@ultravioletness I collaged your collages for funzies. Hope you like them, feel free to save em and print em or whatever. They're pngs at 11"×8.5" and 300 dpi before tumblr compression. You're work is very inspiring!
“The illustrious Joan of Arc proved that it was no miracle that French genius could prevail in circumstances when national independence was threatened. United, the French nation has never been defeated; but our neighbours – more calculating, more adroit – abusing the openness and loyalty of our character, constantly sowed dissentions in our midst, from which stemmed all the misfortunes of those times, and all the disasters in our history.”
—Napoleon in a letter to the mayor of Orléans, who asked for his support in erecting a statue of Joan of Arc. Napoleon ended up paying for the statue from his own pocket.
Float on your back. Raise your hands, palms up. Part your lips as if you’re singing a sad farewell song. These were his instructions, and she followed them to a T. Millais placed oil lamps and candles beneath the tub to keep the water warm for her. But he had more art sense than common sense. It was London; it was winter. The water always cooled. On one catastrophic occasion, the lamps and candles went out completely, nearly snuffing out Siddal’s life with them.
We all once had childhoods, we all once blew bubbles, and all of that has now floated away.
On the opening pages of the philosopher Peter Sloterdijk’s first book of his trilogy of spheres, Bubbles, he performs a close reading of the Millais bubble painting... “Now a swarm of bubbles erupts upwards, as chaotically vivacious as a throw of shimmering blue marbles.” The bubble is an “iridescent object,” a “nervous entity,” which holds a child’s fascination until it drifts into the air into nothingness. The orb holds the attention of the child during the duration of its life, which is temporary. The blower has a sense of solidarity with the bubble, which excludes the rest of the world... I think Sloterdijk is ultimately writing of a desire for solidarity and community, for “shared vibrations.” But I also like thinking of bubbles as bubbles. The bubble is a form of the ephemeral, much like childhood itself. We all once had childhoods, we all once blew bubbles, and all of that has now floated away.
— Kate Zambreno, The Light Room (Riverhead Books, July 4, 2023)
Grazie a Basquiat, Bruegel il Vecchio, Repin, Bosch, Caravaggio, Annella di Massimo, de Chirico, Capa, anonimo viennese, Ivanauskas, Millais, Munch1, Courbet, Munch2, Picasso, Munch3, Nolde, Munch4, Lowry, Munch5, Munch6 e Legros per le immagini, e grazie anche alla Banda Jonica per la Marcia Funebre di sottofondo.
Sketch of what I WANTED to draw for Valentine's Day this year, after The Crown of Love by John Everett Millais, but Hawk's damn wings would have gotten in the way and ruined the composition, so I did something else.