ctrl†z

[sprint95]

odesa 2018

[sometimes-now]

@thomasdozol

[lakonie-normal]

[aso-mohammadi]

[theleoisallinthemind]

Aso Mohammadi

[bauzeitgeist]

Detail of the extraordinary external spiral staircase on the Hotel Vallees des Princes, Douala, Cameroon, which to me manages to be both crudely executed yet exquisitely conceived. Truly a one-of-a-kind. See previous post for more on the building. Photo February 2019 Bauzeitgeist.

[scavengedluxury]

Bilbao, May 2019.

[amor-ascetico]

[bizarrism-deactivated20210929]

Corsican vendetta knife with floral detail

che la mia ferita sia mortale “may my wound be deadly”

[comebeforechristandmurderlove]

Sophie Calle Take care of yourself.

[architectureandfilmblog]

“Whether it’s sculptures, buildings or spaces, the outcome of what I do has to be poetry, which I believe is the measure of all things”

IN RESIDENCE: XAVIER CORBERO

A beautiful little film by Albert Moya on Catalan artist Xavier Corbero’s lifetime project: his own sculptural, labyrinthine home. Photo by Salva Lopez 

[theleoisallinthemind]

ROMAIN LAPRADE

[theleoisallinthemind]

Curtain call.. (at SFMOMA San Francisco Museum of Modern Art)

[musicktoplayinthedark]

Please Girls make NOISE !

- Mayuko Hino

- Sewer Goddess

- Military Position

- ANTIchildLEAGUE

- Lingua Ignota

- Pharmakon

- Puce Mary

- Pod Blotz

- Rusalka

- Rosemary Malign

[401jawn-deactivated20170116]

[xocheri]

X

[babywillowsmithlover]

[dying-dog]

[ofhouses]

584. Eduard Neuenschwander /// Single Family House Im Binzen /// Gockhausen, Zurich, Switzerland /// 1964-69

OfHouses guest curated by AFGH. (Photos: © Heinrich Helfenstein. Source: “Eduard Neuenschwander Architekt und Umweltgestalter”, gta Verlag: 2009.)

[comebeforechristandmurderlove]

The adagio says very distinctly: no more words of love! I am at the  fountain again, watching the turtles pissing green milk. All night I was lying on a bench outside the mall while the globe was sprayed with warm turtle piss and the horses stiffened with priapic fury galloped like mad without ever touching the ground. All night long I smell the lilacs in the little dark room where she is taking down her hair, the lilacs that I bought for her as she went to meet S. He came back with a heart full of love, she said, and the lilacs are in her hair, her mouth, they are choking her armpits. The room is swimming with love and turtle piss and warm lilacs and the horses are galloping like mad. In the morning dirty teeth and scum on the window-panes.

Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer