Jankel's Illustrated World
Of broken eggshells and other seminal phenomena
By: Jankel Jankelbrod

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Saturday, 10-Apr-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark
Handsigns

inside
outside
boy scout's greeting
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Laterna magica, the instrument in which glass slides (handpainted) with scenes from fairy tales were projected on a white bedcloth pinned on the wall -- and in the intervals, always these handsigns, these Chinese shadowfigures, ombres chinoises, beautiful hares, rabbits, wolfhounds, fascinating and very large, frightening too.
Or the language of the deaf and voiceless people. That quickly performed meaningful theatre for two hands, that can translate every spoken sentence in gestures.
No, it was just a passtime, this afternoon, when I was taking some shots of my pasteldrawings, which I had pinned to a piece of black paper on the wall. That reminded me of those nice oldfashioned children's birthdayparties in the winter season. And I could not resist to play a bit with my hand, not catching the shadow, but the pantomimic object itself.


Friday, 9-Apr-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark
La Reigne

 
 
 
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Everybody knows the Danube, that imperial majestic river (made famous by Strauss' waltz The Blue Danube). Less people know, how that continentcrossing river has its source in a small kind of lake in the German village of Blaubeuren (the so called Blautopf -- it must be there, at its birth, that the blue paint drips into the water). This source is a mythical legendary place, with its own stories and fables -- for instance Die schöne Lau http://www.showcaves.com/german/explain/Literature/Lau.html -- the story of the young woman turned into nymph, that seems to live there.
In our town there is also a small lake, also, if you may believe the locals, uncountable fathoms deep, also with its own legends, and this lake is also the source of a river. Well, not famous at all, absolutely short, and for years hidden, because it streamed through a wood that was strictly forbidden to enter. (Yes, I think it was there that the mysterious Hungarian lived with all his dobermans, but please, don't force me to tell more details...)
And now, this spring, a very nice path is opened to the public and invites to walk alongside this slowly floating water -- and admire the different colours, the milky blue, the sandy beige, the mysterious green, the silver glittering and of course, the curious bubbles that rise from under the muddy bottom.
Come along with me, and maybe, we see our friends Rat, Toad, Mole and all the others from The Wind in the Willows. http://www.geocities.com/willowind_dals/willows.html[url]


Thursday, 8-Apr-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark
Four weather dragons

 
 
 
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I always loved that chinese concept of the four winds, personified by airy flying dragons. How important they are for our moods, with their weather, their pressure, their prevailing winds. How much they put their colour on our feelings of happines, of being blue.
The last days were extremely overcast in our French department, so I think there must have taken place some kind of never heard of pact between the four weatherdragons, they still have their own colours, but they are more similar than ever. Today I took pictures from every direction, and as you can see, their dragons are all fierce.
By the way, they are not Chinese at all, but were invented by an unknown Kurdish woman, who made her carpet somewhere in Southern Russia, around the year of 1875.


Wednesday, 7-Apr-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark
Vapour

 
 
 
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Forceful vapour -- symbol of the industrial revolution
Smoking fuming funnels -- symbols of productivity
White billowing vapourclouds -- impressive pollution
('I looked at clouds from both sides now --
I really don't know life at all' -- Joni Mitchell)


Tuesday, 6-Apr-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark
Sacre du printemps

beechtree
dancing catkins
lady's mantle
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A swoosh, suddenly, and outside, in front of my little study under the rooftop, that old beechtree performs its ballet, wildly, an utter movement of windjangled pollenloaded catkins, dancing their rite of spring, swirling around, in a blurr of green and yellow, so impressive, so theatrical in its choreography.
And later in the afternoon, after torrential rainstorms, clad in oilcloth, I see the first cloakformed leaves of the lady's mantle, not with tender dewdrops, but with real shining puddles of rain in their reservoir. And melissa, that good slightly sour, brittle and crisp green leaves, our last ressort, when it comes to fend off the myriads of mosquitoes -- also fond inhabitants of these moist surroundings.


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