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giveupwest
Dark-Winged Angels: Roberto Ferri
Sumptuous oil paintings by Taranto, Italy romantic painter Roberto Ferri (b. 1978), modern master of his own Baroque revival, who some call Caravaggio’s heir. Who am I to argue?
We often see Ferri’s Lucifero posted here and at other blogs (the fifth image down). No idea why I hadn’t previously taken the time to look up more of this painter’s work. Gorgeous, one and all. But be they good or bad, why, we must wonder, are all of the angels’ wings dark?
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“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.”

— Stephen King, The Stand (via books-n-quotes)

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Made by Roullet and Decamps, French, Late 19th Century.

Depicting a winged clown teasing a papier-mâché full moon with a beetle on a string. The clown nods his head and flutters his wings as he lowers the beetle in front of the moon’s nose, causing him to cross his eyes and stick out his tongue in confusion! – The moon was a popular motif for automata-makers at the end of the 19th century, but the “Clown sur la Lune” by Roullet and Decamps and the “Lune Fin de Siècle” by Vichy were the most famous examples of automata featuring the full moon as a human face. This iconic image may have been the inspiration for George Méliès’s silent film “Voyage dans la Lune” (1902), where the moon is depicted in the same way. 

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I just think life is meaningless altogether, most of the time. Yes, there is beauty in the moment, but beyond that? People come and go and you can never count on anyone, and life is just life; a mystery, and ultimately meaningless. The meaning is in the creation, and the creation is a human construct; and people just make up stuff in order to get through life.

René Vernor, Anything Is Possible (via books-n-quotes)

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bloodwaters

A skeleton in the Capella Sansevero, an ancient Italian church which has been turned into a private museum of anatomical petrification. The skeleton was given an injection before death which somehow preserved all veins, arteries and capillaries. (Photo by Evans/Three Lions/Getty Images). Circa 1955

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Why does one begin to write? Because she feels misunderstood, I guess. Because it never comes out clearly enough when she tries to speak. Because she wants to rephrase the world, to take it in and give it back again differently, so that everything is used and nothing is lost. Because it’s something to do to pass the time until she is old enough to experience the things she writes about.

Nicole Krauss, The History of Love (via books-n-quotes)

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