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The Atlas Obscura is a collaborative project with the goal of cataloging all of the singular, eccentric, bizarre, fantastical, and strange out-of-the-way places that get left out of traditional travel guidebooks and are ignored by the average tourist. If you're looking for miniature cities, glass flowers, books bound in human skin, gigantic flaming holes in the ground, phallological museums, bone churches, balancing pagodas, or homes built entirely out of paper, the Atlas Obscura is where you'll find them. The Atlas Obscura depends on our community of far-flung explorers to find and report back about the world's wonders and curiosities. If you have been to, know of, or have heard about a place that belongs in the Atlas Obscura, we want you to tell us about it. Anyone and everyone is welcome and encouraged to nominate places for inclusion, and to edit content already in the Atlas. |
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Nauru is an obscure Polynesian island nation known for strip mining its two mile-wide interior for phosphorous (derived from bird droppings), and is now in complete ruin because its limited supply of bird droppings has been depleted, leaving the island an ecological and financial shell of its former self. But that isn't why I'm talking about Nauru. Nauru has a rather nice flag, no question. Island nations in particular seem to have benefited from modern design aesthetics. Have you seen Barbados' flag? A trident, for cripes' sake! Very nice. Fighting for Barbados would be like being in Poseidon's army or something. But then, Botswana's is nice, too. And incredibly, Somalia's is even better. How did they get to have such a nice flag? No idea, but I suppose even a nightmare like Somalia should have at least one thing going for it. But again, I digress! On to my real point: Nauru has a national emblem, you see. Penned by an Aussie vet in 1968, it is noteworthy solely because it is typical to an absurd degree. Without even looking at the lyrics, one can surmise the narrative: It starts with an exaltation to the tune of, "Golly Nauru, you're really quite nice, aren't you!" Then goes into a minor key, which is where the whole triumph over adversity or declarations of steadfastness goes. After that we get a slightly more hopeful, optimistic "But we ain't beat yet!" sort of tone, which presumably lauds the resourcefulness of its people. Finally we get the much anticipated reprise whose tone chirps, "See, we told you Nauru is the bee's knees!" Star wipe and...cut. So: do you have a favorite anthem? |
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 Ero-American patriot Ms. Lai says: In Join Or Die, I paint myself having sex with the Presidents of the United States in chronological order. I am interested in humanizing and demythologizing the Presidents by addressing their public legacies and private lives. The presidency itself is a seemingly immortal and impenetrable institution; by inserting myself in its timeline, I attempt to locate something intimate and mortal. I use this intimacy to subvert authority, but it demands that I make myself vulnerable along with the Presidents. A power lies in rendering these patriarchal figures the possible object of shame, ridicule and desire, but it is a power that is constantly negotiated. I approach the spectacle of sex and politics with a certain playfulness. It would be easy to let the images slide into territory that's strictly pornographic—the lurid and hardcore, the predictably "controversial." One could also imagine a series preoccupied with wearing its "Fuck the Man" symbolism on its sleeve. But I wish to move beyond these things and make something playful and tender and maybe a little ambiguous, but exuberantly so. This, I feel, is the most humanizing act I can do. Have to say that I really like how Justine Lai went about this--and the work is nicely done, love the brushwork. And Jefferson, as I've always suspected, is indeed a cuddler. |
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 The Photographers: Charles Corbet Paul Sano Alfonse Van Besten Remi Verstreken From the website: Around 1890 a number of amateur photographers were dissatisfied with the mere technical merits of photography. They wished to use photography for reproducing beauty and expressing their inner feelings and thoughts. Their vision had been opposed by painters and art critics, who were of the opinion that photography, being the product of a technical device, did not belong in a museum. The invention of a “fuzzy rendering process”, and the introduction of the manipulated image moved photography closer to the contemporary art movements in painting. Previous objections, to allow photography into the holy sanctuaries of museums, gradually disappeared. In 1895 the Koninklijke Musea voor Kunst en Geschiedenis in Brussels started collecting international art photography. Among the foremost Belgian pictorialists from around 1900 were Hector Collard, Alexandre, Edmond Sacré, Gustave Marissiaux, Léonard Misonne and Edouard Hannon. Like genuine impressionists they were captivated by light, atmosphere and colour. (From the exposition catalogue “De fotografie in België 1839 – 1940” at the Provinciaal Museum voor Kunstambachten, Deurne, 1970). It was not until 1907 that colour photography, thanks to the autochrome process, came within the reach of photographers. But from among the above mentioned Belgian photographers, it was only Gustave Marissiaux who fully started to make use of the new technique. Whether his fellow pictorialists have ever applied the autochrome process is uncertain: were they disappointed by the fact that the new technique, in contrast to other known photographic techniques, was impossible to manipulate? |
