Kiki Smith, Annunciation (detail), 2008, Cast aluminum, Chair
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namilia ss24
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ana mendieta iowa 1979
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“The power of listening is a suspended realization. Awaiting completion. Words miss what they designate. What is said is constantly measured against the unformulable label that secretly supports these words. […] It is not one and the other who are listening to each other; it is actually listening that is unfolding between them. The gentleness arises because it connects two strangers who have become intimate; once or twice a week, same time, same place. These strangers were once children whose thoughts, imagination, fears, longing amazement, feelings of love are lodged in fragments of light in the body. In words, in what lights up their eyes. The power of listening is an activator, in the folds—as understood by Deleuze—of the psyche that are micro-recorders of the real.”
— Anne Dufourmantelle, Power of Gentleness: Meditations on the Risks of Living
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from The Agony of Intimacy by Jeanette Winterson, published in Granta
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Coptic textile / Ajmin, Egypt (Africa)
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Paula Rösler (German, 1875-1941) - All Sorts of Spring Herbs and Grass (n.d.)
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Jane Mead, from “I wonder if I will miss the moss”
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tidnish mountain by rob macinnis
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from The Agony of Intimacy by Jeanette Winterson, published in Granta
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John Cimon Warburg, Cows on Saltburn Sands, North Yorkshire, England, 1915
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“A Ghost Is a Memory.” On Bodies, Belief, and the Places Ghost Stories Live
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“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”
— C. S. Lewis
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Leila Chatti, I Dreamed I Forgot