Showing posts with label IFTTT. Show all posts
Showing posts with label IFTTT. Show all posts

Monday, November 7, 2016

Farinata di cavolo nero (Tuscan Kale and Polenta Soup)

When I think of Tuscan cuisine, first and foremost, even before the classic bistecca alla fiorentina as wonderful as that is, I think of its hearty vegetable soups. The best known of these soups is probably  the ribollita, of course. But the most memorable Tuscan soup I’ve ever had was in a small trattoria in Florence. It was so many years ago that I’ve forgotten the name of the place, but I do remember the soup. It was called simply farinata on the menu, though the soup often goes by the longer name farinata di cavolo nero, perhaps to distinguish it from the Ligurian chickpea flatbread also called farinata. And like many classic Italian dishes, it goes by other names, too, such as infarinata, incavolata and intruglia.

Whatever you want to call it, the soup I had all those years ago was a kind of minestrone. It was so thick, it was more like a porridge than a soup. In this, it was a bit like ribollita in fact, but the thickener was polenta (hence the ‘farina‘) rather than bread. Like many classic dishes, there exist multiple versions of farinata di cavolo nero. Some are austerely simple, little more than kale and polenta simmered together. And although I love simplicity, as regular readers know, in this case I’m sticking with that fairly elaborate version I tried in Florence, all those years ago. I’ve been trying to replicate it at home for a long time, and the following recipe, while it didn’t quite capture the magic of that first experience for me, came pretty close.

Ingredients

For the beans:

  • 500g dried beans, soaked overnight
  • 12 cups of water
  • 1-2 garlic cloves, peeled and slightly crushed
  • A sprig of fresh sage
  • A hunk of pancetta or prosciutto
  • Salt and pepper

For the soup:

  • A red onion, chopped
  • A carrot, chopped
  • A celery stalk, chopped
  • A small piece of lardo or pancetta, finely minced (optional)
  • 500g (1 lb) of cavolo nero (lacinato or dinosaur kale), stems removed and cut into strips
  • Olive oil
  • Salt and pepper

To thicken the soup:

  • 250g (1/2 lb) polenta (cornmeal), or more if you want a thicker dish

For the topping:

  • Olive oil
  • Freshly ground black pepper

Directions

Soak the beans overnight. The next day, rinse the beans well, then put them in a pot with at least 3 liters/12 cups of water. Add the garlic, sage, salt, and peppercorns, as well as the pancetta or prosciutto if using. Bring the beans to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer them until tender, about 45-60 minutes, depending on the beans.

Meanwhile, make your soffritto: heat the olive oil in a casserole, preferably terracotta or enameled cast iron. If using the lardo, mince it finely and sauté it gently in the olive oil until it has rendered most of its fat and slightly browned. Add the onion, carrot and celery, and let those sauté gently, too, until they are tender and the onion has turned translucent.

Add the kale, mixing it well with the soffritto so the kale is covered with the seasoned oil and aromatic vegetables, then let it cook down until the kale is wilted and well reduced.

When the beans are cooked, add them along with their cooking liquid to the casserole, topping up with water (or broth) if the vegetables are not covered. Simmer over a low flame until the kale is perfectly tender, about 30-45 minutes. Stir from time to time, and add water if needed to keep things loose. Along the way, you can crush some of the beans against the side of the casserole with a wooden spoon to thicken the soup.

When the kale is tender, add the polenta to the casserole in a thin stream, stirring all the time so it mixes will into the soup without lumping together. Continue simmering until the polenta is fully cooked, usually another 20 or 30 minutes. Add more liquid if the farinata starts to dry out. It should have the consistency of porridge.

Serve while still hot, with a good filo d’olio (drizzle of olive oil) and freshly ground black pepper.

 

Farinata di cavolo nero

Notes on Farinata di cavolo nero

The dish is pretty straightforward. The only really tricky part might be when it comes to adding the cornmeal. If you add it too fast, or without stirring vigorously the cornmeal may form clumps. Unpleasant, if not fatal. Otherwise, you’ll need to be armed with patience. Each step of the dish, starting with the soaking of the beans, will take its good time. And do avoid the temptation to cut corners. While I usually appreciate the convenience of canned beans, for instance, this is one dish where you’ll want to use the dried kind, since the bean cooking liquid is an integral part of the dish.

