anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
Chaos (The Creation), 1841, Ivan Aivazovski
Medium: oil,canvas
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
Please let me be a blaze. I will destroy, / I mean create again this place.
Robin Richardson, from “Disembodied at the Botanical Gardens,” Sit How You Want
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
violentwavesofemotion-deactivat
“We must love one another in our art as the mystics love one another in God. By honoring one another’s creation we honor something that deeply connects us all, and goes beyond us.”
Joyce Carol Oates, from an interview conducted by Robert Phillips c. 1978
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
People create poetry and mustard gas. We invent gods and monsters and gods that might as well be monsters. We act with extraordinary grace and unfathomable cruelty. We’re so terribly intelligent, and dreadfully easy to fool.
KJ Charles, Spectred Isle
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
As you read a book word by word and page by page, you participate in its creation, just as a cellist playing a Bach suite participates, note by note, in the creation, the coming-to-be, the existence, of the music. And, as you read and re-read, the book of course participates in the creation of you, your thoughts and feelings, the size and temper of your soul.
Ursula K. Le Guin
Creative work bridges time because the energy of art is not time-bound… our interest in art is our interest in ourselves both now and always. Here and forever. There is a sense of the human spirit as always existing. This makes our death bearable. Life + art is a boisterous communion/communication with the dead. It is a boxing match with time.
Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?
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…I wanted to make something. I wanted to finish my own sentences.
Louise Glück, from Proofs & Theories: Essays on Poetry
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please, keep writing. keep drawing. keep painting. please keep making your art no matter how many may try to push you down. the world does not have nearly enough artists.
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
nemophilies-deactivated20190428
An artistic image is one that ensures its own development, its historical viability. An image is a grain, a self-evolving retroactive organism. It is a symbol of actual life, as opposed to life itself. Life contains death. An image of life, by contrast, excludes it, or else sees in it a unique potential for the affirmation of life. Whatever it expresses—even destruction and ruin—the artistic image is by definition an embodiment of hope, it is inspired by faith. Artistic creation is by definition a denial of death. Therefore it is optimistic, even if in an ultimate sense the artist is tragic.
Andrei Tarkovsky, Time Within Time: The Diaries 1970-1986
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
The humiliation I go through
when I think of my past
can only be described as grace.
We are created by being destroyed.
Franz Wright, from ‘Letter’
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girlalienated
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
I have flowed, become stagnant, festered, I have fallen from above. Mass, rhythmic, in harmony with my millions of drops, I have rained. I have been earth with the earths. Foaming, humid, I have slept a faceless face down. I have. Had. Lived. Done. Been. All the words that grow before the tip of the tongue, before I reach it. I am a body who has enjoyed creation.
Hélène Cixous, as quoted in White Ink: Interviews on Sex, Text, and Politics
All that in idea seemed simple became in practice immediately complex; as the waves shape themselves symmetrically from the cliff top, but to the swimmer among them are divided by steep gulfs, and foaming crests.
Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
Art, be it poetry, music, sculpture, puppetry—the whole of it, inspires change on a personal level rather than a global one. This is important because the individual is the whole. The creation of art argues that people are connected, ideas are connected, the past and future are connected by this moment.
Jamaal May, interviewed by Stacey Balkun for The Normal School
we are all imprisoned in the castle of our skins
and some of us have said so be it
my moat will not restrict me but be filled
with dolphins sitting on lily pads and sea horses ridden by
starfish
and yellow jackets will buzz me to sleep
Nikki Giovanni, from “Poem [for Nina]”, My House
She must try to get hold of something that evaded her. What she wished to get hold of was that very jar on the nerves, the thing itself before it has been made anything.
Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
and sometimes i sit
down at my typewriter
and i think
not of someone
cause there isn't anyone
to think
about and i wonder
is it worth it
Nikki Giovanni, "And Sometimes I Sit", Creation