Girls in the Windows

Ormond Gigli - Girls in the Windows, 1960

"In 1960, while a construction crew dismantled a row of brownstones right across from my own brownstone studio on East 58th Street, I was inspired to, somehow immortalize those buildings. I had the vision of 43 women in formal dress adorning the windows of the skeletal facade.

We had to work quickly to secure City permissions, arrange for models which included celebrities, the demolition supervisior's wife (third floor, third from left), my own wife (second floor, far right), and also secure the Rolls Royce to be parked on the sidewalk. Careful planning was a necessity as the photography had to be accomplished during the workers' lunch time!

The day before the buildings were razed, the 43 women appeared in their finest attire, went into the buildings, climbed the old stairs, and took their places in the windows. I was set up on my fire escape across the streeet, directing the scene, with bullhorn in hand. Of course I was concerned for the Models' safety, as some were daring enough to pose out on the crumbling sills.

The photography came off as planned. What had seemed to some as too dangerous or difficult to accomplish, became my fantasy fulfilled, and my most memorable self - assigned photograph. It has been an international award winner ever since.

Most professional photographers dream of having one signature picture they are known for. "GIRLS IN THE WINDOWS " is mine." 

Sources: ormondgigli.com

Somewhere over the rainbow...

Howdy, readers!

Today, Google managed to wake up the movie aficionado in me! You all know the movie 'The Wizard of Oz', unless you have been living under a rock for the last 71 years. Yes, that's right, 71 years have passed since Dorothy (Gale, not Hollins) and Toto left Kansas behind and began their magical journey over the rainbow.

I remember that when I was little, after the cartoons programme ended, you could see old movies without subtitles. That was the first time I saw 'The Wizard of Oz'. And I was five years old and did not understand a single word, but I was fascinated by the splendid scenery, the songs and the costumes. I wanted Dorothy's ruby slippers so bad that even now, when I wear red flats, I think about them. Or maybe I still am the little girl from years ago...

Anyway, I hope this post will make you remember the movie, as well as your childhood, and if you have not seen it yet, this might be the perfect moment.

The Teashop or The Tale of Past Splendour

Even though I walk through the valley of Death I fear no evil, for my name is Laura. I was born in 1927. 

Right now I am in a teashop on Pebble Street. I have chosen a table for two from which I can see anyone who enters but I cannot immediately be seen myself and I have hung my coat over the opposite chair, as if my companion has just left it there and will soon be back.
It is a bright May afternoon, but I cannot find myself enjoying the weather. The teashop is rapidly filling with customers or people who have nowhere in particular to go. We are all lost. If someone had told me, I would have not believed it. A week without strafes and a sunny afternoon has made these people forget all the things we have passed through. Or maybe they are just trying to ignore this undoing, to live their day. Their last day, perhaps.
Cigarette smokes and faded words drift across the nearby tables. In this phony state of peace, few people seem to be realizing the state we are in. You know, it did not used to be like this.
There was a time when we were all pure, when we did not know what war meant. Now all I see is ruins, dust and broil. The teashop is now a mixture of past splendour and wartime shabbiness. Scratched parquet, faded wallpaper and a white paint that has aged to a lusterless cream. Once the epitome of gracious middle-class breakfasting, it was now noisy and crowded.
Looking back on those years, years of childhood, years of first coquetries and first-lovers, I have the impression that they were just the product of my imagination, that none of those blissful moments has ever happened.
How could I have guessed that today, the 31st of May I will be sitting on this rusty chair, writing probably my last pages into the crumpled notebook that I keep for a diary? But I leave these words as a testimony that I, Laura, 18 years old, am not afraid of what is to come and I am content with all the trials LIFE has had for me.

'Inglourious Basterds' Review

‘And the German will be sickened by us, and the German will talk about us, and the German will fear us. And when the German closes their eyes at night and they're tortured by their subconscious for the evil they have done, it will be with thoughts of us they are tortured with. Sound good?’

Those are Lt. Aldo Raine's words, from the new Tarantino blockbuster, ‘Inglourious Basterds’, an audacious ‘fantasy story’ about the World War II, where the Jews come out on top. And by the way, I did not misspell the title. That’s a deliberate error coming from Quentin Tarantino himself, as a first sign of what we are going to see in those 153 minutes: a lot of good acting, humor and distorted history.

You would think that the war subject doesn’t let you so many choices with the plot. But the wonder-child of Hollywood wants us to see something different from all the cliché movies that involve the Holocaust. So he defies history. The movie is divided into five chapters, each one with its own heading and follows two stories that are brought together at the end.

In the opening chapter, we are introduced to Shosanna Dreyfus (Melanie Laurent), a French Jew girl, who escaped the massacre of her family, and will appear after three years under an assumed name, as the owner of a movie theatre from Paris. When she finds out that an important movie premiere will take place at her theatre, Shoshanna sees a way to turn the even into a conflagration, which will be very easy, seeing that on those times, the films were made from nitrate, which is highly flammable.

The other story follows the adventures of the afore-mentioned Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) and his group of American ‘Basterds’, whose only goal was to kill Nazis. The ‘Basterds’ were specialized in scalping The Nazis and carving swastikas into their foreheads, so that they would never forget who they were and what they did. Later in the movie, the infamous group is charged to blow up a theater that would be brimful of Nazis and kill as many of Hitler's top men as possible. And of course, the theater in question is the one owned by Shosanna.

