jenny holzer

if i look back, i am lost

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jenny holzer
“Tact, like empathy, is based on a certain form of mutual understanding. But while empathy implies the idea of entering someone else’s mind inasmuch as it is linked to the presumption that ‘I know how you feel’, tact exists to create a form of bonding between individuals that is not based on the idea of intrusion but, conversely, on the respect for existing boundaries, and on a willingness not always to assume that one knows. While empathy requires resonance and proximity, tact is there to restore distance, and to accept the difference between the individuals involved in order to protect and preserve their dignity. Tact is based on an attention towards otherness.”
— Katja Haustein, “How to Be Alone with Others: Plessner, Adorno, and Barthes on Tact” (via mehreenkasana)
YOSHITOMO NARA. The Head of Black Cosmic Dog (2001)
Two young people reading in the Purple Bamboo Park of Beijing, 1957-59.
Photo by Brian Brake.
"Offering" by Ulla Thynell
Ulla Thynell is also on tumblr! https://ullathynell.tumblr.com/
Harold Pinter
noor hindi fuck your lecture on craft, my people are dying
kofi
my great-grandmas kitchen window
I unfortunately ate too hard on this commission. I’m bloated from all the eating.
latest sketches!
I love with my teeth
"Halley's Comet, from photo." The book of stars. 1920.
Internet Archive
Affirmation to youth living in prison after Assata Shakur
by Eve L. Ewing
The Wildest Bet is the Winning Bet Maria Popova
You wouldn’t have bet on it, the battered rock orbiting a star from the discount bin of the universe, wouldn’t have guessed that it would bloom mitochondria and music, that it would mushroom mountains and minds,
and the hummingbird wing whirring a hundred times faster than your eye can blink,
and your eye that took five hundred million years from trilobite to telescope,
and the unhurried orange lichen growing on the black boulder two hundred times more slowly than the tectonic plates beneath are drifting apart
and the marbled orca carrying her dead calf down the entire edge of the continent, carrying the weight of consciousness
and consciousness how it windows this tenement of breath and bone with wonder, how it hovers over everything, gigantic and unnecessary, like music, like love.
x
“Truthfully, this is the fabric of all my fantasies: love shown not by a kiss or a wild look or a careful hand but by a willingness for research. I don’t dream of someone who understands me immediately, who seems to have known me my entire life, who says, I know me too. I want someone keen to learn my own strange organization, amazed at what’s revealed; someone who asks, and then what, and then what?
From The Giant’s House, Elizabeth McCracken