ChaosoahC

All the things you'd never do.

[chaosoahc]

The Reverend Harry Powell.

[chaosoahc]

Yves Klein working on an installation.

[chaosoahc]

[thereconstructionists]

French-Cuban writer Anaïs Nin (February 21, 1903 – January 14, 1977) endures as one of history’s most prolific, dedicated, and timelessly insightful diarists. The fifteen volumes of her journals published to date, which she began at the age of eleven and kept up until shortly before her death, span six decades of profound introspection and keen observation of public life.

Nin crossed paths with some of modernity’s most celebrated writers, artists, psychiatrists, and intellectuals, including Edmund Wilson, Gore Vidal, Otto Rank, Salvador Dalí, John Cage, Robert Duncan, Peggy Guggenheim, and her longtime lover Henry Miller. Her records of these encounters and relationships read like a lyrical alternative history of 20th century intellectual life.

But more than merely recording public life and her private reflections, Nin’s journals exude a remarkable faith in the creative spirit, a kind of optimism about life and the wisdom of the heart even in the direst of circumstances, from world wars to life in poverty to repeated professional rejection. Hers was a tireless quest for wholeness and integration, blending a cultural insider’s perceptiveness with an outsider’s sensitivity – an immigrant, a woman, a struggling writer, who at one point even founded her own press in order to self-publish her and her literary friends’ work, learning to operate a heavy letterpress machine and painstaking typesetting the books by hand. 

Nin was also a relentless champion of the female spirit, poetically venerating “woman’s role in the reconstruction of the world” in a 1944 diary entry – a sentiment from which this very project borrows its title.

Learn more: Brain Pickings  |  Wikipedia

[chaosoahc]

I know the only truth! The others – cast aside! There’s no need for the men of Earth to fight with others! Look, there’s the evening soon and soon it’ll be the night. What you about, colonels, poets, lovers? Now wind is near the soil and dew lay on the grass, The starry blizzard soon will freeze into the heaven, And soon under the earth will sleep each one of us – By whom a sleep on it to others hadn’t been given. Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, October 8, 2004

Marina Tsvetaeva, Russian revolutionary poet.

[chaosoahc]

Suppose we had a finely tuned, ultra-sensitive instrument that we could use to zoom in on and tune in to the nuances and subtleties of nothingness. But what would it mean to zoom in on nothingness, to look and listen with ever-increasing sensitivity and acuity, to move to finer and finer scales of detail of . . . ? What is the metric of emptiness? What is the measure of nothingness? How can we approach it?

Karen Barad, from 100 Notes - 100 Thoughts

Artist books, Documenta 13

[chaosoahc]

Evolution of the universe

[chaosoahc]

(Wo)Man Amplifier photographic study

[chaosoahc]

(Wo)Man Amplifiers

[chaosoahc]

Hahn Bin

[chaosoahc]

Deer Quake Now the deer fever tears apart cells inside my ravaged, already so harrowed leather body. In my breath, tracks of moon wind are smarting against the throat and windpipe. I have moved around the deer, I have fastened my fibers to the hard dancing deer. Steam rose from frozen wells, ice floes chafed the channel, cold sweat broke out of the skin wall between my being and the cold. It was a hopelessly treacherous time. I have moved around the rare glass deer of September. I have moved around the timid water, by the closed border of the fiber deer. And the crack rushes through the black glass. It crackles and shimmers, it quakes in the deer, it quakes and quivers in the breastbone deer. The leather falcon flies north in sky-shrieking torture. There is a light in the deer, there is a light in the deer, there is a light deep inside the cavity deer! Now the blood surface song surface is heaving! It quakes through me and the deer. Fibers ache in my sharp border. Now the painful deer tears now it breaks. Now the deer and I burst and are exposed -

Aase Berg (Translated from the Swedish by Johannes Goransson)

[chaosoahc]

The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black

[chaosoahc]

Kembra Pfahler

[chaosoahc]

You Are My Sister

[chaosoahc]

Antony

[chaosoahc]

Bianca Casady (photo by Samantha West)

[toh-ska]

Queen Nefertiti