Wanderlust through the mind

Tindale: Pewter silk crepe wrap dress & hand knitted metal necklace
Jun 25

Tindale: Pewter silk crepe wrap dress & hand knitted metal necklace

julianjohnsson:

Shiva-Dali

Dali is always inspiring
Jun 9

julianjohnsson:

Shiva-Dali

Dali is always inspiring

(via entrailsofavirgin)

Colourful joy
Jun 9

Colourful joy

(Source: livinforthefunk)

As a human being I am honest, passionate, courageous, I am disciplined, concentrated mind, I am compassionate, I am aware, I am a good listener, I am passionate, I am tolerant, I am fun, I am adventurous, I am loving and I am affectionate, I am kind I am responsible, I am love, I do not get caught up in my thoughts, I do not get involved in my ego, I do not dwell in the past, I do not worry about the future, because the only moment we have is this moment right now. 
Jan 15

As a human being I am honest, passionate, courageous, I am disciplined, concentrated mind, I am compassionate, I am aware, I am a good listener, I am passionate, I am tolerant, I am fun, I am adventurous, I am loving and I am affectionate, I am kind I am responsible, I am love, I do not get caught up in my thoughts, I do not get involved in my ego, I do not dwell in the past, I do not worry about the future, because the only moment we have is this moment right now. 

Dec 16

Beauty mixtures

Trust
Nov 27

Trust

One image can inspire a kaleidoscope of words
Nov 14

One image can inspire a kaleidoscope of words

(Source: thefairytaleblog)

Magical wonder
Nov 14

Magical wonder

(via jessicalbryson)

perfection in narrative
None of that can begin to express the multiple layers of Mann’s  narrative. Here, for instance, is one of the central passages in the  progress of Aschenbach’s obsession (and one of the best examples of the  loveliness of Heim’s translation). He is watching Tadzio on the beach,  while still trying to convince himself that his interest is solely  aesthetic or platonic. Mann moves almost effortlessly from a total  identification with Aschenbach, while he contemplates the boy’s beauty,  to a position of sardonic distance from Aschenbach’s increasingly inane  self-justifications. It’s as if Mann empathizes — indeed identifies —  with his passion, but can’t bring himself to condone it: "[Tadzio]  would stand at the edge of the sea, alone, removed from his family,  quite near Aschenbach, erect, his hands clasped behind his neck, slowly  rocking on the balls of his feet, staring out into the blue in reverie,  while little waves rolled up and bathed his toes. The honey-colored hair  fell gracefully in ringlets at the temples and the back of the neck,  the sun glimmered in the down of the upper spine, the fine delineation  of the ribs and symmetry of the chest stood out through the torso’s  scanty cover, the armpits were still as smooth as a statue’s, the  hollows of the knees glistened, and their bluish veins made the body  look translucent. What discipline, what precision of thought, was  conveyed by that tall, youthfully perfect physique! Yet the austere and  pure will laboring in obscurity to bring the godlike statue to light —  was it not known to him, familiar to him as an artist? Was it not at  work in him when, chiseling with sober passion at the marble block of  language, he released the slender form he had beheld in his mind and  would present to the world as an effigy and mirror of spiritual beauty?"
Nov 14

perfection in narrative

None of that can begin to express the multiple layers of Mann’s narrative. Here, for instance, is one of the central passages in the progress of Aschenbach’s obsession (and one of the best examples of the loveliness of Heim’s translation). He is watching Tadzio on the beach, while still trying to convince himself that his interest is solely aesthetic or platonic. Mann moves almost effortlessly from a total identification with Aschenbach, while he contemplates the boy’s beauty, to a position of sardonic distance from Aschenbach’s increasingly inane self-justifications. It’s as if Mann empathizes — indeed identifies — with his passion, but can’t bring himself to condone it:

"[Tadzio] would stand at the edge of the sea, alone, removed from his family, quite near Aschenbach, erect, his hands clasped behind his neck, slowly rocking on the balls of his feet, staring out into the blue in reverie, while little waves rolled up and bathed his toes. The honey-colored hair fell gracefully in ringlets at the temples and the back of the neck, the sun glimmered in the down of the upper spine, the fine delineation of the ribs and symmetry of the chest stood out through the torso’s scanty cover, the armpits were still as smooth as a statue’s, the hollows of the knees glistened, and their bluish veins made the body look translucent. What discipline, what precision of thought, was conveyed by that tall, youthfully perfect physique! Yet the austere and pure will laboring in obscurity to bring the godlike statue to light — was it not known to him, familiar to him as an artist? Was it not at work in him when, chiseling with sober passion at the marble block of language, he released the slender form he had beheld in his mind and would present to the world as an effigy and mirror of spiritual beauty?"

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times… In life after life, in age after age, forever. My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs, That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms, In life after life, in age after age, forever.
Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it’s age old pain, It’s ancient tale of being apart or together. As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge, Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time. You become an image of what is remembered forever.
You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount. At the heart of time, love of one for another. We have played along side millions of lovers, Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting, the distressful tears of farewell, Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.
Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you The love of all man’s days both past and forever: Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life. The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours - And the songs of every poet past and forever.
~Rabindranath TagoreTranslated by William Radice
Nov 1

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it’s age old pain,
It’s ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.
You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers,
Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,
the distressful tears of farewell,
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours -
And the songs of every poet past and forever.

~Rabindranath Tagore

Translated by William Radice