The movie ends with bloodshed, revenge, Nazis scalps, dead people and a murdered Hitler. Watching ‘Inglourious Basterds’ will make you understand that the movie is not about sacrifice, but about the bloody, the dirty side of the war. You will hear a lot of dark humor, along with violence and the foot-fetish, which will corroborate that the movie is 100% a Tarantino one.

I could not end this review without mentioning the marvelous acting of Christoph Waltz as the Nazi "Jew Hunter" Col. Hans Landa, who is the most charismatic character in the movie. He is so twisted and despicable and with so many great lines, that’s impossible not to like him. Great acting and character contouring from Brad Pitt - with his Southern twang, as well as Melanie Laurent and Diane Kruger, both in roles of femme-fatale.

All in all, ‘Inglourious Basterds’ is another Tarantino masterpiece, a testimony that he successfully uses his skills of both writing and directing, and on which he imposes his trademarks and known quality.

So ‘That’s a Bingo!’ !

Let the nightingale free again!

Somebody once said that springtime is the land of awakening; that the March winds are the morning yawn. I believe that’s true. There’s nothing cozier than waking up on a spring Sunday morning, playful rays filtering through the window and resting their selves on your face. Eyelashes fluttering like the fragile wings of butterflies. Then you open your eyes - green orbits lost in café au lait – to see the spring wonderland. How can you not feel the tingles when you pass your finger pads on the tip of the blades? How can you not hear the ladybirds whispering their bliss that a new chapter has begun?

For me, every spring is like a rebirth. Every spring I feel like a child, although I’m conscious that nothing can restore those wonderful moments of childhood, when we used to go in the park and draw little nothings on the pavement, when we used to eat pink cotton candy at the fair or dream to be Cinderella, so that we can find a Prince Charming. Not even spring can bring back the times when I was a tom-boy with scratched knees, when I would climb a tree, when I would take my mother’s wedding dress and prepare my very own ceremony without worrying about the consequences.

Spring is like a natural border between the multiple phases of our existence. Every year, we claim that we are more mature. But is that really true? Do we ever detach ourselves from the world of dolls and mud pies? I know that I still haven’t. But I don’t pretend that I have. The other phase, that we tend to call maturity, is just a fake drawing, a mask, a caricature of childhood. It’s like seeing a child with a wrinkled forehead, tears pouring from his eyes and trembling bottom lip, all because someone destroyed his sand castle. Well, this sand castle represents nothing but years of spring, of living in wonderland, in a fortress. When spring is dispelled, you remain out in the storm, facing the trouble all alone, dealing with other kind of dragons.

And March…March is the moment when you make your first steps. You, like everybody else, are enthusiastic that you’ve finally made it. Slowly, you’ve reached the force to stay on your own feet and you’re proud of it. But, when you least expect it, the snow come back and you are again lost in the squall, only this time is impossible for you to get out.

It’s good that you’ve lived your 17 years. Because time doesn’t go back.

R.I.P. Alexander McQueen (1969-2010) - The Pink Sheep of Fashion Has Passed Away

First of all, I want to tell you that I am deeply sorry that this post has to be about something so devastating. I am still in shock and a part of me refuses to believe it, but it seems that the news reports are true.

The entire Fashion World is now wearing the weeds. Lee McQueen, l'enfant terrible of British fashion, as well as founder and designer of the Alexander McQueen brand has passed away this morning.

All my thoughts are with his family and friends, who must be stunned by this tragic loss. 

You shall never be forgotten, Mr. McQueen!

‘Animal Farm’ – A story of corrupted power

‘No question now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.’

If you read ‘Animal Farm’, by George Orwell, you will understand the profound meaning of these words, which can be a warning for all of us. The book can be considered just a fable, a fairytale if you want, but it has a very symbolic meaning, because it follows the things that led to a distorted form of communism. But what better words to describe the theme than the author‘s himself: ‘(...) it is the history of a revolution that went wrong’.
‘Animal Farm’ tells the story of some animals which feel that they are abused by the farmer Mr. Jones and decide to take over the running of their master’s farm. Everything goes according to the plan until the pigs, considered the brightest animals, get out of hand and start changing the commandments. The short-novel ends with the animals being in the same despotic ruling from the beginning, only that this time the power is in the ‘hands’ of the pigs.
Although the writing is simple and may seem unobstrusive, the mastery of Orwell lies in his capacity of presenting all the horrors of communism through satire and by conceiving a book that can be understood by both children and adults (in different ways, of course).
In ‘Animal Farm’, George Orwell describes how power has turned the pigs from simple animals to ruthless dictators who managed to walk on two legs and carry whips. Even though the book’s strong political message is based on the Russian Revolution, you don’t need to be a genius to understand who the pig leader Napoleon was.
A thing that should attract your attention how the ‘animals’ can be brainwashed, how the pigs can make them do and believe anything. Like in the present, the commandments can be rewritten without the animals even realizing it, because they haven’t paid so much attention to them.
And as much as I would like to believe that this story is just about communism, I can’t ignore all the similarities to the ‘magnificent’ democracy, which has proved to be worse than communism itself. At least then, the ‘pigs’ had the courage to say the truth in your face. Now, all they do is keeping us down for ‘our own good’.
So, as a conclusion, I heartily recommend you this book that is so brilliantly written, yet so accessible to all kinds of people, and which will definitely open your eyes on the society we live in.