Journal of Maurice Rossini
January 1 st , 1923 The heady air of the old world enchants me still. At least here in London, I’m not at the head of some moral outrage, and I must say that Soho puts the Bostonian Art Movement to shame with its vigor and energy. I accepted an invitation from one of the enlightened in Dr. Julian Smith’s considerable orbit to attend the new Maudsley collection at the museum, those tall and dark stones of the Southern Americas, carved deeply with their tribal beliefs. I wonder, did they carve with the same end goal as I develop my own film? Of course, I don’t bathe myself in blood as these stained hand savages did, but perhaps there is a common connection. I brought my faithful Kodak folder with me, the perfect companion for such an outing, and low and behold, I met several interesting characters. I know them in passing, of course, but today was the first moment I had to spend several hours in their company. Now, m...