#an andalusian dog

[bwallure]

AN ANDALUSIAN DOG | UN CHIEN ANDALOU (1929) dir. Luis Buñuel

[weirdlookindog]

Un Chien Andalou (1929)

[classicfilmpunk]

Un Chien Andalou (1929) dir. Luis Buñuel

[qeleresh]

[mediaomnivore]

Last night I watched An Andalusian Dog (Un Chie Andalou) because I’ve been on a Salvador Dalí kick.

Even though there are more famous disturbing images from it, the ants coming out of the stigmata was the one that stuck with me the most.

[12-cluh]

SCP/MTF Collection #7

Alpha-1 (“Red Right Hand”)

Epsilon-9 (“Fire Eaters”)

Zeta-9 (“Mole Rats”)

Tau-5 (“Samsara”)

Iota-10 (“Damn Feds”)

Upsilon-90 ("Andalusian Dogs")

[majuuorthrus]

You can tell Bodegueros have sighthound in them because of the stupid poses they sleep in

[infinite-headache]

I was just scraping a sticker off a tote bag with a blade, and unlocked a new intrusive though

[baeksqt]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄 - aitana bonmatí

aitana bonmatí x fem!lyon!reader

(a/n: had this sitting in my drafts since she won the ballon d'or, and I finally have a small break so enjoy luvvies (*^‿^*))

word count: 1243

genre: fluff

summary: an adorable aitana meetcute

On a breezy spring afternoon in Barcelona, the cosy bookshop cafe Letras Vivas buzzed with its usual charm. Tucked away on a quiet side street, a haven for readers and coffee lovers alike. The warm aroma of roasted beans mingled with the soft rustle of pages being turned and the occasional tinkling of laughter from patrons. The cafe was the kind of place where time seemed to slow, where strangers might strike up conversations over dog-eared novels or debate the best way to make a cortado.

You step inside, grateful for the reprieve from the city’s lively streets. The team had arrived in Barcelona a few days early to acclimate before the upcoming Champions League final. The pressure was immense – two giants of women’s football going head-to-head – but you had sought this little sanctuary for some peace. As much as you thrive on competition, moments like these were a way to offer clarity amidst the chaos.

Clad in a casual, well-worn shirt and a pair of faded jeans, you seemed a world away from the electrifying football star celebrated in the vibrant match posters that adorned the streets of Lyon. As you moved through the dimly lit bookstore, your fingers delicately glided over the spines of countless books lining the shelves near the entrance, occasionally pausing to absorb the titles that beckoned softly. Your gaze eventually landed on a novel, its cover a breathtaking watercolour that captured the charm of a seaside town, an irresistible pull urging you to pull it from the shelf and delve into its world.

At the counter, Aitana Bonmatí, FC Barcelona’s fiery midfielder, was already ordering her cappuccino. The barista seemed charmed by Aitana’s easy banter, her quick wit and warm laugh lighting up the space. She exuded the kind of confidence that came from knowing you were exactly where you belonged. The distinctive red-and-blue hoodie with Barça’s crest proudly displayed was casually slung over her shoulders, and drew occasional glances, but most were too polite to approach her.

As you approached the counter, Aitana turned, her grin wide and inviting, her hazel eyes bright with recognition. It took you a heartbeat to place her–you had seen that grin a hundred times before, from game footage to interviews to across the pitch. The face of Barcelona’s squad and one the most formidable centres in the game. And in just three days, your opponent. Once again. 

Aitana didn’t miss the split second of hesitation that flickered across your face, and she seized the opportunity to break the ice with a playful energy. “Hey,” she said, her voice warm and laced with just a hint of mischief. “Nice to see you off the pitch.”

You blinked, caught slightly off guard but managing a smile. “Oh, uh, hi. Didn’t expect to run into you here.” Your Andalusian accent was unmistakable, and Aitana’s grin grew wider.

“You Lyon players just can’t resist the good spots, huh?” Aitana quipped, leaning casually against the counter. Her eyes flicked to the book in your hand. “Good choice. That’s one of my favourites.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding up the book. “Really? You’ve read it?”