Variations

At its simplest, farinata di cavolo nero is essentially boiled kale mixed with polenta. Giuliano Bugialli offers a slightly more elaborate version: you simmer cannellini beans until tender along with sage, garlic and pancetta. You then purée half the beans and put them back into the pot, reserving the other half for later. You add the kale and some tomato paste to the pot with the puréed beans and simmer until the kale is tender. Then the polenta goes in and simmers until it, too, is tender. You add the reserved beans back into the pot a few minutes before serving.

The Accademia Italiana della Cucina proposes a version, which they say is typical of Pontremoli, where you simmer the kale along with potatoes, to which you then add the polenta. You sauté a soffritto of mortadella, parsley and garlic in lard separately and add it to the pot a few minutes before serving. In some versions, you add broth to thin out the farinata, which you serve as a proper soup with slices of grilled bread. Other herbs like rosemary, thyme or basil and even peperoncino or fennel seeds feature in some recipes. Many recipes—and I suspect this is original—call for cotenna, or pork rind, rather than pancetta.

You can veganize your farinata di cavolo nero very simply. Just omit the pork products when you simmer the beans and make the soffritto. And I’d up the amount of aromatic vegetable in the soffritto for added flavor.

Farinata di cavolo nero

8 hours

1 hour, 5 minutes

Yield: Serves 4-6

Farinata di cavolo nero

Ingredients

  • For the beans:
  • 500g dried beans, soaked overnight
  • 12 cups of water
  • 1-2 garlic cloves, peeled and slightly crushed
  • A sprig of fresh sage
  • A hunk of pancetta or prosciutto
  • Salt and pepper
  • For the soup:
  • 1 medium red onion, chopped
  • 1 carrot, chopped
  • 1 celery stalk, chopped
  • A small piece of lardo or pancetta, finely minced (optional)
  • 500g (1 lb) of cavolo nero (lacinato kale), stems removed and cut into strips
  • Olive oil
  • Salt and pepper
  • To thicken the soup:
  • 250g (1/2 lb) polenta (cornmeal), or more if you want a thicker dish
  • For the topping:
  • Olive oil
  • Freshly ground black pepper

Instructions

  1. Soak the beans overnight. The next day, rinse the beans well, then put them in a pot with at least 3 liters/12 cups of water. Add the garlic, sage, salt, and peppercorns, as well as the pancetta or prosciutto if using. Bring the beans to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer them until tender, about 45-60 minutes, depending on the beans.
  2. Meanwhile, make your soffritto: heat the olive oil in a casserole, preferably terracotta or enameled cast iron. If using the lardo, mince it finely and sauté it gently in the olive oil until it has rendered most of its fat and slightly browned. Add the onion, carrot and celery, and let those sauté gently, too, until they are tender and the onion has turned translucent.
  3. Add the kale, mixing it well with the soffritto so the kale is covered with the seasoned oil and aromatic vegetables, then let it cook down until the kale is wilted and well reduced.
  4. When the beans are cooked, add them along with their cooking liquid to the casserole, topping up with water (or broth) if the vegetables are not covered. Simmer over a low flame until the kale is perfectly tender, about 30-45 minutes. Stir from time to time, and add water if needed to keep things loose. Along the way, you can crush some of the beans against the side of the casserole with a wooden spoon to thicken the soup.
  5. When the kale is tender, add the polenta to the casserole in a thin stream, stirring all the time so it mixes will into the soup without lumping together. Continue simmering until the polenta is fully cooked, usually another 20 or 30 minutes. Add more liquid if the farinata starts to dry out. It should have the consistency of porridge.
  6. Serve while still hot, with a good filo d'olio (drizzle of olive oil) and freshly ground black pepper.
Schema/Recipe SEO Data Markup by Yummly Rich Recipes
0.1
http://ift.tt/2f0upgY
(c) Frank Fariello

The post Farinata di cavolo nero (Tuscan Kale and Polenta Soup) appeared first on Memorie di Angelina.



from Memorie di Angelina | Italian Home Cooking Made Easy http://ift.tt/2f0upgY
via IFTTT

Friday, November 4, 2016

Favorite tweets


via Twitter https://twitter.com/jBlindLuck

November 02, 2016 at 03:55PM

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

List: Tips for Profiling Rural Voters


Tips for Profiling Rural Voters.

