taylor’s song is just making me miss NYC so much and if i don’t live there for at least a year then there’s no point to life

Welcome To New Work
Taylor Swift

Oh god the end of the academic year is so close (17 days) but it feels like I’m not going to make it and I have no motivation to write any of my final essays oh god

m-i-s-o:

A branch for Bobby, traded for photography work ; Melbourne, 2014. 

m-i-s-o:

A branch for Bobby, traded for photography work ; Melbourne, 2014. 

Waning by Sophie Clews

Boys will be boys and I am bleeding through my bedsheets and I am bleeding through my mattress and he is eating the pizza in my fridge and my legs won’t work and he is losing his keys down the back of the couch and he is leaving and I am alone and I am alone.

The chemist tells me I should be more careful and I am swallowing $35 with a weak cup of coffee and my bank balance is low and my mattress is stained and there are missed calls and there are midnight knocks at my door and I am shaking and I am shaking.

I see him on the street and he is smiling and he is waving and my stomach is curling and I am not breathing and he is coming and he is shouting my name and I am shivering and the sun is hot and I am drowning and I am drowning.

There is mould on the cheese and the mice have gotten to the bread and my mother says I am skinny and maybe I should lose some more weight and maybe I should throw out the pizza in my fridge and the milk in there has curdled and I am fading and I am fading.

My friend says I should talk to someone and maybe I should and maybe I shouldn’t and maybe it is all my fault and there are still empty wine bottles in my bedroom and maybe some of them are new and maybe my clothes don’t fit right and I am going and I am going.

There is one night and I am alone and there are crashing waves and a full moon and the sand is cold and I am drinking and the wind is warm and maybe the stars are out or maybe they are not and there is no one else and I am floating and I am floating.

It is morning and the sun is still rising and I am untouched and I am clean and I am unsullied and the salt water is thick through the air and everything breathes with a promise of sunshine and sweaty palms and I am alive and I am alive.

asylum-art:

NoPlace, Tidens Krav, and UKS in Oslo, Norway 

Photo by Jason Havneraa

Per Kristian Nygård, Not Red But Green, at No Place Gallery

NoPlace is an artist run space organized by Jason Havneraas, Kristian Skylstad, Karen Nikgol, Hans Christian Skovholt, and Petter Buhagen. During Not Red But Green, Per Kristian Nygård constructed and grew an impressive, hilly landscape of grassy mounds, receding mysteriously into an interior room. By estimation, the lawn may have receded thirty feet or so, but illusion stretched this to visually harbor the scale of true hillsides, presenting the viewer with elvish wonderment about process as well as intention. Several small children in attendance had to be warded off from climbing onto the greenway, and this was no wonder, for there was an instinctual and inviting pull from the grass, making one want to depart from the conventions of art viewership. The grass sculpture was grown in entirety from seeds that had been planted two or two-and-a-half weeks earlier, and the mound formations brought to mind Icelandic lore of Huldufólk, or Hidden People, the mythical inhabitants of stones and mounds. I asked Kristian Nygård if there was a connection to this Icelandic lore of the land, and he said not in particular, and rather he’s engaging with what he described as “basic sculpture” (seeds and soil) and “just works in space. ” Simply put, he said he was “trying to make something that doesn’t make sense.” Kristian Nygård also described how undertaking these interior sculptures involve finding out particularities and the labor of becoming “your own assistant and a gardener.” A visceral connection to craft and an open sense of process took hold, eclipsing the end result of production or concept of object.