John Ike ft Promise Miracle - Idimma (Mp3 & Video Download)
John Ike ft Promise Miracle – Idimma (Mp3 & Video Download)
John Ike ft Promise Miracle Idimma Mp3 & Video Free Download
Highly talented and fast-rising gospel artist John Ike has finally decided to take his music career to another level has he featured the talented Promise Miracle of the duo Mr & M Revelation to deliver a refreshing hit track titled “Idimma” to bless our day.
VERY HOT: Emmasings Jesus Power Mp3 Free Download
The already trending hit…
After a 2 years hiatus, John Ike who was formerly known as Mr. Kee is back with an amazing wound of worship and praise “Idimma’ (You Are Good) featuring Promise Miracle of Mr. M & Revelation.
Before his break from the music scene, he released Odighi Onyedikagi (There is None Like You). John Ike is one gifted and anointed songwriter and singer from Nigeria whose passion for God is expressed in his…
Last weekend, I bought a gallon of paint the color of the Golden Gate Bridge. (Sherwin Williams makes it - they're the bridge's official paint supplier.)
It's known as “International Orange,” and it’s a great shade: iconic and attention-grabbing. It falls somewhere between Safety Orange and Fire Engine Red.
When pieces of the Golden Gate started arriving to the site in the 1930s, they were painted in a primer of a similar vermillion color. Architect Irving Morrow liked the shade so much, he proposed they paint the entire thing like that, rather than the usual black or grey. After writing a 29 page proposal, he got his way.
I can understand his attraction to it. It looks great against blues and greens, and emerges from the fog that often surrounds it.
There are a couple different versions of International Orange; the bridge's is a redder take on it.
It's been used traditionally in the aeronautics industry, for example, on astronaut's uniforms.
The color enlivens already dramatic forms, like a curvy 1950s truck.
A house in San Francisco embraces the bridge's exact shade.
It apparently takes over 47,000 gallons of paint to cover the bridge. They constantly paint portions of it to prevent against the salt water's corrosive effects.
My project in International Orange will be a little less ambitious. Maybe I'll take my one bucket and paint something of a more manageable scale - a piece of furniture, or perhaps my front door.
In the spirit of Joel’s shoe box archive, we blew the dust off a project from twenty years ago, the interior decoration of a grand old house in New Jersey.
A ceramic display by Mongiardino.
At the time I was enamored with Henri Samuel and Renzo Mongiardino, two icons of the past century. They both were experts at mixing genres and generations of design, from the ancient to the Renaissance to more recent antiques and beyond. They layered textures and objets, incorporated frescoes of ruins and other trompe l’oeil effects.
An entry hall by Mongiardino.
I was particularly taken with Mongiardino. Originally trained in architecture, he was known for decorating old chateaus and villas, as well as creating opulent set designs. He gave renewed life to places with good bones.
My Mongiardinian mindset fit the project to a T. The house we were working on, originally an American Shingle Style, had been transformed in 1925 by its French owners into a Norman chateau. Over the decades that passed, a fire had damaged the home and rooms had fallen into disrepair. When our clients acquired the property, they wanted to refurbish it to the former glory of its chateau remodel.
The entry space received a stone floor with unevenly sized squares. The tall fireplace and trompe l’oeil walls were impressive backdrops to the display of period photographs that paid homage to the house's demolition and rebuilding.
An antique, beamed ceiling and wallpaper panels of an 18th century French design were installed in the living room.
And the conservatory received wooden trellises of varying pattern, with light furniture in the vein of a garden room.
It’s all still there, pretty much intact. The project – whether in the shoebox or in real life - gives me great joy whenever I get to see it.
I’ve been turned on to a lot of designers and architects through this group. One I’ve fallen for recently is C. Jeré, the compound moniker of the mid-century designers Curtis Freiler and Jerry Fels. They're known for their metal wall pieces and sculptures, each original hand signed with their nom de plume.
The duo was quite prolific. Before starting their art and home goods company, they had worked designing costume jewelry. During that era they apparently went as Matisse and Renoir. They used their experience in jewelry design and manufacturing to start Artisan House, the company of C. Jeré, in 1963. Their output was such that even today the pieces are widely available; prices are still quite reasonable. And that was their goal – they wanted, as Fels once said, to design “gallery quality art for the masses.”
The diversity of styles makes it good for "the masses" too. Work ranged from representational to abstract, with a wide variety of metals and finishes. It looks good with different textures, materials, and aesthetics, and so has been reprised by many an interior decorator. “Raindrops” is a beautiful, and popular, piece. You can see it in the two previous photos - it seems like a three dimensional Gustav Klimt pattern.
