June 30, 2012
Viet Nam Can Tho clams
I had some really delicious clams in Can Tho, Viet Nam. The restauratnt is actually some one’s house. It’s often the case. Living quarters are above or in the back and the restaurants are in front.
photos by Duc N. Ly
March 22, 2012
© 2011 Duc Ly
Horse Angkor Wat
© 2011 Duc Ly
a related post: luxly.wordpress.com/2012/07/09/bayon-gate
September 17, 2011
September 7, 2011
February 26, 2007
(above is a picture from Epica)
Let’s go to Amalfi. I’m tired of the rainy Oregon weather. I like this photograph because it has a sense of adventure, travel, and luxury. When I first came across this, it took me by surprise as the general look of Epica is very traditional.
Epica has a line of hand-made paper from the Italy region of Amalfi. I remember first time hearing about this region was in a GQ magazine. At the time, it was a great travel destination for the trend setters. It was their new “secret spot”. Little did I know that there is a great ancient tradition of paper making that dates back to the 14th century.
Since 1380, the Amalfi mills have produced paper from fine cottons; using the first developed methods from the Medieval Ages. Historically, Amalfi cost is renown as the finest paper mill in Europe. Today, there are only two such paper mills on the coast of Italy. Epica imports the paper and the pages are bound by hand. One of the first city in Italy, perhaps Europe, to make paper. The Museum of Paper is dedicated to the city’s craft.
January 8, 2007
The following link provides some information:
On August 16, 1968, I was handed a book written by a certain Abbe Vallet, Le Manuscrit de Dom Adson de Melk, traduit en francais d’apres l’edition de Dom J. Mabillon
“I completed a translation using some of those large notebooks from Papeterie Joseph Gilbert in which it is so pleasant to write if you use a felt-tip pen” …
“large notebooks . . . felt-tip pen” (p. 1) [Eric Backos offers the following suggestions about the author’s emphasis on the material objects used for writing]: Authors often use seemingly irrelevant references to mundane objects to foreshadow broader textual elements. The importance of writing material is particularly prominent in fiction using the recovered manuscript as a plot device. Umberto Eco, Edgar Allan Poe and Paul Auster all use writing material for foreshadowing plot or to illuminate the inner workings of characters. Particular examples of writing materials as hints to the reader are found in Eco’s The Name of the Rose, Poe’s “The Purloined Letter” and Auster’s City of Glass.
Eco’s fictional translator in The Name of the Rose foreshadows the success of his mission with a comment about the practicality of his equipment and the enjoyment, even recreational quality, of translation. “I completed a translation using some of those large notebooks from Papeterie Joseph Gilbert in which it is so pleasant to write if you use a felt-tip pen” (Eco 1). Further, the translator admits writing “out of pure love of writing” (Eco 5).
While Eco and Poe use quality to foreshadow events favorable to their characters, Paul Auster uses the reversed approach. In City of Glass, Daniel Quinn, already fallen from poet to hack writer, begins his final collapse with the purchase of a cheap notebook after having been “always on the lookout for good spiral notebooks” (Auster, New York Trilogy, p. 46). Yet Quinn is “at a loss to explain to himself why he found it (the cheap notebook) so appealing.” Auster further illustrates Quinn’s slide into insanity with the change from a fountain pen, (unmentioned, but evidenced by spent ink cartridges on Quinn’s desk.) to a pitiful $1 ballpoint (Auster 63).
Eco uses a more complex approach to writing materials in the monastery of In the Name of the Rose. The Abbot’s display of the wealth of the monastery to William and Adso exposes the Abbot’s pride, vanity and avarice. “It is the most immediate of the paths that put us in touch with the Almighty: Theophanic matter” (Eco 145). Similarly, as the monks use the finest materials available and labor arduously to copy crumbling texts, the quality of the writing materials illustrate pride and vanity rather than devotion to God.
Young Adso is drawn into the Abbot’s argument and, while observing a rubricator at work, muses that “the sheet would become a kind of reliquary, glowing with gems studded in what would then be the devout text of the writing” (Eco 185). Adso then makes the mistake of assigning God’s power of life giving to the copyists. “They were producing new books just like those that time would inexorably destroy� therefore, the library could not be threatened by any earthly force, it was a living thing” (Eco 185). Of course the reader knows the gods never take hubris lightly, and these passages foreshadow the eventual destruction of the monastery. The roles of writing material permeate In the Name of the Rose; however, the subtleties and complexities are too many to call this fine thread of scriptocentric hints a “clew” without indulging in a very great vanity. Even the fictional translator and the aged Adso apologize for interpreting their own work. Repentance and penance would be in order for the critic if not for Eco’s indulgence: “Nothing is of greater consolation to the author of a novel than the discovery of readings he had not conceived but which are prompted by his readers” (Eco, Postscript to The Name of the Rose, in abridged form appended to the paperrback edition of the English translation; p. 506). Perhaps, then the highest aspiration of a critic is to be today’s rose and not yesterday’s prick” (ibid. Eco 502).
January 4, 2007
Happy New Years!
I’m back from travels afar. Time is a funny thing. I’m loopy from Jet Lag.
Airline magazines are inspirational. I read them and day dream of all the times I can have to do the projects. I discover thing which I like and dream of having.
I watched ‘The Illusionist’ a beautiful film with cleaver plot.
But in reality time is limited.
Sometimes you wake in the odd hours of the night and plan in your head what you want to do the next day. When you wake, you are tired and can’t accomplish as much as you want to.
At the Cafe Goethe of Frankfurt airport, a woman sitting next to me is writing in her pocket Moleskine journal. She unwraps the plastic skin away from the notebook and proceed to write immediately, filling up the page with her thought.