moss and lichen

Audio

Fri, 24 May 2013 10:59:47 -0700

Photo

Fri, 24 May 2013 10:49:29 -0700

Photo

Fri, 24 May 2013 09:32:56 -0700

Photo

Thu, 23 May 2013 21:41:27 -0700

First ceramic creation

Thu, 23 May 2013 20:55:14 -0700

First ceramic creation

Audio

Thu, 23 May 2013 13:36:04 -0700

Photo

Wed, 22 May 2013 10:47:14 -0700

morestudio: wooden stool//benno vinatzer.

Wed, 22 May 2013 09:47:05 -0700

morestudio:

wooden stool//benno vinatzer.

Audio

Tue, 21 May 2013 15:48:54 -0700

"Paris February 17, 1903 Dear Sir, You ask whether your verses are any good. You ask me. You..."

Tue, 21 May 2013 13:44:00 -0700

“

Paris
February 17, 1903
Dear Sir,

You ask whether your verses are any good. You ask me. You have asked others before this. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you are upset when certain editors reject your work. Now (since you have said you want my advice) I beg you to stop doing that sort of thing. You are looking outside, and that is what you should most avoid right now. No one can advise or help you - no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must”, then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse. Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose. Don’t write love poems; avoid those forms that are too facile and ordinary: they are the hardest to work with, and it takes a great, fully ripened power to create something individual where good, even glorious, traditions exist in abundance. So rescue yourself from these general themes and write about what your everyday life offers you; describe your sorrows and desires, the thoughts that pass through your mind and your belief in some kind of beauty Describe all these with heartfelt, silent, humble sincerity and, when you express yourself, use the Things around you, the images from your dreams, and the objects that you remember. If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is no poverty and no poor, indifferent place. And even if you found yourself in some prison, whose walls let in none of the world’s sound - wouldn’t you still have your childhood, that jewel beyond all price, that treasure house of memories? Turn your attention to it. Try to raise up the sunken feelings of this enormous past; your personality will grow stronger, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes by, far in the distance. And if out of , this turning within, out of this immersion in your own world, poems come, then you will not think of asking anyone whether they are good or not. Nor will you try to interest magazines in these works: for you will see them as your dear natural possession, a piece of your life, a voice from it. A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it. So, dear Sir, I can’t give you any advice but this: to go into yourself and see how deep the place is from which your life flows; at its source you will find the answer to, the question of whether you must create. Accept that answer, just as it is given to you, without trying to interpret it. Perhaps you will discover that you are called to be an artist. Then take that destiny upon yourself, and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what reward might come from outside. For the creator must be a world for himself and must find everything in himself and in Nature, to whom his whole life is devoted.

But after this descent into yourself and into your solitude, perhaps you will have to renounce becoming a poet (if, as I have said, one feels one could live without writing, then one shouldn’t write at all). Nevertheless, even then, this self searching that I ask of you will not have been for nothing. Your life will still find its own paths from there, and that they may be good, rich, and wide is what I wish for you, more than I can say.

What else can I tell you? It seems to me that everything has its proper emphasis; and finally I want to add just one more bit of advice: to keep growing, silently and earnestly, through your whole development; you couldn’t disturb it any more violently than by looking outside and waiting for outside answers to questions that only your innermost feeling, in your quietest hour, can perhaps answer.

Yours very truly,
Rainer Maria Rilke

”

- No. 01

Letters to a Young Poet by R.M. Rilke is a compilation of letters written to a 19-year old in the midst of deciding between a literary career and entering the Austro-Hungarian army.

I’ve edited down to the sections I found most touching. Sound advice that is always welcome.

torness: by Christiane Lohr.

Tue, 21 May 2013 10:24:55 -0700

torness:

by Christiane Lohr.

foodografia: Broccoli

Tue, 21 May 2013 10:22:02 -0700

foodografia:

Broccoli

Photo

Mon, 20 May 2013 16:40:22 -0700

Perfect pair for Jon Hopkins’ Fading Glow. Always takes me to...

Mon, 20 May 2013 14:42:55 -0700

Perfect pair for Jon Hopkins’ Fading Glow.

Always takes me to the most beautiful place I can’t even imagine.

lylaandblu:

Mon, 20 May 2013 14:25:21 -0700

lylaandblu:

v-ogue-passion: (via TumbleOn)

Mon, 20 May 2013 13:04:31 -0700

v-ogue-passion:

(via TumbleOn)

tylerknott: I love tattoos because they are only as permanent...

Mon, 20 May 2013 10:13:34 -0700

tylerknott:

I love tattoos because they are only as permanent as we are. As we fade they fade and they too will start over new one day. Here is Nigel, fresh after being born onto my skin, and yes, I meant for him to be right side up to me. :)

"Much that may one day be possible can already be prepared by the solitary individual, and built with..."

Mon, 20 May 2013 10:12:39 -0700

“Much that may one day be possible can already be prepared by the solitary individual, and built with his own hands which make fewer mistakes. Therefore love your solitude and bear the pain of it without self-pity. The distance you feel from those around you should trouble you no more than your distance from the farthest stars. be glad that you are growing, and realize that you cannot take anyone with you: be gentle with those who stay behind. Be confident and calm before them, and don’t torment them with your doubts or distress them with your ambitions which they wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Find in a true and simple way what you have in common with them, which does not need to change when you yourself change and change again. When you see them, love life in a from that is not your own, and be kind to all the people who are afraid of their aloneness”

- Love the Solitude.

Worpswede, July 16, 1903

Letters to a young poet

(via awelltraveledwoman)

Photo

Fri, 17 May 2013 17:39:16 -0700

Photo

Fri, 17 May 2013 17:32:29 -0700