With a killer domestic soundtrack.
Enjoying William Klein's Model Couple and Mr. Freedom on Hulu Plus, which if you didn't know has the entire Criterion Collection.
Vintage Moebius, Heavy Metal, Promethean Sci Fi printed fabric, selectively quilted into the puffy third dimension by a boy's mom circa 1979.
I remember the yard sale where we got this, and how the now-grown-up boy was wearing a "You Are Here --->" outer space t-shirt, and seemed to be longing for his home planet himself. I loved this art, and that his mother made it for him. I remember really going on about it, which made him and his two sisters happy. We even used it and its technique as the basis for the quilted Pucci fabric jewelry box project in our book, where I tell the same story. But as much as I'd like to have it for light years, it's time for someone else to enjoy it, so it's in our awesome FAB.com sale, here.
Related, and fantastically similar, the Prometheus spacescape:
which is itself amazingly similar to the Alien trailer, notably the scream/ping/whistles:
British journalist and author (then) and now Design Museum director Deyan Sudjic's awesome London loft, designed by Ridley Scott and Stanley Kubrick. It actually looks like a small Design Museum itself, or a spaceship that's been travelling around galaxies, curating. The only thing missing is a Braun KF 20 coffee maker.
from Suzanne Slesin and Stafford Cliff's amazing The International Book of Lofts (1986).
...and not actually designed by Kubrick and Scott, but by Jan Kaplicky in London and David Nixon in Los Angeles, two architects in the transatlantic firm Future Systems.
Working on some coil pots lately (above, in the drying stage)
We have a collection of these (below) but we only ever find a good one once in a blue moon, so we thought "why not just make our own and then we'll have all the pots we'll ever need."
And of course we don't need that many, so they'll be for sale too...
(coming soon)
Albert Brooks with the Ettnauer 226XL from Real Life (1979), his prophetic foray into the world of reality filmmaking, and a hilarious send-up of PBS's An American Family (1971), which happens to now be showing in its anniversary edition (check your local listings!)
Without a doubt the best designed coffee maker ever made.
Designed by Florian Seiffert for Braun in 1972, it was immediately a classic of design and technology, with its vertical automatic drip system, dual heaters, and stunning aesthetics. We bought ours from a man who bought it new at Zabar's in 1972, made 2 pots of coffee and then felt that it was too nice to keep using, and kept it as a design object instead. When he told us that I said, "That's exactly what we were going to do with it!" We made one pot of perfect coffee and then cleaned it up and put it back in its box. Occasionally it'll come out for an admiration, usually after (or during) watching Alien (it was the spaceship Nostromo's coffee maker).
And what does it have to do with my story? And what are those pink bulbs?
All questions J.R.R. Tolkien asked when he saw Barbara Remington's cover painting for The Lord of the Rings.
In her defense she hadn't had time to read the books as the publisher was rushing out the paperbacks to squelch the sales of a pirated version. (see here also).
Anyway, the question I asked an indifferent Linda when we found the giant poster in the basement of an estate sale was "Oh my God! Can you believe it?????!!?"
This is a painting I did as an idea for the cover of our book Tossed & Found, wherein die-cut photos of some of the projects would be floating in front of it in a clear plastic cover, referencing the book Italy: The New Domestic Landscape and of course the Death Star trash compactor #3263827.
It would've been awesome, but unfortunately it turned out to be too expensive to produce and (likely) far too obscure to understand.
We were looking up something on Christie's London website and came across a treasure trove of awesome Ritva Man sweaters which were auctioned off a couple of weeks ago. I've had the bottom photo of Allen Jones in an images folder for a few years but never new the yarn behind the sweaters until last week.
The knitwear business Ritva (1966 - ca.1980) was started by Ritva Ross, who had the idea of using crochet squares to make a dress, and her husband Mike Ross. The first designs were ordered by Annacat boutique in South Kensington. One was purchased by Lee Radziwell and appeared on the cover of Life magazine in November 1966. Having rented a flat in Chelsea which doubled as a workroom and showroom, Mike and Ritva Ross built up a network of out-workers using hand-operated frames.
The firm offered a limited number of styles but allowed customers to have garments made up individually in a range of colours and patterns. The brand was first publicized in Nova magazine and sold through stores and boutiques in London and in the U.S.A.. In 1969 Mike Ross started the Ritva Man label with sweaters inspired by baseball uniforms, and a Ritva boutique was opened at 8 Hollywood Road, Chelsea. Ritva knitwear was heavily influenced by popular culture and contemporary art and introduced innovations such as the knitted minidress. Mike Ross collaborated with David Hockney, Allen Jones, Elizabeth Frink and Patrick Hughes to produce the limited edition artists collection of sweaters. A Little Ritva label for childrenswear was also started and commissions were undertaken for the film and music industries. Mike and Ritva Ross separated in 1977 but Ritva Ross continued to operate the Ritva business abroad until ca.1980.
Michael Anthony Ross was born in 1936 in Portland, Maine, U.S.A. and was educated at Syracuse University. He settled in London in 1960 and attended the Royal College of Art painting school from 1963-1964. In 1973 he launched the Bear Creek General Store at 10 Hollywood Road to sell imported traditional American goods.