On the other side of the wall,
And the silence ripeness,
And the ripeness all."
— W. H. Auden, The Sea and the Mirror
And the silence ripeness,
And the ripeness all."
via proustitute
~waves
28 February 2012
26 February 2012
24 February 2012
21 February 2012
20 February 2012
" Poetic License "
"Robert Montgomery plasters poetry over obtrusive advertisements in urban landscapes. This illegal, experiential hijacking of the very images that disgusted Jean Baudrillard– commodifying luxury, commodifying people, commodifying beauty– is brazen, emotional, tangible. It’s like saying just because they put those messages there, it doesn’t mean I have to ingest. In fact, to hell with them, I’m going to start sustainably sourcing my food."
Kristen's back to publishing some of her latest writings on the web/
Hoorah!
its professor, and european , culture and personal
Sasa Stucin
in Brighton
via jesuisperdu
new label collection waves. which shall include references to:
the sea, islands, waves, lighthouses..
18 February 2012
another missed opp. to see Nick Cave & soundsuits in action..
thankful for that one peep look at the Corocoran
..&/but cant wait to get to the
Fabric Workshop and Museum
17 February 2012
16 February 2012
" Alone, I rock my basins; I am mistress of my fleet of ships. But here, twisting the tassels of this brocaded curtain in my hostess's window, I am broken into separate pieces; I am no longer one. What then is the knowledge that Jinny has as she dances; the assurance that Susan has as, stooping quietly beneath the lamplight, she draws the white cotton through the eye of her needle? They say, Yes; they say, No; they bring their fists down with a bang on the table. But I doubt; I tramble; I see the wild thorn tree shake its shadow in the desert."
V Woolf
The Waves
V Woolf
The Waves
13 February 2012
" Here am i shedding one of my life-skins, and all they will say is 'Bernard is spending ten days in Rome.' Here am I marching up and down this terrace alone, unoriented. But observe how dots and dashes are beginning, as I walk, to run themselves into continuous lines, how things are losing the bald, the separate identity that they had as they had as i walked up those steps. The great red pot is now a reddish streak in a wave of yellowish green. The world is beginning to move past me like the banks of a hedge when the train starts, like the waves of the sea when a steamer moves. I am moving too, am becoming involved in the general sequence when one thing follows another and it seems inevitable that the tree should come, then the telegraph-pole, then the break in the hedge. "
V Woolf
The Waves
V Woolf
The Waves
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