It’s quite unfortunate to be married with comfort. Almost as much as with chronic discomfort.
A visit somewhere else other than to her mind can do a woman a lot of good. And if not that, then at least allow some distraction. Especially on a sunny day after a storm had passed, yet still remains. #auroramillsarchitecturalsalvage
. Bowls mostly of ash and esteem. One with strawberry ice cream, another with unknown substance. In terracotta color. Like fired clay. Not shown here are dark, purple, almost black, fully wilted, fully mourning, Calla Lilies. November 2nd Dia de
The greed of hungry ghosts is felt on this stormy day, more than on any other. Between Halloween and Dia de los Muertos.
By Antonio Machado… ‘always fugitive, always near always concealed, always disdainful always leaving, always untouched always in black, always dreaming always the bitter flower always the night, always concealed always fugitive, always
“Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way” Franz Kafka
New on Substack 🤗 Exploring Minimalism in Mixed Media and Elsewhere The new/old adventure
Hearts on sleeves and other cloth. Bandages on cut thumbs. Green gates leading to nowhere in particular. Faces un-shown. And beyond all these, a flowing creek, unseen here, but heard, restored to its original rage. So quiet and speaking loudly. All
Desperate to make sense.
“You deserve to be in environments that bring out the softness in you, not the survival in you.” Brené Brown
Still some room to come with us. Still time to join @leighannalight and me. Link in bio. . . . ‘I want to live with deep intimacy every day of my life. I am guided, sometimes driven, by an ache to take the necessary risks that will let me live
Yes, I will succumb to making something that is begging to come out of my hands. If they’re on fire, those hands, down on their knees, pleading: Make it. I will make that something just for them. Those hands. For me. Or for an entire audienc
Untamed and gaping spaces. In between the fragile petals, carrying illusions of blankness. Oozing life’s longings anyway. Insisting. Managing predetermined borders and see-through, more abstract, boundaries. Elements loving on each other loudly
. New this morning on orlyavineri.substack.com The Power of a Good Appetite 11 years ago in Ireland, in the ruins of a barn. Photo by @taramorris
Waiting to become something else again. Here, in this retreat, time, and place, (Portland, Oregon), waiting to become pages of a book. A Book of Faces. Yesterday, in the middle of the day, while teaching one of two new workshops at Art and Soul,
These remind me of Italo Calvino’s ‘Invisible Cities’. Each one a world onto itself, exteriors fully ‘out there’ in front of eyes, and then the bones, inside, such secrecy. The book tells short stories of “cities
Tents of refugees in their own land, and of no refuge. Year after year, after year.
Oh to close these heavy eyes and make a most outrageous and aching wish, one that was never made before. Where would you want to lay your quivering hands while wishing such a wish?
‘My sister, our land has a throbbing heart, it doesn’t cease to beat, and it endures the unendurable. It keeps the secrets of hills and wombs. This land sprouting with spikes and palms is also the land that gives birth to a freedom-fighte
I wrote about The Way We Kiss. On Substack this morning. 😘😘😘 Linocut print by @joredline