Those are pearls that were his eyes
Le sens trop précis rature //
Ta vague littérature.
Home Message Archive Random Theme
»
archives-dada:

Francis Picabia, Le Bel Ami, c. 1924, aquarelle sur papier, 28 x 16,5 cm, Paris, Galerie Natalie Seroussi.

hadrian6:

The Great Flood. 17th.century. Nicolas Chaperon. French 1612-1656. oil/canvas.
http://hadrian6.tumblr.com

❝ ÉPOQUE (la nôtre) : Tonner contre elle. Se plaindre de ce qu’elle n’est pas poétique. L’appeler époque de transition, de décadence.

— Gustave Flaubert, Dictionnaire des idées reçues


Georgia O’Keeffe, Pelvis with Distance, 1943.

books0977:

The Violin Player (1626). Gerrit van Honthorst (Dutch, 1592-1656). Oil on canvas.
This violin player looks at us with a provocative grin. The brightly coloured fantasy costume with plunging neckline and her befeathered hair-do add to her frolicsome appearance. She is probably a high-class harlot, which is why she plays the fiddle, for in the 17th century this instrument had erotic overtones.

❝ Y no me salgas con que se pueden escribir cosas para nadie, porque eso no, Mario, que si las palabras no se las dices a alguien no son nada, ruidos o garabatos, vamos, creo yo, no sé.

— Miguel Delibes, Cinco horas con Mario

labellefilleart:

Study of Helen, Gustave Moreau 

drakontomalloi:

François de Nomé - Susanna and the Elders. N.d.

Starting from Paumanok, excerpt

I will effuse egotism and show it underlying all, and I will be the bard of personality,
And I will show of male and female that either is but the equal of the other,
And sexual organs and acts! do you concentrate in me, for I am determin’d
to tell you with courageous clear voice to prove you illustrious,
And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present, and can be none in the future,
And I will show that whatever happens to anybody it may be turn’d to beautiful results,
And I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death,
And I will thread a thread through my poems that time and events are compact,
And that all the things of the universe are perfect miracles, each as profound as any.

—Walt Whitman, Leaves of grass

alongtimealone:

Franz Marc (Germany 1880-1916) The Bull (1911)