tracing contrails

I'm Loika. This is where I (mostly) reblog things I enjoy. My sketchblog is over here.

[claravillaceque]

From my short animation film “Vendredi” (Friday)  Clara Villaceque. Follow me on Instagram : @or.tie 

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

“Isn’t it odd how much fatter a book gets when you’ve read it several times? As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells…and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower…both strange and familiar.” - Cornelia Funke, The Inkheart

[boykeats]

C. T. Salazar, “Noah’s Nameless Wife Takes Inventory,” featured in Ruminate Magazine

[barcarole]

The church of Notre-Dame de Paris is still no doubt, a majestic and sublime edifice. But, beautiful as it has been preserved in growing old, it is difficult not to sigh, not to wax indignant, before the numberless degradations and mutilations which time and men have both caused the venerable monument to suffer, without respect for Charlemagne, who laid its first stone, or for Philip Augustus, who laid the last.

On the face of this aged queen of our cathedrals, by the side of a wrinkle, one always finds a scar. Tempus edax, homo edacior [Time is a devourer; man, more so].

Victor Hugo, Notre-Dame de Paris: Book Third, Chapter I. Notre Dame (trans. Isabel Hapgood) Eugène Atget, Notre Dame, Paris, 1926.

[evoketheforms]

[intimatum]

Rebecca Lindenberg, The Believer interview

[oofpoetry]

You want to know what it was like? It was like my whole life had a fever. Whole acres of me were on fire. The sun talked dirty in my ear all night. I couldn’t drive past a wheatfield without doing it violence. I couldn’t even look at a bridge. I used to go out in the brush sometimes, So far out there no one could hear me, And just burn. I felt all right then. I couldn’t hurt anyone else. I was just a pillar of fire. It wasn’t the burning so much as the loneliness. It wasn’t the loneliness so much as the fear of being alone. Christ look at you pouring from the rocks. You’re so cold you’re boiling over. You’ve got stars in your hair. I don’t want to be around you. I don’t want to drink you in. I want to walk into the heart of you And never walk back out.

Nico Alvarado, “Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls”  (via facinaoris)

[parasoli]

“falling garden” by gerda steiner and jorg lenzlinger for 50th venice biennale in 2003 in church san stae - grand canal.

[luna-linaa-deactivated20120522]

[dreamdeath]

Virginia Woolf’s suicide note to her husband Leonard before drowning herself.

On 28 March 1941, Virginia Woolf put on her overcoat, filled its pockets with stones, and walked into the River Ouse near her home and drowned herself. Her body was not found until 18 April 1941. Her husband buried her cremated remains under an elm in the garden of Monk’s House.

[jettpack]

A bunch of drawings from a series I was doing in late 2015. The sketchbook they were in got stolen along with my backpack out of a bar in january 2016. It really fucked me up at the time. I always meant to go back to it. Super glad I had really high res scans of them all. That first one was featured in Spectrum 23 I think. All done in Graphite

[changan-moon]

Chinese garden by 张大水.  Location: 浙江省，湖州市，南浔镇，小莲庄。

[peggyshrooms]

V. ( Rotoscope from the one and only Stéphane Lambiel . I might not be able to skate but I certainly felt his energy in his spins, just beautiful)

[antoniopolophotography]

[xavrdolan]

Uncle Yanco dir. Agnes Varda

[sunrec]

You may have noticed that the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread. You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words: but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that. Again, you have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw - but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realise that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported. Even in your hobbies, has there not always been some secret attraction which the others are curiously ignorant of - something, not to be identified with, but always on the verge of breaking through, the smell of cut wood in the workshop or the clapclap of water against the boat’s side? Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it - tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest - if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say “Here at last is the thing I was made for.” We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want, the thing we desired before we met our wives or made our friends or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife or friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all.

C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (via sunrec)

[umisima-osakana]

https://twitter.com/Kaisen_Tobiuo

[butteryplanet]

I think I could watch dust forever.

so I stayed at this cabin earlier this summer. one day I woke up at 5a.m. and saw the incredible light coming through the front door. I couldn’t just let it go and fall asleep again. I set my camera up, shook some old pillows and caught this beautiful second before the wind blew all of this out

[azmtk]