🌕 Buck Moon
July's full moon — named for when buck deer grow their antlers
👉 Legend says if you make a wish tonight with a sincere heart, it comes true 🦌✨
Words used to describe Gabriele D'Annunzio:
Sex-crazed poet strongman
Womanizing, profligate Italian poet
Poet, seducer & preacher of war
Sex-obsessed poet who invented fascism
I wouldn't have guessed sex pest based on the poem I was posting.
Let's see if he tries to pinch us.
I`ve spent a ridiculous amount of time being intimidated by art.
Not art itself,mind you.
Paintings don`t intimidate me nearly as much as people talking about paintings. For years, I thought art belonged to people who understood things I didn`t.
The word itself comes from Latin " ars" which means skill or craft.
That`s all.
No angels from heaven , not secret organizations of geniuses. Just skill.
I hate it because I`ve always preferred the romantic version.
The Greek had " techne", from which " technique" and " technology".
Skill means you have to practice . That`s mostly awful.
Art is a verb.
You make soup beautifully. You write beautifully. You arrange flowers beautifully.
You learn to do something with enough love and attention that another person feels something because of it.
That`s art.
The Art of Painting, Johannes Vermeer,c. 1666–1668
I've become obsessed with Surrealist photographers.
Palpitations.
They all end up in Paris or Mexico City. Even if biographically they begin elsewhere, they're relationally there.
I have to force myself to ration.
That's why I had to leave Paris.
That and The Mannequin.
Maurice Tabard — Sans Titre (1930)
Members of Congress should be required to take elocution lessons. They sound like air escaping a balloon.
Indecorous.
And they all look like Martians.
I resent that.
Galoppera · Italia · Milano | San Pellegrino Terme
ALDA MERINI
Pensiero, io non ho più
Pensiero, io non ho più parole.
Ma cosa sei tu in sostanza?
qualcosa che lacrima a volte,
e a volte dà luce.
Pensiero, dove hai le radici?
Nella mia anima folle
o nel mio grembo distrutto?
Sei cosi ardito vorace,
consumi ogni distanza;
dimmi che io mi ritorca
come ha già fatto Orfeo
guardando la sua Euridice,
e cosi possa perderti
nell’antro della follia.
Giovanni Pelliccioli — Le parole senza risposta (s.d.)