ceruleanhouse

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marie howe, what the living do

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BEANNACHT / BLESSING

by John O’Donohue

For Josie, my mother

On the day when the weight deadens on your shoulders and you stumble, may the clay dance to balance you. And when your eyes freeze behind the grey window and the ghost of loss gets into you, may a flock of colours, indigo, red, green and azure blue, come to awaken in you a meadow of delight. When the canvas frays in the currach of thought and a stain of ocean blackens beneath you, may there come across the waters a path of yellow moonlight to bring you safely home. May the nourishment of the earth be yours, may the clarity of light be yours, may the fluency of the ocean be yours, may the protection of the ancestors be yours. And so may a slow wind work these words of love around you, an invisible cloak to mind your life.

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chaotic muppets interview

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i think along the river during qingming festival deserves AT LEAST as much of a fandom as bbc sherlock. there’s so much there, tons of material for fanfic. just imagine what we could have

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Mosaic floor tile excavated at Bayland Abbey in Yorkshire, England, 13th century

from The British Museum

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oh yeh we're drawing on fabric again lol

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the beauty in the soft roundness of a woman's belly

vriden, anders zorn | jeune femme nue, henri-jean guillaume martin | duo, leonor fini | etude de femme nue, henri fantin-latour | female nude, william getty | venus au bain, jean-baptiste camille corot | seated nude, emile baes | mountain stream (detail), louis michel eilshemius | gammal spegel, anders zorn | liegender akt, emile baes

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“You may have noticed that the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread. You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words: but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that. Again, you have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw - but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realise that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported. Even in your hobbies, has there not always been some secret attraction which the others are curiously ignorant of - something, not to be identified with, but always on the verge of breaking through, the smell of cut wood in the workshop or the clapclap of water against the boat’s side? Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it - tantalising glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest - if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say “Here at last is the thing I was made for.” We cannot tell each other about it. It is the secret signature of each soul, the incommunicable and unappeasable want, the thing we desired before we met our wives or made our friends or chose our work, and which we shall still desire on our deathbeds, when the mind no longer knows wife or friend or work. While we are, this is. If we lose this, we lose all.”

— C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (via sunrec)

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Kazimierz Sichulski - The Hutsul Madonna (1909)

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📖☕

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the girl and the rig

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everyone shut up and look at this

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unearthed my summer of 2023 sketchbook and found these guys!

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not to sound corny but the textile arts make me feel connected to the world around me. it's so intentional and deliberate and when i sit and do it, i think a lot about how many other women that came before me used to do it, how many hands have used the same supplies i am using, and how many other people might be doing the same thing as me all across the world right now

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Depiction of an antelope carved into a rock in Tin Taghirt, in the Tassili n’Ajjer region of southern Algeria. This art and other artifacts like it are estimated to date from 10,000 to 6,000 years ago.

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Cannot stop thinking about Anne magill paintings. Maybe my new favorite painter. She just captures this ..,,,,,, dreamy feeling...,,, a certain tenderness..... a fleeting moment of contentedness..... like nothing else I’ve seen