Forget me not
Forget me not
Water Experiment No. 33 Automata
What a beautiful work of craftsmanship.
By: Dean O’Callaghan
montreal street artist roadsworth tries not only to beautify the urban landscape, often by incorporating existing street markings, but to also make a statement about the illusory urban disconnect from the natural environment. his (literal) street art is both a reclamation of a public space that as cyclists and pedestrians we are taught is dangerous, and a response to the primacy afforded to a car culture that largely dictates the planning of this public space. for his efforts, roadsworth was charged with 53 counts of mischief in 2004.
Not the best animation in the world, but my little Murphy sketch was just begging to be animated! (Updated with a cleaner version)
Artist Evan Holm is convinced that ‘there will be a time when all tracings of human culture will dissolve back into the soil under the slow crush of the unfolding universe’.
To demonstrate these rather dark thoughts, he created a submerged record player that’s still producing a nearly perfect audio as demonstrated in the short video below.
If you never stop moving, there is no time to feel unfulfilled.
I come from a small southern town in the U.S., the kind that used to have a railroad depot, some churches, a college, one or two gossip-worthy eccentrics, and not much else. Over the past twenty-five years it has gradually been subsumed into the suburbia of a nearby city: hand in your identity, receive Starbucks and Captain D’s, collect coupons.
But in the early ’60s my parents were fresh out of high school and it was a much different place. Mom likes to tell the story of this girl who was going to marry Elvis Presley.
Everyone knew about it. For weeks it was the buzz in the beauty shop my mother operated at the time, and around town generally. I think the deal was that she was supposed to have met Elvis somehow, somewhere else, and he had promised her that he would show up at the Baptist church on a certain day to put a ring on her finger and whisk her away.
So they did a write-up in the paper, bought a gown, decorated the church, set up the reception, the whole works. When the big day came, it was typically hazy and muggy. They rang the church bells, and the organist started her prelude—but of course, the King of Rock and Roll was nowhere to be found, and the would-be Queen wept that he could have forsaken her as everyone turned around and shuffled off home. Many of them, Mom said, had suspected something fishy all along. But things were different then, you must remember. People were less cynical in a way. It wasn’t as outrageous as it might seem to us now.
Naturally, the whole thing was a fantasy: she had made it up and followed through with it to the last aching minute. Mom doesn’t remember what became of her after that.
oh god. Watch this. now.
merciless primus watch this
robophiles watch this
it’s beautiful, i’m fucking crying…
Oh. Oh guys you NEED TO WATCH THIS. but, um, don’t do it if you don’t want a punch in the gut. It’s beautiful, and thought provoking, and sad.
The Chemistry of Common Life
"This is my family. I found it all on my own. It is little and broken but still good.
Yah. Still good.”
My favorite photo in existence…this was waiting for me on a table a couple of years back when I finished my senior recital.
I think it was the photographer Dorothea Lange who wrote that some photographs show you no more than what you could have seen with your own eyes, while others show you how little your eyes sometimes allow you to see.
When we’re young, life feels like a straight line with occasional bursts, like a desert highway with interesting stops now and again along the way (to where?) and mile markers that measure distance (from what?).
As you get a little older, it begins to seem that everything is really happening in waves or cycles; the road that seemed so straight and two-dimensional is actually slowly curving in on itself like a spiral. Everywhere you go is parallel to somewhere you’ve been before, and while maybe you can’t go back, if you look out across the sands to either side you’ll see familiar things and people out there. Only the immediate past is in the rear-view. But memories make up a landscape that stretches in all directions, and those you make today, you’ll pass by again later, and recognize them as they scroll slowly by.