While in Los Angeles, I finally picked up a couple pieces: a really beautiful, windswept California oak, as well as an adorable owl sitting on a branch, coming out of a small, rough block of stone. They’ll fit in well somewhere.
I was in San Diego last weekend, preparing for another polar vortex in New York by getting sun while I could. On Monday, I went to the beach in the morning to see the big surf generated from some distant storm.
At Sunset Cliffs, I met a guy named Eric who was riding a moped he built.
The design was simple and clean. A 2-cycle chainsaw engine was mounted to the frame, and looked like a miniature V-twin engine. The gas tank was attached to the cross bar of the sweeping profile of the frame. The finishing touch was the seat: classic banana.
We started talking, and it turns out Eric makes bikes like this on the side (his normal business is 24 Hour Tattoos).
I've started looking at other souped up mopeds, many of them DIY-like his version. They range from glossy, designer made bikes to coddled together pieces of metal and engine.
An old Peugeot.
Derringer-designed moped.
A spoke-less DIY version.
A vintage Solifer Capri.
Either way, they're zippy and small, perfect for riding to the beach on mornings. And despite the flashy, chic options, I still like Eric's version best. Maybe I'll ask him to make me one when I'm next in town. I'll save the tattoo for another time.
Several years ago, I was turned on to Swedish furniture from the 1920s by my friend Paul Jackson. He is the owner of Jacksons, a historical design gallery that opened thirty years ago in Stockholm, and three years ago in Berlin.
Paul’s collection in Stockholm contains bespoke pieces made specifically for exhibition by the top furniture designers of the day – bureaus, desks, beds, and cabinets by designers like Carl Malmsten and Axel Hjorth. There are even some pieces shown in the Swedish pavilion at the formative Paris Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes in 1925. But he also has pieces crafted for larger production runs, and manufactured by high quality furniture companies like Bodafors and Seffle.
A Malmsten desk, designed for Tändstickspalatset and manufactured by NK.
A table exhibited in the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes, by Anna Petrus.
The hallmarks of Swedish design that we know today really originated in the 1920s. The pieces were pared down, highly functional, and very beautiful. Design from the era became associated with the phrase "Vackrare vardagsvara." I've been told the English translation leaves something out, but it can be approximated as "Better things for everyday life."
NK's room in the 1930 Stockholm Exhibition.
I own a couple pieces of Swedish furniture from the era myself, mostly manufactured by the interiors arm of Nordiska Kompaniet, the Swedish department store, who had Hjorth as head of their design department during the 1920s and 30s.
An NK cabinet.
Pictures from the NK factory.
Even when produced on a larger scale, these designs were created by highly skilled artisans. Their work was promoted by groups like the Swedish Society of Industrial design, advocates for handicraft at the turn of the 20th century, and designers like Hjorth and Malmsten who recognized that good design had to stand the test of time, both aesthetically and functionally. Vackrare vardagsvaror indeed.
A. Checking out chickens grazing on a vast lawn
B. Watching the sun sinking slowly into the Pacific
C. Sipping Kona Big Waves with my daughter
D. Doing all of the above from the front porch of our adorable 19th century oceanfront cottage
We stayed in Waimea, on the island of Kauai, renting a small house in a coconut grove at the Waimea Plantation Cottages. It's a remote place, and for the most part unspoiled. The cottage colony was constructed in the early 19th century, to house workers and families on one of the sugar plantations that dotted the island. The houses were then moved to the sites they occupy today.
The colony remains largely unchanged since then: simple stick cottages with broad covered porches protect you from the sun, or the occasional shower; broad allées of palms flank lawns that lead to black sand beaches. There have been a few humble additions: a pool, hammocks, a shuffleboard court. But there's not much else to distract from the task at hand: relaxation.
The architecture of the cottages reinforces this notion of simplicity: boards are set within a frame of slender, 4 x 4 framing lumber; electrical wiring, what little there is, runs atop the plank floors and ceiling. There are basic kitchens with old fridges and propane stoves, but most of the cooking is done on the Weber kettles in a private little yard.
Any food you need, you get from Ishihara, the Japanese grocer (keep the money on the island). There you buy fresh ahi poke, chicken marinated in an Asian confab I can't pronounce, seaweed salad, and lots of Kona Big Wave beer.
After dinner, you sit on the porch, see the sun set again, watch the stars, and go to bed with the trade winds blowing through the windows.
