Carrie Fountain, from Burn Lake; “Late Spring in the Mesilla Valley”

@theartofmadeline
art blog(derogatory)

Kaledo Art
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
One Nice Bug Per Day
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Not today Justin
Jules of Nature
🪼

Discoholic 🪩
sheepfilms
Xuebing Du
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

pixel skylines

Janaina Medeiros
No title available

JVL

No title available
hello vonnie
Keni
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Sweden
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Romania

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Spain

seen from Pakistan

seen from Malaysia

seen from Spain

seen from Singapore
@melancholicwait
Carrie Fountain, from Burn Lake; “Late Spring in the Mesilla Valley”
I am in a really weird point in my life if U can't tell
I’m gonna go drink some water and see where that takes me….
Luca Ponsato - Does Anyone See My Suffering
Mid-19th century cardboard keepsake box containing poetry verses.
Nick Knight, Rose, 2000
don’t shorten your words, i like your details.
horse shapes ✸
Words by Andrea Gibson
youll be able to find books and movies and music that change your life until the day you die. that's pretty good
home has always been a non-place, a gateway to the next "home", a place to stay overnight, even if for many nights that became years. but when I wake up from the dream of having my walls and stains on the ceiling, outside there is always fog.
unlike the mist that descends like a wave over the hill, this one is dense. prevents movement, does not let my tired eyes see the next stop.
I remember the view from my first home, where someone stole who I was. from my bed I could see the roof. Sometimes I sat there, being a little 5-year-old girl, sitting on the red tiles and admiring the deep blue sky. I remember thinking that maybe one day I could fly away.
at my second stop, I had to look at the fence, the ones that prevent the violence from entering, outhought it slept in the next room.
I flew from there, crossed a hill and made a nest at its foot. In that house of green carpet and pink bathroom, I discovered what solitude was. But the lights and colors persisted and a transmission tower flashed its light in Morse code for me, telling me stories about my future, so I could sleep peacefully. I was also taken from there, my life was like its walls: not cared enought, cold. but at least there I could hear the river’s sound.
In this one they said it was not a passage. I lost my view, but they said the roof was ours. And it was to it that I looked for years, when I didn't want to get out of bed, when I heard the screams, when I cried in my own bed just wishing to go home. the roof had square shadows made from the lights of other windows, perfect and symmetrical, they complemented me and my imperfection. as everything I ever own, the house were her to take, it has never been mine.
the promises were always empty and full of resentment, as were the houses when I left. a large room filled with nothing. what once existed, and what could've happened there. the possibilities. the rage.
I'll take everything and put it in my suitcase: the tiles, the blue, the fences, the lights in the hill, the shadows on the ceiling, promises, spite and possibilities. I'll take them to another place. the morning fog does not allow me to see yet, but it has dawned. and the memories and I deserve a new view.
-- april, 2024
Sometimes you gotta make yourself drink water and sit in direct sunlight, like some kind of wilted houseplant
North Poles by Samia
insp. heavensghost
Photograph of two women kissing captioned "This is Hallie and I. Be sure and notice that it is me." (C. 1900s)