juan-fernandez - Tumblr blog

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hearts facing paris, hoping big hopes!

comic made with found emoji (on snapchat)

29/30 (TUNE IN THIS TIME TOMORROW FOR THE BIG FINALE)

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Great process recap.

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click here for realtime version: https://youtu.be/rCI9uZkc-K4

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Joost Swarte - De Stijl art movement

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Dimitris Geros (Greek, born 1948)

Landscape with figures, 1972

Oil on panel, 70 x 50 cm.

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Jean Cocteau Addresses the Year 2000 (Jean Cocteau, 1962)

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what is unveiled? the founding wound.

adrienne maree brown, January 7, 2021

a body is always a body individual or collective (whole or in many pieces) alive or, later, dead a body is always vulnerable

a wound is always a wound singular and deep or many cuts, slowly, blood everywhere left untreated, unstaunched, denied a wound will always fester

the first wound happens within the violence of birth the expulsion from the illusion of safety from the idea that someone (else) will do all the labor

and some of us keep looking everywhere for placenta, for mothering for acceptance of our worst choices to be told we are so special to be named a favorite child

some of us learn to work we are given tools, lectures, practices we are given the blessing of knowing that work to nourish the collective is a sacred path for our lives

some are only taught to eat given the title to land that isn’t ours judged for the speck of dirt under our nails set to race against even our own kin for the neverending victory of more

some of us are black still nauseous from the boat’s hold still catching our breath from snapped ropes still oiling our calloused field hands and still wounded

some of us are white still synonymous with impossible purity still given no songs from the earth still taught to master nothing but superiority and still, wounded

some of us are red, yellow, brown still made to feel tertiary to the plot still dismissed for all we remember still claiming we are human, not terrorist and, still wounded

some of us are never surprised never apoplectic when the stench hits us what rots at the core is known, documented it is tangible, moral, American, spiritual it is the founding wound

gray only at the surface brittle black where the injury began a rainbow of bruising everywhere green mold making life in dying flesh but the pus, the pus bursts white

we are well past the age of turning inwards of seeing the open wounds on our souls of stepping into our shadows with truth light of seeing we were shaped, and can change of believing the wound is who we are

we know the smell of decay on breath we see the swollen cracking flesh of infection it is not rude to acknowledge the stink to wonder if it is viral, venom, survivable to look for the laceration(s)

things are not getting worse they are getting uncovered we must hold each other tight and continue to pull back the veil see: we, the body, we are the wounded place

we live on a resilient earth where change is the only constant in bodies whose only true whiteness is the blood cell that fights infection and the bone that holds the marrow

remove the shrapnel, clean the wound relinquish inflammation, let the chaos calm the body knows how to scab like lava stone eventually leaving the smooth marring scars of lessons learned:

denial will not disappear a wound

the wound is not the body

a body cannot be divided into multiple living entities (what us will go on breathing?)

the founder’s wound is the myth of supremacy

this is not the first wound, or the last

we are a species before we are a nation, and after

warriors, organizers, storytellers, dreamers – all of us are healers

the healing path is humility, laughter, truth, awareness and choice

a scab is a boundary on territory, between what is within and what is without, when the line has been breached

stop picking at the scab, it slows the healing

until we are dead, and even when we are exhausted and faithless, we fight for life

we are our only relevant hope we are our only possible medicine

a body is always a body wounded, festering, healing, healed we choose each day what body we will shape with the miraculous material we’re gifted let us, finally, attend to the wound let us, finally, name the violence let us, finally, break the cycle of supremacy let us, finally, choose ourselves whole let us, finally, love ourselves whole.

– source

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There’s a storm inside.

The waves break and my heart aches.

I surrender.

[juan-fernandez]

making collages in holidays

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“My friends, catastrophic climate change is not a problem for fascists — it is a solution. History’s most perfect, lethal, and efficient one means of genocide, ever, period. Who needs to build a camp or a gas chamber when the flood and hurricane will do the dirty work for free? Please don’t mistake this for conspiracism: climate change accords perfectly with the foundational fascist belief that only the strong should survive, and the weak — the dirty, the impure, the foul — should perish. That is why neo-fascists do not lift a finger to stop climate change — but do everything they can to in fact accelerate it, and prevent every effort to reverse or mitigate it.”

—

Umair Haque in Eudaimonia at Medium. How Capitalism Torched the Planet by Imploding Into Fascism

Catastrophic Climate Change is not a Problem for Fascists — It is a Solution

(via protoslacker)

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Unknown photographer, Dampfhydraulische Schmiedepresse (15.000 t) in den Werkstätten der Friedrich Krupp AG, Essen, c.1928. © bpk/Bildagentur für Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte. From Die Zeit via burnéd shoés via copymind

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Fauves 219 ///// Warren Craghead Made for Comics Workbook    /////    15/30—–30 Days of Comics