I came home from work today just absolutely thrilled to be in vacation mode…I went to the mall….got my nails done…you know…very important errands…but what I was most excited about was going home and opening my mailbox. You see, Mr. Greeneyes is usually the one that gets the daily high of receiving our mail…but today?…today was all me! You may be thinking, what’s the big deal? as you furrow your brow and raise your knuckles to your chin. Well….let me tell you! I was expecting a very special package…
As I opened the mailbox half-way, I could see it!! My heart rate picked up pace…I felt a little nervous…my hands got a little over excited as I dropped my workbag to the floor. I carried it to my den, sat down on the floor, and opened it very carefully. This package contained some of the most beautiful photos I have ever seen, a postcard that smelled of my favorite scent (antique-store-musk), and a note that made me blush. The pictures had me laughing out loud while saying “Awww!” in my most Southern girl’s twang…I felt exhilarated.
This package came from a beautifully talented and artistic person…and one look at her blog and I was hooked. She has a way of reeling the reader into her intriguing life. Are we all that much similar? Nope…not much at all. In fact, we come from two very different upbringings…and live pretty different lives. Her life intrigues me! Did you know that she leaves her photography around her city…on the metro…on park benches…just to give someone a treasure to find? How amazing is that? If you want to support her treasure hunt, visit her etsy site!
Anyways- I just had to share this precious and priceless gift.
This, is one of my favorite bloggers, which is why I smuggled in so many pictures into her envelope that I sent to her this past week. She posts yummy food, hilarious life writings and snaps pictures of her day. I just adore her.
But something she said struck a chord, which was so spot on. “Are we all that much similar? Nope…not much at all. In fact, we come from two very different upbringings…and live pretty different lives." Me and her, we really are completely different, with nothing in common and thats exactly why I love tumblr, well the internet in general. We probably would have never bumped into each other off the street and decided at that moment, "Oh hey cute shoes, lets be friends!" because lets be honest, that would be the last thing anybody says about my 5 year old chucks. Give us a blogging outlet where both of our lives and personalities are contained within pages, and somehow, we can strike up an odd ball friendship. That’s exactly why I continue to blog here. For people like her. And the odd ball friendships that I cherish very dearly.
So if you’re into food, quirkiness, and the fact that I love this woman, you should follow her. I can say whole heartily in the most after school special backdrop, as much of a misfit that I am, she still wanted to be my friend, and that means a great deal to me. I respect her a lot.
I want to be swept off my feet, be a hopeless romantic and snuggle up on a couch together watching black & white movies. I want to be so disgustingly sappy that I make Hallmark jealous of my moments.
My chip on my shoulder has been surgically removed, the ice thats been crystallized around my blood has started to catch up with global warming and begin to liquify. My God, I think I might actually have feelings.
Having the most amazing, longest, loudest, award winning burp and then realizing nobody was there to witness it. Nor did you have your camera running for documentation.
Granted I can be proud by myself, but I really needed a bystander to give me a pat on the back along with a “That was well done, my friend. WELL DONE!” It’s not like I go around in public burping or anything, but one of the cons of living by yourself is there is nobody around to rank your burps.
I mean.. thats what life is about anyways, right? Ranked burps. Shit.
We assert that there is a culture of artists that may be different and separate from all other cultures and that our culture may be governed or ungoverned according to principles which non artists find peculiar or offensive. We demand the right to not make sense. We demand the right to contradict ourselves. We demand the right to change our work. We demand the right to call what we do work. We demand the right not to call what we do work. We demand the right to align ourselves with the social class we find most interesting. We demand the right to call ourselves working class. We demand the right to be elitist. We demand the right to do what we want including not doing anything at all.
This is for failed artists who feel like failures. This is for successful artists who feel mauled and mutilated by the empty promise of stardom. This is for the faded art star who wonders what went wrong. This is for artists who never got a chance. This is for the secret artists who are too embarrassed to admit it. This is for the artist who found the reception for their retrospective the most depressing day of their life. This is for artists who can’t afford to go to the doctor. This is for artists who can’t afford to have a family. This is for artists who can’t afford to be artists.
We reserve the right to make things nobody understands. We reserve the right to make things nobody likes. We reserve the right to make things nobody buys and believe they have value.
We condemn museums who don’t clean the glass on our works. We condemn museums who don’t plug-in our work. We condemn museums who have chic openings to which none of our friends are invited. We condemn institutions who ask us to donate for auctions then don’t invite us to the event. We condemn raffles that make our art works into party favors. We condemn museums as branches of the commercial gallery system. We condemn museums who are afraid to hire curators with ideas. We condemn museums that can’t stand up to their Board of Directors. We condemn museums who are cozy with business. We condemn granting institutions that use funds to curry favor with political interests. This is for the young artist. This is for the early mid-career artist. This is for the mid-career artist. This is for the late mid-career artist. This for the early late-career artist. This is for the late late-career artist. This is for the artist suffering from the prescriptive nature of those categories. This is for the dead artist. This is for the dead artist we remember. This is for the dead artist we forgot. This is for the dead artist we forgot for awhile but are now remembering. This is for the artist’s boyfriend. This is for the artist’s girlfriend. This is for the artist’s widow. This is for the artist’s first wife.
This is for artists of all imaginable disadvantage who were not allowed in. This is for the artist who wanted to quit but knew nothing else. This is for artists hoping for ideas. This is for artists hoping for money. This is for artists looking for a sense of purpose. This is for artists longing for purposelessness. We condemn all cultures that allegedly love art but hate artists. This is artist’s culture.
Ansel Adams is known far and wide as the “father of American photography” because of his lasting and innovative work with nature photography and landscapes. Exhibited in every prestigious hall from San Francisco’s MOMA to Washington DC’s Phillips Collection, Adams was a California based photographer who transformed images of mountains, churches, lakes, and trees into sweeping black and whites that overwhelm with power.
Today, CNN reports that his vast collection of work will now be supplemented by the discovery of 65 glass plates of Adams’ work, believed to have been taken between 1919 and 1930. Purchased for $45 a decade ago at a garage sale by Rick Norsigian, these 65 photographs are being considered the “missing link” in Adams’ career and were once thought lost in a fire.
I cant wait for Origami to be the hottest trend since photography on tumblr. Finally all the bitching of whats great photography or whose a professional photographer can finally be dead and people can start bitching about who the fuck folds better.
"OH YOU CAN ONLY MAKE A CRANE?! BITCH I CAN MAKE AN ENTIRE VILLAGE OF HOBBITS VIA POST IT NOTES! ONE CANNOT SIMPLY FOLD INTO MORDOR!!!"
“The trouble with my generation is that we all think we’re fucking geniuses. Making something isn’t good enough for us, and neither is selling something, or teaching something, or even just doing something; we have to be something.”—Nick Hornby (A Long Way Down)