.Listen.

The stuff here is just whatever I like. I also post some art of mine and it wil be tagged as "NormaRamirezArt". All other work belongs to it's respectful owner. Other than that, enjoy your stay and say hello, if you'd like.

[nobrashfestivity]

Vincent van Gogh Old Vineyard with Peasant Woman pencil & wash, 1890

[granstromjulius]

Hilma af Klint

[careful-disorder]

Hilma af Klint, Buddhas Standpoint in the Earthly Life No. 3

[1910-again-deactivated20180810]

Thomas Wright, The Pleiades c.1711-1786

[careful-disorder]

Olive trees above Assisi

Illustration from Arthur Rackham: His Life and Work by Derek Hudson

[metamorphesque]

Perhaps the World Ends Here, Joy Harjo

[atmospheric-minimalism]

Erin Hanson

[meisterdrucke]

Trees and Undergrowth, 1887 by Vincent van Gogh

[beguines]

Mohja Kahf, "Most Wanted", Hagar Poems

[the-night-picture-collector]

Gustav Klimt, Bauernhaus in Buchberg, 1911

[huariqueje]

Japanese Print and Clivias - Cressida Campbell , 2013.

Australian , b. 1960 -

Watercolour on incised woodblock , 146.0 x 95.5 cm.

[theinternetarchive]

'olive trees,' vincent van gogh, oil on canvas, 1889.

[oublimart-deactivated20250906]

Vincent van Gogh

[metamorphesque]

Isn't it interesting how Time doesn't really "pass"? Time simply is. It sits there, unmoving yet unyielding — like a landscape — while we stroll, sprint, and stumble through the vastness of it.

We often imagine Time as something that flows, something that slips through our fingers, but perhaps it's more like terrain: endless, constant, neutral and indifferent.

We chart our lives across it, measure change against it, and yet it remains untouched. We grow older, we move on, we leave things behind — but Time stays. It doesn't rush to outrun us or linger to comfort us.

And maybe that’s why it feels so elusive — because we expect it to move with us, and yet, it's motionless. Time doesn’t pass. We do.

[ends-2-beginnings]

Vincent Van Gogh

Almond Tree in Blossom

April 1888, Arles

[museoprivado]

The Green Vineyard (1888) by Vincent van Gogh

[quotespile]

“Here is how I spend my days now. I live in a beautiful place. I sleep in a beautiful bed. I eat beautiful food. I go for walks through beautiful places. I care for people deeply. At night my bed is full of love, because I alone am in it. I cry easily, from pain and pleasure, and I don’t apologize for that. In the mornings I step outside and I’m thankful for another day. It took me many years to arrive at such a life.”

— Ottessa Moshfegh, Eileen