to the thunder and rain and lightning, along with the images of reaching hands and dangling rope.
Someone gripped his soaking shirt. Alrik turned to see the captain.
"You haven't taken a break yet," he said. "You're no good to us too tired to stand." He motioned below deck. "Feed the snakes and then go rest for a few hours. I'll send for you when we need you."
Alrik nodded, and when the captain turned his attention elsewhere, he shut his eyes, breathed deep, and fetched the pot.
Rain misted the steps that led below deck, and more than once he nearly fell down with the stew-filled pot. The stink returned, but at least it was dry. He lit a few more lanterns, letting more dull orange light bleed out.
"We lost one," she said, her voice cutting through the eerie quiet.
He shut his eyes. A wet, weary breath escaped him before he turned to face her. She was at the front of the mass, clinging to the bars while the clanging waves of bowls moved around her.
Her eyes were ringed with red. She hadn't got much sleep. "Died this morning."
He began to fill the bowls. They got fish today, drowned in some briny mix of cabbage and carrots.
"I'll tell the captain," he said.
Her eyes narrowed. "You'd leave him in here with us?"
He handed off another bowl. "I'm sorry."
"No you're not."
More bowls, the scraping ladle, the smell of fish.
"Will you throw him overboard?" she asked. "Mark it off in one of your ledgers?"
The captain would do that. Deckhands didn't write in the ledgers.
"You don't want to be here," she said. "Down here, with us." Her hands wrapped around the bars. "Yet you'll come down here every night, won't you? You'll do whatever they want you to do, whatever they tell you to do." She sneered. "Maybe that makes you worse than that captain, you having a will as brittle as black-bread."
He handed out another bowl.
"If they told you to beat me, would you do it?"
He looked deeper into the pot.
"If they wanted you to kill me, would you?"
He turned, the ladle rattling around inside the cauldron.
"Would you?" she asked. "Would you do it?"
He slowly climbed the steps.
"Would you?"
He pulled the door open, her question trailing behind as he stepped beneath a quiet sky. The wind had settled and the rain had stopped, leaving only the sound of waves. Even the moon, full and bright, had managed to break through the clouds. The captain waved to him, laughing loudly at the helm.
"Go to bed! Seems the weather turns fair when you disappear!"
The crew chuckled.
Alrik smiled weakly, lifting his hand to indicate his surrender to the cabin. The thought of a bed, scratchy and stiff as it might be, was one that he found hard to resist. He moved to the cabin, footsteps echoing loudly in the calm quiet.
Something began to hiss.
Alrik turned. The noise continued. The captain shouted for them to find a leak in the hull. Deckhands peered over the railing, ears trying to point out the sound which was steadily growing louder. It seemed to surround the ship, closing in on them. Rain began to patter on his shoulder. Alrik looked out to the sea and noticed how it was moving. The waves weren't reaching their ship any longer, as a ring of a billion bubbles blocked their way, uttering a hiss as they died.
Thunder boomed, and not one fin, but two, broke through the surface. A deep, groaning rumble shook the ship, rattling Alrik's knees. The moon faded, covering them in darkness. Spouts of water shot up like geysers. The fins rose on either side of the boat, revealing the large, notched scales they were burrowed into, which ran down the length of the creatures' serpentine necks, ending just above their brows where the sword-sized teeth began. The Siruveil eyed one another, lips curling, with growls that sounded like grinding boulders.
Their roars brought his hands to his ears and his knees to the deck. The noise rippled through him, his chest feeling like it was going to fall to pieces. The serpents began to circle one another, snorting their nostrils and snapping their jaws. The waves pushed harder against the boat. The rain returned and the moon was stolen away again. The creatures' white-fire eyes narrowed and drew closer. Alrik grabbed hold of something. The captain jerked the wheel one way, the crew tugged at the ropes of their sail. Their boat began to turn, edging itself out of the path of the serpents.
It wasn't enough.
The shoulder of one Siruveil clipped the bow, sending chunks of wood into the water. Their ship spun sharply. The beasts were upon one another. Fangs settled into flesh, bodies writhed and twisted. The water whirled in frothing splashes. Webbed claws swiped at underbellies, tails slammed down like lightning bolts. The two would fall beneath the boiling waves before rising back up with ear-splitting screams, their skin adorned with bleeding gashes and leaking wounds.
