Old Things (2025)

29/05/2025

The year is 1936. America is grappling with the Great Depression, yet a singular figure shines brightly: eight-year-old Shirley Temple. Her arrival at 20th Century Fox marked a pivotal moment, not only for her career but for the studio itself. Already the nation's biggest box office draw, Temple's charm and talent provided much-needed respite from the era's hardships. Her burgeoning popularity is directly linked to the survival of 20th Century Fox. In a decade of economic struggle, Temple was a unique source of hope, her wholesome entertainment lifting spirits and revitalizing the film industry. The photograph from her 1936 studio arrival stands as a historical marker of her profound impact on American cinema and culture. Despite her young age, her ability to inspire a nation in turmoil cemented her place as a true Hollywood legend.

29/05/2025

Three young ladies in Houston prepare to board a bus to Austin to take their cosmetology exams in 1940. Clad in elegant suits and perfectly styled hairdos, they represent the determination and optimism of a generation of women stepping into professional life during an era of both limitation and transformation.

Each woman carries her own luggage—a combination of classic hard-shell suitcases and a distinct round hatbox, symbolic of the fashion-focused journey they are embarking on. Their poised smiles and upright postures suggest a quiet confidence, likely the result of months of studying, practicing, and dreaming. They stand in front of a Greyhound bus, the silver body gleaming faintly, with the bold company name spanning the windows behind them. The sight of the bus itself evokes a sense of movement, not just across cities, but across social boundaries and personal aspirations.

The 1940s in America was a time of complex change. While the country was on the cusp of World War II, daily life for many young women still revolved around traditional expectations—marriage, homemaking, and limited professional roles. Yet, cosmetology and other vocational paths offered a unique form of independence. For many women, becoming a licensed beautician meant owning a business, earning a living wage, and gaining autonomy—often in their own communities.

The location, Houston, was one of the fastest-growing cities in Texas during this period, fueled by industrial growth and increasing migration from rural areas. For these three women, leaving a city like Houston for an opportunity in Austin wasn't just about passing a test—it was about staking a claim in their futures. They weren’t simply going to do hair; they were traveling to take ownership of their lives.

Their attire reflects the style of the time: tailored jackets with padded shoulders, knee-length skirts, and sensible but stylish shoes. It’s clear they dressed with care, understanding that this trip—and the photograph capturing it—marked a significant milestone. Their hair is immaculate, reflecting not only the fashion of the time but also their dedication to the craft they were preparing to professionally enter.

Though the bus station itself remains out of view, the presence of the vehicle and the open space of the concrete behind them implies early morning—possibly just before departure. It’s a transitional moment: not quite goodbye, not yet arrival, suspended in possibility.

This image preserves more than a day in the lives of three women; it immortalizes an era when ambition, style, and determination intersected at the doors of a Greyhound bus in Houston. These women may have left for Austin in pursuit of a license, but what they were truly chasing was recognition, opportunity, and self-made dignity in a time that often denied women all three.

29/05/2025

The Brooklyn Bridge, one of New York City’s most iconic landmarks, began construction in 1870 under the vision of engineer John A. Roebling. Tragically, Roebling died before the work fully commenced, and his son, Washington Roebling, took over the project. The bridge’s design broke new ground by using steel cables in its suspension system, marking a major advancement in civil engineering. It was created to connect the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn, which had previously been separated by the East River, and its completion would dramatically alter the city’s transportation network.
The construction process was fraught with difficulties, from budget shortfalls to complex engineering challenges. Workers faced dangerous conditions, especially those in the underwater caissons, many of whom suffered from what would later be understood as decompression sickness. Despite these hardships, the bridge was completed in 1883 and became the world’s longest suspension bridge at the time. Its grand opening was a momentous occasion, celebrated for introducing a new and efficient way for people and goods to travel between the two boroughs.
More than a century later, the Brooklyn Bridge continues to stand as a powerful symbol of New York City’s spirit and ingenuity. It remains a vital transportation route and a beloved piece of the city’s skyline. Revered for its graceful design and historical significance, the bridge is not only a marvel of 19th-century engineering but also a lasting tribute to the determination and vision of the Roebling family.

