hjaertdjur reblogged
thegreatinthesmall-deactivated2
Peter Weibel Self Portrait (original title: Knife as a Mirror), 1975
hjaertdjur reblogged
Mona Hatoum | You Are Still Here, 1994, Etched mirrored glass, metal
Source: v-eck
hjaertdjur reblogged
“It’s when you hide things that you choke on them.”
— Charles Bukowski
hjaertdjur reblogged
Self-Portraits by Torrance Hall
Torrance Hall is a 17-year-old visual artist based in Richmond, Virginia whose got a knack for turning thoughts in his head into fully realized visuals.
Throughout his work he explores the relationship between the imagination, dreams and the everyday vision of human experiences with dark and fantastical narratives. Peep more of his work at torrancehall.com
hjaertdjur reblogged
likeafieldmouse-deactivated2015
Francis Alys - Sometimes Making Something Leads to Nothing (1997)
hjaertdjur reblogged
I never wanted a quiet,
sensible sort of love. I wanted
to be devoured.
Beau Taplin, “The Devouring” (via loveage-moondream)
Source: thelovejournals.com
hjaertdjur reblogged
hjaertdjur reblogged
New book: Your glacial expectations - by Olafur Eliasson and Günther Vogt, with literary contribution by Josefine Klougart. On Thames & Hudson
hjaertdjur reblogged
wordsnquotes
I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once.
George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings (via wordsnquotes)
Source: wordsnquotes.com
hjaertdjur reblogged
Source: jonathanspeed.co.uk
hjaertdjur reblogged
“Pan y Rosas!” (Máximo Gonzáles, 2010 - Mexico/Argentina)
hjaertdjur reblogged
INSECURITY OPPORTUNITY PART #2
hjaertdjur reblogged
東京, さようなら - Meiyan
2016-04
Kodak Ektar 100
Fujifilm X-Tra 400
Lomography Color Negative 400
hjaertdjur reblogged
Anthony Cudahy
hjaertdjur reblogged
Douglas Gordon and Morgane Tschiember, As close as you can for as long as it lasts, 2016
Source: contemporary-art-blog.com
hjaertdjur reblogged
Miguel Chevalier, The Origin of the World 2013
hjaertdjur reblogged
thewastedgeneration
I can only connect deeply or not at all.
Anaïs Nin, Fire (via thewastedgeneration)