Back to Top

“To become imperceptible oneself, to have dismantled love in order to become capable of loving. To have dismantled one’s self in order finally to be alone and meet the true double at the other end of the line. A clandestine passenger on a motionless voyage. To become like everybody else; but this, precisely, is a becoming only for one who knows how to be nobody, to no longer be anybody. To paint oneself gray on gray.”

Gilles Deleuze, A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia  

(Source: heteroglossia, via sinthematica)


Hailey Clauson by Martin Lidell for Styleby Magazine

So I write another letter.

I love you very much. You are the city I live in; you are the name of the month and the day. I float, salty and heavy with tears, barely keeping my head above water. I seem to be sinking, but even there, underwater-where the phone doesn’t ring and rumors don’t reach, where it is impossible to meet you-I will go on loving you.

I love you, yet you force me to hang onto the running boards of your life. My hands are freezing. I’m not jealous of people: I’m jealous of your time. It is impossible not to see you. 

So what can I do when there is no substitute for love? You know nothing about the weight of all things.

-

Viktor Shklovsky, Zoo, or Letters Not About Love

(Source: ahuntersheart)


Louise Bourgeois, Appointment at 11 am
hawktrainer:

Unrolled cylinder (orifice), 37x15x6”

Kristina Lee Happy Birthday, Kid, 2012

"To have that sense of one’s intrinsic worth which constitutes self-respect is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent. To lack it is to be locked within oneself, paradoxically incapable of either love or indifference. If we do not respect ourselves, we are on the one hand forced to despise those who have so few resources as to consort with us, so little perception as to remain blind to our fatal weaknesses. On the other, we are peculiarly in thrall to everyone we see, curiously determined to live out — since our self-image is untenable — their false notion of us. We flatter ourselves by thinking this compulsion to please others an attractive trait: a gist for imaginative empathy, evidence of our willingness to give. Of course I will play Francesca to your Paolo, Helen Keller to anyone’s Annie Sullivan; no expectation is too misplaced, no role too ludicrous. At the mercy of those we cannot but hold in contempt, we play roles doomed to failure before they are begun, each defeat generating fresh despair at the urgency of divining and meting the next demand made upon us. It is the phenomenon sometimes called ‘alienation from self.’ In its advanced stages, we no longer answer the telephone, because someone might want something; that we could say no without drowning in self-reproach is an idea alien to this game. Every encounter demands too much, tears the nerves, drains the will, and the specter of something as small as an unanswered letter arouses such disproportionate guilt that answering it becomes out of the question. To assign unanswered letters their proper weight, to free us from the expectations of others, to give us back to ourselves — there lies the great, the singular power of self-respect. Without it, one eventually discovers the final turn of the screw: one runs away to find oneself, and finds no one at home. “

-

didion, slouching towards bethleham

my type in men is emotionally unavailable peacocks.

home pt 2
home

Nobuyoshi Araki, Flowers, 1997. Cibachrome print; 61 x 76 cm.

We are unutterably alone, essentially, especially in the things most intimate and most important to us. 

—Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (translated by Joan Marie Burnham)

(Source: awritersruminations)

fyeahwomenartists:

Heidi Norton
Palm Pressed (2011)
Glass, resin, plant, mirror, spray paint, and sand