A moment to deliberate

A moment to deliberate “I almost do not exist now and I know it; God knows what lives in me in place of me.”

justalexc:

arabian goddess | via Tumblr on We Heart It. http://weheartit.com/entry/69706323/via/shana_marsa

Reblogged from meetmrhippie-deactivated2014022

justalexc:

arabian goddess | via Tumblr on We Heart It. http://weheartit.com/entry/69706323/via/shana_marsa

Stoic Week 2013

middleeasternpoetry:


Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear, from anyone likely to put a sharp knife into the sacred, tender vision of your beautiful heart. - Hafiz 

Reblogged from middleeasternpoetry

middleeasternpoetry:

Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear, from anyone likely to put a sharp knife into the sacred, tender vision of your beautiful heart. - Hafiz 

blue-voids:

Dorota Buczkowska

Reblogged from blue-voids

blue-voids:

Dorota Buczkowska

         Kabhi Kabhie - Kabhi Kabhie (1976)


Sometimes the thought crosses my mind
that you’ve been made just for me.
Before this, you were dwelling somewhere in the stars; 
you were summoned to earth just for me…
Sometimes the thought crosses my mind
that this body and these eyes are kept in trust for me… that the dark shadows of your hair are for my sake alone,
that these lips and these arms are charged to my care…
Sometimes the thought crosses my mind    
just as the shehnaii sounds on the roads…
that it is my wedding night, and I am lifting your veil…
You’re shrinking for shame, blushing in my arms…
Sometimes the thought crosses my mind
that you’ll love me like this our whole lives through,
that you’ll always lift a loving gaze to me like this.
I know you’re a stranger, but even so,
sometimes the thought crosses my mind,

بر سنگ زدم دوش سبوی کاشی
سرمست بدم که کردم این عیاشی
با من بزبان حال می گفت سبو
من چو تو بدم تو نیز چون من باشی

عمر خیام


Against a stone I dashed the jug last night—
(Drunk was I then and made a shameful sight):
In muttered words I heard the jug forewarn:

"Like you was I—like mine shall be your plight!"


Saidi, quatrain 81

Reblogged from blue-voids

blue-voids:

Harmann Nitsch

tealiannoise:

work by Polly Morgan_taxidermist and multimedia artist

Reblogged from blue-voids

tealiannoise:

work by Polly Morgan_taxidermist and multimedia artist

blue-voids:

Antonis Giakoumakis

Reblogged from blue-voids

blue-voids:

Antonis Giakoumakis

Reblogged from blue-voids

Marina Abramovic and Ulay started an intense love story in the 70s, performing art out of the van they lived in. When they felt the relationship had run its course, they decided to walk the Great Wall of China, each from one end, meeting for one last big hug in the middle and never seeing each other again. At her 2010 MoMa retrospective Marina performed ‘The Artist Is Present’ as part of the show, a minute of silence with each stranger who sat in front of her. Ulay arrived without her knowing it and this is what happened.

(Source: ghostlyghettonyc)

"Losing one glove
is certainly painful,
but nothing
compared to the pain,
of losing one,
throwing away the other,
and finding

the first one again."

Reblogged from blue-voids

Piet Hein (via blue-voids)

I look at this and I think I’m about to erupt as it’s about to collapse. A mild eruption, a good eruption, but i don’t erupt, and the wave doesn’t collapse, its always just about to.

Reblogged from meleana

I look at this and I think I’m about to erupt as it’s about to collapse. A mild eruption, a good eruption, but i don’t erupt, and the wave doesn’t collapse, its always just about to.

7 years later, I am still thinking about Catalan’s Untitled(2004), his three hanging boys ever present in my head like a slide that quickly slips over an image of any particularly large tree I may see.

The sculpture is made up of three life-size mannequins of boys, hanging from the oldest tree in Milan. The work seems to stage a mass hallucination, which captures and yet wards off the tension and horror of our era as the three children hang from a tree, swinging in the wind, eyes wide open. 

Maurizio Cattelan’s work has always been a mirror for the tensions and hysteria of the contemporary world, “he takes  the world’s contradictions and holds them up for public judgment. Like a spotlight trained on reality”. Cattelan’s installation immediately provokes a range of reactions and a heated debate on art and censorship and what should be allowed in public spaces.

Shortly after being officially “open”, the exhibition came to a sudden end: a Milenese man, Franco De Benedetto, decided to cut the children down. He cut two ropes, but swayed and fell when cutting the third one. He was injured and taken to hospital. Cattelan didn’t press charges, but the city of Milan did, and won, convicting De Benedetto to three months jail time for tampering with and destroying a work of art. It did however take the prosecution over two years to establish this was in fact a work of art.

As it is often the case with Cattelan, it was supposed to create uncertainty about the exact role of art. Only here, it tampered with illusionary uncertainties as to whether the sculptures were real or not, and also functioned as a meditation on spectatorship.

Viewers are invited/drawn in to look at the work since it is after all ‘art’. The viewer however cannot help but want to turn away from the horrific image, while at the same time desiring to look on some more, and the more one looks the more voyeuristic potential the spectator is creating - and we are forced to consider the nature of our attraction to such a sight. Are we enjoying this? if not, why don’t we turn away.The viewing process is therefore ambivalent, forcing us to consider again and again why we look at images of violence and punishment, medieval and perverse more times than not - and reflect on thin, often transparent line between violence, and art.

(Source: http)

loltheorists:

Frederk Nitzschi

Reblogged from loltheorists

loltheorists:

Frederk Nitzschi

                                                       Derevo’s Harlekin

Addassinski plays the suffering Petrushka archetype, constantly in pain, wounded by circumstances and the uncontrollability of his own feelings.

His unrequited love pushing him in sheer desperation to rip open his chest and extract from it his heart - a beautiful red pepper- to present to his girl. She dances a little dance and we watch horrified at what we know she is about to do, eat it.

Another beautiful scene sees his monkey contemplate her beauty and wait for him to see her, but unrequited love returns once more to deliver its pang.

The performance ends with Petrushka and the plank of wood borne on his shoulders, rotating like the giant hands of a clock, a gliding plank but a stumbling man in an image of Christ with his cross, passing over the crowds’ heads as they duck- the man who must, like Atlas, bear the world’s burden creates an image that manages both to belittle the man and invest in him enormous power.

An apt quote about Derevo’s work, they are indeed “productions that often leave your brain spinning with questions but your heart twanging with comprehension.”