[vimeo http://vimeo.com/45188800 w=700&h=390] ART+COM was commissioned to create an art installation for the Departure-Check-in hall of Terminal 1 at Singapore Airport while it was being refurbished. “Kinetic Rain” is composed of two parts, each consisting of 608 rain droplets made of lightweight aluminum covered with copper. Suspended from thin steel ropes above the two opposing escalators, each droplet is moved by a computer-controlled motor hidden in the hall's ceiling. The drops follow a 15-minute, computationally designed choreography where the two parts move together in unison, sometimes mirroring, sometimes complementing and sometimes responding to each other.
Below is the speech I made at Dad's celebration. It was a fantastic party - he'd have loved it. Barbecue and bluegrass, friends and family. Do please comment below - especially if you would like to share anything - it would be welcome. You can read his obituary by clicking here.
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Hello everyone.
If my voice goes funny, please bear with me!
John Dyson. What a beautiful, beautiful man. This is at once the worst thing in the world, something I would never, could never want to do. But also something I can’t imagine not doing. It’s a real honour to have a chance to say a few things before you all. I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night thinking “I must tell the nose trick story” or “don’t forget the Piewipe stuff”, but there’s just so much, I’m going to keep it simple. It would take more than a book to even begin to do him justice. I’ve typed out some notes (double spaced of course) because I really don’t want to forget a thing. Haven’t done a spell check, but that’s okay, you’ll survive.
I want to kick off by saying two things on behalf of us all, to you all: welcome, and thank you. Thank you for helping, those of you who have been able to lend your time.
Thank you for your thoughts, all. And also, to all of you, thank you for coming to celebrate with us, together. I can’t tell you how great it is. It’s been a very strange time, but there’s a certain amount of magic here. Dad would love all this.
So, what can I tell you about him that you don’t already know? I can tell you that he grew up with his parents and four sisters a little west of Auckland in a house called Cartwheels – an oasis of Dyson-ness, a private world, a palace of bush carpentry and other projects.
He was writing about it before he died. Talking about what it was like to get home and shout “hello” to the ducks, who’d quack the alert to the other animals: bull terriers called La Giaconda and Botticelli Cherub, grey doves called Confucius and Confusion, twin billy goats Marmaduke and Montmarcey, plus Hairy Breeks and Lady Godiva…not to mention Lonny Donegan the kitten or the seven donkeys, each named after a Dickens character.
He built his own bedroom in the house. Of course it was a ship’s cabin, with a raised bunk that had drawers under it and a board to stop you falling out in heavy seas.
It took him three years of mowing lawns on weekends to save up the money for his round-the-world ticket. At age just 16, a lanky teenager, he bought his ticket and set off to post-war Europe with a spring in his step. Incredible.
He fell in with a buddy, Martien, a Dutchman who was a few years older and about to get married. They were in Camaret near Brest in France when something happened that is just so…John Dyson. Walking around the harbour, he saw a rusty, beaten up old sardine boat for sale. Apple green, with white trimming, covered in grime and flakey paint.
Martien was joking when he suggested to Dad that they buy it, do it up and sail it to New Zealand. Dad, on the other hand, had fireworks going off in his head. You really could do it. Need to make a few adjustments of course, but yes. Why not? Probably only take a couple of years if you made stops along the way. What an adventure. Would it stand up to the big waves? When it gets scary, what matters isn’t so much your size as how well you can stand up to punishment.
On his way back the ocean liner he was on to Melbourne was hit by the most enormous freak wave, tipping the ship almost completely on its side, passengers sliding everywhere, injuring loads of people in the process – he said it was a bit like the Poseidon Adventure, crazy, people came ashore on stretchers. Dad though, was still thinking about his fishing boat. As he put it, “I was fascinated rather than fearful…even on the plane across the Tasman I continued drawing sketch plans of how a 30-foot hull could be divided into cabins and living accommodation for seven – my parents, my four sisters and I.”
