image

it’s been a while.


tea time.

discardingimages:
“falling stars
Livre de la Vigne nostre Seigneur, France ca. 1450-1470
Bodleian Library, MS. Douce 134, fol. 47r
”

discardingimages:

falling stars

Livre de la Vigne nostre Seigneur, France ca. 1450-1470

Bodleian Library, MS. Douce 134, fol. 47r

Heatwave in Ireland Reveals Prehistoric Stone Monument

historical-nonfiction:

image

Thanks to the low rainfall, the outline of this prehistoric stone circle, or henge, was shown in how the crops grew.

Here’s how it works. Moisture lodges in archaeological features a little more than in plain soil. So when a drought hits, the plants directly above the archaeological features get a little more water than the plants not over an archaeological feature.

A drone flying over privately-owned fields is credited with the discovery.

(Source: irishtimes.com, via historical-nonfiction)

I Sing the Body Electric; Especially When My Power Is Out

apoemaday:

by Andrea Gibson

This is my body
I have weather veins
They’re especially sensitive to dust storms and hurricanes
When I’m nervous my teeth chatter like a wheelbarrow collecting rain
I am rusty when I talk- it is the storm in me

The doctor said some day I might not be able to walk
It’s in my blood like the iron
My mother is as tough as nails, she held herself together
The day she could no longer hold my niece she said
“Our kneecaps are our prayer beds
Everyone can walk farther on their kneecaps than they can on their feet”

This is my heartbeat
Like yours, it is a hatchet
It can build a house, or tear one down
My mouth is a fire escape
The words coming out don’t care that they are naked
There is something burning in here
When it burns, I hold my own shell to my ear
Listen for the parade when I was seven
The man who played the bagpipes wore a skirt
He was from Scotland- I wanted to move there
Wanted my spine to be the spine of an unpublished book
My fate, the first and last page

The day my ribcage became monkey bars
For a girl hanging on my every word
They said “you are not allowed to love her”
Tried to take me by the throat
And teach me I was not a boy
I had to unlearn their prison speak
Refuse to make wishes on the star on the sheriff’s chest
I started wishes on the stars in the sky instead

I said to the the sun
“Tell me about the big bang”
The sun said
“it hurts to become”

I carry that hurt on the tip of my tongue
And whisper bless your heart every chance I get
So my family tree can be sure I have not left
You do not have to leave to arrive
I am learning this slowly

So sometimes when I look in the mirror
My eyes look like the holes in the shoe of the shoe shine man
My hands are busy on the wrong things
Some days, I call my arms wings
While my head is in the clouds

It will take me a few more years to learn
Flying is not pushing away the ground
Safety is not always safe
You can find one on every gun
I am aiming to do better

This is my body
My exhaustion pipe will never pass inspection
And still my lungs know how to breathe
Like a burning map
Everytime I get lost behind the curtain of her hair
You can find me by the window
Following my past to a trail of blood
In the snow

The night I opened my veins
The doctor who stitched me up asked me if I did it for attention
For the record, if you have ever done anything for attention,
This poem is attention
Title it with your name
It will scour the city bridge every night
You stand kicking at your shadow
Staring at the river
It does not want to find your body
Doing anything but loving what it loves
So love what you love

Say this is my body
It is no ones but mine
This is my nervous system
My wanting blood
My half tamed addictions
My tongue, tied up like a ball of Christmas lights
If you put a star on the top of my tree,
Make sure it’s a star that fell
Make sure it hit bottom like a tambourine
Cause all these words are stories

For the staircase to the top of my lungs
Where I sing what hurts
And the echo comes back
Bless your heart
Bless your body
Bless your holy kneecaps
They are so smart
You are so full of rain
There is so much growing
Hallelujah to your weather veins
Hallelujah to the ache
To the pull
To the fall
To the pain
Hallelujah To the grace
And the body
and every cell of us all

unlearnedreader:
“Martha Pettway, housetop variation quilt, 1930s
”

unlearnedreader:

Martha Pettway, housetop variation quilt, 1930s

(via marisa-ramirez)

vibratehigherdaily:

“Your previous situation was the teacher. Your current situation is the test. Remember the lesson/s.”

— Lalah Delia

(via lalahdelia)

nobrashfestivity:
“Louise Bourgeois Work on Fabric
more
”

nobrashfestivity:

Louise Bourgeois  Work on Fabric

more

(via nobrashfestivity)

garadinervi:
“Hans Knuchel, Blau Gelb Rot, Verlag Lars Müller, Baden, 1991
”

garadinervi:

Hans Knuchel, Blau Gelb Rot, Verlag Lars Müller, Baden, 1991

(via garadinervi)

philamuseum:

Nowruz is the Persian New Year and celebrates spring and renewal. To prepare for this holiday, families clean their homes, buy new clothes, decorate with fresh flowers, and create a symbolically decorated table called a “haftseen.” Nowruz is celebrated throughout Iran, the Caucuses, Central Asia, and even parts of India.

Tile,” 17th century, Iran or Persia 

Embroidered Bedcover,” late 19th century, Afghanistan 

Child’s Tunic (Elek),” 20th century, Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, or Uzbekistan 

met-cloisters:
“Pilgrim’s Badge, The Cloisters
Medium: Lead
The Cloisters Collection, 1977 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY
http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/472045
”

met-cloisters:

Pilgrim’s Badge, The Cloisters

Medium: Lead

The Cloisters Collection, 1977 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY

http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/472045

starxgoddess:
““Danse Macabre” woodcut by Hans Holbein, 1526
”

starxgoddess:

“Danse Macabre” woodcut by Hans Holbein, 1526

(via bookeofhowrs)

hazelcills:
“Tracey Emin
”

hazelcills:

Tracey Emin

(via female-arthistory)

philamuseum:

It’s no coincidence that National Quilting Day occurs during Women’s History Month. Today we’re honoring the quilting tradition from Gee’s Bend, Alabama. We selected a few highlights made by women quilters from our recent acquisition from the Souls Grown Deep Foundation, which is dedicated to documenting, preserving, exhibiting, and promoting the works of contemporary African American artists from the southeastern United States.

“Housetop Quilt-Fractured-Medallion Variation,” c. 1955, by Delia Bennett © Estate of Delia Bennett/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo Stephen Pitkin/Pitkin Studio/Art Resource (AR), New York

“Flying Geese Variation Quilt” c. 1935, by Annie E. Pettway © Estate of Annie E. Pettway. Photo Stephen Pitkin/Pitkin Studio/Art Resource (AR), New York

“Roman Stripes Variation Quilt,” 1970, by Loretta Pettway © Loretta Pettway/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: Stephen Pitkin/Pitkin Studio/Art

“Two-Sided Work-Clothes Quilt,” 1940–49, by Martha Jane Pettway © Estate of Ma

inthenoosphere:

“One thousand trees have been planted in Nordmarka, a forest just outside Oslo, which will supply paper for a special anthology of books to be printed in one hundred years time. Between now and then, one writer every year will contribute a text, with the writings held in trust, unpublished, until the year 2114. Tending the forest and ensuring its preservation for the one hundred year duration of the artwork finds a conceptual counterpoint in the invitation extended to each writer: to conceive and produce a work in the hopes of finding a receptive reader in an unknown future.”

— Future Library, Katie Paterson, www.futurelibrary.no

(via noosphe-re)

la-femme-terrible:
“Ha Bun Shu, Mori Yuzan, 1919. Yamda Geishu Do.
”

la-femme-terrible:

Ha Bun Shu, Mori Yuzan, 1919. Yamda Geishu Do.

(via thewowander)