i love wolfy mozart.
i hear his music's okay.
Women having been treated with hypnosis to lessen the effects of “female hysteria.” See last post for more ideas about 19th century femininity.

Women having been treated with hypnosis to lessen the effects of “female hysteria.” See last post for more ideas about 19th century femininity.

wwnorton:

Beware the dangers to travellers therein! 19th century ‘Map of Woman’s Heart’ charts the treacherous grounds of a lady’s character.
Via  _waterman

wwnorton:

Beware the dangers to travellers therein! 19th century ‘Map of Woman’s Heart’ charts the treacherous grounds of a lady’s character.

Via  _waterman

(via tylergoodson)

tylergoodson:

Photo: Walker Evans (1935)
Theories of Time and Space
by Natasha Tretheway
 
You can get there from here, thoughthere’s no going home.
Everywhere you go will be somewhereyou’ve never been. Try this:
head south on Mississippi 49, one-by-one mile markers ticking off
another minute of your life. Follow thisto its natural conclusion – dead end
at the coast, the pier at Gulfport whereriggings of shrimp boats are loose stitches
in a sky threatening rain. Cross overthe man-made beach, 26 miles of sand
dumped on a mangrove swamp – buriedterrain of the past. Bring only
what you must carry – tome of memoryits random blank pages. On the dock
where you board the boat for Ship Island,someone will take your picture:
the photograph – who you were – will be waiting when you return.

tylergoodson:

Photo: Walker Evans (1935)

Theories of Time and Space

by Natasha Tretheway

You can get there from here, though
there’s no going home.

Everywhere you go will be somewhere
you’ve never been. Try this:

head south on Mississippi 49, one-
by-one mile markers ticking off

another minute of your life. Follow this
to its natural conclusion – dead end

at the coast, the pier at Gulfport where
riggings of shrimp boats are loose stitches

in a sky threatening rain. Cross over
the man-made beach, 26 miles of sand

dumped on a mangrove swamp – buried
terrain of the past. Bring only

what you must carry – tome of memory
its random blank pages. On the dock

where you board the boat for Ship Island,
someone will take your picture:

the photograph – who you were –
will be waiting when you return.

when graham and i started dating, we would walk along the dirtroad behind oak house and watch fireflies in the ravine the road ran beside. graham took this picture of the same road when it had been covered over with snow, and i was in thomasville preparing to leave for three months in england. this weekend graham asked me to marry him, and for the last few days athens skies have rained and rained, and that road out back of the oak house is green and lush and covered in drops.

when graham and i started dating, we would walk along the dirtroad behind oak house and watch fireflies in the ravine the road ran beside. graham took this picture of the same road when it had been covered over with snow, and i was in thomasville preparing to leave for three months in england. this weekend graham asked me to marry him, and for the last few days athens skies have rained and rained, and that road out back of the oak house is green and lush and covered in drops.

In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? 

The Tyger. William Blake. 1794.

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire? 
What the hand dare seize the fire? 

The Tyger. William Blake. 1794.

(Source: ourblogoflove.com)

 

Illustration by Lotte Klaver.
Gloire de Dijon



When she rises in the morning
I linger to watch her;
She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window
And the sunbeams catch her
Glistening white on the shoulders,
While down her sides the mellow
Golden shadow glows as
She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts
Sway like full-blown yellow
Gloire de Dijon roses.
She drips herself with water, and her shoulders
Glisten as silver, they crumple up
Like wet and falling roses, and I listen
For the sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals.
In the window full of sunlight
Concentrates her golden shadow
Fold on fold, until it glows as
Mellow as the glory roses.

d. h. lawrence. 1912.

Illustration by Lotte Klaver.

Gloire de Dijon

When she rises in the morning
I linger to watch her;
She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window
And the sunbeams catch her
Glistening white on the shoulders,
While down her sides the mellow
Golden shadow glows as
She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts
Sway like full-blown yellow
Gloire de Dijon roses.

She drips herself with water, and her shoulders
Glisten as silver, they crumple up
Like wet and falling roses, and I listen
For the sluicing of their rain-dishevelled petals.
In the window full of sunlight
Concentrates her golden shadow
Fold on fold, until it glows as
Mellow as the glory roses.
d. h. lawrence. 1912.
starry night. van gogh. 1889.
see below for similarities and poem.

starry night. van gogh. 1889.

see below for similarities and poem.

sven & vered armster

The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less;  
The times are winter, watch, a world undone:  
They waste, they wither worse; they as they run  
Or bring more or more blazon man's distress.  
And I not help. Nor word now of success:       
All is from wreck, here, there, to rescue one—  
Work which to see scarce so much as begun  
Makes welcome death, does dear forgetfulness.  
  
Or what is else? There is your world within.  
There rid the dragons, root out there the sin.   
Your will is law in that small commonweal...
gerard manley hopkins, 1918.

sven & vered armster

The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less;  
The times are winter, watch, a world undone:  
They waste, they wither worse; they as they run  
Or bring more or more blazon man's distress.  
And I not help. Nor word now of success:       
All is from wreck, here, there, to rescue one—  
Work which to see scarce so much as begun  
Makes welcome death, does dear forgetfulness.  
  
Or what is else? There is your world within.  
There rid the dragons, root out there the sin.   
Your will is law in that small commonweal...
gerard manley hopkins, 1918.

twin lambs on a henge-ed plain in avebury, england. they loved to skip and play.

twin lambs on a henge-ed plain in avebury, england. they loved to skip and play.

“raff·ish   /ˈræfɪʃ
[raf-ish]

–adjective
1. mildly or sometimes engagingly disreputable or nonconformist; rakish: a matinee idol whose raffish offstage behavior amused millions.
2. gaudily vulgar or cheap; tawdry.”

(Source: dictionary.com)

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