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Monthly Archives: March 2012

This is how today feels, beautiful in it’s stillness.

1. Cour carrée du Louvre

2. Tian’anmen square

3. Times square

4. Paris church

5. “Silent World” film by Lucie & Simon

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I Want To Know You

By Ryan O’Connell

I want to know you. You seem like someone worth knowing. Every day I feel like I’m surrounded by people with hard edges and sour faces but I get the sense that you’re different. Too often people seem to think that they have the answers to everything. Their faces are trapped in permascowls and they can’t be bothered with anything besides their own narcissism. You aren’t like that. You still ask questions. You’re still looking for the answers.

People with kind hearts make me feel dirty. Like I need to give my personality a bath or something. Rub it clean of my neuroses and judgments. But that’s a good thing. When someone inspires you to take a long hard look at yourself and question all of your bad habits, they’re someone worth keeping around. It’s all about finding that person who’s able to hold up a mirror to your life and cause you to reevaluate the noise. It’s all about wanting to be a better man.

I know you’ll surprise me. I know you’ll take a right turn when I’m convinced you’ll take a left. All of this may seem arbitrary (why does it even matter if you take a right instead of a left?) but it provides me with a giant sense of relief. Do you know what it feels like to go through life rarely being surprised? The person who you think is going to hurt you ends up leaving you alone at three in the morning. The person who will never understand your jokes or passions turns out to be a stranger forever. You sleep with them, go out to dinners, and even run away to a bed and breakfast on a long weekend, all in hopes that they’ll start to make sense to you one day. But they never do. They just get more and more foreign each day. Experiences don’t always breed intimacy. Sometimes they just make the distance more apparent.

I want to know how your weekend was (I never want to know these types of things but you’re the exception to all my rules) and I want to know how you got that scar on your knee (biking accident when you were twelve? Tell me more! This story is more riveting than The Hunger Games!) and I want to know about your mom and dad (Are they assholes? No matter! We’ll start our own family!) I want to protect you. I want to preserve your innocence and drink it up for myself. You learn from me and I’ll learn from you. Deal?

You’ll open me up like an orange, leaving a mess of pulp and sticky peels everywhere. Certain parts of my personality will be extracted and I’ll find myself feeling stuff I never knew was possible. It’s strange to think how many things we’re capable of without really knowing it until we have a proper catalyst — something or someone to bring it to the surface. Dig, dig, dig. No, you might need to dig a little deeper. I have a lot of crap sticking on top of the good stuff.

In order for all of this to work though, you have to let me know you. You have to let me cut you open and trust that I won’t accidentally hit a nerve. You have to accept me for my shortcomings and understand that you’re a better person than I am. I’m a little rotten. Please don’t let that deter you though. Because when I look at you, I see someone who makes sense. I see an anomaly — someone who’s untouched by all of the modern inventions and hang ups. I see someone I want to know.

Source: Thought Catalog

To Happiness

by Carl Dennis

If you’re not approaching, I hope at least
You’re off to comfort someone who needs you more,
Not lost wandering aimlessly
Or drawn to the shelter of well-lit rooms
Where people assume you’ve arrived already.

If you’re coming this way, send me the details—
The name of the ship, the port it leaves from—
So I can be down on the dock to help you
Unload your valises, your trunks and boxes
And stow them in the big van I’ll have rented.

I’d like this to be no weekend stay
Where a single change of clothes is sufficient.
Bring clothes for all seasons, enough to fill a closet;
And instead of a single book for the bedside table
Bring boxes of all your favorites.

I’ll be eager to clear half my shelves to make room,
Eager to read any titles you recommend.
If we’ve many in common, feel free to suggest
They prove my disposition isn’t to blame
For your long absence, just some problems of attitude,

A few bad habits you’ll help me set to one side.
We can start at dinner, which you’re welcome
To cook for us while I sweep and straighten
And set the table. Then light the candles
You’ve brought from afar for the occasion.

Light them and fill the room I supposed I knew
With a glow that shows me I was mistaken.
Then help me decide if I’m still the person I was
Or someone else, someone who always believed in you
And imagined no good reasons for your delay.

In 2003, before being demolished and replaced with a updated facility, the Massachusetts Mental Health Center was the site of a 4-day public art installation by artist Anna Schuleit, called “Bloom.” Schuleit undertook the task of memorializing the 91-year-old institution and the thousands of lives that it had touched through the epic project. With the use of 28,000 potted flowers including white tulips, blue African violets, red Regina mums, and orange begonias, “Bloom” encapsulated the hope of new life and growth of the patients that were part of the worn building’s history.

For more on the installation, including an interview with the artist, click here.

I first came across the work of Francesca Woodman about a week ago through a blog post about the exhibit of her work currently on display at the Guggenheim in New York and have been infatuated with her ever since. Though it was her beautiful dream-like black and white photos that first captured my interest, it was reading more about her short but accomplished life that really fascinated me. Born into an artist family, Woodman began taking photographs at the age of 13 and while still a student developed a complex and mature vision that produced a body of work of over 800 prints and over 10,000 negatives in less than 10 years of shooting. Her work, often done with long exposure times, explored the human body in movement and space and featured mostly herself and other young women as subjects. By studying her haunting work, it feels like she is giving outsiders a tiny glimpse into herself and the feelings of depression she was fighting at the time of her suicide in 1981, at the age of 22.

“…We are surrounded by Nothing. Everywhere we go, we have no idea what we’re not seeing. We don’t know what gravitational fields look like, what dark matter looks like, what quantum foam looks like, what de Kooning’s drawing looked like, but what the scientists and the artists are telling us, in their very different ways, is that if we lean in, and pay very close attention, sometimes what looks like Nothing is the best place to find the most interesting…somethings.”

-Robert Krulwich, “Two Ways To Think About Nothing”