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Art is the space between—
The thing about art
it can only evoke the feelings already inside you—
it's completely undefined without an audience's reflections
it can't offer more than what you already have.
The thing itself is not art: the poem, the painting, the film.
It is the space between you and that thing.
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Here’s what I’ve learned about love:
Love is truly accepting someone for who they are. It has nothing to do with desire.
Desire is the pursuit of love. But real love stands still. Real love sees things for exactly what they are and chooses to remain. Real love is not a happy ending. It’s the acceptance of any possibility and every ending.
This kind of love is honesty. And honesty is beauty.
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The simplest piece of advice: you don’t know until you know.
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“For someone who loved words as much as I did, it was amazing how often they failed me.”
— M.L. Rio, If We Were Villains
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“END CIVILIZATION (KISS YOUR HOMIES)”
–A.narchist N.etwork of U.ngovernable S.quatters (ANUS), (2023)
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Mood board as of late. I’ve been going through changes 🪐
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I write a letter to the universe, not realizing I’m just talking to myself 🌌
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This we know:
we were
not meant
to suffer
so much
& to learn
nothing.
- Lucille Clifton, “How to Carry Water”
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““I write to find out what I’m thinking.” Julia Alvarez”
—
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Photo
James Jebusa Shannon (American, 1862-1923)
The Drawing Room, 1900
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"Body begs to be held, dares to fall apart"
Saw this quote on Twitter, couldn't find an author anywhere...putting it here for safekeeping
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