April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
(Source: fuckyeahlanguage)
Codex Seraphinianus, “an illustrated encyclopedia of an imaginary world,” written in asemic by artist, architect, & industrial designer Luigi Serafini, from 1976-78.
Outside the youth center, between the liquor store
and the police station,
a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;
overflowing with blossomfoam,
like a sudsy mug of beer;
like a bride ripping off her clothes,
dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,
so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.
It’s been doing that all week:
making beauty,
and throwing it away,
and making more.
— Tony Hoagland, excerpt from “A Color of the Sky”
Guy Maddin, My Winnipeg (film still)
“During 1926 cold winter, all the horses from the hippodrome fled away after the stables went on fire. Their only scape-way was the river. But they all froze before managing to reach the opposite side. Their sculptural heads with terror still in their eyes served as a leisure park that season. I wonder in which moment the following spring carried them out into the sea, without anyone noticing.”
“I have a large beautiful wooden camera. I am a quick talker, I can convince people in a few seconds because I am sincerely interested in them, but I am really interested more in capturing what I see in them. It’s not that I want to be their friend, it’s that I see their life and it is amazing and I want to put it in an image. It’s a short but deep connection. Then I go back to being alone but have one more lightening bug in a bottle. One more piece of evidence as to who we are.”
- Judith Joy Ross (who’s arguably the best photographic portraitist there is) on photographing strangers in the new issue of Ahorn
“I often feel beside myself in the winter time, and I try to go to warmer and lighter places. But the last couple of years I have travelled into the winter and darkness instead. Into areas, conditions and encounters in which I don’t really know where the outer and inner begins. And even less where it ends”. Lars Tunbjörk
