I am loving Anat Shiftan's pieces. Maybe better described as collections. There is ambivalance and tension in her composition of pieces balancing off a very rooted base. It's almost as if you're watching growth in nature happening before your eyes.
Anat Shiftan
I am loving Anat Shiftan's pieces. Maybe better described as collections. There is ambivalance and tension in her composition of pieces balancing off a very rooted base. It's almost as if you're watching growth in nature happening before your eyes.
Holden Caulfield would like to have a word...
old friends
I have BAD ASS friends!
My new 'Old Friends' slippers.
Almost as great as my old greg tshirt.
almost.
Thanks guys!!!
more balls than most
from the Contemporist: New Zealand designer Fletcher Vaughan has shared some photos with us of the Stratospheric sculpture he created for the Brick Bay Sculpture Trail in Matakana, New Zealand. link to post
Contemporist website
Fletcher Vaughan's website
love the balls, love that it lights up, goddamn LOVE New Zealand!
Conor Wilson
Conor Wilson website
Conor Wilson Blog
Sexy! but it's sexiness isn't dominating the design; worth checking out more deeply
:) happy monday !
shades of blues and greens
the cool grey city of love
Tho I die on a distant strand,
And they give me a grave in that land,
Yet carry me back to my own city!
Carry me back to her grace and pity!
For I think I could not rest
Afar from her mighty breast.
She is fairer than others are
Whom they sing the beauty of.
Her heart is a song and a star—
My cool, grey city of love.
Tho they tear the rose from her brow,
To her is ever my vow;
Ever to her I give my duty—
First in rapture and first in beauty,
Wayward, passionate, brave,
Glad of the life God gave.
The sea-winds are her kiss,
And the sea-gull is her dove;
Cleanly and strong she is—
My cool, grey city of love.
The winds of the Future wait
At the iron walls of her Gate,
And the western ocean breaks in thunder,
And the western stars go slowly under,
And her gaze is ever West
In the dream of her young unrest.
Her sea is a voice that calls,
And her star a voice above,
And her wind a voice on her walls—
My cool, grey city of love.
Tho they stay her feet at the dance,
In her is the far romance.
Under the rain of winter falling,
Vine and rose will await recalling.
Tho the dark be cold and blind,
Yet her sea-fog’s touch is kind,
And her mightier caress
Is joy and the pain thereof;
And great is thy tenderness,
O cool, grey city of love!
(San Francisco)
George Sterling (1869–1926)
George Sterling (1869–1926)
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