backstage shooting still life a few weeks ago

still life from last year
07.21.14 /15:35/ 164

Taken from: The Invisibles: Vintage Portraits of Love and Pride: Gay Couples in the Early Twentieth Century by Sebastien Lifshitz
07.21.14 /03:05/ 185

07.21.14 /02:59/ 8236


“What is it that an art student is learning when she learns to use her own blindness or ignorance as a tool? That blindness can lead to insight is something I was never taught as a philosophy major, and I suspect I would not have learned it if I’d studied chemistry, history or French either. In none of these fields is it normally considered necessary for students to learn by systematically pulling the rug out from under their feet. That risk is peculiar to contemporary art. Many art teachers understand, however obscurely, that their job is to do what teachers in no other discipline are allowed to do: propagate failure. Mira Schor, a painter and writer, puts it most bluntly: “I issue something between a permission and an order: you have my permission to do what you think would be a really bad artwork. You have my permission to fail.” This is why curmudgeons like Dave Hickey and Peter Schjeldahl should stop complaining about art becoming academic. The problem isn’t with artists wanting to learn, but rather when they’re too convinced of what they know. As long as artists keep feeling the need to set themselves something like school assignments, they are in touch with their ignorance and not merely the servants of a program.”

Permission to Fail (via sb-wilde)


anneboyer: Always falling into a hole, then saying “ok, this is not your grave, get out of this hole,” getting out of the hole which is not the grave, falling into a hole again, saying “ok, this is also not your grave, get out of this hole,” getting out of that hole, falling into another one; sometimes falling into a hole within a hole, or many holes within holes, getting out of them one after the other, then falling again, saying “this is not your grave, get out of the hole”; sometimes being pushed, saying “you can not push me into this hole, it is not my grave,” and getting out defiantly, then falling into a hole again without any pushing; sometimes falling into a set of holes whose structures are predictable, ideological, and long dug, often falling into this set of structural and impersonal holes; sometimes falling into holes with other people, with other people, saying “this is not our mass grave, get out of this hole,” all together getting out of the hole together, hands and legs and arms and human ladders of each other to get out of the hole that is not the mass grave but that will only be gotten out of together; sometimes the willful-falling into a hole which is not the grave because it is easier than not falling into a hole really, but then once in it, realizing it is not the grave, getting out of the hole eventually;  sometimes falling into a hole and languishing there for days, weeks, months, years, because while not the grave very difficult, still, to climb out of and you know after this hole there’s just another and another; sometimes surveying the landscape of holes and wishing for a high quality final hole; sometimes thinking of who has fallen into holes which are not graves but might be better if they were; sometimes too ardently contemplating  the final hole while trying to avoid the provisional ones; sometimes dutifully falling and getting out, with perfect fortitude, saying “look at the skill and spirit with which I rise from that which resembles the grave but isn’t!”

Really about this.


today sonya renee taylor posted:

Are you living in response to your traumas or your healing?”


corporeality is a scam. text “GET ME OUTTA THIS THING” to 1-800-SHITBODY and “find the new you” as

  • spectral radience (orb only) on amateur romanian ghosthunter’s camcorder footage
  • repeating fragment of text (specify, keep it PG please) on eerie green computer display in abandoned russian nuclear silo
  • otherworldly energy blast from hero’s eyes, hands
  • just a normal, casual ghost. jeans, graphic tshirt. take it easy. 
  • screaming skull launched from villain’s screaming skull launcher (the launcher is screaming too)
  • crystals
  • an itching, jagged memory, buried too deep to be parsed consciously, bedeviling exlover unto death (specify which) 

A picture of Sadie’s guitar cab that Jenna (morningriser) took on the last Crabapple tour. The first time I saw this cab I fell in love and I haven’t stopped thinking about these words since then.
07.09.14 /12:44/ 766

07.09.14 /12:26/ 19

I realize now that I was always ever after strange and magical feminine archetypes, not feminity itself: being a witch, being a princess, or both. My earlier makeup was a small attempt at weirdness, but it was mostly an attempt to keep my gender in one piece, so that maybe if I thought I looked pretty I would like the feeling of being a girl., in a comment on gender&/makeup on


John William Waterhouse - Study for ‘Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus’
06.22.14 /13:23/ 747

06.21.14 /11:26/ 4939
06.21.14 /01:04/ 2



YO I REALLY HATE THE CONTEMPORARY DISCOURSE THAT PRIVILEGES ‘no feelings’ and is intensely suspicious of strong romantic connections (or really, almost any strong connection with another human being).

And people wonder why they’re numb all the time, and find it impossible to feel joyful? Probably because humans are fundamentally, inescapably, social creatures. Being suspicious to the point of hysterical paranoia about your own instinct to connect with other people is beyond. 

You’re going to like people a whole lot, and they’re going to maybe leave you. Maybe treat you terribly. Maybe you’ve treated people terribly. Maybe not though. Either way, you’re human, you’re going to feel feelings and it doesn’t make you weak or stupid or out of control. Get fucking used to it.

If Majesstica taught me anything (AND THEY TAUGHT ME LOTS), it’s that being tender and open with other people shows way more strength than being cool and aloof. I forget who said it, but gee whiz did they say it:

Cool is just hyperconservatism wearing better clothes.

My love for you knows no bounds <3

" a lover wrote this to me once: ‘I think I’m entering the final stages of this videogame. You can tell it’s the end because it’s always night and the enemies are harder. The soundtrack is a compilation of the motifs which graced earlier levels, and the level itself is designed to be an anthology of levels beaten. Sometimes you have to fight all the end-level bosses again, in succession. And there’s the ultimate evil waiting at the end."

from The Compleat Purge by Trisha Low

Canvas  by  andbamnan