The vessel tumbled helplessly; being pushed, pulled, tugged and lifted any which way. The captain screamed out orders Alrik could hardly hear, while crewmen scrambled to do whatever they thought was going to save them.
He looked down at his hands, pale and pruned; gripping the railing so tight he could feel the wood shear beneath his fingernails. He thought of that boy's hands reaching out, hoping that there was something, anything to grab on to. The Siruveil rose again. Deep rents marked their hides, long sailing fins torn and tattered.
He imagined what it was like beneath the waves. He thought of currents, more powerful than any stormwind there would ever be, scattering things to the deep dark places that the ocean kept for itself, the invisible hands of the gods pulling and placing their property where they saw fit.
One of the serpents held the other's neck between its teeth, shaking and snapping its massive skull. The other flailed and writhed, roars shifting into screams. The ship strayed closer to the serpents. A stray claw came down.
One side of the ship was pulled messily away. The boat buckled, sending Alrik smashing into the deck. White flashed across his eyes, followed by blue and purple pulses. He touched his forehead and his hand came back streaked with blood.
A man screamed. Lightning spiderwebbed the night. Through his swelling eye, Alrik saw the captain, foot caught between the railing, ankle twisted painfully as he hung above the rabid waves. The rest of the crew moved to fix whatever they could of the ruined ship. What the claw hadn't eaten away, the waves were eager to lap up, pulling planks and splinters back into the ocean. The captain stared at Alrik with fear-filled eyes, hands outstretched and reaching.
Alrik turned and ran the other way, bolting to the stairs below deck. Most of the lanterns had fallen. Glass sliced his boots and bit down into skin. The scents remained as full and foul as ever. Medmanari chattered and screeched with fear at the noises outside. Alrik fumbled for the key in darkness before his fingers found it. Fighting the grasp of hands, he slid it into place, turned it, and flung the door open. The ship shuddered a sing-song scream.
She stood there, still like stone, as the horde around her poured out of the cage. Her eyes were fixed on him, the anger still nestled deep within, but sharing space with fear. He reached for a hand that once held a child's, shoving through every slave that tumbled past. Medmanari tripped and trampled over one another. Alrik felt like a stone in a swift stream as he shoved his way towards her. Her delicate, claw-tipped fingers twitched at empty air. The heat of her palm was a whisper's width from his own.
The ship exploded. Water gripped and tossed him against wood and steel, turning him end over end amid the murk. A searing pain exploded in his leg as something sharp and heavy hooked itself into his flesh. Thrashing bodies collided with him, gripping for brief moments before being pulled away.
Inky blackness was all around him. His chest began to burn. Metal fangs had sunk themselves in his flesh. Warmth leaked from between his fingers, while splinters buried themselves in his skin.
More wreckage brushed by him. Pieces of boat and bodies, drifting in the currents of every direction while he continued to sink. He beat his arms, but the metal tore at his leg in protest, dragging him deeper down instead. His head swiveled, looking for something. Pressure began to build on his ears, pushing in towards his brain. The light above grew fainter. A chill squirmed into his wound, spreading through his leg. The dark swelled with each passing second. Fewer and fewer bits of ship brushed by him. Numbness crept up from his foot.
He thought of screaming and letting that cold black water take whatever breath he had left so he could die and be done with it. He hadn't saved anyone. The gods had wanted them all, and they always got what they wanted, no matter what men did to stop them. Who was he to think himself any different? More heat drained from him as the dark closed in. The water wrapped itself around him, invisible fingers squeezing out his life.
Something bright appeared, and a deep groan ran through him. It looked like the moon, full and bright and broken. A current brushed him and he realized what glowed before him was an eye, almost as tall as he was.
The Siruveil floated in the darkness, its massive, hulking form hanging gracefully in the depths, kicking its legs slowly while its tail flicked from side to side, ignoring the debris that fell like snow around it.
Alrik wondered if the creature knew who he was. Had it known they were following it, and that they planned to steal its children away and sell them for however much they could get? Had the gods whispered to it as a plan to take them all?
Alrik glanced upwards to the surface he'd never break again, and watched as shapes moved amid the moonlight. Silhouettes began to gather, fighting against the waves and holding to flotsam they could find. More and more of them collected. First only a few, and then a dozen, and then a dozen more. Soon, there were more bodies above than there were members of the crew. He found some solace in that.
