Japanese Concert Poster: Kioi Sinfonietta Tokyo. Tsuguya Inoue. 2002
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Japanese Book Cover: Iceland - Yuichi Yokoyama. Kazunari Hattori. 2016
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A Scholar in his Study, Alois Heinrich Priechenfried
A Scholar in his Study, Alois Heinrich Priechenfried
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John Adams Whipple, Earliest surviving photograph of the moon, daguerreotype, 1851
John Adams Whipple, Earliest surviving photograph of the moon, daguerreotype, 1851
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Paulina Olowska, Seductress, 2020.
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Love your hands! Love them. Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face… Love your mouth… This is flesh… Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms… Love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it and hold it up. And all your inside parts that they’d just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver — love it, love it, and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air. More than your life-holding womb and your life-giving private parts… love your heart. For this is the prize.
Toni Morrison
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Selfish mothers wanted the house to themselves and their children were discovered years later, frozen like mastodons in blocks of ice.
Let It Snow By David Sedaris
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Naomi Okubo
Put a Fire to Set Me Free, 2023
Acrylic on raw canvas and panel
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DEBUTEA by Karlotta Freier
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Lily Wong
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Viviane De Muynck on the Sensuality of Embracing Death and Passionate Mourning
by Oscar Van Den Boogaard
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In her absence I created her image: out of the earthly
the hidden heavenly commences. I am here weighing
the expanse with the Jahili odes ... and absence
is the guide, it is the guide. For each rhyme a tent
is pitched. And for each thing blowing in the wind
a rhyme. Absence teaches me its lesson: If it weren’t
for the mirage you wouldn’t have been steadfast ...
Then in the emptiness, I disassembled a letter from one
of the ancient alphabets, and I leaned on absence. So who am I
after the visitation? A bird, or a passerby amid the symbols
and the memory vendors? As if I were an antique piece,
as if I were a ghost sneaking in from Yabous, telling myself:
Let’s go to the seven hills. Then I placed
my mask on a stone, and walked as the sleepless
walk, led by my dream. And from one moon
to another I leapt. There is enough of unconsciousness
to liberate things from their history. And there
is enough of history to liberate unconsciousness
from its ascension. Take me to our early
years—my first girlfriend says. Leave
the windows open for the house sparrow to enter
your dream—I say ... then I awaken, and no city is in
the city. No “here” except “there.” And no there
but here. If it weren’t for the mirage
I wouldn’t have walked to the seven hills ...
if it weren’t for the mirage!
Mahmoud Darwish, "In Her Absence I Created Her Image" from The Butterfly’s Burden.
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