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Votive Terracotta Eye, 3rd-1st century BCE, HAM: Sculpture

Votive terracotta eye. Reddish buff clay, porous, with gritty black impurities. Most likely from a sanctuary votive deposit in Etruria (central Italy). Such terracotta eyes may have been given either as a request or as an offering of thanks for healing… Size: 6.3 x 4.9 x 1.7 cm Medium: Terracotta

https://www.harvardartmuseums.org/collections/object/287860

academic-vampire

𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔫’𝔱 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯

designeverywhere

Zhao Dai

cosechadehuellas

John Ruskin, A Study of modern Danish Porcelain, 1875.

matchagirl

Ayako Miyawaki (1905-1995) - Fruits in Pedestral Bowl n.d., Textile quilt

enchantedbook

Edward Gorey's wonderfully odd Christmas illustration

Second World War. Jackie Moggridge, ATA pilot, delivering new and repaired aircraft from the factory to military airfields.

South African Battle of Britain Heroine, by Peter Dickens.

#Jackie Moggridge

lamignonette

"In 1895, Wilhelm Roentgen discovered x-rays and altered the course of medical history". More here. Via: @PublicDomainRev

#x-rays #Wilhelm Roentgen #The Public Domain Review

Poem III: For Moja

If you manage to hold hard against the freezing, biting cold, I promise summer will come. That big ball of fire will catch and warm cheeks once numb. When you're standing alone and you're shaking to your toes, don't fold your head into your chest. Clamp eyes tight and take your trusted rest. Rest for days if you have to. Howling creatures are just noise. Howling mouths are just boys. Clamp eyes tight and smear on a smile. It'll take time to find anything worth your while, but as long as you feel your feet hover, you'll find all this easy to discover, so feel it. Feel it all. Feel it all. The... the fall, the songs, the base, the crawl, the stamping and the dancing, the faces with clear eyes, the streetlights that cut the dark, parents clinging at the park, bobbing bodies soft to beats, the way she smiles so sweet, growing souls, growing bold, growing old. Don't fold. Keep your hands shut and hold. Don't let terror keep you from the sweet and you'll find you'll come out alive from the heat, sleek and complete. Moja Vesna, by Sara Kern.

#Sara Kern #Moja Vesna #Moja & Vesna

Poem II: The Interrupted Poem

Parties mumble on. Champagne flows and you're stuck looking down at your toes. Steady tears refill the ocean they drained dry. It takes everything in you not to ask why... ...you've had such bad luck. Why are you stuck drunk and fucked alone on this rock next to hundreds and thousands of docks? Your voice is too weak to yell, and even if you did, no-one would hear you over the sounds and smells of liquored-up bodies trying to show what they can sell. Is it... your fate to be drowned on this rock? Or are you just down on your luck? Moja Vesna, by Sara Kern.

#Sara Kern #Moja Vesna #Moja & Vesna

Poem I: It´s not about Mum

There's a spider... that rolls around in my mind. She likes to think that she can call herself mine, but I say no. It's easy for her, she can web up to the stars, but I'm stuck here, scratching at my old scars. I won't ride the streets she raised me in, failed me in, embraced me in, I won't talk of the cold sky, the way I threw my head up to say goodbye, because she creeps up there. She makes you weep up there. Calls us all the bad guy. See, it's no fun watching life sit by. Stained eyes, look away and forget to say that you are the ones who left us this way. We all have spiders... webbing in our minds. At least I can say I look at mine, look at its thousand sparkling eyes, pour it wine, set it free every now and then again to breathe, but you couldn't even look at yours in its face, did everything you could to try and debase its hold on you. So as usual, you let it crawl up my legs, up my spine, into my mind, and as usual I called it mine. Moja Vesna, by Sara Kern.