He struck bottom, plumes of silt caressing his face and finding its way between his clothing and his skin. Lightning flashed from above, illuminating the massive rock shelf he'd landed on. Jagged teeth of twisting stone and ruined shipwrecks surrounded him, rivers of sand flowing on invisible currents.
The Siruveil groaned again, staring down at him with a tilted head, as if wondering what the man was doing down there. It slithered through the sea, seeming like it belonged more in the calm stillness of the deep than in the raging storm at the surface. The force of the monster's movement swayed Alrik gently, like a feather-worm drifting from the tide.
It was a good place to die; a fitting place where the gods would be quick to find him. His lungs were alight inside his chest, and his blood caught fire and fought to escape, bursting through vessels and leaking out of his ears and nose and eyes.
He scratched at his throat, not knowing what else to do as he slowly died, except to claw and clutch for a breath that wasn't there. His body would not yield itself so quickly to death, even if his mind knew there was little left to do. The water forced his lips open and slipped behind his teeth to take whatever space it could in his lungs.
He screamed, the last of his precious breath spewing out of him in a stream of bubbles. The numbness pulled its way into his chest and his limbs had gone dead cold. He knew he did not have much longer.
The seconds stretched into long strings, and the pain gave way to an unfeeling chill. His mind caught hazy fire as it slowly died inside his skull. Ghosts appeared from the dark, clad in skins of seaweed, covered in protruding coral bones. They waded gracefully towards him, hundreds of the deep-sea shades, guided by the glowing lures of man-sized anglerfish. Their faces were sullen and sunken, pale and withered flesh beneath kelp hoods, with eyes that glowed like moonstone.
He greeted them, his lack of breath no longer a bother. He was either dead or dying, and he knew why these wraiths had come. These weren't wandering souls, eager to feast on dead man's flesh, but heralds. The gods were coming to collect what they wanted, and they had brought their collection with them.
Alrik found himself smiling. The gods would have him, but they had been shorted in their deal, and were denied some of what they wanted. He could not see them, but he knew slaves and sailors swam above him yet, freed from the fate that Alrik had met.
The gods would come for him, and in their fury and their rage, he would suffer for all the souls he'd stolen away. Kraken beaks would slice him open, spilling his guts before they used sea snakes to knit shut the wounds. Burrowing lancelets would scurry beneath his skin, laying eggs inside him that would hatch and chew their way to freedom. There would be many more things, awful ones, but there was little the dying deckhand could do about that now.
The light of the lures shined on his drowned face, and the ghosts continued to pass him by, giving only bare-bone glances. Their faces said enough. They did not enjoy their fate, but they would pity him for his.
One of them stopped. A little ghost, with a flattened nose and scales upon his face. The wraith asked Alrik what had happened, silent words somehow making sense inside his mind.
Alrik recounted the raging Siruveil and storm.
The little ghost asked him if he'd saved his mother.
Alrik told him that he'd tried.
The boy said he was tired of being so lonely down here, saying it was cold and dark and scary.
Alrik offered to wait with the boy, to see if his mother would join them down here yet.
The ghost smiled, nodding his hairless head.
Alrik nodded as well.
And as the rest of wraiths kept walking, the both of them waited, holding one another's hands.


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Central Bank of Russia calls a loonie tune
Plans by the Central Bank of Russia to add Canadian dollars to Russia's fiscal reserves have analysts saying the loonie isn't likely to be become a big player, but that it could help hedge against a sagging U.S. dollar.
With the worlds third largest fiscal reserves Russia's central bank attracted plenty of attention when it announced that the 'loonie' would be added to the roughly $450 billion dollar mix.
With 15% of the total reserve believed to be in gold, the Canadian currency will join the other 85% which is predominantly in U.S. dollars and Euros, with about 10% shared between the Yen and Pound Sterling.
The announcement came in the wake of repeated calls by Russia's political leaders for a lessening of reliance on the U.S. dollar, and in the wake of recent gold purchases. Vladimir Bragin, Chief Economist at Trust bank says the move is part of a strategic diversification.
"The announcement comes as part of the global diversification announced by the Central bank. It's being considered along with buying more gold. The bank is looking for more assets from different economies, this time Canadian for example."
