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Jean-Michel Basquiat painting ‘Gold Griot’, 1984

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I’m in a place in my career now where I am specifically interested in roles that explore a character’s race. Because I can—and because I want our conversations to eventually move to a place that recognizes that it’s important. … We don’t want to just have a person of colour acting the way a white person would act. Because they’re not!

Sandra Oh for Elle Canada (June 2020)

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Teorema (1968), Pier Paolo Pasolini

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I’m just posting for validation from my 5k inactive followers

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Fear Not (2017) Sam Messer (American, b. 1955)

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I’m practicing non-attachment. Accepting what comes and allowing it to leave when it’s time. What’s for me will be for me effortlessly.

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1981 Vanity Fair Crayola Crayons Turntable (via: Etsy)

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Thomas Ruckstuhl (German, b. 1969, Mannheim, Germany) - Day In Day Out Paintings: Oil

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Road Trip with Shola, Highway 70, Utah, 2009

Jason Vaughn

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“Dear Catherine, I’ve been sitting here thinking about all the things I wanted to apologize to you for. All the pain we caused each other. Everything I put on you. Everything I needed you to be or needed you to say. I’m sorry for that. I’ll always love you cause we grew up together and you helped make me who I am. I just wanted you to know there will be a piece of you in me always, and I’m grateful for that. Whatever someone you become, and wherever you are in the world, I’m sending you love. You’re my friend to the end. Love, Theodore.” Her (2013)

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“One day there was an anonymous present sitting on my doorstep—Volume One of Capital by Karl Marx, in a brown paper bag. A joke? Serious? And who had sent it? I never found out. Late that night, naked in bed, I leafed through it. The beginning was impenetrable, I couldn’t understand it, but when I came to the part about the lives of the workers—the coal miners, the child laborers—I could feel myself suddenly breathing more slowly. How angry he was. Page after page. Then I turned back to an earlier section, and I came to a phrase that I’d heard before, a strange, upsetting, sort of ugly phrase: this was the section on “commodity fetishism,” “the fetishism of commodities.” I wanted to understand that weird-sounding phrase, but I could tell that, to understand it, your whole life would probably have to change. His explanation was very elusive. He used the example that people say, “Twenty yards of linen are worth two pounds.” People say that about every thing that it has a certain value. This is worth that. This coat, this sweater, this cup of coffee: each thing worth some quantity of money, or some number of other things—one coat, worth three sweaters, or so much money—as if that coat, suddenly appearing on the earth, contained somewhere inside itself an amount of value, like an inner soul, as if the coat were a fetish, a physical object that contains a living spirit. But what really determines the value of a coat? The coat’s price comes from its history, the history of all the people involved in making it and selling it and all the particular relationships they had. And if we buy the coat, we, too, form relationships with all those people, and yet we hide those relationships from our own awareness by pretending we live in a world where coats have no history but just fall down from heaven with prices marked inside. “I like this coat,” we say, “It’s not expensive,” as if that were a fact about the coat and not the end of a story about all the people who made it and sold it, “I like the pictures in this magazine.”A naked woman leans over a fence. A man buys a magazine and stares at her picture. The destinies of these two are linked. The man has paid the woman to take off her clothes, to lean over the fence. The photograph contains its history—the moment the woman unbuttoned her shirt, how she felt, what the photographer said. The price of the magazine is a code that describes the relationships between all these people—the woman, the man, the publisher, the photographer—who commanded, who obeyed. The cup of coffee contains the history of the peasants who picked the beans, how some of them fainted in the heat of the sun, some were beaten, some were kicked.For two days I could see the fetishism of commodities everywhere around me. It was a strange feeling. Then on the third day I lost it, it was gone, I couldn’t see it anymore.”

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Wallace Shawn, The Fever

(To understand it, your whole life would probably have to change.)

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Marlene Dumas (South African/Dutch, b. 1953), Mamma Roma, 2012. Oil on canvas, 30 x 24 cm.

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“I just feel like there are so many things that I could be doing and probably want to be doing that I’m just not.”

— Boyhood (2014), Dir. Richard Linklater

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I dont care if the bed is too small

I dont care if it starts to rain while we walk

I dont care if not every kiss is perfect

I dont care if we disagree

I dont care where we are

I dont care what we do

It’s you that matters to me

I just want to do it with you