Happy New Year 2011

it is not heard at all, but you are the music
while the music lasts

TS Eliot, The Dry Salvages

   
via: audreyhepburncomplex 
Source: shescoastal

No. One

“I left my warm, studio apartment to have coffee with a friend, wearing my waterproof boots, fluffy down jacket, wool hat, and oversized scarf I had gotten as an early Christmas present from my girlfriend. The snowstorm that morning was the beginning of the coldest winters New York had seen in over 20 years.  I hurried to the park that’s between our two tiny apartments, knowing that I would get some beautiful images of the new snow. This was the only picture I took that day.”


Resolution for the New Year 2011:
No. 1 - do something.

— Ryan Adams Archive
mianoti via anunreliablewitness, snowce

Source: roamin

white nights

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights

via: l'enfant de Marx et de Coca-Cola

the world’s heart breaks beneath its wars

_{Red Moon Winter Solstice, Dec. 21, 2010}

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,
 The world’s heart breaks beneath its wars,
All things are changed, save in the east
 The faithful beauty of the stars.

more images/slideshow: The New York Times - 2010 The Year in Pictures

Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933. From Flame and Shadow, 1920.

text: evencleveland

ghost trees

the albino redwood 

"ghost trees"via npr

Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!

via:heartbeatoz

a year of nights with wondering.

every day, every day i hear enough to fill a year of nights with wondering.

 

text; Denise Levertov

image: the drifter and the gypsy

the map of the true part

“A map of the true part of you, reader, would show every place where you have been from your birthplace to the place where you sit now reading this page… And when every place where you have ever been on every day of your life has been marked on the map of the true part of you, why then, reader, the map has been barely marked. There are still to mark all those places you have dreamed of yourself seeing or remembering or dreaming about.”

—

Gerald Murnane, Inland (via invisiblestories)

image: mianoti: Rune Guneriussen “Along with the weather they came” Source: Lands of Lost Lamps on MMM [Personal projects: there are lands I cannot reach]

the key to the whole mystery

 Le Mont Saint Michel

  “This also happened to me at noon when I went for a walk in the mountains, stood half-way up the mountain-side, with huge, old, resinous pines all around me; high up on the top of a precipitous cliff there were the ruins of an old medieval castle; our little village was far, far below, hardly visible; the sun shone brightly, the sky was blue, and everything around was terribly still. … It was there that I seemed to hear some mysterious call to go somewhere, and I could not help feeling that if I went straight on and on, and kept going for a long, long time, I should reach the line where sky and earth met and find the key to the whole mystery there and at once discover new life, a life a thousand times more splendid and more tumultuous than ours.”

—

The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky theuglyearring via thechocolatebrigad

image: (crashinglybeautiful, kateoplis)

I see angels every day

Hiroshi Watanabe

Series: I see angels every day
One summer day of July 2001, I walked into the building of San Lázaro Psychiatric Hospital. This colonial building was made in 1751 as a house for poor, homeless, sick, mental illness, leprosy patients, and abandoned children. I was told its name, San Lázaro, came from Lázaro, who was a leprosy helper in the Bible. After changes of many years, it is now a three-story massive building standing on a steep hillside of the old colonial section of Quito, Ecuador. I heard about this hospital while I was working on another project in Ecuador, and since then something had been urging me to photograph there. I finally asked Trinidad, my good friend in Ecuador, to take me to the hospital. With its aged high white walls, I somehow imagined inside to be a bit of chaos, like the last scene of the movie “Amadeus”. But when I went inside, the first thing I saw was a courtyard, simple and peaceful with a fountain in the middle, and there were several people standing quietly. I wondered if they were patients. Mostly, I was surprised at the calmness. We went upstairs to the women’s section and entered a large room with evenly spaced beds lined up on both sides, and there were many patients. Some are walking around, and some are sitting on beds, while others are sleeping. As we walked by, a woman started to walk side by side with us. I see her eyes full of excitement and curiosity. She follows us around to the outside of the room and started to talk. She kept talking without stop and complained about her toothache every 5 minutes. When we were finally about to leave her, she said, “Do you see the angels? Have you seen the angels?” and she declared, “I see angels every day.”

  via: mianoti

Many stars lined up hoping you'd notice

  "Many stars lined up hoping you'd notice,/
A wave rose toward you/out of the past/
or a violin/
offered itself/as you passed an open window/
These were instructions,

your mission/But could you perform it?/

Weren't you always 

distracted/waiting for something..."

 "And we

              who always think

                            of happiness rising

would feel the emotion

               that almost startles us

                              when a happy thing falls."