The Canadian dollar represents an economy which is home to four of the world's 15 AA rated banks, and a populace not nearly as indebted as their American neighbours. It has risen against the U.S. currency over the last year or two. But it's also a much smaller economy than the U.S., and one, like Russia, largely commodity driven. Vladimir Osakovsky, Development Strategist at Unicredit Securities doesn't believe any loonie buying spree will large scale, but that it offers some hedge against a sliding U.S. dollar.
"I don't really think this exposure to the Canadian dollar will be more or less significant. It is unlikely to be that they will put in more than 1 to 2% of total reserves. This kind of diversification can play it role in the good times when, for example, dollar falls and is weakening, and other currencies, like the Canadian dollar for example can strengthen quite a lot."
The move comes as global central banks are increasingly looking for stores other than the greenback, with India recently buying 200 tonnes of gold, and speculation China is doing likewise. With Russia's central bank also looking diversify its reserve base, buying the Canadian dollar is not a loonie tune.
Read also – Bank of Russia To Invest in Canadian Dollar


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Lorance, Loretta
Read here about Loretta Lorance (1957-2011), leading architectural historian of Buckminster Fuller's work in the 1920s and early 1930s.
Loretta Lorance (1957-2011) is the leading architectural historian of Buckminster Fuller's work in the 1920s and early 1930s.
Loretta Jo Lorance was born September 13, 1957, daughter of Glenn Emery Lorance and Lola Ruth Dunlap, She graduated the University of Illinois in the late 1970's.
Lorance completed her dissertation, "Building Values: Buckminster Fuller's Dymaxion House in Context," in 2004. Her goal was to trace Fuller's activities and reveal how he decided to design and promote the Dymaxion House. Professor Rosemarie Haag Bletter, City College Of New York, was her advisor. The dissertation was the first detailed study of the Stockade Building System, the company Fuller co-founded with his father-in-law. Lorance spent considerable time researching the multi-volume scrapbook "Chronofile," even before this archive was made more accessible at Stanford University Library.
Lorance became an architectural historian, scholar and author. She was Architecture Professor at CUNY and Humanities Professor at the School Of Visual Arts - New York. She also taught at Fordham University Rose Hill and Parsons School Of Design. During that time she taught many students with a teaching style that blended structured readings with unstructured anecdotes.
Lorance's then revised her dissertation and published her primary work "Becoming Bucky Fuller," with MIT Press in 2009.
Mid-Atlantic Popular & American Culture Association
Lorance was active in the the Mid-Atlantic Popular & American Culture Association. During her tenure the Association grew from a small regional gathering of close knit scholars to a major academic organization boasting global membership. She served as president, area chair, conference organizer, and membership coordinator. After her passing, the Association established the Loretta Lorance Volunteer Recognition Award in her name. It is granted to a member who has contributed to the growth and success of the Mid-Atlantic Popular & American Culture Association through service and leadership.
Final Days
Lorance spent the last decades of her life teaching in New York City, with her long-term partner Anthony Lagonigro, artist and graduate of the School Of Visual Arts, by her side. She passed away February 26, 2011 at Calvary Hospital, New York City, after a long struggle with cancer. Following her cremation in New York, a private memorial ceremony was held in Vincennes, Illinois.
Lorance's book, Becoming Bucky Fuller, remains the standard work for referencing Fuller's earliest work. She left behind other notes towards architectural histories on industrial-produced housing and the changing status of women regarding housing and shelter.
Photo Gallery
Links and references
MIT Press official page, https://mitpress.mit.edu/books/becoming-bucky-fuller
Mid-Atlantic Popular & American Culture Association, https://mapaca.net
Loretta Lorance Volunteer Recognition Award, https://mapaca.net/awards/loretta-lorance-award
Becoming Bucky Fuller blog, http://becomingbucky.blogspot.com


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Rocky Mountain Health Insurance Plans
Rocky Mountain Health Plans (RMHP) has been providing quality health insurance exclusively in Colorado for more than 40 years, so it knows the area's residents and their health care needs.
This popular Colorado-based company offers statewide PPO plans and three regional HMO's (Denver, Colorado Springs, and Mesa County). RMHP also offers health plans that can be combined with health savings accounts (HSA) for tax-favored ways to pay for out-of-pocket medical costs.
Choose from statewide HSA-qualified health plans, PPO plans, or one of three regional HMO options.