Always refer to the community as “hardscrabble,” “blue collar” or “depressed.”

Be sure to describe the empty storefronts brought about by the closing of the local mill, mine or — best of all — tannery.

Make the struggles of your subjects relatable. For example, compare the difficulties in finding dignified, decent-paying work to how hard it is to get Hamilton tickets.

Describe the food at a local establishment as if it’s a newly discovered civilization. (“You won’t find gelato or quail eggs here at Billy’s Diner. Instead, they serve a hearty local dish known as ‘pancakes.’”)

If the subject of your photo is not sporting a camouflage hat, please provide one. Also remove any sleeves he or she may be wearing.

Throw rival reporters off the scent by telling them there’s another town up the road with an even more hilarious name.

Try to gently mock one of your own big-city foibles, such as your lack of familiarity with hunting, your expensive shoes, or the fact that you won’t travel without your collection of every issue of the New Yorker ever published.

If you find yourself describing Luke’s Diner, Al’s Pancake World or Le Chat Club, beware — you may be accidentally writing about the fictional town of Stars Hollow from the popular television show Gilmore Girls.

Avoid interviewing minority residents. It only complicates things!



from McSweeney’s http://ift.tt/2fh8XRL
via IFTTT

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Favorite tweets

Embed code not available


via Twitter https://twitter.com/jBlindLuck

November 01, 2016 at 08:52PM

Friday, October 28, 2016

If Women Wrote Men the Way Men Write Women


If Women Wrote Men the Way Men Write Women.

There is a particular look about a teenage boy that lets you know what kind of man he’ll be. A certain fullness of lips, a frank sensuality in his gaze. We all know what the word for that is, but it’s not polite to use it until he’s proven he’s that kind of boy.

- - -

Hugin was chosen, among all the boys of the village, to compete in the Races. He had grown up, the child of a simple, lovely baker, and his wife, the wolf-hunter. Hugin wore his hair in simple golden waves and had the longest legs anyone had ever seen, coated in fine, silky down. When the yearly selection began, other boys watched Hugin. They knew he would be the one, and they pouted.

What they did not know was that Hugin was torn; torn between tall and silent Joina and her younger sister, Kika the Maker of Knives.

As the old men pulled him on stage to crown him as the Racer, he could see Joina’s eyes upon him. He could sense Kika’s longing for him as her lips formed his name.

Which one of them would choose him? Who would he belong to? The question would have to wait. He was a Racer now, and nothing else mattered. Not even love.

- - -

Brett pulled his tank top up over his head and stared at himself in the full-length mirror. He pushed down his jeans, then his boxers, and imagined the moment when Jennifer saw him nude for the first time. His feet were average-sized, and there was hair on his toes that he should probably take care of before tonight. He liked his legs just fine, but his thighs were wide and embarrassingly muscular. He tried standing at an angle, a twist at his waist. Some improvement. In that position, it was easier to see his ass and notice that it was not as pert as it had been at 22. He clenched both cheeks, hoping that tightened its look. He sucked in his tummy and pulled his pecs up high, trying to present them like pastries in a bakery window. Would she like him? Were the goods good enough? He pouted his lips and ran his hands over his thighs, masking their expanse. Maybe.

- - -

Prof. Redgrave looked down to find Stephen gazing up adoringly at her. She blinked down at him, unimpressed.

“But what is Nabikova trying to tell us with this transgressive tale? Is it really just elevated pornography? Or is there a deeper meaning to this titillating tale of a middle-aged woman seducing her teenage stepson?”

Stephen’s look didn’t waver. Redgrave knew there wasn’t a single original thought in the little tart’s head. She had seen the way he lounged, long in his desk, inviting the girls in class to look and him and then crying foul when they prefaced their arguments with a harmless little ‘sweetheart.’ She had graded his papers, marking them down for their puerile assertions and childish leaps of logic. She and her grad student, Gertrude, had privately giggled over his pathetic striving.

“That one is not 201 material,” Gertrude clucked. “Fail him out already. It’s sad watching him struggle like this.”

But of course, it had to be the Nabikova where he showed a little glimmer of hope. What other book would serve?

