sailorette’s diary - a diary writen by a sailorette for her loved ones to read after returning safely home from sea

The Arcadian shepherds by Nicola Poussin

Don’t we all seek a fairytale? A story that starts in the future, about an ideal, happy world. A natural paradise within innocent white pages of a story. An Arcadia.

The above painting has an inscription on the tomb “Et in Arcadia ego” (I am also in Arcadia). Poussin meant this to create an ironic contrast between the idyllic happiness of Arcadia against the morbid shadow of death. The inscription has brought up a few conspiracies, one that it is an anagram of “I conceal the secrets of god”, alluding to the resting place of jesus. A secret of a secret, hidden in the inscription of an idyllic paradise. How confusing!

Arcadia itself is described as

“a land of outstanding natural beauty unspoiled by human civilisation, free of war and pain and offering boundless pleasures both spiritual and physical… “Arcadia” does not carry the connotation of a human-designed civilization; Arcadia is presented as the spontaneous result of life lived naturally, uncorrupted by civilization.”
(wikipedia)

It is said that to try to protect paradise is to, eventually, destroy it. And so I find myself in an “arcadia”, where Poussin’s painting is reconstructed in 3d, through the irony of human heirarchy, the secrecy of security and the anagrams in each individual’s identity card. Here the inscription is not carved under the shadow of death, but the shadow of corporate consumerism.

But thats just in these sheperd’s eyes.

A beetle is perhaps most famous for the fact it can rust in a desert, through a drought, in a waterproof bubble. Mr Vrbanus has used this and turned it into art. Check him out here

The weather in london at the moment has been reading about monsoons and gotten a little too carried away. The temperature rises to around 33º, then the sky turns muggy and decides to go to the toilet all over the city.

As nico said this morning, to be truly english the essential accessory is an umbrella. Where there is rain, the englishman can conjure up a brolly from nowhere.

The old use for an umbrella was to shade one’s fair skin from the sun (the word “umbrella” is from the Latin word “umbra” for shade or shadow).

Whatever their use, umbrella’s are always rather selfish - they only fit one, or one and a half, people under them. They also have those viscious points that end up poking you in the eye.
However the BIG umbrella is LOVE.

Found
above the begger spot,
outside the garage,
along shoreditch high street,
on 28th June,
before the Death Cab for Cutie gig.