Rocky Mountain View PPO Plans
Rocky Mountain View PPO health insurance plans offer Bronze, Silver and Gold coverage options to provide the full range of essential health benefits.
- Gold: 80% coverage; highest premiums but the lowest out-of-pocket costs
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Members get additional benefits such as doctor on demand, where you have 24/7 access to doctors via phone or video chatting.
Statewide Individual HSA Health Plans
RMHP HSA-qualified health plans provide benefits including prescriptions that are covered in full after meeting your deductible. Preventive screenings are fully covered prior to meeting the plan's deductible. Rocky Mountain View HSA-qualified plans are offered in Silver and Bronze coverage levels.
Wellness Coverage in HMO Plans
The following wellness services are covered 100%.
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- Available during open enrollment (November 1 – January 15), or if you qualify for a Special Enrollment Period
- Not health insurance, but a way for like-minded individuals to share medical expenses
- Waiting periods on pre-existing conditions
- May exclude sharing for certain conditions or activities
- Enroll any time
- Much lower monthly cost than unsubsidized health insurance


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Anti-Capitalist Tour Guide Offers Riot Sightseeing in Der Spiegel online.
I love an article where an author is trying to retain journalistic integrity while giggling at the subject matter.
"It's all about the fact that capitalism is bullshit, and we're against the system."
Everyone looks at him, but no-one says anything. It's Marxism against capitalism, the people against the police. NATO and the Warsaw Pact may no longer be at loggerheads, but in every other way Germany seems to once again be a country in which the world can be reduced to the same simplistic dichotomy of a quarter-century ago: the battle between good and evil.


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- Edith -
Material: 100% cotton
Fitted sheets suited for the Ikea extendable mattresses OMSINT, INNERLIG, NATTSMTG, PLUTTEN and VIMSIG.
This Collection was created to accommodate the Ikea Extendable Mattress. Our fitted sheets are designed to fit perfectly snug on the matress and comes in 3 convenient sizes.
All of our bedding pieces have been finished with French seams. Our fitted sheets feature an elastic casing all the way around to ensure a tight fit.
All of our bed linen are made to order.
Turn around time is 6 weeks from date of purchase.
Size guide below
Toddler Fitted Sheet
120cm x 91cm x 12cm
Toddler + 1 section Fitted Sheet
155cm x 91cm x12cm
Single Fitted Sheet (all 3 pieces)
190cm x 91cm x12cm
How to care for your bedding.
Wash prior to first use. Gentle cold machine wash with like colours. Do not rub, soak or bleach. Line dry in shade or tumble dry on low inside out. If desired press with cool iron on reverse side. Do not dry clean.
*Refunds and exchanges will not be issued for change of mind or if the sheets do not fit. Please check size guide above. If you are un sure which size to choose, we are more than happy to help.
Due to its handmade nature, pattern placement will vary.


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I'm reading May's book "Wisdom of the Wilderness" (after already reading his version of Dark Night of the Soul, an iteration of St. John of the Cross), and I'm loving this book.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I'm reading May's book "Wisdom of the Wilderness" (after already reading his version of Dark Night of the Soul, an iteration of St. John of the Cross), and I'm loving this book.
5 comments:
- Snarky Belle said...
I needed peace today, thank you.
- January 14, 2009 at 1:59 PM
- Kara Chipoletti Jones of GriefAndCreativity dot com said...
sat outside for an hour today watching two crows on the very tippy top branch of a huge evergreen, their weight making the top of the tree looking crooked like in a dr. suess book. had the feeling that in our overpopulate, crazy paced, insane world, there was a good possibility that there was no other human on the planet watching those two crows. there was no one around me, heard no cars, saw no one. i marveled at that possibility. talk about finding your own boundaries and expansiveness all in one moment.
i luv mama gaia :)
- January 14, 2009 at 5:28 PM
- Dr. Joanne Cacciatore said...
Thank you for visiting.
- January 15, 2009 at 5:40 AM
- Googies Girl said...
After losing my daughter in May 2008, we decided we needed a vacation desperately. The only place I wanted to go was the Texas Hill Country and away from everything. I found more peace there than I ever expected. I came home to complete turmoil, but for that 1 week, I was at complete peace. My husband noticed and since coming home, it feels more like home there, rather than here.
