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Reason #1 why Shinee has ruined me and I can’t get into other groups.

where is that renaissance painting with those two fellers and a giant fucking random skull on the floor that looks like it was accidentally stretched out in photoshop

officialdamonalbarn

THANK YOU

hickeywiththegoodhair

somebody please explain

dykemisspiggy

Someone once told me it’s like that because it was designed to be hung in a stairwell so the skull pops out as you walk past.

iwilltrytobereasonable

…I guess it works but you have to be at a pretty sharp angle

caecilius-est-pater

There was a whole trend at one point where artists would include something in their paintings (usually a skull, for whatever reason) that’s super distorted in just the right way so that it looks normal if you hold the painting up to a convex/concave mirror. I have absolutely no idea why. But I think that’s what’s going on here.

crtter

In case anyone’s curious, here’s what it looks like when you walk past it irl:

It does have a 3D effect to it! It’s pretty neat, guess it would be even more impressive to people from the 14th century.

midnightvoyager

honestly, people just looking at the skull are missing the real deal here

You can read any implied text you see in this thing, even the book, that’s how detailed it is. Look at the painting on those letters!

jesus christ you’re just showing off now, Hans!

HANS OH MY GOD

anyway, the skull apparently had some meaning about the transcendence of death, you can only see it clearly when you can’t see the world clearly and vice versa, but man, I’m all about the detail in this guy’s shit

queen-sammie

No, I think you’re missing the real deal here

anais-ninja-bitch

as an art historian, i think this is the best post on tumblr

milfsisyphus

salvadorbonaparte

Every once in a while a new music genre gets invented and people from all different countries are like this slaps we got to start doing that and combine it with our own music styles and that's beautiful

salvadorbonaparte

There was a time when China got really into jazz and so did Ethiopia. Cambodia got really into Psychedelic Rock to the point that there's now an contemporary American band specialised in this style of music. There's a band from my hometown in Germany singing in Spanish and I know several early 20th century Japanese and Chinese artists were doing the same. Zambia had it's own Rock movement. Ska is from Jamaica but I know Japanese, Basque and Spanish ska bands. You can probably find hip hop and rap in all languages of the world by now. I watched an entire documentary on the history of South American rock and roll. There is a Cuban orchestra mixing Mozart and guajira. Finnish tango. German covers of Irish folk music. Blues from the Sahara.

metamorphobic

I love metal and I have a playlist dedicated to bands that are inspired by their native cultures, the Hu is the biggest band on there, they use a lot of traditional Mongolian instruments and use throat singing. Bloodywood got quite popular on tiktok for making Indian inspired nu metal and it's so good. There's something so beautiful and inspiring about taking a genre of music so (often) Americanised and turning it into a beautiful fusion.

nchntd

In the club

vacuously-true

I think I’m literally never gonna be sick of this masterpiece. I think watching it on a loop for eight hours could fix me. Dancing’s what clears my soul. Dancing’s what makes me whole.

itscolossal

Fantastic Creatures and Common Animals Materialize in Miguel Arzabe’s Woven Bestiaries

metamorphesque

What the Living Do, Marie Howe

cloudbeam

Written for her brother, John Howe, who died of complications of AIDS

itsgonnabeanofrommedawg

full poem:

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of. It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it. Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless: I am living. I remember you.