A quiet hello said low in the morning
A genuine effort: welcome, Newcomer
a home, a life, some food & some funding
Solid company that brings us together
the alluring, the shy, the quick and the funny
a love that binds us stronger than tethers
A mouth that is mellow and slower than honey
with lips that procure, that swell and are hungry
the sounds of kisses, the battles of loving
openness of spirit, red frames for the lonely
Silence and solitude
One is the host, one is the guest
A kind of company that is loneliness
Steal a still room to quieten one’s breast
To appease and deny, to push and to press
How can I ask anyone to love me
When all I do is beg to be left alone
Well I’m hard, too hard to know
Pictures by Ann Woo,
lyrics by Fiona Apple
Stage 1: great afflictions saturate the stomach.
Stage 2: the heart empties once the task is completed.
Stage 3: dailiness finally fills the veins.
Posted in Arts, Images/Words
Tagged art, Arts, Brazilian art, Brazilian artist, contemporary art, female artists, Installations, Literature, sculpture, Tatiana Blass, Thoughts, Words/Images
The age of a habit is not determined by the speed of its death.
It is the availability of new interests that cause its decay.
And interests can emerge, be reborn and die again.
Being outspoken has never propelled me to produce speech that is a proper portrait of my inner self.
Why ponder and pry into my principles only to prefer to remain silent?
I’m betraying my best interests.
You didn’t see my valentine
I sent it via pantomime
While you were watching someone else
I stared at you and cut myself
That’s all I’ll do cause I’m not free
A fugitive too dull to flee
The old and the recent, the new and the seen are mingling at present
Let us hope the outcome will regard the seldom said but permently felt
If I’m butter, if I’m butter
If I’m butter then he’s a hot knife
Phase 01 of the project of a new life is almost complete
Desperate times due to disparate thoughts
Silence can feed as easily as it can make you falter
And if you nourish a hope on muteness, the heart is swiftly quietened
Quiet, cold and silent is a life no longer vibrant
When saying what you want without waiting for your words to wane, beware.
You may deem you are wallowing in straightforwardness, but your curly tongue won’t get you anywhere.
One, two, three: now look within.
Fickle and fragile and febrile and foolish
After so many years of self-awareness
Why do innver moves still force the surface out of focus?
Sighing: self-inflicted pain is the only one to let go
Night Street Touch takes a simple repetitive action and makes it the subject of the work. (…) the act of touching whatever is in the viewfinder is repeated making a closed loop between subject and action. The touching of these objects, surfaces and places is simple yet gains a psychological dimension, as if the action cannot be escaped from.
So abysmal and yet so palpable the impression of being unable to escape one’s own exploits and their psychological repercussions. But to touch is to feel, and acting is living through contact.
Even when one does not own up to one’s actions.