That was him through and through though. Big dreams and a great imagination: Tall and indomitable. Resolute of purpose. A firm handshake, look 'em dead in the eye.
Age 19 he worked as a deck hand up through the Great Barrier Reef and New Guinea to the Caroline Islands and the Philippines. It took him to Hong Kong in 1963, where he and his room mate Gary Botting –both working for the South China Morning Post and living in Kowloon – planned on driving their Hondas westward around the world from Saigon. For some reason they had trouble obtaining visas…instead they enrolled as auxiliary policemen and firemen to get the “inside” story for the Post. He took the most unbelievable photos.
I can’t think of a single other person who by the age of 20 had done half of this, by the way.
When I was a kid I was always fascinated by a tiny tiny scar on his chin, which he called his mousehole – he’d always make up the most marvellous stories about how he got it. Usually by a chopstick-wielding opium smuggler on a Hong Kong junk…I always wondered if there was a grain of truth to them, it didn’t matter, as he told us growing up – if a story’s worth telling it’s worth exaggerating.
As a writer, though, he was honourable, ethical and thorough. Blessed with an amazing gift for winkling out adventures and characters. And he had a great fondness for them. He was always amazed by their exploits yet so humble about his own.
From there, he went to England. He said:
“It was there something happened that blue my blue-water ambitions out of the water. I was in Leeds covering a beauty contest for stable girls for the Daily Mail when a tall and good-looking girl working for the Yorkshire Post bumped into me on the steps and asked to share my umbrella. More than my umbrella, it turned out. Four great kids and all their smiles and bills, and their children; adventures all over the world; a big scruffy house with a dog, apple trees in the garden and a great view. When we were married, Kate and I made a deal: ‘I’ll come anywhere in a boat with you,’ she said. ‘Just don’t expect me to walk up a hill or sleep in a tent.’ By and large we stuck to it.”
He always travelled, especially if there was even a hint of anything to do with the sea. It didn’t matter if it was a trawler, an aircraft carrier or a rowing boat.
He went to the Antarctic more than once, he crossed the Atlantic in a replica of Christopher Columbus’s caravel La Niña, he sailed I think every ocean.
A story about the world’s deepest mine led to a story about a man who’d had his arm bitten off by a hippo, which led to another on a man who’d found a leopard in his kitchen and punched it on the nose…he absolutely adored Africa and its energy…he met the most amazing people wherever he went. And he kept in touch with them. Often helping them out after the story was published.
Child soldiers in Sierre Leone, gospel choirs in the mean streets of Soweto, local heroes around the world – the story arc was all; the triumph of human spirit over adversity.
He fought hard for the stories too. Had a great knack of picking an issue often several years before everyone else. I came across a letter to his old editor Dimi Panitza in which he put his case for a commission that was in danger of being squashed, signing off with:
"Anyway, I'm having tea with the High Commissioner of Tonga this afternoon, so I'll speak to you tomorrow."
What an amazing working life.
But he always came home. He always came home to the family and over Sunday roast dinner he’d tell us about these people and their extraordinary stories (it was either that or check us on our times tables). Sometimes – in the case of the hikers who were attacked and munched up by hungry grizzly bears – it was a bit much and I’d have to go and sick up a bit of roast potato before I could come back and finish the story.
He had a great way of sizing people up. He’d analyse them for their D.I.Q – desert island quota. The greatest compliment was for him to say – yep, if I was wrecked on an island, so-and-so would keep it together and be an asset. He admired pluck, curiosity and a can-do attitude more than anything else.
On holidays, we’d all be picking our noses and reading Tolkien or Jilly Cooper. He’d wander down to the nearest body of water, where he’d smoke his pipe and look at the boats. Rocking on his toes and jingling his change in his pocket, he’d wonder what this one or that one would be like to skipper. What sort of crew he’d need. Where he’d go. For him, sailing – and life – was all about spirit. The magic wasn’t about the sea or the journey so much as what you all share as a crew in getting there.
