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Mark Rothko, Untitled, 1969 Oil on canvas 1998 Kate Rothko Pritzel and Christopher Rothko / Artist Rights Society, New York (ARS)

Hiroshi Sugimoto, Bay of Sagami, Atami, 1997 gelatin silver print

Both photos Courtesy of Pace Gallery

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The purest form of love is consideration. When someone thinks about how things would make you feel. Pays attention to detail. Holds you in regard when making decisions that could affect you. In any bond, how much they care about you can be found in how much they consider you

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@/girlglimmer (x) // @/christmas-winter (x) // fireflies - suzanne siegel // “orange and blue” - sarah jarosz // beautiful night - momcilo simic // christmas eve - julia andreevna petrova // @/hunting-brother (x) // @/bluecapsicum (x) // suzanne siegel

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Use your mouse to explore this world

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Fidelia Bridges (American,1835-1924)

Swallows by the Sea, 1906

Watercolor and gouache

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Naomi Shihab Nye, “Red Brocade”

[Text ID: “The Arabs used to say, When a stranger appears at your door, feed him for three days before asking who he is, where he’s come from, where he’s headed. That way, he’ll have strength enough to answer. Or, by then your’ll be such good friends you don’t care.”]

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The Vision of Saint Hubert (1890)

— by Franz von Stuck

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"I am here to be educative. I want you to remember that I am a person with very specific lenses on the world. I want you to remember that everything about our current existence in the Anthropocene (as in, a human-sovereign world) is intentional and by design. The Anthropocene is intentional and by design. Someone(s) made all this up. World-making is an intentional and detail-oriented process; what can be made can be remade, over and over again."

—Ismatu Gwendolyn, "you've been traumatized into hating reading (and it makes you easier to oppress)", from Threadings, on Substack

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Michael Handt

Evening at the sea

Oil on canvas

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In California: Morning, Evening, Late January

Pale, then enkindled,

light

advancing,

emblazoning

summits of palm and pine,

the dew

lingering,

scripture of

scintillas.

Soon the roar

of mowers

cropping the already short

grass of lawns,

men with long-nozzled

cylinders of pesticide

poking at weeds,

at moss in cracks of cement,

and louder roar

of helicopters off to spray

vineyards where braceros try

to hold their breath,

and in the distance, bulldozers, excavators,

babel of destructive construction.

Banded by deep

oakshadow, airy

shadow of eucalyptus,

miner’s lettuce,

tender, untasted,

and other grass, unmown,

luxuriant,

no green more brilliant.

Fragile paradise.

. . . .

At day’s end the whole sky,

vast, unstinting, flooded with transparent

mauve,

tint of wisteria,

cloudless

over the malls, the industrial parks,

the homes with the lights going on,

the homeless arranging their bundles.

. . . .

Who can utter

the poignance of all that is constantly

threatened, invaded, expended

and constantly

nevertheless

persists in beauty,

tranquil as this young moon

just risen and slowly

drinking light

from the vanished sun.

Who can utter

the praise of such generosity

or the shame?

--BY DENISE LEVERTOV

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marty scorsese cosmic guilt tuesday everyone give it up for marty scorsese cosmic guilt tuesday

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this made me stop and think about it, i can't explain it without using too many words

2010

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Getahun Assefa Balcha (Ethiopian, 1967), Women Fishing, 2019. Acrylic on canvas, 199 x 100 cm.

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thinking over and over and over of that clip from a maya angelou talk about the importance of knowing one another's history. no matter how brutal no matter how bleak no matter how despairing no matter anything because the only way through it is to go all the way through it. and the only way to build anything with one another is by having gone all the way through it because otherwise there is no connection. whats a connection worth that's built on ignorance? sustained by ignorance? "only equals can make friends" she says. only equals.

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26

the body and the soul are the same creature

the veins on my wrists that bulge out and make s curves across my bones the body which came from many mothers and fathers, who loved to work in the garden, to breathe fresh air and to hold children and friends

it's learning what needs pause, to shake out the fear how feelings run through the stomach sensing the resonance following only what feels right holding nonaction in as high regard as action

still feeling blundering, anxious, still awkward about it, not yet wise, but curious

when the courthouse clerk in california asked me across the counter, "do you want to change your name?" I held her eye for a moment and looked back to Alec, then back to her. "No," (i knew it) "I don't."

It just felt like the right thing to do. I was 23 then. 23 held 26, 26 stopped, and 27 looks on with devotion

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(via ARTLINKART)

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Félix Vallotton (French-Swiss, 1865-1925)

"Coucher de soleil jaune et vert" (1911)

Oil on canvas (54 x 81 cm)

Private collection.