The Mirrorcube, designed by Tham & Videgard Architects is a room in the Tree Hotel in Harads, Sweden. Located 60 kilometres south of the Arctic circle. This genuine hide-out is made of light-weight aluminum which is hung around the base of a single tree. Measuring 4x4x4 metres, the cube clad in mirrored glass. The exterior reflects the surroundings and the sky, creating a camouflaged refuge. The interior is all made of plywood and the windows give a 360 degree view of the surroundings.
Some thirty inches from my nose The frontier of my Person goes, And all the untilled air between Is private pagus or demesne. Stranger, unless with bedroom eyes I beckon you to fraternize, Beware of rudely crossing it: I have no gun, but I can spit.
Actress and transgender icon Holly Woodlawn passed away yesterday at the age of 69.
Woodlawn, one of the famous Andy Warhol’s “superstars’. She met Warhol at a party at the Factory in 1968 and soon became a part of the Warhol entourage and was a regular at legendary nightclub, Max’s Kansas City.
Holly stared in avant-garde director Paul Morrissey’s films Trash (1970) and Women in Revolt (1971), both produced by Warhol.
Paul Morrisey (left), then (clockwise) Joe Dallesandro, Holly Woodlawn and Jane Forth during the filming of Trash
Holly Woodlawn with Andy Warhol at the Factory
Holly Woodlawn by Jack Mitchell, After Dark Magazine.
Holly’s story was immortalized in Lou Reed’s song “Walk On The Wild Side”.
Holly came from Miami F.L.A.
Hitch-hiked her way across the U.S.A.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her legs and then he was a she
She said, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side,
Said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side….
Mirror I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful — The eye of a little god, four-cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers. Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me, Searching my reaches for what she really is. Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. I see her back, and reflect it faithfully. She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. I am important to her. She comes and goes. Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
“From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone…”