Of course it wasn’t all smooth sailing. One notebook from his trips on Sovrana has the short but intriguing footnote: “Naked wrestle with tree. Mud rescue.”
The mind boggles.
His favourite things were the simplest. Picking raspberries, drinking a rum and watching the sun set, looking at boats, having a quiet snooze. But all the time his mind would be firing away, dreaming up trips and adventures.
And with all of the places he’d been and the things he’d seen, he still somehow preserved the most amazingly pure way of seeing things. Naiveté isn’t the right word. Maybe innocence. He somehow managed to be a healthy skeptic without being a cynic. And he was effortlessly, hopelessly romantic. Even recently he sent me a link to a TV thing mum had done with the caption “I married a supermodel”.
Of course, as kids we gave him a good run around. He loved a good water fight. We’d all tease each other mercilessly. Him for his hilarious sneeze, or…well pretty much everything, especially his accent. Though we lived in fear of his tread on the stairs when we were supposed to be doing homework not watching Neighbours. Had getting out of that one down to a fine art – basically by watching telly standing next to the dishwasher so if he came in we could pretend we were doing our chores. A flash of those blue eyes and a steely set to his jaw was not a threat so much as a challenge we’d back down from.
Of course his authority was somewhat undermined when we caught him snoozing under his desk.
As we got older he just got better. He loved meeting our friends and hanging out with them. Finding out what made people tick.
Biggles, Hornblower, part of him was always an 11-year-old adventurer, imagining the enemy fleet over the horizon and how would we deal with it if it really came to it. The truth was, for all the ribbing we gave him, we always believed out of everyone he’d be the one to lope purposefully towards it and just get on with it, whatever the problem or crisis was.
This turned out to be true. The last few months…he handled with such elegance and grace. He seemed to get even more beautiful. His eyes deeper and brighter and more amazing.
He’d have loved this having you all here, but he didn’t want fuss. He said “I’m not going to say anything. You already know what I’d say. It’s all there in how we live our lives.” And it is.
So please, raise a glass. To Dad. To John Dyson. To the finest man I’ll ever know. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gX1EP6mG-E&w=700]
...Born To Split
Boom.
By Dan Kennedy in the unparalleled McSweeny's. I enjoy reading, travel, and the outdoors. Let’s see, I do vision boarding, I like housesitting for people more successful than me, I’m an avid fan of winter sports (snow wandering, sad phone calls). I search eBay for cut-rate mascot costumes, and I laugh at them then get sad. Rattlesnake videos on YouTube, I enjoy magazines and cigarettes, watching television is still a big thing with me. I also do a hobby sometimes where I can see the truth about everything, it’s hard to explain, but I picture a situation, like the movie business, and I can see the truth of the whole thing; I just stand and stare and think about something until I can see the whole truth of it. This started after I did something like three grams of mushrooms in one night in the late ’90s; I’m probably literally retarded from that night. I’ve never sailed, but I feel like maybe I would like that. I like photography; I tried to take a picture of this pimp on 10th Avenue who has a tarantula that he’s always got walking around on his arm, but he physically threatened me so I just turned a little bit and acted like I was trying to take a picture of something to the left of him, and then he called me a quiet little bitch, whatever that was supposed to mean. Softball, camping. I know a guy named Tic Tac who was a martial arts assassin for the Marines, like a freelance killer basically. My main hobbies involve high stakes situations, motherfucker. LOL!—just kidding around, a little. Let’s see, I don’t know, how long is this section supposed to be? I guess I have the same hobbies everyone else has; fishing, jogging, whatever, you name it, I’ll do it. I’ve been pretty lonely, so lately I’ll try just about anything—if someone says they love to go antiquing, I’m like, “Not so fast, when are you going next, because I’m coming with you so I stop climbing the fucking walls over here.” Anyway, I have tons of hobbies. I’ll put eating candy on here, just because, you know what, why not? You’ve probably seen weaker shit than eating candy in the hobbies section of someone’s résumé. Certainly someone has put something like “Spending time with my kids” or something like that, so I’m playing the candy card, chief. You know what, I’ll tell you what my biggest hobby is, my biggest hobby right now is getting my shit back on track. So, let’s get real about how we’re going to make that happen, because I’ve been on a lonely stretch of medium luck for about six months. Also, I am bankrupt and not allowed to trade stocks, securities, futures, or annuities for twenty-five years in North America and its territories, including Guam. I can make sleeping pills and bottle rockets. Those last two aren’t really hobbies, I guess, more like special skills.