"THE UNTAMED TRUTH ABOUT WHO YOU REALLY ARE" So very true. And maybe that's why I wanted the wilderness, I needed to figure out who I was at that difficult point in time. Beautiful words!
I really love your writings.
- January 20, 2009 at 12:37 PM
- Natalie said...
I experienced these comments when my nephew died January, 2005. He was six years old. I had to remove myself from people because they made matters worse. It made me angry that they thoughtlessly felt the right to be a voice for God and suggest that his death was His will. He died from a tragic car accident after fighting to live for three weeks.
In response to people's stupidity, I challenged their comments about God by saying, "So, let me ask you this. What do you say to a mother whose child was murdered? Do you tell her that same thing? That it was God's will? What about a mother whose child was kidnapped then slaughtered? Was that God's will? No. It was evil that did that. God is my healer, but nephew dying wasn't his will.God doesn't wish death on any child."
I also felt like people were impatient with the fact I wasn't over it after he was buried. When I bring him up people give me this blank look like my pain should be gone now. The loss of a child never leaves you. You now have one foot on earth and one in heaven with them. Your life is forever altered.
Everything you said is identical to my frustration I have carried when trying to process his death, how he died,and my questions of why? Grief is something you learn to live with, but I don't know that it ever goes away completely. Unless someone has endured it they cannot fathom what strength it takes for a person to press forward and approach life like it was before. It is forever changed. You have to fight for joy.
Only God and a person who has suffered this pain can grasp the world you are in. No one else can comprehend.
- July 23, 2009 at 3:13 AM
--St. John, Dark Night of the Soul


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12 girls were given the chance to live their dreams for a day. This is Ta'Mia's journey of becoming a hairstylist.
Ta'Mia said she had a dream of slaying hair, so I took her to the best! Expressions Hair and Nail Salon in Columbus is a full service salon (that's super cute), and my stylist, Shacara, taught her everything from braiding to sew-ins and more!
Check out the recap below:


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Ruth Asawa: A Line Can Go Anywhere
David Zwirner is pleased to announce an exhibition of work by American artist Ruth Asawa (1926–2013) at the gallery's London location. This will be the first major presentation of the artist's work outside of the United States and will include a number of her key forms, focusing in particular on the relationship between her wire sculptures and wide-ranging body of works on paper.
An influential artist, devoted activist, and tireless advocate for arts education, Asawa is best known for her extensive body of hanging wire sculptures. These intricate, dynamic, and sinuous works, begun in the late 1940s, continue to challenge conventional notions of sculpture through their emphasis on lightness and transparency. Relentlessly experimental across a range of mediums, Asawa also produced numerous drawings and prints that, like her wire sculptures, are built on simple, repeated gestures that accumulate into complex compositions. Although she moved between abstract and figurative registers in her sculptures and drawings, respectively, viewed together, the works in this exhibition nevertheless incite a rich dialogue and find commonality in their sustained emphasis on the natural world and its forms, as well as in their deft use of the basic aesthetic concept of the line. As she noted, "I was interested in it because of the economy of a line, making something in space, enclosing it without blocking it out. It's still transparent. I realized that if I was going to make these forms, which interlock and interweave, it can only be done with a line because a line can go anywhere."1
Born in rural California, Asawa was first exposed to professional artists while her family and other Japanese Americans were detained at Santa Anita, California, in 1942. Following her release from an internment camp in Rohwer, Arkansas, eighteen months later, she enrolled in 1943 in Milwaukee State Teachers College. Unable to receive her degree due to continued hostility against Japanese Americans, Asawa left Milwaukee in 1946 to study at Black Mountain College in North Carolina, then known for its progressive pedagogical methods and avant-garde aesthetic environment. Asawa's time at Black Mountain proved formative in her development as an artist, and she was particularly influenced by her teachers Josef Albers, Buckminster Fuller, and the mathematician Max Dehn. She also met architectural student Albert Lanier, whom she would marry in 1949 and with whom she would raise a large family and build a career in San Francisco. Asawa continued to produce art steadily over the course of more than a half century, creating a cohesive body of sculptures and works on paper that, in their innovative use of material and form, deftly synthesizes a wide range of aesthetic preoccupations at the heart of twentieth-century abstraction.