“Professor,” Stephen began, one well-tanned arm in the air. “What if it’s not really about the boy? What if, like she says, he’s a safely solipsized something else? What if the plaything isn’t the jailbait kid, but the English language itself?”

And just like that, Redgrave knew who her next TA would be. She drank him in, the combination of nubility and fragile academic curiosity and knew he’d fall for her wise advisor act. Kid had mommy issues written all over him.

This semester was looking up.

- - -

“But I don’t get it!” Shea was panting, trying to catch up to Michael as he fled. “The monster ate everyone else. How did you escape?”

Michael reached the boat first, flinging himself in. He waited for Shea to follow him and take the oars, guiding them smoothly away from the shore.

“It’s because I was different from the other boys,” he said, pushing his hair behind his ear and looking away.

“What do you mean, different?” Shea’s muscles rippled and flexed as she rowed them to safety, and Michael could not tear his eyes away.

“Different. Pure, the monster said. Because I’m… I’ve never…” He looked away again, and the moonlight caught on his throat, outlined his clavicle.

“You’re a virgin,” Shea said, realization dawning. “What a waste.”

Michael blushed.

“If we get out of this alive," she said. "I’m going to fix that.”

- - -

“You’re so good-looking,” said Chester. Antoine was patting his hair into shape in the mirror, fretting again. Antoine knew that his friend meant well, but his opinion just didn’t mean anything. Was Chester going to give him a class ring? Was he going to hang that all-important varsity dance team jacket over his shoulders when he was shivering? Would Chester wrap his arms around him, hold his hand, kiss him so deeply that his toes curled? Antoine looked at his best friend in the mirror, seeing him in an entirely new way. It wasn’t the same as Barbara, he knew. It would never be as overpowering, or as fulfilling. But maybe…

Barbara found them twenty minutes later, wrapped around each other. Antoine looked up in horror.

“I’m so sorry! It didn’t mean anything!”

Barbara smirked, crossing her arms and taking in the scene. “Now, this is interesting. Don’t freak out, babe. It’s not like it’s really cheating, after all.”

The two boys looked at each other, flushed and excited.

“Maybe…” Chester bit his lip. “Maybe you’d like to join us?”

She smiled again and began to undo her belt. “That’s just what I had in mind.”

- - -

Andrew didn’t mind that he never came when they had sex. Bianca would climb on top of him and ride his pubis, grinding her clit until she spasmed and fell on top of him, exhausted and mumbling about love. He liked the way it got him excited and sometimes, later he would take care of himself. He really just wanted to feel the power of her body on top of his, to know that he was exciting to her. Besides, what are orgasms when compared to true love?



from McSweeney’s http://ift.tt/2eAEvVK
via IFTTT

On Our 20th Anniversary, the Internet and I Have Decided to Renew Our Vows


On Our 20th Anniversary, the Internet and I Have Decided to Renew Our Vows.

When we first met, I was a pimply nerd whose worldly experience consisted of cruising sepia-toned Bulletin Board Systems. You were a loosely organized collection of sites, gleaming with possibility, but still very much a work in progress. Or as you liked to say, “under construction.”

We spent long hours tying up the phone line. I adored the way you answered, with a shrill series of beeps, followed by a long breathy whisper. Our conversations revolved around nothing in particular: the rarity of certain Magic the Gathering cards, PC game release dates, Ken Griffey Jr.’s batting average. You offered my mother recipes, which she would print and tuck away in a binder. But you also played hard to get, making me type in the entire http-colon-forward-slash-forward-slash-www string just to see you.

Looking at us back then, it’s crazy to think we would spend our entire lives together.

You had a fondness for sparkly fonts and police sirens. You played the MIDI plaintively. Our love was uncomplicated by trolls. Email was so special, you would announce when I had received one. This honeymoon phase lasted years.

Teachers didn’t understand us. Not fully. Though I was allowed to research with you, I could not cite you. And that hurt.

Each date presented the chance to visit a new GeoCity, or movie website. (Hasn’t it been so long since we visited a movie website together? We must make time for this! But I understand: life happens.) Twitter wasn’t around to distract us. Facebook was years away. I will never forget the first time we reached third base. The image took several minutes to download, and my grandparents were sleeping in the next room. So naughty, so much fun.

