80′s New York Art/Club Scene As Documented By Maripol’s Polaroids.

i’ve been thinking a lot about the insane dehumanization of north koreans lately (they’re not allowed to smile, they’re all brainwashed, they would let their family die to save a picture of their “dear” leader etc) so here’s another post with pictures from the dprk of north koreans just… being people

Christina Bothwell (American, b.1960 - working in rural Pennsylvania)

cast glass with mixed media (stone, ceramic, taxidermied animal elements) - 2007 - 2017

While You Were Sleeping

When the Body Sleeps

Season

Dreaming

I Fell Into a Dream

Mermaid

Baby Mermaid

Flightless Woman

Octopus Girl

in collaboration with Robert Bender - Dream Within a Dream

http://christinabothwell.com/

Skinhead faisant l’amour, Londres, Angleterre, 1978

Nan Goldin

concept: love as amalgamation in the art of edvard munch

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. — emily brontë

Yoshitomo Nara. cover for Absynthe Minded, There Is Nothing, 2007

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) dir. Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert

Poster by James Jean

‘Workers of the world, unite!’

By V. Briskin, 1972

Via Robby Espierre

My love, The moment has come to send you a farewell tasting of earth (dry leaves, something far away and disused). I wanted to do this with lines that don’t reach the margins—often called poems—but I have failed. There are so many intimate things for your ears only that words cannot express, only the shy algorithms that amuse my breaking wave. The noble trade of poet is not for me. It isn’t that I don’t have sweet things to say. If you only knew what is contained there in a whirl inside me. But the shell that contains them is too long, convoluted and narrow. They emerge, exhausted from the journey, and in a bad mood, elusive; the sweetest ones are the most fragile and are left behind, shattered, disparate vibrations… I’m a useless medium. I would disintegrate trying to convey everything at once. Let’s use everyday words to capture the moment. […] That is how I love you, remembering the bitter coffee every morning, the taste of the dimple in your knee, the ash of a cigar delicately balanced, the incoherent grumbling with which you defend your impregnable pillow.[…] That is how I love you, watching the children grow, like a staircase with no history (and I suffer because I can’t witness those steps). Every day, it’s like a stabbing in my side, upbraiding the idler from its shell. This will be a real farewell. Five years in the mire have aged me. Now there remains only one last step—the definitive one. The siren songs have ended, and so has my inner conflict. Now the flag is raised for my last race. The speed will be such that screams will accompany me. The past has come to an end; I am the future in progress. Don’t call me, because I won’t be able to hear you. But I will sense you on sunny days, under the renewed caress of bullets. […] I will keep a look out for you, in the way a dog remains alert while it’s resting, and I will imagine every part of you, piece by piece, and altogether.If one day you feel the force of an overbearing presence, don’t turn around, don’t break the spell, just keep on preparing my coffee, and let me experience you in that instant, for al

“I start a picture and I finish it. I don’t think about art while I work. I try to think about life.”  – Jean-Michel Basquiat (December 22, 1960 – August 12, 1988)

“You are not helpless. You are not heartless. And you have time.”

— Toni Morrison, The Source of Self-Regard