29/05/2025

Rhoda Jones standing outside her cabin with her dog near Ripley, Ohio, in May 1910. At this time, Jones was the oldest surviving resident of Africa, a settlement of free African Americans established on a hillside above Ripley; she was actively involved in the Underground Railroad assisting slaves to escape to freedom once they crossed from Kentucky into Ohio across the Ohio River...

29/05/2025

In the beginning, as Sally Field embarked on her Hollywood journey, she was not only chasing her career dreams but also stepping into a new chapter in her personal life. At 19, full of youthful ambition, she married Steven Craig, a man outside the film industry who offered her steady support as she navigated the ups and downs of fame. The two met before Sally became a household name, during a time when she was just another young woman striving to make her mark in a highly competitive industry. Sally often spoke fondly of Steven as her unwavering source of stability while her career began to take flight.
Their wedding in 1968 came as Sally's fame was beginning to grow, particularly with her role as Gidget on television. Sally often reflected on these early years with a sense of warmth, acknowledging how challenging it was to balance a young marriage with the increasing demands of her newfound stardom. "There’s something beautiful about being young and in love, thinking that you can conquer anything together," she once said. It was a time of optimism and shared dreams, with both Sally and Steven believing that love could withstand any pressure life might throw their way.
As her career gained momentum, with standout roles in The Flying Nun and Sybil, the pressures of fame began to intensify. Sally found herself constantly juggling long hours on set with her responsibilities as a wife, a balancing act that began to take a toll. Her days were filled with rehearsals, filming, and public appearances, leaving her physically and emotionally drained when she returned home.
For Steven, the rising fame of his wife presented a different kind of challenge. He stood by her as her career skyrocketed, but as her stardom grew, he found his role in their life increasingly unclear. Sally later reflected on how fame often strained personal relationships, acknowledging the difficulty of balancing her personal happiness with her professional dreams. "You think you can hold on to everything you love, but sometimes, life has a way of making you choose," she said. Together, they had two sons, Peter and Eli, born in 1969 and 1972, and despite the strains of her fame, Sally cherished her role as a mother, always making time for her children. "Nothing grounds you like being a mother. It makes you remember what’s truly important," she said, finding joy in raising them with Steven.
However, as the years passed, the pressures of Hollywood began to show cracks in their marriage. By the mid-1970s, as Sally’s career reached its peak, the demands of her work grew more intense. Her personal identity became increasingly intertwined with her public image, and the simpler life she once shared with Steven seemed more distant. It wasn’t that love had faded, but rather they were growing in different directions. Steven, who had once been her anchor, began to yearn for a quieter, more stable life, while Sally felt drawn to dive deeper into her acting career. "Sometimes, you love someone, but you can’t hold them in a place they no longer belong," she later remarked, hinting at the sadness of their separation.
Their divorce in 1975 marked the end of an era, a time filled with love, sacrifice, and shared dreams. At just 29, Sally continued to thrive in Hollywood, but the end of her marriage gave her a deeper understanding of the complexities of love and ambition. In later interviews, she would reflect on her marriage to Steven as one of the most significant relationships of her life, one that taught her about love, compromise, and the cost of chasing one's dreams. "Steven taught me so much about being true to myself," she said, acknowledging how their time together helped shape her personal growth.
Though both Sally and Steven moved forward after their separation, the memories of their time together stayed with her. In her autobiography, Sally reflected on their years together with bittersweet nostalgia, remembering how Steven had been her rock during the chaotic early days of her career. She described their relationship as one marked by mutual respect and care, despite life pulling them in different directions. Their story was not one of bitterness but of two people who loved each other deeply but ultimately had to go their separate ways. They remained dedicated co-parents, raising their sons together despite their divorce.
Sally went on to have other significant relationships, including one with Burt Reynolds, but her time with Steven Craig remained an important chapter in her life. The years they spent together helped shape her understanding of love, commitment, and the sacrifices made in the pursuit of ambition. "He was my first love, my partner when I was still discovering who I was," she once said. The memory of their young love and the life they built together stayed with her, a constant reminder of a love that could no longer be held onto, but would never be forgotten.

