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  thingsorganizedneatly:

  SUBMISSION: Used Soaps by Sarina Lirosi

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  mpdrolet:

  Chacaltaya Mountain, Bolivia

  Nick Ballon

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  Michael Bussell on together

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  osklivost:

  _{Tomelloso, Ciudad Real (1960), Ramón Masats}

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  artspotting:

  Pierrette Bloch No 640, 1973 , Carsten Greve Gallery found via Bernd Wuersching

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  mpdrolet:

  Raymond Siemandel

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  itwonlast:

  The pocket in question is a small pocket of resistance. A pocket is formed when two or more people come together in agreement. The resistance is against the inhumanity of the New World Economic Order. The people coming together are the reader, me, and those the essays are about–Rembrandt, Paleolithic cave painters, a Romanian peasant, ancient Egyptians, an expert in the loneliness of a certain hotel bedroom, dogs at dusk, a man in a radio station. And unexpectedly, our exchanges strengthen each of us in our conviction that what is happening in the world today is wrong, and that what is often said about it is a lie. I’ve never written a book with a greater sense of urgency.

  — John Berger

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  wakeupblackpower:

  Sun Ra

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  lauriekang:

  Untitled, dyed photographic paper on chromogenic paper

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  m3zzaluna:

  john demos, athens, greece, tinos, 1986

  posted by/ thanks to wonderfulambiguity

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  ornamentandcrime:

  Miroslav Tichý

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  dontrblgme:

  (via Hanna IV Photography)

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  sculpting-in-time:

  Arielle de Pinto Fanned Hair Fork

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  idreamofeclecticsheep:

  Marcel Breuer: Wassily Chair [1925]

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  Portland (PDX) has these telephone poles around town with years & years of poster after poster on top of each other. I have been photographing them all over the city since I first moved here. Some are so amazing looking and make the best abstract photographs! Check ‘Um.

  ronulicny:

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  poobah:

  specs

  slowleaner:Шикарное фото - Fishki.Net | Сайт хорошего настроения

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  ornamentandcrime:

  Michael Grater - Paper Faces, 1968 

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  After weeks of contemplating future moves inside out and upside down, this evening, I finally came to the decision to move out of the city. Before I could officially close the books, an opportunity to stay presented itself and I was almost swayed by some friends. We all know when you live in a place long enough, and make it your own and meet friends who become your family and your rocks, that surely you can always come visit or even if things don’t work out… move back, no problem! Visiting, yes. Move back? Not part of my plan. I moved to Toronto in 2000 and passionately hated this city until about 2007. In that time, I secured an Italian passport and dual citizenship with the dream of running off to Europe. As a dry run, I decided to check out a couple of European cities on my own - I struck out to visit  Amsterdam and Berlin. Explored both cities by bike, metro, train and my own two feet. Consulted with maps, talked to drivers, shop keepers, citizens and met fellow travelers. The experience was incredibly humbling. One afternoon, while enjoying a beer amongst some old ruins turned courtyard turned outdoor bar in Germany, I made a promise to myself.  That when I got back home, I would teach myself how to love Toronto and I couldn’t leave until I learned how to live there. So I did. I explored the city’s ravines, both the Don and Humber River banks, visited all different kinds of churchs, heritage buildings, tiny museums, abandoned buildings, bridges and rail road tracks, off beaten spots by the lake in both the west and east ends of the city, biked to neighborhoods so far north, that the bike ride back down to my apartment was beyond exhausting, drank beer in tucked away parkettes, tanned on big rocks and small beaches that I can’t now recall how to get to, along with many bonfires and group picnics on the Toronto island. I made an active point to learn about historical streets, spots, facts and little known architectural gems in this city. I earned Toronto.

  Through this process I fell in and and out love for the first time and I also taught myself how to take photographs. The past five years have undoubtedly transformed me and I can say with heartfelt confidence that I now know what it takes to make a place your home and truly love it.

  I can’t wait to do it again.

  “A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.”
  Joan Didion

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  artlistpro:

  Alfred Stieglitz, Georgia O’Keeffe, Hands and Horse Skull, 1931

  via bremser:

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  towerofsleep:

  douglashaddow:

  From Douglas Coupland’s “Marshall McLuhan: You know nothing of my work”

  Marshall had another health scare in 1971. An angiogram revealed that his carotid artery was blocked, but it was during the discovery of this that surgeons discovered his feline blood circulation: his external carotid artery (the artery that supplies blood to the face, scalp, and jaw) had formed huge connecting channels through the left base of his skull and inside his skull. Had it not been for his one-in-a-billion vascularization, Marshall’s brain would have been toast long ago. He considered this vascularization to be a miracle. Who’s to say it wasn’t?

  From The Paris Review’s interview with Coupland:

  Marshall McLuhan’s left cerebral cortex was vascularized in a way only ever before seen in mammals in cats. He wasn’t just different; he was very different.

  
  

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  floresenelatico:

  Lygia Clark

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  realityayslum:

  Lee Miller - Eileen Agar, 1937.

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  therumbling:

  Helen Frankenthaler (via Vosgesparis)