I want to see some Eastern European guys out there lifting big-ass chunks of trees over their heads on network TV on Saturday afternoons again. Where the hell did we lose our way as a society?
We live on this beautiful planet where trees quietly talk to each other, octopuses dream, elephants gently remember and honor their lost ones, bees dance to show the way, crows never forget a friend, cats heal with their soft purring, and after a fire, the forest always finds a way to bloom again.
BRUNSON DID HIS CELLY WITH THIS KID AT THE PARADE! 🥹
His reaction to the 2026 NBA Finals MVP spotting him doing his celly is EVERYTHING! 💕
(via: privera__/IG)
The woman in this painting is not touching the man she loves. She is tracing his shadow on the wall. And according to legend, this exact gesture is how the art of drawing was born...
The painting is The Shadow, made in 1909 by the English artist Edmund Blair Leighton, who built his career on richly detailed scenes of the medieval world.
A knight in chain mail stands in profile against a castle wall. Below, in the harbor, his ship is waiting. He is leaving for war, and both of them know he may not return. In the fading light, the woman who loves him carefully draws the outline of the shadow he casts on the stone.
Leighton took the idea from an ancient Greek story recorded by the Roman writer Pliny the Elder. In it, a young woman of Corinth, the daughter of a potter named Butades, was about to be parted from the man she loved as he left for war. By lamplight, she traced the outline of his shadow on the wall, so that she would still have something of him while he was gone. Pliny tells this story as the origin of art itself: the first drawing ever made, born from a woman's fear of losing someone.
And that is what makes this painting painfully beautiful: a shadow is the most fragile thing in the world, it cannot be held, it cannot be kept, and the moment the light or the man moves, it is gone. She knows this, and she traces it anyway, trying to preserve something that is already in the act of disappearing.
Because the hardest moment is often not the goodbye itself, but the instant just before it, when the person is still there, still warm, still casting a shadow on the wall, and you realize you have already begun to lose them. Sometimes love becomes a memory even while the person you love is still standing in front of you...
I started this newsletter because the art our ancestors left us is extraordinary, and fewer and fewer people are showing us how to truly see it. Every week I try to. If that is something you would like to be part of, you can join at the link below, and if you'd like to support my work, a paid subscription is what makes it possible:
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Thanks for reading.
I think we should all spend a little more time acting like we're on a floating planet and a little less time acting like we're late for a meeting that started a week ago.