29/05/2025

In the summer of '86, a Swedish farmer stumbled upon an incredible find tucked away in the dusty basement of an old farmhouse. There, he unearthed large, forgotten wooden crates. Curiosity piqued, he opened them to reveal an astonishing collection: over 1,200 paintings bursting with geometric shapes and vivid colors. Baffled by their nature, he sought the opinion of a neighbor, who was equally perplexed. Initially, they speculated the artworks might be props from a theater or even illicit goods. It wasn't until they spotted a signature, "Hilma af Klint," in the corner of one that a sense of significance dawned. Intrigued, they contacted a museum acquaintance, which soon led to art experts and officials arriving to examine the mysterious crates.

The revelation was groundbreaking. These abstract creations, brimming with innovative forms, predated the works of Kandinsky, Malevich, and Mondrian, who had long been credited as pioneers of abstraction. Hilma af Klint, born in Stockholm in 1862, was raised in a household where mathematics and art intertwined, her father being a mathematician. Her early exposure to geometric patterns and her passion for painting led her to the Swedish Academy of Fine Arts, a rare feat for a woman at the time. While she earned her living through conventional portraits and landscapes, the scientific marvels of her era, such as X-rays and electromagnetic waves, captivated her. These discoveries fueled her belief in unseen dimensions, inspiring her to explore how art could transcend the visible world.

Driven by a profound spiritual quest, Hilma joined "The Five," a group of women who held séances, practiced automatic writing, and experimented artistically. These spiritual experiences became the wellspring of Hilma's abstract paintings, which she envisioned as conduits for messages from other realms. Recognizing that her revolutionary work might not be understood by her contemporaries, she led a dual existence—publicly painting traditional pieces while secretly producing a vast body of abstract art. These groundbreaking works were stored in sealed boxes, with a specific instruction: they were not to be opened until two decades after her passing. Sadly, her nephew, her sole heir, died before this could happen, leaving her visionary art hidden for decades until its chance rediscovery in 1986. Today, Hilma af Klint is celebrated as a visionary artist, a true foremother of abstract art, a woman who painted for a future she would not see.

29/05/2025

Elsie Allcock, born on June 28, 1918, in Huthwaite, Nottinghamshire, England, is a British centenarian who has lived in the same two-bedroom terraced house since birth, a home her family began renting in 1902 for seven shillings and sixpence.

In 1957, Elsie and her late husband purchased the house for £250, and she continues to reside there, now alongside her son Raymond who is 78 years old.

After leaving school at 14 due to her mother’s passing in 1932, Elsie took on household responsibilities, caring for her father and performing cleaning jobs for neighbors. She married Bill Allcock in 1941, and they chose to remain in her family home.

Elsie and Raymond don’t use mobile phones or the Internet. She always carries a duster in her pocket, attributing her longevity to staying active and engaged, famously stating, “The secret to a long life is not sitting idle.” She enjoys playing dominoes and continues to maintain an active lifestyle, including gardening and completing around 25 jigsaw puzzles a year with her son.

Besides Raymond, she has one other child, six grandchildren and 30 great-grandchildren.

