Muse Monday: C & A

Cadaqués, España * September 2013 * Fuji X-E1 * 

Polka dotted sun spotted sea salted Spanish Mediterranean pearl droplet clinging to singing whistling winding rocky beachy topless teeny tiny precise waists perfect bums sharp diamond-cut stones on fingers slightly burnt skin stinging from no sun lotion cool shades flashing eyes and breasts at tourists and Spaniards and fish in the dripping refreshing cold cove expansive ocean breeze where ladies tan lines makes one gentleman blush and crush all over the boat riddled bay. 

The Court to perfect all courts

The Hague, Netherlands * November 2013 * Fuji X-E1

In 2002, the International Crime Court was born when the Rome Statute Treaty entered into force. Over 160 states and 200 non-governmental organizations participated in drafting and negotiating the founding treaty, which envisioned an unprecedented vehicle to combat genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity. Since the Court’s beginning, an annual assembly meeting among the Court’s supporting nation states has been held. To date, 122 countries belong to the ICC.

This past November in The Hague, the twelfth Assembly of States Parties took place. A busy week ensued, including diplomatic nods, (what some would arguably label) political interference, NGO lobbying efforts, plenary debates, panel discussions, press conferences, budget negotiations, receptions, amendments to the ICC Rules of Procedure and Evidence, appearances by the ICC Prosecutor Fatou Bensouda and Registrar Herman von Hebel and bow ties galore, in addition to reporting on the housekeeping issues currently facing the Court.

While consistent Court improvements and maturity will help ensure its long-term legitimacy in the international justice sphere, the end goal of the ICC is to encourage local court systems to be politically willing and judicially able to prosecute their own nationals for the worst crimes imaginable, before the International Criminal Court—the Court of last resort—steps in. 

For more information on the ICC, visit:

icc-cpi.int

coalitionfortheicc.org

 

1°52′S 36°16′E

Lake Magadi, Rift Valley, Kenya * November 2013 * Fuji X-E1

 

Lake Magadi is a saline, alkaline lake, 100 square kilometers large, in the southern most region of the Kenyan Rift Valley. The water, a dense sodium carbonate brine, generates the mineral trona (sodium sesquicarbonate), up to 40 m thick in select areas, which makes the lake PINK (!). Tata Chemicals Magadi is Africa's largest producer of soda ash, primarily used in glass production, and its facility is the source of employment for those brave enough to live in this unearthly, scorching terrain.

The lake is recharged by saline hot springs (up to 86°C) that discharge into alkaline "lagoons" around the lake margins. On the weekend of the solar eclipse, three friends and I ventured to find these hot springs. 

Dancing with Dalí's Ghost

Port Lligat, Spain * September 2013 * Fuji X-E1

It is September 1931. Salvador Dalí, surrealist extraordinaire, only recently swept his wife and muse, Gala, from her former husband and poet, Paul Éluard. The Spanish civil war is still five years away. And they, Dalí and Gala, are perched at home in Port Lligat on the Mediterranean's Costa Brava. In the corner or one room is The Persistence of Time, completed the previous month, and guarded by a pet ocelot. Dalí glances at his pocket watch. Melting. In. The. Sun. Es tarde ya! Los invitados y los no invitados llegan ya! The first Gran Gala of Surrealism has begun. 

Decked in headdresses, the usual suspects file in: Federico García Lorca, Man Ray, Pablo Picasso, Joan Miró. And let's throw Dorian Gray in for good measure. Whimsical, magical measure. Blurry beach breeze babes breasts and bums. Colors and sounds and Iberian ham and risotto. Eyes are not where they should be. And where they should. Piano is played. Songs are sung. Champagne is had. We grow tipsy. The white rabbit appears with his pocket watch, exclaiming, "I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date!" We calm him down. Hand him a gin. My dress doubles as a parachute, I say, if we fall down any rabbit holes.

The Spanish Gala sails through the night. Around the harvest moon. At a villa. Where furniture is made out of watermelons and papaya. Photographers and poets mingle. And Pablo Lecroisey embraces wall space. 

We drink and dance and discuss through the night. We thank our hosts, Dalí and Gala, for inviting us to their home in Port Lligat. We admire his perfectly curled and waxed mustache. We reluctantly retire to a Nutella bed picnic. We fall asleep with our lipstick.

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A very special thanks to my fairy goddesigners, the talented Nike Kondakis and Lali Heath, who were instrumental in dressing me for the ball. Nike, a vision in her own right, is based in Kenya and creates spectacular dresses from recycled parachutes, including the impressive yellow frock that stole the evening’s show. Lali is a couture milliner based in East Africa, who trained under the renowned Jane Corbett. Her lovely headdresses were all too feathered and gorgeous for me to decide on the spot, so I travelled with five of her jewels from Nairobi to Spain. I inevitably chose the precious, pleated black one to accompany me through the night.

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www.sensoriums.org

pablolecroisey.com/2013/05/02/antes-muerta-que-sencilla-2

www.kondakis.biz

www.laliheathmillinery.com