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                      ]for those
I treat well are the ones who most of all
           ]harm me
                      ]you, I want
                      ]to suffer
           ]in myself I am
aware of this

— Fragments of Sappho, trs. by Anne Carson 

(Source: whiteandmale)


Bridget Riley, Untitled (Study for Circular Movement), (1961)
Ink, gouache and pencil on paper

Stine Sampers



Clearly I need the taste of plum
on my hands, my chin, his lips.
His. Mine. Plumb. — kimiko hanh, orchid root


White Material by Ferréol Babin & Elsa Boch. 

Marc Held


Marc Held, 1968

Thomas Ruff (German, b. 1958), ma.r.s. 15_I, 2011. Chromogenic print, 255 x 185 cm. Edition of 3.

Alex Epstein 

Michael Raedecker (Dutch, b. 1963), spot, 1998, Oil, acrylic, wool and cotton thread on canvas, 157.5 x 203.2 cm. Tate.

Untitled, 2014 
Computerized vector embroidery on sewn linen 78 x 58 inches

“This morning there’s snow everywhere. We remark on it.
You tell me you didn’t sleep well. I say
I didn’t either. You had a terrible night. “Me too.”
We’re extraordinarily calm and tender with each other
as if sensing the other’s rickety state of mind.
As if we knew what the other was feeling. We don’t,
of course. We never do. No matter.
It’s the tenderness I care about. That’s the gift
this morning that moves and holds me.
Same as every morning.”

Raymond Carver, last strophe to “The Gift”

(Source: crashinglybeautiful)


new vases