29/05/2025

Private Bertram Byrnes never forgot the date—2 September 1917—when a bullet tore through his face near Péronne during the Great War. The shot entered his cheek and exited beneath his left eye, shattering his jaw and destroying his palate. At Queen’s Hospital in England, known for treating facial injuries, doctors did what they could, but Bertram was left disfigured, toothless, and unable to speak or eat properly.
When he returned to Australia in 1919, Bertram dreaded seeing his wife, Elizabeth. He had left as a proud, handsome man with twinkling blue eyes and a roguish grin, and returned a shadow of himself. But Elizabeth’s love was unwavering—she welcomed him home without hesitation. Bertram endured his injuries without complaint, living on liquid food and managing constant discomfort with quiet resilience.
The couple struggled to survive on a meagre pension after Bertram proved too frail to work the land allocated to him as a soldier settler. Yet he remained proud of his service, and in 1938, requested replacements for his war medals lost in a bushfire so he could march on ANZAC Day. Bertram Byrnes passed away in 1965, remembered for his dignity, endurance, and the love that never faltered.

29/05/2025

In 1933, Buncombe County, located in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, was a region defined by both its breathtaking natural beauty and the hardships of the Great Depression. The area, known for its steep hills, dense forests, and winding rivers, was home to families who relied heavily on farming, livestock, and hunting for survival. With the economic downturn, many local residents found themselves struggling to make ends meet. The rugged isolation of the county, however, provided fertile ground for a thriving underground economy: the production of moonshine.
Moonshining became a prevalent and secretive trade in the region during the 1930s. Faced with limited economic opportunities, many mountain families turned to making homemade whiskey, which could be sold for much-needed cash. Utilizing the remote and often inaccessible areas of the county, moonshiners crafted elaborate stills out of repurposed materials like car radiators and copper piping. These makeshift distilleries were typically hidden in dense forests or along creeks, where the steep terrain made it difficult for law enforcement to locate and shut them down. The craft of moonshine production became a skill passed down through generations, with families guarding their recipes and methods closely.
The legacy of moonshining in Buncombe County is preserved in part through the photographic work of Frank M. Hohenberger, whose collection at Indiana University offers rare insight into the lives of Appalachian families during this period. His images capture both the daily struggles of mountain life and the ingenuity involved in the moonshine trade. Despite its illegality, the practice was viewed by many as a necessary means of survival and a symbol of Appalachian self-sufficiency. Today, the history of moonshining in Buncombe County is celebrated as a significant part of the region’s cultural heritage, reflecting the resilience and resourcefulness of its people during one of the most challenging eras in American history

29/05/2025

Preely Coleman, who had been born into slavery, at the age of 85 in Tyler, 1935. Preely was born in 1852 in New Berry, South Carolina, but he and his mother were sold and brought to Texas when Preely was only one month old. They settled near Alto, where Preely lived most of his life. Here's what he had to say, preserved in his own voice by the WPA:
"I'm Preely Coleman and I never gits tired of talking. Yes, ma'am, it am Juneteenth, but I'm home, 'cause I'm too old now to go on them celerabrations. Where was I born? I knows that 'zactly, 'cause my mammy tells me that a thousand times. I was born down on the old Souba place, in South Carolina, 'bout ten mile from New Berry. My mammy belonged to the Souba family, but its a fact one of the Souba boys was my pappy and so the Soubas sells my mammy to Bob and Dan Lewis and they brung us to Texas 'long with a big bunch of other slaves. Mammy tells me it was a full month 'fore they gits to Alto, their new home.
"When I was a chile I has a purty good time, 'cause there was plenty chillen on the plantation. We had the big races. Durin' the war the sojers stops by on the way to Mansfield, in Louisiana, to git somethin' to eat and stay all night, and then's when we had the races. There was a mulberry tree we'd run to and we'd line up and the sojers would say, 'Now the first one to slap that tree gits a quarter,' and I nearly allus gits there first. I made plenty quarters slappin' that old mulberry tree!
"So the chillen gits into their heads to fix me, 'cause I wins all the quarters. They throws a rope over my head and started draggin down the road, and down the hill, and I was nigh 'bout choked to death. My only friend was Billy and he was a-fightin', tryin' to git me loose. They was goin' to throw me in the big spring at the foot of that hill, but we meets Capt. Berryman, a white man, and he took his knife and cut the rope from my neck and took me by the heels and so**ed me up and down in the spring till I come to. They never tries to kill me any more.
"My mammy done married John Selman on the way to Texas, no cere'mony, you knows, but with her massa's consent. Now our masters, the Lewises, they loses their place and then the Selman's buy me and mammy. They pays $1,500 for my mammy and I was throwed in.
"Massa Selman has five cabins in he backyard and they's built like half circle. I grows big 'nough to hoe and den to plow. We has to be ready for the field by daylight and the conk was blowed, and massa call out, 'All hands ready for the field.' At 11:30 he blows the conk, what am the mussel shell, you knows, 'gain and we eats dinner, and at 12:30 we has to be back at work. But massa wouldn't 'low no kind of work on Sunday.
"Massa Tom made us wear the shoes, 'cause they's so many snags and stumps our feets gits sore, and they was red russet shoes. I'll never forgit 'em, they was so stiff at first we could hardly stand 'em. But Massa Tom was a good man, though he did love the dram. He kep' the bottle in the center of the dining table all the time and every meal he'd have the toddy. Us slaves et out under the trees in summer and in the kitchen in winter and most gen'rally we has bread in pot liquor or milk, but sometimes honey.
"I well 'members when freedom come. We was in the field and massa comes up and say, 'You all is free as I is.' There was shoutin' and singin' and 'fore night us was all 'way to freedom."
Credit Goes To The Respective Owner

