#The Gulf Stream

[pazzesco]

🎨Winslow Homer

Winslow Homer | The Gulf Stream - 1899 - Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City

The Gulf Stream shows a man in a small dismasted rudderless fishing boat struggling against the waves of the sea, and was the artist's statement on a theme that had interested him for more than a decade.

Chronologically the first of a series of major works painted by Homer in the last decade of his life, The Gulf Stream was painted in the penultimate year of the century, the year after the death of his father, and has been seen as revealing his sense of abandonment or vulnerability.

Winslow Homer | After the Hurricane - 1899

After the Hurricane, perhaps it's the sequel to The Gulf Stream, "is among Homer’s most astonishing and ambitious watercolors for its sheer technical virtuosity and epic subject matter"

An earlier painting 🔽

Shark Fishing - 1885

Homer in his studio. In 1859, he opened a studio in the Tenth Street Studio Building in New York City, the artistic and publishing capital of the United States.

Until 1863, he attended classes at the National Academy of Design, and studied briefly with Frédéric Rondel, who taught him the basics of painting. In only about a year of self-training, Homer was producing excellent oil work. His mother tried to raise family funds to send him to Europe for further study but instead Harper's sent Homer to the front lines of the American Civil War (1861–1865), where he sketched battle scenes and camp life, the quiet moments as well as the chaotic ones.

Winslow Homer - Prisoners from the Front - 1866 - now housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City

Winslow Homer - Home, Sweet Home - 1863 - National Gallery of Art, Washington, D. C

Winslow Homer - The Army of the Potomac - A 'Sharp-Shooter on Picket Duty' during the American Civil War - 1862 - wood engraving on paper. Smithsonian American Art Museum

#homer #winslow homer #After the Hurricane #vintage photography #art #paintings #The Gulf Stream #1899 #artists #sharp shooter #civil war #potomac #Prisoners from the Front #Sharp-Shooter on Picket Duty

[misscromwellsmonocle]

The Gulf Stream (1899, reworked by 1906) by Winslow Homer

#The Gulf Stream #1899 #1890s #fin de #Winslow Homer #art #painting #Miss Cromwell

[artschoolglasses]

The Gulf Stream, Winslow Homer, 1899

#the gulf stream #Winslow homer #homer #1899 #1890s #1800s #19th century #painting #art #boat #seascape #sea #ocean

[i-live-inside-your-mind]

#winslow homer #the gulf stream #national gallery #mine #art #american artist #my picture

[universalambients]

The Gulf Stream (1899) Music & Ambience

#the gulf #the gulf stream #gulf stream #sea #sea art #sea aesthetic #oceancore #ocean view #ocean #oceans #sailing #cast away #boat #yacht #sailboat #boatlife #boating #sailor #summer #adventure #catamaran #yachts #ship #ship art #sun #holiday #fishing #sailors #wind #the sea

[peaceinthestorm]

Max Ernst (1891-1976, German) ~ Le Gulf Stream, 1954

[Source: Christie's]

#max ernst #german art #gulf stream #night #magic night

[asteroidtroglodyte]

Real Men don’t want lifted trucks and guns,

Real Men want

To have their tiny insignificant existence acknowledged by an ancient sea goddess of otherworldly power and indescribable beauty.

#troglodyte thoughts #free range sustainable shitpost #druid life #fujimoto #granmamare #Ponyo #ghibli #Miyazaki #old gods #goddess #the big woman #the one with the hair that flows like the Gulf Stream #mother of the sea #fujimoto gotta be one of my favorite genders

[mindblowingscience]

The Gulf Stream is almost certainly weakening, a new study has confirmed. The flow of warm water through the Florida Straits has slowed by 4% over the past four decades, with grave implications for the world's climate.  The ocean current starts near Florida and threads a belt of warm water along the U.S. East Coast and Canada before crossing the Atlantic to Europe. The heat it transports is essential for maintaining temperate conditions and regulating sea levels.  But this stream is slowing down, researchers wrote in a study published Sept. 25 in the journal Geophysical Research Letters.  "This is the strongest, most definitive evidence we have of the weakening of this climatically-relevant ocean current," lead-author Christopher Piecuch, a physical oceanographer at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution in Massachusetts, said in a statement.

Continue Reading

#science #stem #environment #climate change #gulf stream #earth #oceanography

[zmediaoutlet]

this land is your land

for @wincestwednesdays - americana

"Relax," Sam says, and Dean says back immediately "You relax," but that doesn't work because Sam, damn him, is so relaxed Dean's surprised he's still walking upright and not a puddle of dissolved bones, somewhere a few miles back on the sun-baked road. Where the car's sitting, steaming, the engine ticking as it cools, alone--

"You know what's wrong?" Sam says, and Dean gives him a look, and Sam says, "You know how to fix it?" and Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam says, "So what are you gonna do about it between here and that co-op in town?" and Dean says, "You know, this is how you talked when you didn't have a soul," and Sam laughs kinda soft, hitching his backpack higher.

