Happiness is fleeting, so they say, so I'm saving it here, right next to my hopes and dreams.

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Wellesley College, Wellesley, MA


Wellesley College, Wellesley, MA


Kiki Smith - Lilith, 1994 - Bronze, silicon, and glass.

"In medieval Jewish lore, Lilith was Adam’s first wife.  When she demanded to be Adam’s equal, she was evicted from the Garden of Eden.  Lilith flew away to the demon world, replaced by the more submissive Eve.  Smith catches us off guard with Lilith’s pose and placement.  Most sculptures receive our gaze passively, but Lilith stares back with piercing brown eyes, ready to pounce."

(via mostlyvalid)

You don’t knit because you are patient. You are patient because you knit. Stephanie Pearl-McPhee

(Source: mishuheath)


Example of a reconverted pay phone currently available in a few Sydney locations. 

(via scrisori-de-sertar)






Bee Quilt

The material has been hand dyed with turmeric, tea and onions skins. Then hand printed with lino cuts to represent the larvae, workers, drones and the single queen bee. The quilt was then then pieced, quilted and bound by hand.

The bees are arranged in a rough imitation of the structure of a hive: the queen is surrounded by workers, each drone and larvae are attended by their own workers, while others form a circle to represent a “bee dance” and some stand guard at the entrance to the hive.

(via themarysue)


broken liquid
übercool glass sculptures by Ben Young

(via lostinhistory)


The falls at Iguazu, Brazil: Foz do Iguacu. Photograph taken by @wray_mccann. #travelerslens #fozdoiguacu #brazil #thefalls  (at Foz Do Iguaçu)


The falls at Iguazu, Brazil: Foz do Iguacu. Photograph taken by @wray_mccann. #travelerslens #fozdoiguacu #brazil #thefalls (at Foz Do Iguaçu)

Soft sculpture by Yulia Ustinova

Soft sculpture by Yulia Ustinova

(Source: josettacay, via wherethewoollythingsare)


Crashed reunion today! Mother Wellesley was in rare form!


Regina DiPerna

When Death sends flowers, I slash
off the heads with rusty scissors.
Sometimes living things arrive

cold at the door. This time, peonies. Red
as a fresh organ. I cut the stems in every
direction, shred petals to pulp. Isn’t that always

what we’re doing here? Shearing the pretty thing
from its root? Slicing down the recognizable
until we see its parts eviscerated?

I stuff them back in the oblong box
they came in with a note—fuck yourself.
I don’t send it. Instead I light them on fire

and watch smoke pour from the mouth
of the thing, that mashed up casket of soft
red matter, that fire eating through the floor.


Fantastic rhinestone bee brooch


Fantastic rhinestone bee brooch

A small, spinning, daisy.

A small, spinning, daisy.

Translator’s Confession, 3 a.m. by Idra Novey

Dear C, I dropped

your sentence in hot water.
I talked to the boil. I said Here

is my thumb for you to burn.

Here is the soft heart
of my hand and my arm and

the nape of my wreck.

I said vapor, just take me.
I’m done burning

with these pages. Being invisible
doesn’t mean a person

won’t blister, doesn’t mean

the blisters won’t fill
with pockets of water

or when lanced the rawest flesh

won’t emerge. First the word
then the murky leak

begins—what another mind
may scrape against

but never skin.