Tickle's Flown Away to the Rainbow Bridge...

It happened almost three months ago, within the first hour of the last day of June, and I still feel numb with pain. It happened quickly, six weeks after your being diagnosed with a nasty lung condition with a big long name (idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis). So quickly, it is still hard to take in.

R.I.P. Tick-Tick, We'll meet again, at the Rainbow Bridge!

I have since been assured that you are watching over me from where you are now and that, in your world, beauty is magnified and life is one big ball... of energy, high and bright.

We met on the August Bank Holiday week-end of 2006 at Manchester Dogs Home (U.K.) and it was love at first sight. I saved you and you saved me, you my best friend, my soulmate, close family and my now guardian angel.

Tickle: "Why are you crying, mum? I'm not going anywhere!"

You were one little hyperactive bundle of Jack Russell Terrier dynamite, running around, loving to play fetch and barking away to your heart's content, never tired, never fed up, always up for action! You weren't for the faint-hearted or the sedentary; you were just right for me, we fitted in each other's active lifestyles!

We navigated the highs and lows of life, together, always together. My life revolved around you. We were one unit, inseparable, out and about, trekking up the mountain, driving around the island, exploring places, visiting people, making friends, running errands, taking photos, daydreaming, sat on the beach, baking, gardening, saving things, fixing things, trying to fix the world one random act of kindness at a time... Oh, and you could be so funny at times, such an entertainer! And you turned heads anywhere we went, because quite frankly you were one good-looking tricolour Jack!

Your little bed, toys and cushions have remained at the same spot, less than one foot away from my desk. Your leashes, harness and collar are still hanging from the hook by the front door. In the kitchen, your cushion (that you loved plumping up so much!) has been taken over by three kittens called Coco, Reuben and Rohmus, all cuddled up together. You already knew Coco (11 months old now) and we helped her stray mummy cat Midnight raise her. As for 4-month-old Reuben and Rohmus, you must have brought them to me within a couple of days of your departure as I found them outside our front door with their four siblings and an overwhelmed Midnight who had delivered the new litter... Tick-Tick, you softened the blow with a flurry of kitties, showing me that life goes on, life must go on, for those kittens at least to live it.

So life goes on as it must, with joy and heartbreak all at once. With you, my Tickle, on my mind and in my heart forever always. I miss you greatly.

Run Free, Fly High, Together Always! I love you.

The Pan-American Highway

Now if you are pursued by rampant wanderlust like Mirabelle is at best of times, you want to take the road less travelled (by the conventional tourist), the road that clocks on and off shy of 30,000 miles, from the ice sloes of Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, to the Southern tip of Patagonia, Argentina, a colonialist's dream, an adventure writer's vision of voyage, a stretch of tarmac interspersed with dusty bumpy roadtracks, and cinemascope landscapes as far as the eye can see... The world is a stage to those of us who choose to give their life the starry role it deserves.

Sources: (1) Cass Gilbert took on the crazy challenge of riding his mountain bike from the Northern Terminus of Pan-American-Highway Prudhoe Bay (as shown here, with an oil pipeline by the roadside) to the southern tip of Argentina, via Cuba. Follow his incredible journey on While Out Riding. (2) 'The Pan-American Highway', Mountain Drive to Quetzaltenago, Guatemala, by The Fuller Family blog (24/02/2011). (3) 'Arica Y Parinacota, Chile, Pan-American Highway', by thejourney1972 (South America addicted), via Flickr (07/06/2009).

Z Movie Set

North of Bastia (Corsica) is a kitsch seaside hotel with a colourful and eccentric reputation that goes beyond its love affair with concrete posts and crazy paving. Its grounds double up as an alfresco impromptu modern art centre, with upcycled consumer waste, weathered raw rusty sculptures, metal wreckage, junk and debris. There is an air of neglect and abandonment that confer it that lived-in feel. Facts and fiction blur further as you venture deeper into the lush semi-tropical swampy gardens. The mind boggles and you start wondering whether what you see is meant to be showcased or you have actually entered a parallel universe... Is this a military testing area, an abandonned Soviet bloc resort, a failed Tiki trove, a jumble sale gone wrong or a (Rob) Zombie film set?

Across from the hotel, the pier is a crazy architectural feat, with totems, rusty sculptures, plaster figurines and incongru artefacts flirting with art from afar, broken down by shots of colour, incrustations and mosaics. It seems whoever concreted and partitioned off the creek with the pier had some fun and games trying to liven up the utilitarian look. You either get it or you don't. If in doubt ask the loyal crowd of afficionado hotel residents for their view. What is certain is that you will not remain indifferent to the rawness of it all and that's the name of the game!

The Festival d'arts "Singulièrement Brut" art fest has been in residence at the Hotel Caribou, 20228 Porticciolo, Cagnano, Corsica every Summer since 2006.

Source: All photography © Mirabelle Design Inspiration.

Caught in the Pacific Trash Vortex

Images speak a thousand words as documented by visual artist and social activist Chris Jordan who has been following the fate of albatrosses on some of the remotest islands on Earth, the Midway Atoll... Ironically what should be paradise is nothing more than paradise lost... in plastic!

Source: All photography by Chris Jordan. Midway displays signs of human civilisation in all its tangible horror, where plastic fantastic is an aberration of pharaonic proportions. In this part of the world, the trash vortex - a superposition of plastic debris swirling around and causing devastation and suffocation not only to marine life but also to sea birds - is the size of Texas, itself slightly bigger than France... Where better to look out for proof than in the stomachs of decomposed corpses, so no need for NCIS to get their shiny dissection instruments out to determine the cause of death. Oh, and while we're at it, enjoy your dinner! Now according to Bag It (Jim Hurst) who's also been involved in the Midway Project, 'In the United States alone, an estimated 12 million barrels of oil is used annually to make the plastic bags that Americans consume. The United States International Trade Commission reported that 102 billion plastic bags were used in the U.S. in 2009.' Makes you ponder, doesn't it?

A Colourful Design in Movement

Colour is at the basis of visual communication at large - from arts and media to the more mundane, either used randomly, or to create an ambience, a pattern, a symbol, convey a message or reinforce brand identity. Here each of the following two colour-strong images has tickled Mirabelle's fancy for a reason; the first one for its symbolic rigid static geometric stance, whereas the other - by contrast - for its movement, fluidity and vibrancy.

Sources: (1) Canadian Confederation Centennial logomark designed in 1966 by Stuart Ash, one half of the Gottschalk + Ash Canadian branding and design agency, via Aqua-Velvet. (2) 'Rainbow Swirls' mosaic (close-up) by Natalie Swarne (2008), via Flickr.

The World According to Julie Heffernan

Is it a microcosm or rather a macrocosm of self, delightfully interpreted by Surrealist artist Julie Heffernan on canvas, her symbolic vision of the world with nuances, light touches of colour, and admirably rich detailing, that invite spectators to explore and lose themselves in this total immersion experience, in this extrapolated imaginary world...

Pict 1-3: Respectively (1) 'Self -Portrait as Big World' (oil on canvas, 2008), (2) 'Self-Portrait as Sky-Scraper', and (3) 'Self-Portrait as Big House'. All sourced from Escape into Life: Julie Heffernan's Contructions of Self.