29/05/2025

While Anne Frank's diary vividly illuminates the Holocaust through a personal lens, her older sister, Margot Frank, often remains in the shadows of historical memory. Unlike Anne's vibrant and expressive nature, Margot was known for her quiet intellect and reserved demeanor. Our understanding of Margot largely comes from Anne's own diary entries, where she frequently contrasted their personalities, revealing a complex mix of sibling rivalry, admiration, and a desire for a closer connection.

Anne saw herself as the family's outspoken "mischief-maker," while she depicted Margot as "brainy," "brilliant," and well-behaved, though also at times "weak-willed and passive." These observations highlight the intricate dynamics of sisterhood, particularly intensified by the immense pressures of life in the Secret Annex. Anne sometimes felt overshadowed by Margot's often-praised calm and intelligence.

In one poignant diary entry, Anne recorded her father, Otto Frank, seemingly favoring Margot, describing her as "the cleverest, the kindest, the prettiest." These moments expose Anne's internal struggles, grappling not only with the external horrors of the war but also with the deeply personal emotions of adolescence, identity formation, and family relationships. Though Margot's presence in the historical narrative is quieter, her life and tragic loss are undoubtedly significant.

29/05/2025

A Rare Glimpse: Van Gogh and Gauguin in Montmartre, 1887

Unearthed from the archives of a bookseller with Rothschild connections by researcher Serge Plantureux, a singular photograph captures a fleeting moment between two titans of 19th-century art: Vincent van Gogh and Paul Gauguin. Taken in Montmartre in 1887, this image offers an extraordinary visual link between the personal lives and groundbreaking artistic endeavors of these influential figures.

The photograph shows Van Gogh seated calmly, pipe in hand, amidst a circle of notable contemporaries. Emile Bernard, another key figure in post-Impressionism, is seen second from the left. Standing beside Van Gogh is André Antoine, the visionary founder of the Théâtre Libre de Paris, a central force in the era's cultural landscape. Their presence highlights the dynamic and interconnected artistic community of Paris during this creatively fertile period.

Positioned on the far right is Paul Gauguin, celebrated for his bold use of color and his radical divergence from European artistic norms. His placement alongside Van Gogh in this unique image freezes a brief intersection in their famously complex friendship and artistic dialogue. This solitary photograph provides a quietly compelling window into a shared historical moment, shedding light on the bonds and tensions that ultimately shaped the trajectory of modern art.

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