Rambling on about everything I like.
Wondering and musing may find their way in between. But it's all not so meaning-fool.
Wednesday, 17 September 2014
"

When Van Gogh was a young man in his early twenties, he was in London studying to be a clergyman. He had no thought of being an artist at all. he sat in his cheap little room writing a letter to his younger brother in Holland, whom he loved very much. He looked out his window at a watery twilight, a thin lampost, a star, and he said in his letter something like this: “it is so beautiful I must show you how it looks.” And then on his cheap ruled note paper, he made the most beautiful, tender, little drawing of it.

When I read this letter of Van Gogh’s it comforted me very much and seemed to throw a clear light on the whole road of Art. Before, I thought that to produce a work of painting or literature, you scowled and thought long and ponderously and weighed everything solemnly and learned everything that all artists had ever done aforetime, and what their influences and schools were, and you were extremely careful about *design* and *balance* and getting *interesting planes* into your painting, and avoided, with the most astringent severity, showing the faintest *acedemical* tendency, and were strictly modern. And so on and so on.

But the moment I read Van Gogh’s letter I knew what art was, and the creative impulse. It is a feeling of love and enthusiasm for something, and in a direct, simple, passionate and true way, you try to show this beauty in things to others, by drawing it.

And Van Gogh’s little drawing on the cheap note paper was a work of art because he loved the sky and the frail lamppost against it so seriously that he made the drawing with the most exquisite conscientiousness and care.

"
Brenda UelandIf You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit (via nyctaeus)
humansofnewyork:

"I’ve been fixing watches in this chair for almost sixty years. It required a lot more skill in the old days. Now I pretty much just replace batteries."
(Dharamshala, India)

humansofnewyork:

"I’ve been fixing watches in this chair for almost sixty years. It required a lot more skill in the old days. Now I pretty much just replace batteries."

(Dharamshala, India)

nado-the-knight-of-the-wind:

mark-pellegrino-is-my-king:

cute-little-princess:

ronweasley:

twinamericas:

221cbakerstreet:

aphotovici:

lil-banshee:

gaylienz:

eviljohnlock-shipper:

seaghdhasuil:



No, it’s fine. I didn’t need my heart.

Are we crying about a doodle of dinosaurs?

Yes

Welcome to Tumblr

Oh god it hurts why would you ever

The meteor was coming.
Oh, God, it was coming and she didn’t know what to do. Her son, her beautiful little son, pressed close to her side, craning his neck to look up at his Mother.
“Mummy, why is everyone moving? There’s plenty of food here.” He asked in his sweet, innocent voice.
“Because, my sweet, sometimes it is best that we move on. It is our way.” She replied, forcing the words past the lump in her throat.
“Oh,” Her son said, turning his gaze to the fiery rock in the sky that would spell their deaths out for them, “the old Triceratops told me it was cuzza that rock. He said the rock could hurt us real bad.” He continued, not understanding what he meant by those words in his innocence.
“Triceratops is being silly, he just wanted to tease you one more time before he left.” She lied, choking on her tears. Oh, God, he son, her lovely son, was going to die not understanding.
“Oh.”
She turned her face to the meteor- it was close now. It wouldn’t be long. Swinging her head around, she dropped her face to her sons and nuzzled him one last time. “Let’s play a game, yes? And then we’ll go join the others.” She suggested.
“Okay! What game shall we play, Mummy?”
“Let’s play pretend. We will imagine the sort of place we would like to move to, and when we open our eyes, that’s where we shall be.” 
“How do we play?”
One last look at the meteor- it was almost time.
“Close your eyes and imagine the place, and count to thirty out loud. Just like when we play Hide-and-Seek.” She curled herself around her son, both of them now laid on the beach.
“Ok, Mummy. 1, 2, 3, 4…”
She watched the meteor approach with sad eyes, and just before it hit land she turned her head, laying it and her neck over her son and bracing herself.
Her son had not yet said 30, but it was over.

what the fuck is wrong with you

WOW HOLY FUCK THANKS FOR SHITTING ALL OVER MY HEART


SOBBING

Wow what the fuck. I didn’t need this.

nado-the-knight-of-the-wind:

mark-pellegrino-is-my-king:

cute-little-princess:

ronweasley:

twinamericas:

221cbakerstreet:

aphotovici:

lil-banshee:

gaylienz:

eviljohnlock-shipper:

seaghdhasuil:

image

No, it’s fine. I didn’t need my heart.

Are we crying about a doodle of dinosaurs?

Yes

Welcome to Tumblr

Oh god it hurts why would you ever

The meteor was coming.

Oh, God, it was coming and she didn’t know what to do. Her son, her beautiful little son, pressed close to her side, craning his neck to look up at his Mother.

“Mummy, why is everyone moving? There’s plenty of food here.” He asked in his sweet, innocent voice.

“Because, my sweet, sometimes it is best that we move on. It is our way.” She replied, forcing the words past the lump in her throat.

“Oh,” Her son said, turning his gaze to the fiery rock in the sky that would spell their deaths out for them, “the old Triceratops told me it was cuzza that rock. He said the rock could hurt us real bad.” He continued, not understanding what he meant by those words in his innocence.

“Triceratops is being silly, he just wanted to tease you one more time before he left.” She lied, choking on her tears. Oh, God, he son, her lovely son, was going to die not understanding.

“Oh.”

She turned her face to the meteor- it was close now. It wouldn’t be long. Swinging her head around, she dropped her face to her sons and nuzzled him one last time. “Let’s play a game, yes? And then we’ll go join the others.” She suggested.

“Okay! What game shall we play, Mummy?”

“Let’s play pretend. We will imagine the sort of place we would like to move to, and when we open our eyes, that’s where we shall be.” 

“How do we play?”

One last look at the meteor- it was almost time.

“Close your eyes and imagine the place, and count to thirty out loud. Just like when we play Hide-and-Seek.” She curled herself around her son, both of them now laid on the beach.

“Ok, Mummy. 1, 2, 3, 4…”

She watched the meteor approach with sad eyes, and just before it hit land she turned her head, laying it and her neck over her son and bracing herself.

Her son had not yet said 30, but it was over.

what the fuck is wrong with you

WOW HOLY FUCK THANKS FOR SHITTING ALL OVER MY HEART

image

SOBBING

Wow what the fuck. I didn’t need this.

Award-winning artist Katharine Morling creates whimsical and often outlandish sculpture from porcelain and ceramics. Instead of simply making the pieces and leaving them in their ceramic form, the added touch of black in certain spots creates an illusive effect, making the everyday objects look like drawings in real life.

Word of the Day

obscure-etymology:

Driddle, /dri’dl/ - To waste time and strength to little purpose. To wander about aimlessly; play unskillfully, as on the violin. 

       Source: Webster’s Unabridged New Twentieth Century Dictionary, 1956

humansofnewyork:

"We practiced for about thirty minutes before he actually called my parents. I pretended to be my mom, and tried to think of all the reasons she’d object to us getting married, and he practiced his rebuttals. The actual call was a lot easier than the rehearsal."
(New Delhi, India)

humansofnewyork:

"We practiced for about thirty minutes before he actually called my parents. I pretended to be my mom, and tried to think of all the reasons she’d object to us getting married, and he practiced his rebuttals. The actual call was a lot easier than the rehearsal."

(New Delhi, India)

 
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