Aitana’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she nodded, her ponytail swaying rhythmically with her head. “You won’t believe how captivating it is! It unfolds in this charming little fishing village—teeming with intense drama, sweeping love stories, and heart-wrenching heartbreak… it’s absolutely everything you could want! Imagine it like football, but infused with much more romance and way fewer tackles!”

A smile crept across your face as you placed the book on the counter, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. “I’ll take your word for it, but relying on my opponent’s taste in literature? That feels like a risky move!”

“Oh, come on! Today, we’re not opponents at all!” The mischievous glint in Aitana’s eyes mirrored her playful smirk. “We’re just two enthusiasts who appreciate fine coffee and extraordinary tales.”

The barista expertly crafted Aitana’s cappuccino, the velvety foam adorned with an artful heart-shaped swirl that seemed to float above the cup. Instead of making a beeline for the door, Aitana lingered, her presence radiating warmth and curiosity as she patiently waited for you to finish your order, the air around you charged with an electric sense of connection. When you joined her at a nearby table, your conversation flowed with surprising ease.

Listening intently, as Aitana, ever the local, effortlessly wove stories about her childhood in Vilanova. Her voice softened as she talked about watching games at Camp Nou as a kid, her dreams of one day playing on the same pitch now a reality. She pointed out a few must-visit spots within Barcelona, her favourite tapas bar tucked away in El Born and a rooftop terrace with breathtaking views of the city at sunset.

It was your turn to share, Aitana leaned in, intrigued as you painted a picture of life in France. Your voice gained a quiet pride as you described Lyon’s relentless training culture—the way it pushed everyone to their limits and brought out the best in them. The early morning drills in the pouring rain, late-night strategy sessions, and the camaraderie that came from working with some of the best players in the game.

“So you’re telling me you actually enjoy those gruelling training sessions? Compared to the easiness of Madrid?” The brunette questioned.

“It’s not about enjoying them, exactly.” You shrugged, your smile softening. “It’s about knowing they make me better. And there’s something fun about the discipline, the way it transforms you. Being at Real Madrid, I never had that.” You finished.

Aitana nodded thoughtfully, her playful demeanour giving way to a moment of genuine admiration. “I get that,” she said. “I think that’s why I love playing here—Barcelona’s always pushed me to be more, too.”

Her words hung between the two of you, a shared understanding unspoken but felt. Despite the teams they represented and the rivalry that defined them season after season. They were, at their core, not so different. For a moment, the looming match disappeared, replaced by the quiet connection of two people who understood what it meant to give everything to the sport they loved.

“So,” Aitana began, cradling her cup, her tone suddenly teasing, “how’s Lyon feeling about Saturday? Ready to lose?”

You leaned forward, a playful spark in your eyes. “Confident enough to say you’ll be the one losing.” you shot back. Your laughter mingled, drawing a few curious glances from other patrons, but neither of you seemed to care, bantering for what felt like hours.

As the sun began to dip, casting the cafe in a warm golden glow, you both reluctantly stood to leave. Outside, the streets buzzed with life, the distant hum of a guitar echoing from a nearby plaza. 

At the door, Aitana paused, turning to you with a smile softer than her usual confident smirk. “You know,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “maybe after the match, we should grab a coffee again. No rivalries—just books and good company.”

You tilted your head, cheeks dimpling into a grin. “Deal. But only if Lyon wins.”

Aitana laughed, backing away towards the bustling street, her voice carrying over the noise. “We’ll see about that!”

As you walked in opposite directions, you felt a strange lightness—a fleeting connection sparked by chance, lingering even as you prepared to face her on one of the biggest stages in football.

[horse-breed-a-day]

Hello, I'm a writer and I've ended up putting myself in an interesting spot involving horses.

You see, I have this fantasy world and there are definitely horses. Except these horses are carnivorous pack-hunters. Which is awesome to think about. And I totally want to make a handful of species/variations so I can give them to different characters as ~characterization~.

