Leonor Fini, 1940

Caixa de Norah Horna. 1948. Norah Horna’s Box 

Norman Lindsay (1879-1969) - Ambush, 1927

© jan pienkowski - botticelli’s bed & breakfast - 1997

I just realized we can actually buy this here…

Francesca Woodman, Untitled, New York, 1979-1980

PJ Harvey photographed by Stefan de Batselier (1995)

Isle of the Dead, 1883 - oil on panel

— Arnold Böcklin (Germany, 1827–1901)

James Bradley

Kati Horna (Hungarian/Mexican,1912-2000)

Leonora Carrington

Penelope unravelling her work at night, by Dora Wheeler, 1886

“What I call traumatophobic is not the tendency to not think about trauma but to the contrary the ways we are transfixed with a discourse around eliminating trauma...This notion of a subject, of this fantasy that there is an intactness to our being from which trauma interrupts to which we can hopefully delivered back to if we receive the right treatment, the right intervention, the right analytic…that there’s a way to drain that from the psyche.

One of the questions we may want to ask is ‘Whose fantasy is it that human beings are unbroken and deserve to be unbreakable, and who are those subjects who have historically enjoyed that fantasy and created all kinds of violences to support it?’ In some ways, I would say this is a very white fantasy, this fantasy of intactness and unbrokenness…The fear that we have about approaching states that are intense is also the fear about being overwhelmed, and I, quite paradoxically, argue for the transformational possibilities of becoming overwhelmed rather than guarding the self and trying to prevent having too much feeling, like living a more ascetic and anemic life as a number of social forces want us to, such that we do not encounter something new about ourselves or each other.”

— Avgi Saketopoulou, “Long Play with Dr Avgi Saketopoulou: Sexuality Beyond Consent” on the Philosophy of Sex

Vincenzo De Stefani (1859–1937), Il crollo (1924)

home of vanessa bell, english painter and sister of virginia woolf

Bebe Daniels in the silent romantic drama “Singed Wings” 1922 .

thinking about a dream i had last year. the full moon was huge and bright in the sky, bigger than i've ever seen it. i was driving through a sleeping neighborhood and every time the car slowed at an intersection, i'd try to snap a photo of the big full moon.

the photos all came out badly—the roof of a house was blocking the way, or a tree, or i finally would get an unobstructed view, but the photo was just a bright smudge.

i think the lesson—and dreams can sometimes be lessons you're teaching yourself about yourself—is that some things are too huge and beautiful to be captured. they can only be experienced in the moment, and then imperfectly remembered.

The Stroll, Gertrude Abercrombie, 1943

Franz Sedlacek (Austrian, 1891-1945)

Flower Piece, 1933