Hot, humid, but not horrible. The fields growing up with something green. Maybe future wheat. Dean's not a farmer. The kind of summer day where you want to lay in thick grass and drink about twelve ice-cold beers and eat watermelon, or burgers off the grill, or a rainbow snowcone just dripping with every color, like remember, that time --

"Fairfield County Fair," Sam says, grinning. He drags his hair back from his forehead. Their jackets tied around their waists and Sam's sleeves rolled up to his elbows; if it gets much hotter out here he might strip that layer too and then, hey, free show. "Yeah. That was good. Other than the ghost."

"Ghost was easy," Dean says, "as was Miss Mindy the concessions girl. You remember, right? All that funnel cake?"

"I think I puked it all over the tilt-a-whirl," Sam says, dry, and Dean grins back at him so Sam rolls his eyes, but -- he remembers, and that's what matters to Dean now. When he's got this brother, stitched back together, remembering the snowcone and the tilt-a-whirl and also what it means, that they're walking side by side through this yellow afternoon, sweating their balls off.

A barn, past the next field of maybe-wheat. White-painted metal that's peeling bad as they get closer, but it's got a heavy fall of shadow in the driven-over silty dust and abandoned crates that don't collapse when Dean plants his ass on one, so it's good enough for now. "Could go for a snowcone," he says, and Sam snorts somewhere past his closed eyes and there's a thunk of his bag hitting the dirt and then scuffing away, through the silt, and Dean watches the world golden through closed lids and imagines. Sam sweating, long, his body moving sure through the shadow and then -- through the barn door, sliding on squeaky rollers -- and then into somewhere Dean can barely hear him except whatever he imagines might echo through the wall, but it's okay because he'll come back. He's promised that, now. Dean turns his head against the side of the barn anyway, his ear against the warm metal, in case there's some echo. Long night and a long day and a long night ahead and maybe it's lame but he's old now, or feels it, and he's tired. He'll take even an echo.

In the barn: dusty John Deeres, and tools Sam doesn't bother to describe, and a case of too-warm water of dubious age in cheap plastic bottles. "Thief," Dean says, but just to say it, and Sam shrugs and says, "Trespassing, too," but he cracks a bottle and hands it to Dean and Dean dumps it over his head, just to get off some of the sweat and dust. Long walk. Sam says dude and Dean says, "Bite me," but when he slicks his hand back over his head Sam ends up smiling at him, after all, and hands him another bottle to actually drink, and then -- bends at the waist and dumps water over the back of his own head, slicking his hair to black in the shade, dripping down and turning the dust to mud. Stripped down to his t-shirt after all and the water sopping the grey to dark. "See, I'm a genius," Dean says, and Sam scratches through his hair and groans like he does on other midnights and says, "Don't get ahead of yourself," but when he sits down next to Dean his hair's curling wet against his neck and he looks as relaxed as Dean's seen him in -- god, how long? Years anyway. Like Dean would see him sometimes in dreams, during that year that's pressed too close up against his back teeth, and he'd wake up on those mornings with his heart full in his chest and with a good mood, almost, that lasted until he opened his eyes and remembered what bed he was in and the mood pierced like a water balloon that hadn't popped right. Draining out slow until he was left pointless and limp.

Sun finally heading toward setting. Over the fields the air's golden, thick in that way of summer. Sky exactly the shade of a cherry '67 Mustang. Acapulco Blue. Sam's bootheels stretch out to full-length in the silt, past the mud-mess he made, and there's his legs long in denim. Dust on the hems. Dean leans forward, elbows on his knees, taking in one of those long deep breaths that when he blows it out feels like he's expelling air from decades ago. Lungs one hundred percent empty.

Big hand on the back of his neck. He closes his eyes. Sam strokes up over his head where the hair's gone spiky-wet and then smooths it back down, his thumb braced up behind Dean's ear. Heavy and hot.

"Gonna make it back to town tonight?" Sam asks. Like he doesn't know the distance just the same as Dean. Dean shrugs. Sam hums and squeezes Dean's neck, and then Dean opens his eyes and looks from where his head's held down like this to see Sam's heel draw up through the dust, and for his knee to press against Dean's, and then his hand dragging down Dean's back and then back up under his shirt, hot on damp skin, a big square heavy thing. Landing somewhere up between his shoulderblades. Dean wants it on his dick and on the side of his face thumbing his mouth and also just exactly where it is. Sam touching him. Over that last year, what he missed more than anything else. For Sam to touch him and for it to mean what it was supposed to, when Sam touched him.

