Go For Baroque

0 | Uploaded on July, 7, 2014 | 1 month ago

Subjective Freedom, Flora Borsi

Subjective Freedom, Flora Borsi


0 | Uploaded on July, 7, 2014 | 1 month ago


Do you remember the way you used to look at me? It was the way a quiet observer discovers a painting for the first time. You used to look at me the way one looks at the hint of a smile on the lips of the Mona Lisa. The rough strokes of paint that make Starry Night. The way one stands in awe of the million little pieces that make up Seurat’s La Grande Jatte. 

You used to look at me as though I was something to discover. 

Lately I do not feel much like a painting at all. At least not one which evokes feelings of elegance and wonderment. The one that opens your eyes to everything you are and still have yet to see.

If anything I am Guerenica. 

The Persistence of Memory.

The Scream. 

Where I once dreamed of being your Art Nouveau, I am Dada. I am a jumbled mess. I am a feeling, a belief, hidden just below the surface. And you aren’t looking anymore.

Where once you saw me as a masterpiece, I am now a keepsake. I can see it in your eyes; your smile gives it all away. The kind of smile that spreads itself across your lips when you stumble upon an old photograph, slightly tattered at the edges. The one that evokes feelings of nostalgia, the one that seems so long ago, and yet, like just yesterday. 

It doesn’t seem so long ago to me, the days when our love was new. I recall many late night drives, the warm summer air blowing in through the windows, filling us with hope and the feeling of infinite possibilities. The way you used to kiss my hand while driving. Early on, after a day spent by the river, you once said that I looked “Summer-time beautiful.” 

I often wonder what happens to the heart. How it beats and breaks. How the most beautiful things in life are often the most devastating. How our lives flow in and out of one another like rivers, never knowing what lies just around the bend.

Sometimes I think that I don’t know what happiness truly is. That I have built a life for myself that looks idealistic on the outside, but lacks a pulse within. As an art historian, you come to develop a keen sense of aesthetics, knowing what looks right, understanding the way things are meant to go together. Perhaps without even realizing it, I have overlooked the most important aspect of my life, of art. That what matters is not the medium in which it is created, but the way it makes you feel. 

It is late as I write this. I am unable to sleep. This night, like so many before it, is dreamy and warm. The breeze smells like sweet roses. The sky is devastatingly bright. What I would give to feel in love again. To feel my heart beat quickly at the anticipation of your embrace. To feel young and alive and full of promise. To not feel so completely and utterly alone.

There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how.”

I want to find my way back. Back to the way things used to be. Back before life swooped in and fucked everything up. Before we stopped admiring each other. Before everything just stopped being. 


0 | Uploaded on June, 29, 2014 | 2 months ago


Lately I have been worried. Not about any particular event or work or the usual types of mundane bothers, but rather something quite intangible: that I have lost my creative edge. 

Looking over my writings from the past, my photographs, poems, the things that move me…I cannot help but feel so far removed from that life. College was such an amazing period in time, when I felt free to compose and learn and strive to live a life which always incorporated creativity. Unfortunately, no one tells you (or perhaps it’s that you cannot bear to really listen) that when you graduate, everything changes. Life, which once inspired you and moved you from within now physically moves you along like a conveyor belt. To work. To home. To sleep. The repetitiveness is suffocating. It is so easy to lose one’s self when you feel like a well programmed machine.

For months now I have attempted (and re-attempted) to start writing a novel. The feeling is there, the words are there, and yet when I sit down and lay my hands over the keys my mind goes quiet. I remember once feeling words flowing from my fingers like water. Writing has always been a release for me, a coping mechanism that no one could touch. I am trusting that with time it will return, and the words will reveal themselves like an old friend. I need them now more than ever.

So, I suppose is my attempt to get back into the swing of things. Climb back into the saddle, as it were. Whatever cliche way you want to say it…I just need to start writing again. But first, tea.


