Enescu in France @enesco - Tumblr Blog

Quint Buchholz (German, b. 1957, Stolberg, Germany) - 1: The Cat’s Assembly (Katzenversammlung), 1995 2: Full Moon from the book Nero Corleone by Elke Heidenreich 3: On The Windowsill At Night (Nachts vor dem Fenster), 1995 Mixed Media

Disclaimer?

I haven’t been on here in a very long time and probably won’t be - there are several unanswered message in my inbox but from what I remember, sometimes I would message people back directly? Sometimes not? Anyway - to anyone who may have thought that I completely blanked you at some point (probably years ago), I am sorry; I went cold turkey at a random point in time and explained NOTHING! To anyone. I hope you’re all well. :)

candybanshee

towards a gentle academic

be up front and honest about the things you do not know

acknowledge the intrinsic value of others’ knowledge bases, even if they do not seem important to you from your institutional context

do not feign mastery where you have none

respect the gaps in others’ knowledge bases

be generous, not only with others

but also with yourself

you overwork yourself at the risk of legitimizing a culture of overwork

privilege voices and perspectives that have historically been left out of the academy

nothing is ever neutral or apolitical

support the progress of other scholars

collaboration over competition

allydsgn

<3

giodelcaso-blog

Willem de Kooning

neougly

The Birth of Venus (1483-1485), Sandro Botticelli (Italy)

Venus after Botticelli (2008), Yin Xin (Chinese)

wnyc

Happy National Poetry Month from this first grader:

We did the soft wind. We danst slowly. We swrld aroned. We danst soft. We lisin to the mozik. We danst to the mozik. We made personal space.

via

shinji--moon-deactivated2017123

Shinj do yu ever go to the grocery store and buy donuts to eat them in the parking lot alone in your car? Sometimes I get overwhelmed! I don't know what else to do!

honestly i do this like once twice a week

#I love this

fragmentarie

She exclaimed: Oh Madonna, an expression I had never heard her use. What’s wrong, I asked. Gasping for breath, she cried out that the car’s boundaries were dissolving, the boundaries of Marcello, too, at the wheel were dissolving, the thing and the person were gushing out of themselves, mixing liquid metal and flesh. She used that term: dissolving boundaries. It was on that occasion that she resorted to it for the first time; she struggled to elucidate the meaning, she wanted me to understand what the dissolution of boundaries meant and how much it frightened her. She was still holding my hand tight, breathing hard. She said that the outlines of things and people were delicate, that they broke like cotton thread. She whispered that for her it had always been that way, an object lost its edges and poured into another, into a solution of heterogeneous materials, a merging and mixing. She exclaimed that she had always had to struggle to believe that life had firm boundaries, for she had known since she was a child that it was not like that—it was absolutely not like that—and so she couldn’t trust in their resistance to being banged and bumped. Contrary to what she had been doing, she began to utter a profusion of overexcited sentences, sometimes kneading in the vocabulary of the dialect, sometimes drawing on the vast reading she had done as a girl. She muttered that she mustn’t ever be distracted: if she became distracted real things, which, with their violent, painful contortions, terrified her, would gain the upper hand over the unreal ones, which, with their physical and moral solidity, pacified her; she would be plunged into a sticky, jumbled reality and would never again be able to give sensations clear outlines. A tactile emotion would melt into a visual one, a visual one would melt into an olfactory one, ah, what is the real world, Lenù, nothing, nothing, nothing about which one can say conclusively: it’s like that. And so if she didn’t stay alert, if she didn’t pay attention to the boundaries, the waters would break through, a flood would rise, carrying everything off in clots of menstrual blood, in cancerous polyps, in bits of yellowish fiber.

Elena Ferrante, The Story of the Lost Child (via fragmentarie)

crushedlittlelesbian

nice

jennacoleman

Jen at Glastonbury Festival Day 4 - 27th June 2015

tuliphil

dream big, kid

#nO #I am emotional

uglypancake-art

neko atsume, the game that will be the end of me

afrodesiacworldwide

elegancebeautywealth

Dark skin. Bright two piece. She just made me so happy for life.

ayemuhhfucka

so perfect

pashionforfashion21allday

😍

#low key in love

humanoidhistory

Saturn’s moon Mimas seen against the backdrop of the ringed planet’s northern hemisphere, November 7, 2004, observed by the Cassini space probe. (ESA)

#YES I LOVE MIMAS #Lil shepherd death star moon #it's the smallest thing to have been made spherical by its own self-grqvity!!#don't quote me on these haha