(Via)
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3M8CNDYipUg&w=700] By NETTLEBOX in Russia.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f1YYjpcvx7w&w=700]
A father’s no shield for his child Seamus Heaney
I worry more now that my son is out On his own, earning a handsome salary Back east. How big the country is, and how Many ways to navigate it. He’s free To cross his streets without a father’s help — A father’s caution, practice reading the signs. And though I must admit he’s doing well, Anything could happen, and he’s still mine To fret over. Finally I understand My own father’s silence. Not uncaring, As I once thought, it’s the brave wordlessness Of love and wonder, and no little fear: Two fathers, now watching from their distance, Two sons who risk the futures they will miss.
Do you ever wonder what is the greatest enemy of the free press? One might mention a few conspicuous foes, such as the state censor, the monopolistic proprietor, the advertiser who wants either favorable coverage or at least an absence of unfavorable coverage, and so forth. But the most insidious enemy is the cowardly journalist and editor who doesn't need to be told what to do, because he or she has already internalized the need to please - or at least not to offend - the worst tyranny of all, which is the safety-first version of public opinion.
--Christopher Hitchens, Slate, 18 February 2008
Deep peace of the running wave to you,Deep peace of the flowing air to you, Deep peace of the quiet earth to you, Deep peace of the shining stars to you, Deep peace of the sun of peace, to you Found hidden away on Dad's computer
Blessing the Boats by Lucille Clifton (at St Mary’s) may the tide that is entering even now the lip of our understanding carry you out beyond the face of fear may you kiss the wind then turn from it certain that it will love your back may you open your eyes to water water waving forever and may you in your innocence sail through this to that
What is dying? I am standing on a sea shore. A ship sails to the morning breeze and starts for the ocean. She is an object of beauty and I stand watching her till at last she fades on the horizon, and someone at my side says, "She is gone". Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all; she is just as large in masts, hull and spars as she was when I saw her, and just as able to bear her load of living freight to its destination.
The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me, not her; and just at the moment when someone at my side says, "She is gone", there are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up a glad shout, "There she comes" - and that is dying.
Bishop Brent
hydeordie: Shawn Huckins Portrait of A Lady, Saturday Night, (What Do You Think? Wine And Sex And The City At 5:30? Who’s Down?) 2012. Via.
[vimeo http://vimeo.com/37154658 w=700&h=420] Walt Disney's re-imagineering of Martin Scorsese's classic film "Taxi Driver" follows Mickey Mouse-obsessed Travis Bickle as he looks for love in a rapidly transforming New York City.
A "Fair Use" parody by Bryan Boyce.
So I thought I'd been quite clever when I downloaded SloPro and made this video of blowing raspberries with Cat and Jadell (we'd just been choosing the wine for their upcoming nuptials, which should explain general slack-jawed numptiness): [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3_iRufddw3M&w=700] But THEN I see someone has only gone one better (like it was even POSSIBLE) and done this hilarious video of people in a wind tunnel:
[vimeo http://http://vimeo.com/43922070 w=700&h=400]
Pixar story artist Emma Coats has tweeted a series of “story basics” over the past month and a half — guidelines that she learned from her more senior colleagues on how to create appealing stories: #1: You admire a character for trying more than for their successes.
#2: You gotta keep in mind what’s interesting to you as an audience, not what’s fun to do as a writer. They can be v. different.
#3: Trying for theme is important, but you won’t see what the story is actually about til you’re at the end of it. Now rewrite.
