#The Wood Word

[marywoodartdept]

Bright Star: Behind the Scenes

This week, Julie, our Photography blogger, shares the photos she captured during Marywood’s rendition of “Bright Star”. She captures the getting ready process and during the performance, and talks about her editing process. Make sure to check it out!

[shisasan]

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟸𝟷, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶 -𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹

[ID: July 21. Miserable creature that I am. END ID]

[potato-lord-but-not]

doodles baby !!

[the-meme-monarch]

shirt that says “tick magnet” instead of chick magnet but the font is still styled flirtatiously like in cursive with like maybe heart graphics or something

[samglyph]

love love love when songs have titles that either aren’t a lyric from the song, but rather a phrase or word that adds context to the song itself, OR when they have titles that are based on a line from the song that isn’t in the main chorus (or isn’t in the chorus until the end) which then emphasizes that line and reframes it as the main thesis as opposed to the chorus.

[thevirgodoll]

that constant nagging of ambition and fear of stagnancy literally rules my life. sometimes it paralyzes me and i end up barely doing anything for the day and sometimes it energizes me. the need to get better, the need to improve skills, and the need to reinvent myself. it still shocks me that the average person doesn’t feel this ache to BECOME. to evolve. to flourish. to kickstart a metamorphosis every month. hell, maybe every week. like who am i without gutting my wardrobe or deciding a new career path? idk. but at least I’m another skill smarter, another look hotter, and another business wealthier. better than nothing at all.

[fairydrowning]

"I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?"

– Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

"If you remember me, then I don't care if everybody else forgets."

– Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

[flowerytale]

Henry David Thoreau, from Walden; or, Life in the Woods Leonora Carrington, from The Hearing Trumpet Florence Welch, from Useless Magic: Lyrics & Poetry Mary Oliver, from “How I Go to the Woods”, Swan: Poems and Prose Poem Franz Kafka, from Letters to Friends, Family, and Editors

Ivan Ivanovič Šiškin (1832–1898), Covert (detail) William Trost Richards (1833–1905), Woodland Landscape (detail) Bright Star, written and directed by Jane Campion

[metamorphesque]

― favorite words of ... haruki murakami (part 1)

A Wild Sheep Chase / Sputnik Sweetheart / After the Quake / The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle / Norwegian Wood / Sputnik Sweetheart / The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle / South of the Border, West of the Sun / Kafka on the Shore / Norwegian Wood / 1Q84 / Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman / South of the Border, West of the Sun / Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

˗ˏˋin case you’d like to buy me a☕ˎˊ˗  

[wineonmytshirt]

are we in the clear yet?

Countdown to 1989 (Taylor's Version)

[zellink]

young at last, at last.

[marywoodartdept]

More Photojournalism

This week, Julie, our #Photography blogger, shows us a collection of her Wood Word photographs over the past few weeks, ranging from a school dance, to a new Amazon Go Store on campus, to a religious gathering for students and spectators. #MarywoodArt

[shisasan]

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟿, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹

[ID: July 19, slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life. END ID]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

One last devastating blow

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[glasswaters]

i want to be a real boy, said the puppet to the fairy. i am too loud and too wooden. i cannot understand the softness of their skin.

when i lie, my nose grows. when i am lied to, nothing happens to them at all. they smile. their eyes shine, wet with salt-water. my wrists are bound with string, my ankles are threaded with wire.

when i open my mouth, out comes a scream, as a felled tree, bleeding sap. i've shattered the windows and bent the door.

i've broken my father's heart.

have i not given all i had within me to give? did i not shave myself hollow to offer a handful of wood chips and sawdust to anyone who would smile at me? my walls are thin, by now, and my voice is a haunting within my own head. when the sun is strong enough, it shines right through me.

as though i was made of glass, like the fine porcelain dolls in their fine silk dresses and their fine leather shoes. those chubby-red cheeks, polished to the noblest of shines.

smooth as aged pebbles, they do not hurt the palms that hold them unless dropped.

i have taken sandpaper to the high points of me. the rough, first, no matter how it hurt to hold it. no matter the mess. my father taught me well. i will not splinter if you touch me.

i will not lie. i will dance the dance, i will drink the drink, i will breathe only when i am told. i will sink this pining body into the sea. for my father, i will rot.

only make me soft. give me lungs and a beating, bleeding heart.

make me right, said the puppet to the fairy, make me whole.

silly little heartwood, said the fairy to the puppet, you are real. how else would you cry? there is nothing wrong with you.

[booksandwines]

The streets are not for me. I belong in an enchanted forest, eating berries and talking to my animal friends.