| 1st Mar 2012✧23:56133,514 notes |
Dear Stranger, by Shizuka Yokomizo
For this 1998-2000 series of portraits, photographer Shizuka Yokomizo left several anonymous letters on the doorsteps of random ground floor apartments that read:
“Dear Stranger,
I am an artist working on a photographic project which involves people I do not know…. I would like to take a photograph of you standing in your front room from the street in the evening.”
The letter specified a certain ten-minute period during which the artist would approach, take the picture, and slip back into the darkness. She would only reveal her identity once her subjects received a print and contact information (so that they could let her know if they objected to their portrait being exhibited).
Yokomizo made sure that when the photos were taken, the light would be too dark outside to see her — it would only allow her subjects to see their own reflections in the window they were looking out of.
(via djbrundlefly)
(via communitythings)
I’ve been obsessing about how someone told me I look like Adele today. I remember you writing on your blog that Adele was unattractive. I think I’m fixating on this because there are a million other reasons for you not loving me anymore. This one is just simpler.
i want to go to there.
Jimmy Carter by Jennifer Steinkamp is a site-specific video installation that fills large walls of the gallery; thousands of computer synthesized flowers swing back and forth. The flowers create an illusion where space seems to dematerialize. It feels as though the walls are moving along with the flowers.
(via poteau)
“Something got me but you won’t let go,
If you won’t go you’re gonna die,
with a memory”
Don’t you feed me lines about some idealistic future
Your heart won’t heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures
BOOM. GO JIM RASH!!!
| 26th Feb 2012✧11:44260 notes |
call it off already, good to know you won’t be sad
| 26th Feb 2012✧11:34717 notes |
can’t help but sway a little each time i hear this
~ David Hume (via philphys)
Blandly mother
takes him strolling
by railroad and by river
—he’s the son of the absconded
hot rod angel—
and he imagines cars
and rides them in his dreams,
so lonely growing up among
the imaginary automobiles
and dead souls of Tarrytown
to create
out of his own imagination
the…