David Young, trans. ~Rilke, Duino Elegies
                
harrietbrown:

Crime Without Passion (The Furies), 1934.  Dir. Slavko Vorkapich.

colettesaintyves reblogged harrietbrown:

“There is another world..."

 “There is another world, and it is in this one.”

—	Paul Éluard (via invisiblestories, aperfectcommotion)

image: Édouard Boubat [see more here]

via firsttimeuser

I will make you a present of the whole world

He was dragging along some pointed flat pieces of ice, which he laid together in all possible ways, for he wanted to make something with them; just as we have little flat pieces of wood to make geometrical figures with, called the Chinese Puzzle. Kay made all sorts of figures, the most complicated, for it was an ice-puzzle for the understanding. In his eyes the figures were extraordinarily beautiful, and of the utmost importance; for the bit of glass which was in his eye caused this. He found whole figures which represented a written word; but he never could manage to represent just the word he wanted–that word was “eternity”; and the Snow Queen had said, “If you can discover that figure, you shall be your own master, and I will make you a present of the whole world and a pair of new skates.”

The Snow Queen, Hans Christian Andersen

the theuglyearring 

source: medicinals:

Joni Mitchell, 1976
Photo by Joel Bernstein

self portrait #1 - Zoey

On a cloud I saw a child...

image; Zoey

Songs of Innocence, William Blake

the sleigh track of the lost

Albert Renger-Patzsch, Mountain Forest in Winter, 1926
 Image/text(source: lushlight)(via invisiblestories reblogged arsvitaest)


“Snowfall, denser and denser,
dove-coloured as yesterday,
snowfall, as if even now you were sleeping.
White, stacked into distance.
Above it, endless,
the sleigh track of the lost.
Below, hidden,
presses up
what so hurts the eyes,
hill upon hill,
invisible.
On each,
fetched home into its today,
and I slipped away into dumbness:
wooden, a post.
There: a feeling,
blown across by the ice wind
attaching its dove- its snow-
coloured cloth as a flag.”

what we have lost

"...because we are also what we have lost." 

- Amores Perros, Lucha de Gigantes


 image:philguillou:

Photoshoot by Thea Curtis

Source: philguillou
via lushlight:

out of my rational mind

My understanding of the fundamental laws of the universe, said Albert Einstein, did not come out of my rational mind.

mianoti:
 thanks to tumblr:

(Source: catherinewillis reblogged mianoti: crashinglybeautiful + victoriazendo)
Image: Philippe Petit
via invisiblestories

time to find the perfect tree...

 

"One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.


All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea,..."

 

A Child's Christmas in Wales ~ Dylan Thomas

image here via:shinyslingback reblogged thegreyghost

holiday red/shopping bags

Los Carpinteros, Untitled, 2009, Watercolor on paper, 29 3⁄4 x 44 inches, The Collection of Diane and Bruce Halle

Los Carpinteros, Mancha de Bolsas Rojas, 2006, Watercolor on paper, 29 3⁄4 x 44 inches, Collection of William and Anne Palmer, New York

Marco Castillo and Dagoberto Rodríguez, of the Havana-based collective Los Carpinteros (The Carpenters), create surrealist-inspired sculptures, large-scale installations, and drawings that hover between architecture and furniture, functionality and uselessness. Structurally beautiful and often humorous, Los Carpinteros’s work confronts viewers, forcing them to question the production and meaning of the furnishings—themselves icons of modernist commerce—that populate our lives. 
via: Tang Museum, Skidmore

presents

“ “What is by now evident and clear is that neither future nor past exists, and it is inexact language to speak of three times - past, present and future. Perhaps it would be exact to say: there are three times, a present of things past, a present of things present, a present of things to come. In the soul there are these three aspects of time, and I do not see them anywhere else. The present considering the past is memory, the present considering the present is immediate awareness, the present considering the future is expectation.” ”

via:

catherinewillis: —

Saint Augustine (tnx chrbutler)

image: here

the way we were

“…This web of time—the strands of which approach one another, bifurcate, intersect or ignore each other through the centuries—embraces every possibility. We do not exist in most of them. In some you exist and not I, while in others I do, and you do not, and yet in others both of us exist. In this one, in which chance has favored me, you have come to my gate. In another, you, crossing the garden, have found me dead. In yet another, I say these very same words but am in error, a phantom…Time is forever dividing itself toward innumerable futures…”  

Jorge Luis Borges (1899 - 1986) Garden of Forking Paths, Ficciones. From the Tao of Photography.

via: crashinglybeautiful: —

image:
alex grazioli
via (school of one)

Maurice Blanchot on Orpheus and Eurydice

 But not to turn toward Eurydice would be no less untrue. Not to look would be infidelity to the measureless, imprudent force of his [Orpheus’] movement, which does not want Eurydice in her daytime truth and her everyday appeal, but wants her in her nocturnal obscurity, her distance, with her closed body and sealed face—wants to see her not when she is visible, but when she is invisible, and not as the intimacy of an familiar life, but as the foreignness of what excludes all intimacy, and wants, not to make her live, but to have living in her the plenitude of her death…
 

text: invisiblestories:
image: memorybook

intrusions of beauty

Ballet Dancers, California

“Unexpected intrusions of beauty. That is what life is.”