"We've probably got the worst case of swamp ass this side of the Mississippi," Dean says.

"You remember that time in Tupelo?" Sam says, and of course Dean does. Of course, every single time, like some dorky glittery journal in his heart, he remembers -- Sam's face over his in Tupelo spattered with mud-and-blood and laughing at how disgusting it was, and doing it anyway; Sam's breath desperate at the back of his neck in Portland, both Maine and Oregon; Sam's fingers lacing with his in Colorado Springs, and Sam pressed chest-to-chest with him in Pittsburgh, and Sam's mouth blurring strange in the drunken dark in too many places to name. Dean remembers.

Sam lifts his hand, stretching Dean's shirt, and Dean feels the air gust up against his sweaty back before he follows it, unbending slowly, and then Sam's whole arm's shoved awkward up against his spine, his fingers and thumb bracketing Dean's neck, and when Dean tips his head back Sam's there to catch him.

"Gonna miss the show tonight," Dean says, slit-eyed. Salt in his eyelashes.

The county such-and-such. Volunteer firefighters put on the show, one of the witnesses told them. Not a big display but big enough to please the kids and the folk who hadn't got too cynical for it. He was kind of looking forward to catching it, just because. When was the last time they'd had a July 4th that wasn't some kind of miserable?

"Maybe," Sam says. His eyes on Dean's mouth. Which is so like the soulless version Dean's heels dig into the ground, some weird no instinct making him want to stand -- but then Sam's eyes flick up to meet Dean's, and he grins lopsided and dorky like Sam always used to, when he was okay enough to grin, and relief washes through Dean like stepping under a waterfall. "Could celebrate right here, though. Right?"

"You think that line actually works on anyone?" Dean says, chest blooming hot, and Sam says, "Guess we'll see," in a way that's frankly smug, and Dean rolls his eyes but he also swivels on his stolen crate-seat and presses his mouth against Sam's and gets salt-sweat and stale bottled water and also the good spit-flavor of his tongue, and so maybe Sam deserves the smug.

Birds calling in the trees by the barn, squawky-loud like they're making commentary. Sam's thigh hard and hot alongside his. At first Sam presses against him too hard and Dean grunts, and then Sam lays his other hand soft against Dean's cheek and kisses him sweet, instead, and then grips Dean's neck and kisses him just -- right, Goldilocks finding the right level of comfort. Dean lays his hand on Sam's chest and feels his heart go right out of himself, like a roman candle.

#wincest wednesday #my writing #wincest #highly recommend three versions of this song: #avett brothers for straightforward sweet #(and a music video actually worth watching) #sharon jones for a swinging funk #dave rawlings machine + i hear them all for Feels #and that was the one i listened to 5 times while writing this #from the redwood forest to the gulf stream waters -- #<3

[nemfrog]

"Gulf stream current meandering pattern and eddy development during a one-month period." The ocean science program of the U.S. Navy. 1967.

Internet Archive

#gulf stream #ocean #pattern #oceanography #diagram #nemfrog #1967 #1960s

[ejunkiet]

TIL about post-glacial rebound, and how southeast England is tilting into the ocean at a rate of 5cm a century...

#that's not all i learned #i also learned about the paper released earlier this year about the gulf stream #that predicted it could shut down as early as 2025 #and while i agree with the criticisms of the paper and think a prediction of 2100 is more accurate #i am well aware of how screwed we are #i'm currently working for a non profit that provides a voice for charities with the gov #and climate change is one of my areas #and hoboy. #jesus h christ #tmi

[science-for-the-masses]

#science communication #science #scicomm #stem #science education #science blog #environmental science #climate news #climate change #climate crisis #climate and environment #climate emergency #Gulf stream collapse #ecocide

[stairnaheireann]

Palm Trees in Ireland

Palm trees in Ireland are frost hardy and grow in gardens all over. They decorate our towns and suburbs, they are blasted by the salt air on our seafronts, and they are often seen in pairs guarding the entrances to farmhouses and give a tropical look to any garden. However, they are not palm trees at all; they are the New Zealand native, Cordyline australis. They enjoy the common name of “cabbage…

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#Atlantic Ocean #Cordyline australis #Dublin #Gulf Stream #Howth #Ireland #New Zealand #Newfoundland #Palm Trees

[porterdavis]

There are palm trees in Cornwall. Calgary gets to -40°C in the winter.

Location, location, location.

#gulf stream

[mostlyclimatechangeweatherlog]

#cool cool cool #gulf stream #collapse #climate chaos #July #2023

[gradienty]

Burnt Maroon Gulf Stream (#380404 to #91b4b8)

#Gradient #Burnt Maroon #Gulf Stream #380404 #91b4b8 #38040491b4b8