During college, we grew even closer. You opened my mind to new music, kinky sex, and instant messaging. Though we had to watch out for viruses, they were a small price to pay for an unbridled amount of information. We wrote and stole thesis papers. Bought junk at auctions. You introduced me to mash-ups. As you were finding yourself, it often seemed like the change was too much to bear. Once flush with cash, you suddenly went broke. There was a phase when you became heavily addicted to Flash. You were so experimental then. Weren’t we all?

After graduation, we knew we had to take the next step. We started spending every waking moment together. You were literally attached to my arm. You had grown into a sophisticated, emotionally voluble partner. There was nothing about me you did not know. In those rare instances when I left you, on trips abroad or in otherwise uninhabitable places like the woods or an elevator, I felt like I was missing something elemental. I felt rudderless and alone.

Some of my friends were concerned I’d become too obsessed, living in a co-created fantasyland. Some even said my devotion to you had made me dumber. To them I asked: is this not the workings of true love?

Recently we hit a rough patch. Though we had been together for two decades, I noticed you were lavishing more attention on young people. They seemed to “get you” more. To me, the young people were all dogface filters and no substance. They hadn’t known the times of Orkut and Buzz and GrooveShark. The dark days. When images were bitmap, and we asked questions to a fake butler named Jeeves.

After a trial separation lasting two excruciating hours in the stupid woods, we decided to renew our commitment to each other. Which brings us to now. Maybe we don’t always agree. Maybe we’re not supposed to. The one thing I do know is this: I love you now more than ever. We’re in this for the long haul. If there comes a time when you can be permanently affixed to my retina, I’ll be the first in line. You are the internet, my internet, and I promise to love and honor you all the days of my life.



from McSweeney’s http://ift.tt/2ff5vem
via IFTTT

sapphicmaenad: “So what are your fantasies ;)?” Getting a lot of attention and having my...

sapphicmaenad:

“So what are your fantasies ;)?”

Getting a lot of attention and having my interests be validated.



from Hip Blip http://ift.tt/2dV4gM6
via IFTTT

Photo





from Hip Blip http://ift.tt/2eNMX15
via IFTTT

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Remarkable story of a 10-year-old gelding the fans just can’t get enough of

He’s never raced in anything bigger than a Grade 2, and his most important wins have come in Grade 3s. His pedigree shows he’s a Maryland homebred out of relatively unknown stallion named Parker’s Storm Cat.



from Thoroughbred Racing Commentary latest articles http://ift.tt/2ehGPjQ
via IFTTT

Saturday, October 15, 2016

sourcefieldmix: korolevcross: honestly, the whole thing...



sourcefieldmix:

korolevcross:

honestly, the whole thing warrants a listen, there’s so much messed up editing and sampling here, especially the breakdown after the “water dissolving and water removing” part. you can almost hear brian eno furiously twiddling the knobs on the sampler trying to get it to sound right

it sounds like i wandered into a cave and found david byrne screaming in the darkness



from Hip Blip http://ift.tt/2eaObn7
via IFTTT

Determine Which Shakespeare Play You Should See First With This Flowchart

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Isaac Asimov Laments the “Cult of Ignorance” in the United States: A Short, Scathing Essay from 1980

asimov-culture-of-ignorance

Painting of Asimov on his throne by Rowena Morill, via Wikimedia Commons

In 1980, scientist and writer Isaac Asimov argued in an essay that “there is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there always has been.” That year, the Republican Party stood at the dawn of the Reagan Revolution, which initiated a decades-long conservative groundswell that many pundits say may finally come to an end in November. GOP strategist Steve Schmidt (who has been regretful about choosing Sarah Palin as John McCain’s running mate in 2008) recently pointed to what he called “intellectual rot” as a primary culprit, and a cult-like devotion to irrationality among a certain segment of the electorate.

It’s a familiar contention. There have been critiques of American anti-intellectualism since the country’s founding, though whether or not that phenomenon has intensified, as Susan Jacoby alleged in The Age of American Unreason, may be a subject of debate. Not all of the unreason is partisan, as the anti-vaccination movement has shown. But “the strain of anti-intellectualism” writes Asimov, “has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that ‘my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.’”