6076 | Uploaded on June, 29, 2014 | 2 months ago

likeafieldmouse:

Gustav Klimt - Portrait of a Young Woman (1896-7)

likeafieldmouse:

Gustav Klimt - Portrait of a Young Woman (1896-7)

(via cavetocanvas)


0 | Uploaded on January, 25, 2013 | 1 year ago

I had to say goodbye to a very dear friend today. Bailey, you were an amazing companion, and you brought so much joy and happiness to our family. I will always remember your doggy-smile, the long walks through the fields we used to take, and how you instantly befriended anyone you met along the way. You always had such a kind spirit, such a free spirit. I knew that we belonged to each other the moment I saw you. Over the last 12 years, you have kept my secrets, been there sitting loyally by my side through tears and laughter, through heartbreaks and triumphs. You were there when I graduated middle school, high school, when I left for college and when I came home. You were there when I got engaged, when I got married, and when I got my first real job. I am going to miss you more than you know. But I was so glad to have been there to hold you when you took your last breath. The moment I brought you home from the shelter, I vowed I would never leave you—you had found your forever home that day. We all love you so much, Bailey. I know that somewhere you’re running through the greenest fields, with a perfect body that will no longer betray your heart. 
I love you always.

I had to say goodbye to a very dear friend today. Bailey, you were an amazing companion, and you brought so much joy and happiness to our family. I will always remember your doggy-smile, the long walks through the fields we used to take, and how you instantly befriended anyone you met along the way. You always had such a kind spirit, such a free spirit. I knew that we belonged to each other the moment I saw you. Over the last 12 years, you have kept my secrets, been there sitting loyally by my side through tears and laughter, through heartbreaks and triumphs. You were there when I graduated middle school, high school, when I left for college and when I came home. You were there when I got engaged, when I got married, and when I got my first real job. I am going to miss you more than you know. But I was so glad to have been there to hold you when you took your last breath. The moment I brought you home from the shelter, I vowed I would never leave you—you had found your forever home that day. We all love you so much, Bailey. I know that somewhere you’re running through the greenest fields, with a perfect body that will no longer betray your heart. 

I love you always.


0 | Uploaded on December, 26, 2011 | 2 years ago

Franz Marc’s Fate of the Animals, 1913

Franz Marc’s Fate of the Animals, 1913


0 | Uploaded on December, 10, 2011 | 2 years ago

Someone once said that change is neither good or bad, it just is. But right now it all seems so foreign. So unreal. Everyone is changing and has been changing. I’m changing…so slowly I’ve barely noticed. I desperately want to hold on to everything that I know, but I also realize that that will leave me completely alone, and in order to make it, you have to keep moving forward. Keep your feet moving.
I want to stand at the edge of the ocean. I’d like to feel the cold water wash over me. I’d like to immense myself in a change that is constant, flowing, always somewhere in between.
I need to embrace the things happening in my life, because they are all blessings, somehow. Maybe not for me, but for someone else, they might be the thing they’ve been searching for their entire life. And I need to be glad in that.
If I never see you again, I will remember the rock by the river. I will remember the late nights, the wine, the way it feels to be with someone who echoes you inside. And when I do, I promise I will smile.

Someone once said that change is neither good or bad, it just is. But right now it all seems so foreign. So unreal. Everyone is changing and has been changing. I’m changing…so slowly I’ve barely noticed. I desperately want to hold on to everything that I know, but I also realize that that will leave me completely alone, and in order to make it, you have to keep moving forward. Keep your feet moving.

I want to stand at the edge of the ocean. I’d like to feel the cold water wash over me. I’d like to immense myself in a change that is constant, flowing, always somewhere in between.

I need to embrace the things happening in my life, because they are all blessings, somehow. Maybe not for me, but for someone else, they might be the thing they’ve been searching for their entire life. And I need to be glad in that.

If I never see you again, I will remember the rock by the river. I will remember the late nights, the wine, the way it feels to be with someone who echoes you inside. And when I do, I promise I will smile.


3604 | Uploaded on September, 6, 2011 | 2 years ago

liquidnight:

Annick Gérardin
From Paris entre chats

liquidnight:

Annick Gérardin

From Paris entre chats

0 | Uploaded on September, 5, 2011 | 2 years ago

You mean so much more to me than I ever meant to you.

You mean so much more to me than I ever meant to you.


104 | Uploaded on March, 11, 2011 | 3 years ago


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