—

Saul Bellow, Herzog

(via aperfectcommotion)crashinglybeautiful

Photograph by James L. Amos, National Geographic:

From couleurs & nationalgeographicmagazine:

“Don’t ask for guarantees. And don’t look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were heading for shore.”

text—

Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes)

image: colettesaintyves:

La fille de l’eau, Jean Renoir, 1924.

speak, memory

witness with pleasure the supreme achievement of memory, which is the masterly use it makes of innate harmonies when gathering to its fold the suspended and wandering tonalities of the past.
_ Vladimir Nabokov
In the depths of the forest your image follows me.
_ Racine
via: Louis Boudreault
title: nabokov
image:

mianoti:

Les Goodman
[previously, previously]
via signa, saintstigersloversart, fintyflooshka

“it is wrong to speak of ‘situations,’ implying sets of circumstances leading to some resolution, some escape of tension, there were no situations, simply the balloon hanging there"

 
 There was a certain amount of initial argumentation about the "meaning" of the balloon; this subsided, because we have learned not to insist on meanings, and they are rarely even looked for now, except in cases involving the simplest, safest phenomena. It was agreed that since the meaning of the balloon could never be known absolutely, extended discussion was pointless, or at least less purposeful than the activities of those who, for example, hung green and blue paper lanterns from the warm gray underside, in certain streets, or seized the occasion to write messages on the surface, announcing their availability for the performance of unnatural acts, or the availability of acquaintances.

the balloon, donald barthelme
image jim-kazanjian

remember what you wore

REPORTS:
Remember exactly what you were wearing during a recent significant moment. Maybe it was the day that your boyfriend broke up with you, or the day your nephew was born, or the day you decided to become a vegetarian. It should be something that happened in the last six months. Lay out what you were wearing on the floor, as if you are dressing an invisible, flat person. Tuck the shirt in to the pants, the socks in to the shoes, etc. Don't forget the other things that complete your outfit such as jewelry, purse, hat, etc. Do not add anything extra, like a wig or a mask - just the clothes you were wearing. Stand on a chair or table and photograph the clothes from directly above. Not from above at a slight angle, but so that the camera is pointing straight down. Send us the photo, along with the importance of the day, for example, "What I Was Wearing When I Got The Phone Call About Grandma Marris Dying." Please try and keep your title/description as short as possible. Do not write on the actual photograph, and make sure your photo is in focus. Note: avoid moments that you knew would be significant and so dressed accordingly - such as graduation or Halloween. The outfit itself does not need to be significant, it is just what you happened to be wearing when something of emotional significance happened.
Project:learning to love you more
:the drifter and the gypsy

DOCUMENTATION:

Assignment #55 Photograph a significant outfit. "This is the outfit I wore when I realized I didn't need you anymore." Susan Ann Dallas, Pennsylvania USA

Sam Winston: birthday

• By the time you’ve read this sentence three people have been born into the world.
  By the time you’ve read this sentence two will have passed away.
  By the time you’ve lived through this twelve-hour day there will be 100,000 more children on the planet. And in the same twelve hours 70,000 people will have died.
  Birthday is a new work by artist Sam Winston. In it he records every individual birth and death over a twelve-hour period. Initially he imagined working in real time, marking the beat of each life with a small circle. But he immediately realised it was impossible to keep up with events and it would take many months to graphically capture the rhythm of life and death. The result is a set of images, of haunting intensity, that capture the ebb and flow of the planet’s population.
  Alongside these drawings he will be presenting his new artist book, Orphan, and further studies around text and image. The artist will also be in residence throughout the duration of the exhibition creating a new work.
  
