Of what is the body made? It is made of emptiness and rhythm. At the ultimate heart of the body, at the heart of the world, there is no solidity. Once again, there is only the dance. At the unimaginable heart of the atom, the compact nucleus, we have found no solid object, but rather a dynamic pattern of tightly confined energy vibrating perhaps 1022 times a second: a dance…
Eugène Delacroix, “The Sea from the Heights of Dieppe” (from Five Branch Tree)
We work with the substantial,
but the emptiness is what we use.
Vanishing is impossible
Lasting is impossible
Being in two places at once is impossible
Speaking the entire truth is impossible
Instantly knowing Spanish is impossible
Living in the midst of ten thousand panes of glass is impossible
Being simultaneously masked and unmasked is impossible
Except in art
Art is the art of the (im)possible.
Philip Jackson, “Pope Joan” (from: themagiclantern, lush-retina & missfolly)
Marcel Duchamp, “To Have the Apprentice in the Sun,” 1914, Chinese ink and pencil on music paper.
(from: theshipthatflew & sunset-to-star-rise)
Anne Brigman, “Woman by the surf,” 1910 (courtesy of billyjane)
Edward Steichen, 1934 (from lacontessa)
The Beatles, “Help!” (from: chairofbullies)
Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive.
Fear of falling asleep at night.
Fear of not falling asleep.
Fear of the past rising up.
Fear of the present taking flight.
Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night.
Fear of electrical storms.
Fear of the cleaning woman who has a spot on her cheek!
Fear of dogs I’ve been told won’t bite.
Fear of anxiety!
Fear of having to identify the body of a dead friend.
Fear of running out of money.
Fear of having too much, though people will not believe this.
Fear of psychological profiles.
Fear of being late and fear of arriving before anyone else.
Fear of my children’s handwriting on envelopes.
Fear they’ll die before I do, and I’ll feel guilty.
Fear of having to live with my mother in her old age, and mine.
Fear of confusion.
Fear this day will end on an unhappy note.
Fear of waking up to find you gone.
Fear of not loving and fear of not loving enough.
Fear that what I love will prove lethal to those I love.
Fear of death.
Fear of living too long.
Fear of death.
I’ve said that.
— Raymond Carver
