Magie Spoutnik by Lancôme, 1958
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Magie Spoutnik by Lancôme, 1958
Bokhara, suzani, late 19th century, Uzbekistan, polychrome silk embroidery on cotton ground · Sotheby’s
Selected vegetables from the kitchen garden, 1978
Tom Wesselmann
Nude Banner, 1968
vinyl applique banner
sweet citrus
An OTTOMAN SILK EMBROIDERED BOHCA - Turkey, late 17th/early 18th century
Source: bonhams.com
Sleep Walk
FIGURES, LANDSCAPES
Nine new prints available from now until February 14th, via www.neilkrugstudio.com
NK x
“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born. The world you see is just a movie in your mind. Rocks don’t see it. Bless and sit down. Forgive and forget. Practice kindness all day to everybody and you will realize you’re already in heaven now. That’s the story. That’s the message. Nobody understands it, nobody listens, they’re all running around like chickens with heads cut off. I will try to teach it but it will be in vain, s'why I’ll end up in a shack praying and being cool and singing by my woodstove making pancakes.”
— Jack Kerouac, a letter to his first wife Edie, written in 1957.
Jiri Dostal Chrysanthemum and Magnifying Glass
“All afternoon we sit and become lovers, [your] hand in mine like a bird’s delicate wing. Everywhere the sparrows go down to the river for the sweet tears of communion. Soon, in the yellow last light, we will begin again to speak of that light in the house that is not ours, that is only what we come to out of the fields in the slow-plunging knowledge of words trying to find a way home.”
— Dave Smith, from “August, on the Rented Farm,” Floating in Solitude: Three Volumes of Poetry (University of Illinois Press, 1996)
Old cottage built into the canyon wall. Monticello, Utah.
Drepanid Moth (Drapetodes sp., Drepanidae)
Book stall in Sulaymaniyah, Iraq.
Photo by dastan khdir
Dozens of NYC Subway riders, fresh off a Robyn concert, singing “Dancing On My Own” while waiting for the E train. (Video by Triszh Hermogenes)
I’m reblogging this again because the absolute joy in this video is something I haven’t seen in such a long time that I’d forgotten this aspect of humanity.
Moonrise - Józef Chełmoński, 1888.
Polish, 1849–1914
oil on canvas, 55 x 82 cm
The LA Times California Home Book | Carolyn S. Murray ©1982