My problem is that every time I try to research horse breed types, it's so complicated? Like, with dogs, you've got your toy group, hound group, herding group, etc. But horses????

Could you offer any insights or a general overview of horse types? Or even just a link to a place about horses for dummies?

hello there and absolutely! that concept sounds very cool! (i bet you'll find it interesting that horses -very rarely- are opportunistic carnivores) but yes anything horse related tends to be very complicated :P so here's how i tend to break it down!

ponies, miniature horses, cobs, light horses, light drafts, and drafts

ponies are any horse under 14hh in height they tend to be stocky and stubby

miniature horses are horses that tend to range around 34in in height while still retaining the same proportions as a regular horse (this might help explain further)

cobs are pony-like drafts... or draft-like ponies! theyre often short in stature and have feathered legs (that poofy hair around the hooves you see on big horses like clydesdales)

light horses are the ones you see the most, think thoroughbreds, andalusians, quarter horses, warmbloods etc

light drafts are sort of an in-between of light horses and drafts! they tend to be draft-height while retaining the proportions of a light horse

drafts are the ones that most people on tumblr like and you'll see posts of, think of bretons, ardennes, percherons etc! they often range from 17-21hh in height and are all muscle! they often have crested necks and square snouts making them look very Solid

i hope that helps narrow it down in a more structured way and best of luck on ur writing!

[cultpastorkevin]

what if they were dogs this or what if they were cats that

my inner horsegirl demands respect so without further ado here is the AFTG cast as horses

Andrew and Aaron: Fjord

Nicky: American Saddlebred (homozygous pinto)

Neil: Kiger Mustang (buckskin)

Kevin: Thoroughbred (chestnut)

Dan: Marwari (bay)

Matt: Friesian (black)

Allison: Akhal-Teke (perlino)

Seth: Tennessee Walker (blue roan)

Renee: Morgan (palomino dapple)

Riko: Thoroughbred (black)

Thea: Mangalarga Marchador (grey)

Jean: Andalusian (black)

Jeremy: Appaloosa (palomino blanket)

Wymack: Rhenish German Coldblood (chestnut)

Abby: American Quarter Horse (tobiano)

Bee: Silesian (grey)

Kayleigh: Arabian (dapple grey)

Ichirou: Holsteiner (grey)

Tetsuji: Trakehner (grey)

[octuscle]

I went through art school for 6 years and didn't try weed once! Can I get a college stoner preset please to make up for that lost experience.

Art academy? Six years? Without smoking pot? Man, that's more than impressive! I mean, I studied economics… It was difficult to get by without weed…

In art history you discuss Bunuel's Andalusian Dog. Pretty heavy fare. Shit, Dali and Bunuel must have been smoking a lot when they made it. And a fellow student says that you can only endure the movie if you're totally stoned. He asks you if you have anything there. Without giving it much thought, you reach into the inside pocket of your jacket and hand him a small packet of Black Afghan. He discreetly hands you a few bills. And then you turn back to the cinematic realization of the collage principle. Only after a few minutes do you realize what you've just done.

You know in which corner of the campus the stoners meet. Everyone knows. Everyone tolerates it. You've never been there before. But somehow you're drawn there now. And while there are supplies for your customers in your inside pocket, you have a few finished joints in the battered tin in the outside pocket of your old army parker. Shit, weren't you wearing a plain black short coat? Where did that fucked up old olive green thing come from?

You light a joint. You don't care where the parker comes from. You don't give a shit. You couldn't care less with the best will in the world. That feels good. And above all, it gave you a whole range of really good ideas. You are damn creative in the studio today. You are developing a somewhat strange style that is rather unusual for you. But your professor praises you for freeing yourself from your usual technocratic uptightness. A good description of how you feel now.

At some point, when you can take no more and look at the result of today's creative process with satisfaction, you run your fingers through your hair, smeared with paint. Long hair… And you have a beard! Well, you've grown it over the last few years. How many years have you been studying? For ages! You're a fixture on campus… You're here for artistic self-improvement. You're here to provide students and faculty with all kinds of mind-expanding substances. And as long as your parents' money lasts, you'll stay here.