#4: Once upon a time there was ___. Every day, ___. One day ___. Because of that, ___. Because of that, ___. Until finally ___.
#5: Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You’ll feel like you’re losing valuable stuff but it sets you free.
#6: What is your character good at, comfortable with? Throw the polar opposite at them. Challenge them. How do they deal?
#7: Come up with your ending before you figure out your middle. Seriously. Endings are hard, get yours working up front.
#8: Finish your story, let go even if it’s not perfect. In an ideal world you have both, but move on. Do better next time.
#9: When you’re stuck, make a list of what WOULDN’T happen next. Lots of times the material to get you unstuck will show up.
#10: Pull apart the stories you like. What you like in them is a part of you; you’ve got to recognize it before you can use it.
#11: Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you’ll never share it with anyone. #12: Discount the 1st thing that comes to mind. And the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th – get the obvious out of the way. Surprise yourself.
#13: Give your characters opinions. Passive/malleable might seem likable to you as you write, but it’s poison to the audience.
#14: Why must you tell THIS story? What’s the belief burning within you that your story feeds off of? That’s the heart of it.
#15: If you were your character, in this situation, how would you feel? Honesty lends credibility to unbelievable situations.
#16: What are the stakes? Give us reason to root for the character. What happens if they don’t succeed? Stack the odds against.
#17: No work is ever wasted. If it’s not working, let go and move on - it’ll come back around to be useful later. #18: You have to know yourself: the difference between doing your best & fussing. Story is testing, not refining.
#19: Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating.
#20: Exercise: take the building blocks of a movie you dislike. How d’you rearrange them into what you DO like?
#21: You gotta identify with your situation/characters, can’t just write ‘cool’. What would make YOU act that way?
#22: What’s the essence of your story? Most economical telling of it? If you know that, you can build out from there.
Presumably she’ll have more to come. Also, watch for her personal side project, a science-fiction short called Horizon, to come to a festival near you.
(Via)
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJmKStqugMc&w=700] Probably the UK's first rap record, says Nick.
Definitely makes you feel good. One for Monday morning.
It will consequently be exceedingly rare that a good man should be found to employ wicked means to become prince, even though his final object be good; or that a bad man, after having become prince, should be willing to labor for good ends, and that it should enter his mind to use for good purpose that authority which he has acquired by evil means. There is no better indication of a man’s character than the company which he keeps; and therefore very properly a man who keeps respectable company acquires a good name, for it is impossible that there should not be some similitude of character and habits between him and his associates.
A truly great man is ever the same under all circumstances; and if his fortune varies, exalting him at one moment and oppressing him at another, he himself never varies, but always preserves a firm courage, which is so closely interwoven with his character that every on can readily see that the fickleness of fortune has no power over him.
Niccoló Machiavelli, The Discourses. 1517.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ly0fz0T_lQE&w=700]
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BowyUXyNud4&w=700] John Cage (1912-1992): Thirteen Harmonies, for violin and keyboard (1985). A selction of 13 out of a total of 44 Harmonies from Apartment House 1776. Roger Zahab made the selection and created a version for violin and keyboard. The selected Harmonies are:
1. Nr.18 - Old North (William Billings) 2. Nr.42 - Rapture (Collection Belcher) 3. Nr.26 - Judea (William Billings) 4. Nr.21 - Heath (William Billings) 5. Nr.19 - New York (Andrew Law) 6. Nr.5 - The Lord Descended (William Billings) 7. Nr.11 - Wheeler's Point (William Billings) 8. Nr.14 - Brunswick (James Lyon) 9. Nr.15 - Bellingham (William Billings) 10. Nr.28 - Greenwich (Andrew Law) 11. Nr.35 - Framingham (William Billings) 12. Nr.38 - The Lord is Ris'n (William Billings) 13. Nr.44 - Bloomfield (Andrew Law)
Annelie Gahl, violino Klaus Lang, pianoforte elettrico (Fender Rhodes).
Cover image: painting by Blinky Palermo.