• “His methods of production are certainly of our time: statistics, data collection and analysis, computer programming. Yet he is dependent on craft as well: drawing, doodling, cutting and folding. Concepts are revealed and emerge through his interrogation, until they are utterly logical and clear. They are also inspiring, leading the viewer to a fresh understanding of an art that can be constructed from typography, opening onto a beautiful aesthetic composed of text as image.”
  Esther Dudley, Lecturer in Design History, School of Art & Media Plymouth University
  
• 
• 
•  
• all from:  SAM WINSTON
• Information
  • About
  • Exhibitions

falling

Damiel;
It's great to live by the spirit, to testify day by day for eternity, only what's spiritual in people's minds. But sometimes I'm fed up with my spiritual existence. Instead of forever hovering above I'd like to feel a weight grow in me to end the infinity and to tie me to earth. I'd like, at each step, each gust of wind, to be able to say "Now." Now and now" and no longer "forever" and "for eternity." To sit at an empty place at a card table and be greeted, even by a nod. Every time we participated, it was a pretense. Wrestling with one, allowing a hip to be put out in pretense, catching a fish in pretense, in pretense sitting at tables, drinking and eating in pretense. Having lambs roasted and wine served in the tents out there in the desert, only in pretense. No, I don't have to beget a child or plant a tree but it would be rather nice coming home after a long day to feed the cat, like Philip Marlowe, to have a fever and blackended fingers from the newspaper, to be excited not only by the mind but, at last, by a meal, by the line of a neck by an ear. To lie! Through one's teeth. As you're walking, to feel your bones moving along. At last to guess, instead of always knowing. To be able to say "ah" and "oh" and "hey" instead of "yea" and "amen."  


Catherine Hessling, La fille de l’eau, Jean Renoir, 1924.
text:  Wings of Desire
image via: shinyslingback reblogged ratak-monodosico

re-tweet

“Charge, angry youth”

“A woman in China has been sentenced to a year in a labour camp” for a tweet.
We encourage those of you who use Twitter to re-tweet her statement (“Charge, angry youth”) in protest.

Reposted from The Rumpus via: evencleveland

so fully lived

 

“No days, perhaps, of all our childhood are ever so fully lived are those that we had regarded as not being lived at all: days spent wholly with a favourite book.”
— Marcel Proust

 Source: theboatlullabies
 liquidnight:
 reblogged thomerama

words in air

Untitled by agelessbeautyalways on Polyvore.com

... Do

you still hang your words in air, ten years

unfinished, glued to your notice boards, with gaps

or empties for the unimaginable phrase —

unerring Muse who makes the casual perfect?

Almost 20 years after they met, Lowell wrote to Bishop: "How wonderful you are, dear, and how wonderful that you write me letters. What a block of life has passed since we met."

When Lowell died, Bishop wrote an elegiac poem called "North Haven," referring to the island in the Penobscot Bay where both had spent time:

You left North Haven, anchored in its rock,

afloat in mystic blue ... And now — you've left

for good. You can't derange, or re-arrange,

poems again. (But the sparrows can their song.)

The words won't change again. Sad friend, you cannot change.

Words in Air, correspondence between Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell
 

 via: here

rilke

Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors which it passes to a row of ancient trees. You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth. leaving you, not really belonging to either, not so hopelessly dark as that house that is silent, not so unswervingly given to the eternal as that thing that turns to a star each night and climbs- leaving you (it is impossible to untangle the threads) your own life, timid and standing high and growing, so that, sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out, one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.     :image Sunset,  Rainer Maria Rilke

free

from the catalog:

“Free” will propose an expansive conversation around how the internet has affected our landscape of information and notion of public space. [].  The title and featured works present a complex picture of the new freedoms and constraints that underlie our expanded cultural space.

** “Free” is inspired in part by “Dispersion” (2001–), an essay by the artist Seth Price that is available as a free online booklet and will be featured within the exhibition as a large-scale sculptural installation composed of nine panels each imprinted with a page from the original booklet.                                     

 new museum, nyc

Read "Free" online catalogue »

                                                                                        
                                                                    

Oh, nefarious war! I see why arms / Were so seldom used by the benign sovereigns.

 text: Li Po

 image: bbc

help here: Resources-for-Veterans
day of service: huffpo 
NY Times: lives during wartime
more: here 
more: soldiers as nation builders 

workworkworkworkwork

 Charles LeDray: workworkworkworkwork

November 18, 2010–February 13, 2011

"Over the past twenty years, New York-based sculptor Charles LeDray (b. 1960, Seattle) has created a highly distinctive and powerful body of work using such materials as sewn cloth, carved human bone, and glazed ceramics. This major survey, which includes works from the 1980s to the present, celebrates both the artist’s virtuosity with materials and his uncanny manipulation of scale to create seemingly familiar objects that engage the collective memory. His techniques of sewing, carving bone, and throwing clay pots find precedents in the traditions of folk art and visionary art, yet rise to a level of unprecedented virtuosity and artistic invention. The exhibition is curated by Randi Hopkins for the Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston. Its Whitney installation will be overseen by curator Carter Foster."

via: whitney