Imre Kinszki, c.1930 (from: wetkitty & darksilenceinsuburbia: Via)
Photographer unknown, The Sculptor’s Studio, c. 1900 (from theshipthatflew via: LACMA)
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A Study of Pencils
She sharpens pencils, one for every day of the year.
She presses them into the sharpener
like a slender finger, feels the machine grinding breath,
spinning the gray lead and wood shavings into a pyre.
She anticipates this moment, you do, too,
the heft and height of it,
every sharp point a beginning,
a giving in, a giving over,
like a bird in your hands.
You know the grip, the groove
of letters as they wash across a sheet, filling it,
calling you by name.
For a flash, you own a thought,
a piece of paper, a continent,
like a plot of land, a child’s hand,
you wash it with words, with seeds like sand.
— Terresa Wellborn
John Lennon | “You Send Me”
(via: aclockwithouthands & hitrecordjoe)
Strangers used to be bad and dangerous. Now strangers are the source of good things online.
Caterina Fake, founder of Flickr and Hunch (From the post “Getting Closer to Wise,” over at Slow Muse)
Scaling the Nose at Twisted Vintage.
The trick is to be attuned to your condition all the time. To know that you are tired when you are tired and energetic when you are energetic. And to release yourself to your condition rather than resist it. Not knowing your condition as it really is, or knowing it and resisting it: That is what’s difficult. This is where the pressure builds up. But when you know your condition and release yourself to it, then there’s no problem. You can negotiate yourself through your day that way and not have to worry.
There’s an old saying in Zen: “Every day is a good day.” This doesn’t mean every day’s a thrilling day or a pleasant day. There are plenty of unpleasant days, challenging days. But if you know your condition and release yourself to it, even an unpleasant day’s a good day.
Norman Fischer (from Whiskey River)
Lawren Harris, “Silent Island,” 1920 (Great selection of paintings by Harris over at Art Inconnu)
It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don’t spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the ethereal bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness
James Joyce, “Ulysses” (from A Piece of Monologue)
Get Well Cards from Picasso (from Letters of Note)
The text reads,
My dear Cocteau
I am quite sad that you are ill. I hope that you will be well soon and that I will see you. At Montparnasse next Wednesday’s festivities in honor of the musician I hope to see you. I have good ideas for our theater story - we shall talk about it.
Best wishes,
Picasso
