Tie-Dye

Photo

Mon, 20 May 2013 15:33:34 -0400

May Sarton in Westbrook, ME

Mon, 20 May 2013 15:15:56 -0400

May Sarton in Westbrook, ME

tylerblackwell: Lilacs, Henri Matisse, 1914

Mon, 20 May 2013 15:02:33 -0400

tylerblackwell:

Lilacs, Henri Matisse, 1914

piotrlakomy: PIOTR ŁAKOMY UNTITLED_AUTOMOTIVE PAINT ON ALUMINUM...

Fri, 17 May 2013 15:42:17 -0400

piotrlakomy:

PIOTR ŁAKOMY

UNTITLED_AUTOMOTIVE PAINT ON ALUMINUM PRINTING PLATE_2013

theparisreview: “Beauty, the world seemed to say. And as if to...

Wed, 15 May 2013 13:52:23 -0400

theparisreview:

“Beauty, the world seemed to say. And as if to prove it (scientifically) wherever he looked at the houses, at the railings, at the antelopes stretching over the palings, beauty sprang instantly. To watch a leaf quivering in the rush of air was an exquisite joy. Up in the sky swallows swooping, swerving, flinging themselves in and out, round and round, yet always with perfect control as if elastics held them; and the flies rising and falling; and the sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft gold in pure good temper; and now again some chime (it might be a motor horn) tinkling divinely on the grass stalks—all of this, calm and reasonable as it was, made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere.”

―Virginia Woolf, “Mrs. Dalloway,” published on this day in 1925

blackpaint20: Witches’ Sabbath (Aquelarre is the Spanish word...

Tue, 07 May 2013 01:55:46 -0400

blackpaint20:

Witches’ Sabbath (Aquelarre is the Spanish word for a Witches’ Sabbath) 1798 by Francisco Goya

Photo

Sat, 04 May 2013 01:15:34 -0400

Jean Arp

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 19:54:30 -0400

Jean Arp

Photo

Tue, 16 Apr 2013 19:59:42 -0400

Photo

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 13:23:55 -0400

Yes, I am home again, and alone.Today wrote letters, then took my dogOut through the sad November...

Wed, 10 Apr 2013 02:07:27 -0400

Yes, I am home again, and alone.
Today wrote letters, then took my dog
Out through the sad November woods.
The leaves have fallen while I was away,
The ground is golden, while above
The maples are stripped of all color.
The ornamental cherries, red when I left,
Have paled now to translucent yellow.

Yes, I am home again but home has changed.
And I within this cultivated space
That I have made my own, feel at a loss,
Disoriented. All the safe doors
Have come unlocked and too much light
Has flooded every room. Where can I go?
Not toward you three thousand miles away
Lost in your own rich life, given me
For an hour.
Read between the lines.
Then meet me in the silence if you can,
The long silence of winter when I shall
Make poems out of nothing, out of loss,
And at times hear your healing laughter.

—May Sarton, from “Letters from Maine”