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 Woodmont is the world headquarters of the International Peace Mission Movement, a movement that was almost commandeered by Jim Jones in 1971. Mother Divine, who is still alive, lives here with her followers. ( Read more... ) |
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 Sampled a curious bit of Philadelphia history recently: Father Divine claimed he was a god, and that he would one day reawaken. His followers built this edifice to house his body, and adorned the tomb's giant doors with bronze figures that bring Blake to mind. ( Read more... ) |
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 Eldridge Cleaver's magical pantherpeckerpants. Now available in circumsized. (Thanks to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} thedandiest by way of Undercover Black Man) |
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 On a jetty, just south of Atlantic City, are the derelict columns of a famous New York building, whose destruction is now deemed by many as a shameful chapter in New York history. ( Answer behind the cut ) |
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If you thought the etymology of Venus Flytrap was a tad ribald, you may be taken aback by the outright scatology once used in the service of the dandelion. Here are some names the common folk once used for the lowly yet endearing weed: pissabed, mare's fart, naked ladies, twitchbollock, hound's piss, open arse, bum towel. The lofty heights of natural philosophy weren't much better: Apparently, even Linnaeus was given to employing off-color names (Clitoria, Fornicata, Vulva, etc). These were discreetly replaced over time (I smell a Victorian). The prudes missed the common limpet, though: Crepidula fornicata. Oh yes: maidenhair fern isn't referring to the hair on the young lady's head. One day I'll burn your eyes with the absolutely filthy, delightfully inventive names the Scots-irish gave the rivers in Appalachia. Hoo hoo! (Source for dandelion nuggets: Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything) ~W |
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 Tell it to the poor little devil I found in my garden. It appears he ran afoul of a Cordyceps fungus. ~W |
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 "Often using little more than a pen-knife, many of these drifters pain-stakingly altered the extremely hard copper-nickel alloy, transforming the Indian's head into profile portraits of friends and loved ones (both male and female), of other hobos, or of themselves. Rare examples also feature alterations of the "buffalo," typically into donkeys or elephants. These "Hobo Nickels" were a way for the vagabonds to increase the value of the coin so that it brought a more advantageous exchange when used to barter for food and drink, or for lodging or transportation." A Cabinet article on hobo nickels The Hobo Nickel Society |
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This from the desk of Ian Macky: "Published in 1935, the Secret Museum is a mystery book. It has no author or credits, no copyright, no date, no page numbers, no index. Published by "Manhattan House" and sold by "Metro Publications", both of New York, its "Five Volumes in One" was pure hype: it had never been released in any other form. "Advertised as "World's Greatest Collection of Strange & Secret Photographs" and marketed mainly to overheated adolescents [...] it consists of nothing but photos and captions with no further exposition. This was not a book published to educate (despite appearing on some public library's shelves), but to titillate [...] it's emphasis was on the female form ("Female Beauty Round the World") and fashion, and it featured as many National-Geographic-style native breasts as possible. But anything lurid, weird, or just plain unusual is fair game. This was a book to gawk at by flashlight under the bedcovers. "[...] Presented here is the Secret Museum in its entirety, all 564 pages scanned and transcribed-- nothing is omitted or censored." |
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 Medusa-themed chandelier, a collaboration between friend Adam Wallacavage and the lovely and talented Jodi R., who also lent her face to the effort. The handmade medallion on the ceiling is in an owl motif. ( Details behind cut... ) ~W |
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 Many thanks to Mark for sending this link along. More images from this catalog can be seen at Arthur Magazine. |
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Tristan Zimmerman of