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Love for our neighbor, being made of creative attention, is analogous to genius.
Simone Weil, Waiting For God
#quoted in the introduction to portraits by john berger#which i'm reading with my sweetheart#simone weil
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@praxxidice!!!












"The Real Capello", new Secret Knots comic.
Or is this just another way of telling you about The Duke in Shadows?
This comic is possible thanks to the support of kind patrons.
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Ellsworth Kelly, Light Reflection on Water, 1950
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The longer I live, the more deeply I learn that love — whether we call it friendship or family or romance — is the work of mirroring and magnifying each other’s light. Gentle work. Steadfast work. Life-saving work in those moments when life and shame and sorrow occlude our own light from our view, but there is still a clear-eyed loving person to beam it back. In our best moments, we are that person for another.
-James Baldwin
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Leo and Diane Dillon
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"The Kiss", a 12,000-year-old rock painting at Pedra Furada in Brazil

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Literally @praxxidice
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some of my favorite woven tapestries, by Cecilia Blomberg:

Point Defiance Steps

Mates

Rising Tides

Vashon Steps
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In 1958, during a conference at the Pratt Institute of Brooklyn, Mark Rothko listed the seven necessary ingredients for “a recipe of a work of art”:
1. A clear awareness of death. All art is in relation with death
2. Sensuality, necessary to represent the world in a concrete way
3. Tension, that is to say the conflicts or desires that in art are dominated the very moment they are shown
4. Irony, a modern ingredient. A form of self deletion, and at the same time of self analysis, through which man can, at least for a moment, get away from his destiny
5. Wit, humour
6. Some grams of ephemeral and some grams of chance
7. A ten percent of hope… only if you need it; Greek didn’t have
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@praxxidice
I forgot about this version!!
Song: Adaptation Of The Koto Song Artist: The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble Album: The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble Year: 2006 Genre: Dark Jazz Origin: Netherlands
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national poetry month, day 1
Sorrow Is Not My Name after Gwendolyn Brooks No matter the pull toward brink. No matter the florid, deep sleep awaits. There is a time for everything. Look, just this morning a vulture nodded his red, grizzled head at me, and I looked at him, admiring the sickle of his beak. Then the wind kicked up, and, after arranging that good suit of feathers he up and took off. Just like that. And to boot, there are, on this planet alone, something like two million naturally occurring sweet things, some with names so generous as to kick the steel from my knees: agave, persimmon, stick ball, the purple okra I bought for two bucks at the market. Think of that. The long night, the skeleton in the mirror, the man behind me on the bus taking notes, yeah, yeah. But look; my niece is running through a field calling my name. My neighbor sings like an angel and at the end of my block is a basketball court. I remember. My color’s green. I’m spring. —for Walter Aikens —Ross Gay
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I just love painting the sea, I wanna do just that until I find a new thing to obsess over
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fledgling by Traci Brimhall
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