Marina Abramovic meets Ulay
“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.”i cried
introspectively beautiful. it calms me.
“As you breathe in, cherish yourself. As you breathe out, cherish all beings.”
— Dalai Lama (via angesecondperson)
(Source: meditationsinwonderland, via angesecondperson)
“if you care about something, you have to protect it. if you’re lucky enough to find a way of life you love, you have to find the courage to live it.”
“I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you. Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through. Tell me what the word “home” means to you and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name just by the way you describe your bed room when you were 8. See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones. Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain or bounce in the bellies of snow? And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms? Or would you leave the snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree? And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek? Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad, even if it makes your lover mad? Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain? See, I wanna know what you think of your first name. And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy when she spoke it for the very first time. I want you tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel. See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living. I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving. And if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes. I wanna know if you bleed sometimes through other people’s wounds.”
— Andrea Gibson (via strangefatality)
(Source: pression, via tellingteeth)
“
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
— Pablo Neruda (via angesecondperson)
“The darkest side of distance is that it never gets easier. And the quality of the ache isn’t always relative to the amount of space, either. Every gap left unbridged is different and yet all still manage to collect the darkest parts of affection, the helplessness of need. The distance between the past and the present; the present and the future; my mother’s house and every city where it isn’t; the mountains and the swamps; the stories I tell and the places where they manifested; my thigh and his hand. Nothing has ever made me more desperate than these distances. Even worse, you are always aware of them—you sense as one pulls closer, when another reaches farther outward. You are constantly bending location into something less tangible. Hoping in that way you could skew all of the rules, somehow fitting your fist around what’s always just beyond your fingertips. The heart breaking and yet wonderful art of making a fool of geography the way it often makes fools of us.”
(hey ashli)
“Most of the writers I know are weird hybrids. There’s a strong streak of egomania coupled with extreme shyness. Writing’s kind of like exhibitionism in private. And there’s also a strange loneliness, and a desire to have some kind of conversation with people, but not a real great ability to do it in person.”
— David Foster Wallace (via casimirpulaskiday)
(Source: beautyisanillusion, via casimirpulaskiday)
A ream of paper scatters in a gust of wind, soaring high into the black winter night, every sheet glowing bright, against a backdrop of the most exquisite 17th century architecture by Paul Cocksedge.
I’ve been fascinated for a long time by the various properties of light: how it emanates, how it diffuses, bends, reflects, and scatters. With these EL sheets I’ve been able to explore much further the idea of light as a flat object.
[via: dezeen]
(via angesecondperson)