Asimov’s primary examples happen to come from the political world. However, he doesn’t name contemporary names but reaches back to take a swipe at Eisenhower (“who invented a version of the English language that was all his own”) and George Wallace. Particularly interesting is Asimov’s take on the “slogan on the part of the obscurantists: ‘Don’t trust the experts!’” This language, along with charges of “elitism,” Asimov wryly notes, is so often used by people who are themselves experts and elites, “feeling guilty about having gone to school.” So many of the American political class’s wounds are self-inflicted, he suggests, but that’s because they are beholden to a largely ignorant electorate:

To be sure, the average American can sign his name more or less legibly, and can make out the sports headlines—but how many nonelitist Americans can, without undue difficulty, read as many as a thousand consecutive words of small print, some of which may be trisyllabic?

Asimov’s examples are less than convincing: road signs “steadily being replaced by little pictures to make them internationally legible” has more to do with linguistic diversity than illiteracy, and accusing television commercials of speaking their messages out loud instead of using printed text on the screen seems to fundamentally misunderstand the nature of the medium. Jacoby in her book-length study of the problem looks at educational policy in the United States, and the resistance to national standards that virtually ensures widespread pockets of ignorance all over the country. Asimov’s very short, pithy essay has neither the space nor the inclination to conduct such analysis.

Instead he is concerned with attitudes. Not only are many Americans badly educated, he writes, but the broad ignorance of the population in matters of “science… mathematics… economics… foreign languages…” has as much to do with Americans’ unwillingness to read as their inability.

There are 200 million Americans who have inhabited schoolrooms at some time in their lives and who will admit that they know how to read… but most decent periodicals believe they are doing amazingly well if they have circulation of half a million. It may be that only 1 per cent—or less—of Americans make a stab at exercising their right to know. And if they try to do anything on that basis they are quite likely to be accused of being elitists.

One might in some respects charge Asimov himself of elitism when he concludes, “We can all be members of the intellectual elite.” Such a blithely optimistic statement ignores the ways in which economic elites actively manipulate education policy to suit their interests, cripple education funding, and oppose efforts at free or low cost higher education. Many efforts at spreading knowledge—like the Chatauquas of the early 20th century, the educational radio programs of the 40s and 50s, and the public television revolution of the 70s and 80s—have been ad hoc and nearly always imperiled by funding crises and the designs of profiteers.

Nonetheless, the widespread (though hardly universal) availability of free resources on the internet has made self-education a reality for many people, and certainly for most Americans. But perhaps not even Isaac Asimov could have foreseen the bitter polarization and disinformation campaigns that technology has also enabled. Needless to say, “A Cult of Ignorance” was not one of Asimov’s most popular pieces of writing. First published on January 21, 1980 in Newsweek, the short essay has never been reprinted in any of Asimov’s collections. You can read the essay as a PDF here. There’s also, one of our readers reminds us, a transcript on Github.

via Aphelis

Related Content:

Isaac Asimov’s 1964 Predictions About What the World Will Look 50 Years Later

How Isaac Asimov Went from Star Trek Critic to Star Trek Fan & Advisor

Isaac Asimov Explains His Three Laws of Robots

Josh Jones is a writer and musician based in Durham, NC. Follow him at @jdmagness

Isaac Asimov Laments the “Cult of Ignorance” in the United States: A Short, Scathing Essay from 1980 is a post from: Open Culture. Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, and Google Plus, or get our Daily Email. And don't miss our big collections of Free Online Courses, Free Online Movies, Free eBooksFree Audio Books, Free Foreign Language Lessons, and MOOCs.



from Open Culture http://ift.tt/2dwb7fz
via IFTTT

The Best Canned Tomatoes Are Cheaper and Tastier Than the Gourmet Competition

Saturday, August 20, 2016

note-a-bear: gul-aab: longingforhislove: punjabiyogi: ablackn...



note-a-bear:

gul-aab:

longingforhislove:

punjabiyogi:

ablacknation:

This is so powerful.

It’s Nick Randhawa! Had the great pleasure of knowing him at Berkeley. He’s done fantastic work.

Always reblog this

It’s back!

Finally a version with his name



from Hip Blip http://ift.tt/2bF4mcb
via IFTTT

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Favorite tweets


via Twitter https://twitter.com/jBlindLuck

August 14, 2016 at 07:46PM

Robert Henri, Rocks and Sea, 1911



Robert Henri, Rocks and Sea, 1911



from cameron snow http://ift.tt/2bgbIW8
via IFTTT