Even What Might be Priceless

OUR MINDS ARE FINITE. There are reasons that have compounded to an almost comprehension by our feeble selves. And their closeness is what strikes us hollow and suddenly primitive. The salivating suddenly seems intentional, and we, weighted creatures, are skilled hoarders of embarrassment and ignorance. - To the everything sleeping in consciousness and so proud - (I post what I want)

[huariqueje]

Model Reading    -    Pavel Tchelitchew , c.1925

Russian-American, 1898-1957  

Pastel on card , 8 ½ x 11 ½ in.

[ephemeral-ghosts]

[infected]

[ifnemfrog]

Waving and shining in a light like no other. Nemfrog. 2019. 

source

[having-it-all]

Annie Ovenden (1945 -) The Valley in the Mist (England, 2005) oil on paper

[timbllr]

via @WeHeartIt

[fleurjardin]

[telugus-moved-deactivated201908]

eric | @str8s

[huariqueje]

Thérèse     -       Per Krohg, 1925

Norwegian, 1889-1965

Oil on canvas, 90 x 60 cm.

[arctium]

[freelittle-soul]

[dirt-legends]

Springtime above Salt Lake City - sound on

[cotdeath-blog-blog]

[mooonjellies]

Jonathan Goddard1

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

St. Vincent

Cherry Soda Studios, Los Angeles.

17 January 2019.

By Djeneba Aduayom

[delta-breezes]

[sputniksea]

https://www.instagram.com/p/BsSGBGUgUWg