Asawa's work was recently the subject of a major exhibition titled Life's Work at the Pulitzer Arts Foundation, St. Louis. In May 2020, Ruth Asawa: Citizen of the Universe will open at Modern Art Oxford, England, and will subsequently travel to the Stavanger Kunstmuseum, Norway, the following October. The Estate of Ruth Asawa has been represented by David Zwirner since 2017. The gallery's inaugural solo exhibition of the artist's work took place the same year at its New York location. The presentation was accompanied by an extensive publication that includes texts by Tiffany Bell and Robert Storr and features an illustrated chronology.
Image: Installation view, Ruth Asawa: A Line Can Go Anywhere, David Zwirner, London, 2020
1 Ruth Asawa, cited in Daniell Cornell, "The Art of Space: Ruth Asawa's Sculptural Installations," in Cornell, ed., The Sculpture of Ruth Asawa: Contours in the Air. Exh. cat. (San Francisco: Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, 2006), p. 138.
Asawa studied at Black Mountain College from 1946 to 1949, emerging as one of the school's key figures and a strong proponent of the radical artistic experimentation it generated. As the artist recalled in an interview in 2002, "Black Mountain gave you the right to do anything you wanted to do. And then you put a label on it afterwards." Following a visit to Mexico 1947, where she learned how to create baskets using wire, Asawa returned to Black Mountain and began to develop the signature sculptural works she would continue to explore over the course of her nearly sixty-year career.
She executed her looped-wire sculptures in a number of complex, interwoven configurations. These range from small spheres to long, elaborate "form within a form" compositions, in which nested shapes unfold from a single, continuous line of wire. The artist's other forms include hyperbolic shapes, suspended cones, interlocking spheres, and open windows.
"Initially, these works gave structural form to many of the images in Asawa's drawings," Ann Reynolds explains. "Later, she built a doubling, tripling and, even, quadrupling shadow effect into these works by using a single continuous piece of wire to generate nested shapes, in which the outer surface of one form became the inner surface of the next.... The descriptive language she developed for her practice... was explicitly modernist, reflecting... especially, her studies with Josef Albers and Buckminster Fuller. Yet, she engaged with each concept, including transparency, in ways that were totally her own."
Asawa's intensely focused work with modest materials foreshadowed minimalist tendencies of the 1960s, and her art has recently received renewed attention, as evinced by the major 2018 exhibition Life's Work at the Pulitzer Arts Foundation, St. Louis—which struck The Washington Post as "the most beautiful show of the year."
Major thematic exhibitions in recent years, including Pathmakers: Women in Art, Craft and Design, Midcentury and Today at the Museum of Arts and Design (2015) and Making Space: Women Artists and Postwar Abstraction at The Museum of Modern Art (2017), both in New York, highlight a broader institutional imperative to address the practices of women artists whose legacies have been overlooked. As Kaelen Wilson-Goldie writes in Artforum, "Asawa weathered storms of weak interpretation... that made too much of her positions as a wife and mother and not nearly enough of her contributions to modernism and abstraction." The MoMA show, which featured an untitled hanging wire sculpture by Asawa from circa 1955, led The New York Times critic Holland Cotter to assert "the reality that work by women, feminists or not, was the major inventive force propelling and shaping late-20th-century art."
In May 2020, Ruth Asawa: Citizen of the Universe will open at Modern Art Oxford, England, marking the first solo exhibition of the artist's work in a European public institution. The show will travel to the Stavanger Kunstmuseum, Norway, the following October.
Published in 2018, this immersive monograph on the artist's life and work features texts by curator and writer Tiffany Bell and the artist, curator, and writer Robert Storr, illuminating the depth and importance of the Asawa's practice in the context of modernism.
Ruth Asawa
Untitled (S.741, Wall Mounted or Hanging Open Circular Undulating Form), c. 1976-1979
Untitled(S.745, Hanging Sphere), c. 1976-1979
Untitled(S.722, Hanging Single-Lobed, Two-Layered Continuous Form within a Form, with a Collar Forming a Partial Third Layer), c. 1990-1999
5 1/2 x 5 1/2 x 1 inches
(14 x 14 x 2.5 cm)
1 x 1 1/4 x 1 1/4 inches
(2.5 x 3.2 x 3.2 cm)
5 1/2 x 8 1/4 x 8 1/4 inches
(14.0 x 21 x 21 cm)