Bruce Burger, Esoteric Anatomy: The Body as Consciousness

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Bruce Burger, Esoteric Anatomy: The Body as Consciousness
the way ivan aivazovsky looks at the sea…i think…i think that’s what love looks like.
love is surrounding yourself with people who see you this clearly
Still the freakiest fact about him is that despite being as tall as a person or more, he banged out these beauties in a day or two at most (and smaller ones ina matter of hours). The longest he spent on a painting, at age 81, to make his largest ever painting, was TEN DAYS:
It is 2.9×4.3 meters large. That’s 9'4"×14'1" for people in other measurement systems. It’s HUGE. There are artists out there that spend years on paintings much smaller than this. He was not one of them.
He also didn’t only paint the sea, but he MOSTLY painted the sea. Very few people could draw light filtering through waves the way this guy did and apparently it was tied into his layering technique that allowed him to paint so goddamn fast.
He is obviously my most favorite painter ever.
!!!
took me too long to realize the descriptor “as tall as a person or more” was about the paintings and not him
"damn I'm crying over an insect" "why am I having such strong feelings over how the sky looks" "it's weird how happy this small thing made me feel" THAT'S BECAUSE YOU LIVE HERE!!!! you live on this earth. everything all the time is an experience, no matter how common or mundane. this world is unique. so are its small moments. it is good to enjoy a tiny thing. you love the world even at its smallest scale.
The beef between night owls and early birds is so silly. We complete each other. Evolutionary-speaking, wouldn’t it be useful to have people naturally alert at dawn to watch for saber tooth tigers and people alert at midnight watching for like, wolves?? Keeping us safe with internal clocks set to random.
All times of the day are beautiful.
🥺 that's actually very sweet.
to be loved is to be changed 🖤💜
richard siken, in pithead chapel
mothers and daughters existing as wretched mirrors of each other: i am all you could have been and you are all i might be.
mothers and daughters existing as wretched mirrors of each other: i am all you could have been and you are all i might be.
hey professor sorry for not responding to your emails i was mourning the death of who i used to be
girl help i’m starting over again for the 1000th time & i’m beginning to think that life is a never-ending cycle of starting over & i actually have to make peace with that in order to move forward
coney island on its first day open since hurricane sandy.
EARTHQUAKES ARE THE WEIRDEST THINGS LIKE WE ARE FLOATING IN SPACE AND OUR PLANET JUST DECIDES TO SPONTANEOUSLY DO THE CHIMICHANGA
mental illness made me so desperate for joy that i forgot it was this simple… feeling the ocean against your skin… a really good guitar riff… sun on your back… holding the door for a stranger… a cold shower on a hot day…….. the world is like a cradle and i am just a little baby. eyes wide open there is so much to see
“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through. Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximising scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.”
– Katherine May, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times
Neither land nor women are territories of conquest
“Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.”
— Vincent Van Gogh