Not Another Paperjam

nevver: Surface tension, Shuwei Liu

Sun, 29 Jan 2017 02:40:05 -0800

images © Shuwei Liu

nevver:

Surface tension, Shuwei Liu

Photo

Sun, 29 Jan 2017 02:26:49 -0800

heaveninawildflower: ‘A Flowering Plant’ (17th century)....

Thu, 22 Sep 2016 14:19:19 -0700

heaveninawildflower:

‘A Flowering Plant’ (17th century). Watercolour and gold. Indian, Mughal.

Image and text courtesy MFA Boston.

nevver: Up all night, Clarissa Bonet

Thu, 22 Sep 2016 14:15:32 -0700

all images © Clarissa Bonet

nevver:

Up all night, Clarissa Bonet

marsthecreative: Sampha for The Fader’s 104 Summer Music Issue...

Tue, 20 Sep 2016 00:00:35 -0700

marsthecreative:

Sampha for The Fader’s 104 Summer Music Issue June/ July 2016

zestzine: “I felt that I was part of a long tradition...

Mon, 19 Sep 2016 23:46:51 -0700

zestzine:

“I felt that I was part of a long tradition investigating what beauty is all about—the mystery of it, the elusiveness of it. So, I set out to understand what that word meant for me.”- Jim Hodges

A Diary of Flowers—Above the Clouds was part of a room-sized installation of 565 pen-and-ink drawings of flowers, each made on a generic paper napkin.

@rime_msk somewhere in the bk 〰 #rimemsk #msk #graffiti...

Tue, 13 Sep 2016 19:58:54 -0700

@rime_msk somewhere in the bk

〰
#rimemsk #msk #graffiti #newyork #nycgraffiti (at Brooklyn, New York)

I looked at you, I mean, really looked at you- skin flushed from...

Tue, 13 Sep 2016 15:30:32 -0700

I looked at you, I mean, really looked at you- skin flushed from the heat of a real New York summer, bathing in the shade, cool as a cucumber. Surrounded in all this green, looking like peace and happiness and everything in between. I thought to myself, you are my everything come to life. I’m not dreaming. Please, don’t wake me.
〰
#sometimesiwrite
#notanotherpaperjam (at Central Park)

The candy apple was crushed. 🍎🏦🗽 #graffiti #vscocam...

Mon, 12 Sep 2016 14:58:28 -0700

The candy apple was crushed. 🍎🏦🗽
#graffiti #vscocam #fromwhereistand (at Brooklyn, New York)

melbvibes: ach-thebrother: historicaltimes: The “Bar...

Wed, 06 Jul 2016 12:51:48 -0700

melbvibes:

ach-thebrother:

historicaltimes:

The “Bar Giamaica” in Milan, Italy, ca 1950

via reddit

fotografia di Ugo Mulas (1928-1973)

x

rawie: Italy, October 1959

Wed, 06 Jul 2016 12:50:44 -0700

rawie:

Italy, October 1959

Photo

Wed, 06 Jul 2016 12:44:40 -0700

nevver: Body issues

Wed, 06 Jul 2016 12:44:14 -0700

nevver:

Body issues

what June gloom? #cadillac #coupedeville #coupedehellyes

Tue, 28 Jun 2016 11:22:48 -0700

what June gloom?

#cadillac #coupedeville #coupedehellyes

flowdu: Girl reading with her pet deer in Beverly Hills, CA -...

Fri, 10 Jun 2016 14:54:18 -0700

flowdu:

Girl reading with her pet deer in Beverly Hills, CA - 1927

20aliens: Geoffrey Bawa

Fri, 03 Jun 2016 16:03:27 -0700

20aliens:

Geoffrey Bawa

lawrenceleemagnuson: Ugo Rondinone (Swiss 1964)new workSeven...

Fri, 03 Jun 2016 16:01:56 -0700

lawrenceleemagnuson:

Ugo Rondinone (Swiss 1964)
new work
Seven Magic Mountains (2016)
Installation: seven stone sculptures, Ivanpah Valley, Nevada

"A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since departed, Mark the mastodon. The dinosaur, who..."

Sun, 29 May 2016 01:41:30 -0700

“A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.
The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.
Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew,
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the tree.
Today, the first and last of every tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river.
Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river.
Each of you, descendant of some passed on
Traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name,
You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca,
You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me,
Then forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of other seekers–
Desperate for gain, starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot…
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru,
Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am the tree planted by the river,
Which will not be moved.
I, the rock, I the river, I the tree
I am yours–your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage,
Need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts.
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me,
The rock, the river, the tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes,
Into your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.”

- Maya Angelou

Painted racing numbers on a sweet Model A hotrod yesterday named...

Fri, 13 May 2016 14:38:27 -0700

Painted racing numbers on a sweet Model A hotrod yesterday named Lucille. ✨ It was a huge challenge for me and there are several line/shading inaccuracies that I have to fix, but I’m addicted. 1shot, I don’t understand you quite yet, but I will.

Meanwhile…practice, practice, practice. 💪🏼

Photo

Wed, 04 May 2016 12:33:23 -0700