“…the poet Dante asks Giotto why his children are so ugly and his paintings so beautiful; Giotto replies that he paints by the light of day but reproduces in the darkness of night…Michelangelo said that he has no human children because his works were his children…Paul Klee also referred to his pictures as children and equated artistic genius with procreation. His German contemporary Josef Albers cited this traditional connection between creation and procreation in relation to color: he described a mixed color as the offspring of two original colors, and compared it to a child who combines the genes of two parents.”—Art Across Time - Laurie Adams
“Art is a vital and persistent aspect of human experience. But where does the artistic impulse originate? We can see that it is inborn by observing children, who make pictures, sculptures, and model buildings before learning to read or write. Children trace images in the earth, build snowmen and sand castles, and decorate just about anything—from their own faces to the walls of their houses. All are efforts to impose order on disorder and to create form from formlessness. Although it may be difficult to relate an Egyption pyramid or a Greek temple to a child’s sand castle or toy tower, all express the natural impulse to build.”—Art Across Time - Laurie Adams
i feel like life is a dream. none of it feels real. what is a human being? what is human flesh? and how does is hold all those organs inside together so perfectly?
i sit in a crowded room filled with people. i listen to them preach their life stories. i see their different faces. i can’t feel anything. i can’t comprehend that there are actually other people in this same room. i can’t feel what i am. this world i observe, how does it all fit inside these two tiny sockets that my eyeballs are placed in?
the simple fact of human life bewilders me. the whole concept is dream-like.
“Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person’s face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. There are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing.”—No One Here Belongs More Than You, Miranda July (via obdormio)
“I’m on a rampage. I’m screaming and swearing and yelling and throwing myself into walls and shredding my skin with my fingernails and whatever sharp objects I can find, breaking my nails to the nubs, getting blood and plasma everywhere. Gouging out my eyes and trying to pull out my tongue, punching myself in the face, gut, legs, everywhere. The cat’s scared and skiddish but I just cant stop…. — But thats all in my head. In reality, I’m just sitting here. Calm. Stone. Silent. My heart is racing, but I have no energy to do anything besides exist. Which I dont even want to do, either.”—
i was back at camp. it was really emotional. the camper that i connected with the most was there, i was holding her. we were at the closing ceremony, but it was in my good friend’s kitchen, and only the camp directors and staffers and a few campers were there. we did the closing ceremony for the consequetive three weeks straight in a row. i only remember us singing the one song, the song we always sang last. i was crying. hard. the entire time. my ex was there of course [he works there] and he had a full on beard and was nice to me.