Learning and relearning and relearning compassion.
I can, at least, never say that I am harder on other people than I am on myself.
For some reason, it’s only when I’m really intoxicated that I’m able to understand the world in a way that makes sense. It’s the only time I’m able to step far enough out of myself that I can conceptualize myself as an actual human-shaped critter like all the ones I talk to everyday, and it’s the only time I spend really believing that everyone - no matter their age or level of perceived status or privilege or whatever - is just a scared little kid trying to look big in their grown up pants and handling things that feel too big for them to handle. And criticizing themselves. And laughing wildly, and making bumbling mistakes, and falling in love with the wrong things, and trying to make sense of things that will never, ever make sense because the world only makes sense if you look at it as a series of repeating mathematical patterns that don’t really mean anything. And anyway, I guess that I’m not a person who passes through people like I always used to think I was as a kid. People like that don’t really exist. People take up space.
Wyoh: A Rebuttal
I just read a rant by a photographer I used to admire. I say “used to” because it’s hard to admire and respect someone who comes across as petty and cruel, especially when it comes to something as subjective as art.
There seems to be a common gripe online about what is…
I’d like to add, also, that if something doesn’t resonate with you - you can’t really blame it on the art. You can’t say, ‘This photo/painting/play sucks,’ because there are many people who will probably disagree with you. You can say, ‘This photo/painting/play doesn’t work for me, and here’s why’, etc - totally valid.
But do not blame the art.
If you don’t understand something, you must also accept the fact that art is not about accessibility. Art is not about accommodating the masses. It is an expression of the artist’s self or view of the world, and if that resonates with you? Wonderful. If not? Oh well. It was never their responsibility to please you. It was only their responsibility to be as truthful to their expression as they could be. That’s the point at which an artist has done their job.
Because really though. If all art tried to accommodate all people - aside from the fact that that goal is impossible - we would be left with nothing that could challenge us or inspire us. Nothing that made us think. Nothing that enriched our understanding of the human experience.
I work at what I’ll call an art piece for my ‘day’ job. As people leave, I try to engage them in conversation about their experience - and the responses are incredibly varied. People report back that they understood nothing, were not at all intrigued, and took nothing away from their night - while others come out having had a positively religious experience and are looking at their life through new eyes. One of the most common complaints I’ll hear from the people who ‘didn’t get it’ is that they feel they were not given enough information. I hear a lot of, ‘Well, you should have TOLD us more.’ The thing is, doing that would have completely altered the nature and intention of the experience. ‘Telling’ more would have diluted the potential potency of the whole thing - so that those folks who come out with their life altered would not have been nearly as compelled, and those who didn’t get it before might walk away with a bit more understanding, but probably not profoundly more satisfaction. In that circumstance, no one really wins.
In short, let the art do what it wants to do. And if something doesn’t resonate with you - just move on to something else that does.
Anonymous asked: I just came across your blog and I've been on every single page and studied every single post. It has reinforced how different I am from everyone else and how much I've appreciated the beautiful things and moments in life. But there's this void,this emptiness in me,I don't know what it is,I know YOU can help me.
Can I? Can I really, anon?
I smell troll, here, but regardless - the void of which you speak? Yeah, welcome to humanity. Have a shot.
Of note:
The other day, I received my very first piece of offensive, vitriolic hatemail AND hit a milestone number of followers that I had never hoped to achieve. I feel weirdly victorious.
Does this mean I’ve ‘arrived’?
(Thanks for your support! New work coming soon. xo )
MIRROR: A New Romanticism
Yes. Participating in or experiencing art is a way for us to get closer to the truth of who we are as humans, the wildness inside ourselves that craves a depth of beauty that we’re told to believe doesn’t really exist these days. I throw myself into theatre, art, music, because it helps me experience a level of intensity and passion that’s frowned on in our day to day dialogue - that everyone feels, but few people have the language to express.
I feel that with all of the phases of history, a certain philosophy in art has fallen away ,and has been relegated to some other, more ‘precious’ time I believe in a rebirth of Romanticism.My goal is not to try to recapture this ideal as Genre as much as reclaim it for the time in which I…
by Allicette Torres
Manhattan
untitled sea poem
These days happen (before, now, and again) to people like us.
The sea breeze whips and whirls, welcoming-
It is already familiar with the contours of your proud face
and the twists of my tangled, salt-soaked hair.
We have been here often, you and I,
holding different hands on different shores.
These days happen before, now and again.
Oceans sing in their own certain symphony,
a sound which carries words closer to each other
than they can ever come in silence.
My secrets are like cobwebs in my mouth which you draw out of me
and weave into something unseen for you to keep.
I will keep nothing of you but the memory of your open eyes,
too weary to be guarded.
If humans had shells, our bodies would be opalescent beneath them.
This is what we are in the stillness of each other;
beauty unguarded and unnoticed, the paint and the posturing all crumbled away.
These days happen (before, now and again) to people like us.
We feel the sharp edges of these rocks too intimately, you and I,
edges rough under your fingertips and hard on my shoes.
They stand in vivid contrast against entire weeks I have forgotten,
along with the indistinguishable spray of sea and rain and the greys and blues of you.
Your gaze is fixed on the horizon,
and maybe you don’t notice the brittle things I abandon below us.
They are swept away just the same, and I begin to understand the purpose of the tide.
I think perhaps this is all that I know of love.
written by elena siddal, Friday April 12th 2013
only reblog with credits intact
Okay, so. I know I said no more nudes on this blog, but the thing is, no one EVER gets photos of me smiling, so I really wanted to share this one.
Model: Elena Siddal