Yes, your flat share is a bit filthy. But you're like the creative center of the art school campus. A bit like the salons of the bohemians in 19th century Paris. Combined with a coffee shop in contemporary Amsterdam. You think that's a cool combination. Enjoy it!

[talonabraxas]

Cinema Poster Art for The Andalusian Dog (1928) Film by Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dali. Art by Wieslaw Walkuski

[eddy25960]

"The love relationship of Salvador Dali and Garcia Lorca / 1920/30s.

The Catalan surrealist artist Salvador Dalí (1904-1989), known for portraying dreams and fantasies on his canvases, in addition to keeping his exotic extremely thin and pointed mustache and his controversial paintings, Dalí's biography hides the love affair between him and the poet, also surrealist, Federico Garcia Lorca.

In 2013, the researcher Vitor Fernández released in Spain the book "Dear Salvador, dear Lorquito", where the love letters between the painter and the poet were gathered during the period 1923 to 1936, when they had an affair and worked in artistic partnerships.

Some excerpts were published in El País newspaper. "You're a Christian storm in need of my paganism. I'll give you the cure for the sea. It will be winter and we will light the fire," says a passage written by Dalí.

"You will remember that you are an inventor of wonderful things, and we will live together with a machine to create," Lorca replies.

In 1926 Lorca published, in the Occidente Magazine, "Ode to Salvador Dalí", recognized by critics, the most beautiful hymn to friendship ever written in Spanish. Reading the poem it is possible to perceive the praise for Dalí's painting and tears praises to the realism and objectivity of Dalí's work of this period, in addition to the evocation of the artist's Reason.

Dalí also paid homage to Lorca in the painting "Honey is sweeter than blood", painted in 1927, and was exhibited the same year at the Autumn Salon in Barcelona.

The screen came to belong to the stylist Coco Channel, a friend of Dalí, and is currently lost. You can only have a photographic reproduction in white and black In the picture, you can observe various elements of life, love and friendship between the two.

Salvador Dalí also made several engravings and drawings; many of them, illustrations for books such as "Alice in Wonderland", "Fausto", "Dom Quixote" and "The Old Man and the Sea"; 15 photos, 40 documents and 4 films, among them the famous "The Andalusian Dog", directed by Luis Buñuel, probably the third element what caused Dali and Lorca to split.

The film contains various literary references of the time. The title, for example, "An Andalusian Dog", is an irony against Garcia Lorca, who understood the hint and from then on never talked to the two again because of the movie.

Buñuel is an essential piece in Garcia and Salvador's story. The story of the relationship between the two can be seen in the 2008 film "Little Ashes", starring Robert Pattinson long before he became the vampire Edward in the "Twilight" trilogy. And the hot scenes with the actor.

Dalí met Garcia Lorca at the age of 19, at the University Residence in Madrid, during the first months of 1923. The painter was admitted to the San Fernando Academy of Fine Arts in 1922.

And he was already an extravagant character, being accepted into the student group in which Luís Buñuel and Lorca were part of, proving to be modern and talented. In the movie Little Cinzas you can notice Lorca's intimacy with Salvador and jealousy for the painter's approach with Buñuel. "

Credit - original owner ( respect 🫡)

(American Philosophy publication)

[asgoodeasgold]

Hackett SS24 campaign with Matthew Goode - Part 7 (Final!!) GIFs

I am finally completing the series 6 months after the ad dropped 😆 (and now hoping for an appearance in AW24 🍀🍀).

Matthew is looking stupendous in Sky Blue (thank you Hackett 💙) and is in his happy place surrounded by, playing with, and wearing hats!

And that smile is 🫠

📷 GIFs and 1st two pics are my edits from Hackett SS24 campaign ad. Last 2 pics are by Tom Craig.

Part 6 GIFs

Part 5 GIFs

Part 4 GIFs

Part 3 GIFs

Part 2 GIFs

Part 1 GIFs

Ad