dig

Category: language

  • just in case there was such a thing as magic after all

  • AG2022_2110115a or botanical systems of interconnection

    AG2022_2110115a

    A flower is a node on a network of botanical systems of interconnection and regeneration.

    […]

    much of the beauty that moves us in the natural world is […] time itself as patterns, recurrences, the rhythmic passage of days and seasons and years, the lunar cycle and the tides, birth and death.

    Rebecca Solnit

  • Daniel Joseph Martinez on Joseph Beuys

    Tuesday, November 28, 2017, 6:30 pm

    Dia:Chelsea
    535 West 22nd Street, 5th Floor
    New York City

    Daniel Joseph Martinez, Three Critiques…
    From Whitney Biennial 2022: Quiet As It’s Kept

  • AG2020_2000198b2

    AG2020_2000198b2

    If she [could] dance[s]
    […],
    Under [palm] trees
    And see her image in the river
    She would know.

  • A place to stand and stare, recalling tunes of ballads in a minor key–iv

    My Mac Yawns (I Go On To Make This Darksparkles Move Call It: As The Americans Say, Middle Section Made By PLCR Runner Reg On His 30? Chromitar)

    A Mess (The Booth Soaks In Palacian Musk, Palaceer In Vintage LRG, Yes Pure NS, Uppowndet Watermelon Lips Beat)

    AG2021_1880235a2

  • 2030369~3 or a certain kind of place

    _2030369~3

    [this landscape] stirred a longing in me, a kind of desire to possess

    […]

    [this place has] a certain kind of comfortableness, confidence, solidity, and rootedness

    “Bom Bom” by Batida featuring Mayra Andrade via npr.

  • AG2022_2100806a

    AG2022_2100806a

    He [erroneously] imagined trees and rocks as outside the political sphere, as not vulnerable to human impacts

    […]

    All art is propaganda, Orwell noted, and nature is political. So are gardens. Flowers. Trees. Water. Air. Soil. Weather.

    RS

  • AG2022_2030990b or i must be careful

    AG2022_2030990b

    i must be careful about such things as these.
    the thin-grained oak.    the quiet grizzlies scared
    into the hills by the constant tracks squeezing
    in behind them closer in the snow.    the snared
    rigidity of the winter lake.    deer after deer
    crossing on the spines of fish who look up and stare
    with their eyes pressed to the ice.   in a sleep.  hearing
    the thin taps leading away to collapse like the bear
    in the high quiet.   i must be careful not to shake
    anything in too wild an elation.    not to jar
    the fragile mountains against the paper far-
    ness.   nor avalanche the fog or the eagle from the air.
    of the gentle wilderness i must set the precarious
    words.   like rocks.   without one snowcapped mistake.

    be careful, Ed Roberson