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Cameos Compilation (details) © Photo and collection RMO

Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, RMO Via artblart

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The Woman Destroyed; The Monolgue, Simone de Beauvoir

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# my pic

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Margaret Atwood, from The Blind Assassin

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I still feel the exhilaration, the gratitude for having been liberated from childhood’s asphyxiations. Admirations set me free. And embarrassment, which is the price of acutely experienced admiration. Then I felt like an adult, forced to live in the body of a child. Since, I feel like a child, privileged to live in the body of an adult. The zealot of seriousness in me, because it was already full-grown in the child, continues to think of reality as yet-to-be. Still sees a big space ahead, a far horizon. Is this the real world? I still ask myself that, forty years later . . . as small children ask repeatedly, in the course of a long, tiring journey, “Are we there yet?” Childhood’s sense of plenitude was denied me. In compensation, there remains, always, the horizon of plenitude, to which I am borne forward by the delights of admiration.

Susan Sontag, "Pilgrimage"

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Torah Binders embellished with punto scritto stitching. Italy, 17th century.

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Me and that one boy

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is anyone else scared or is it just me and every deer

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how it feels knowing that loneliness is still time spent with the world

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