Cave Networks, Fungi, and What it Means to be Alive
“Fear of Depths” by Jacob Geller // Illustration of green mold by Carlton C. Curtis, “Nature and Development of Plants” // YouTube comment by The Florida Man // Illustration of a neuron, from “Neurons and glial cells” // Merlin Sheldrake, “Entangled Life” // map of Mammoth Cave H.C. Hovey // YouTube comment by Lorenzo Pachecho // Illustration of grass roots by Mohamed El Mazlouzi // Merlin Sheldrake, “Entangled Life”
the thing about historical fiction where the characters have extremely modern attitudes to everything and appear to have psychic access to the most up to date tumblr discourse in the year of the book’s publication is like. why are you even writing historical fiction if you aren’t interested in what people thought and felt and believed in the specific social context of that time and place
if you have contempt for people in the past don’t write about them! write a modern story set at a costume party or a historical reenactment or something lol
“Writing down your thoughts is both necessary and harmful. It leads to eccentricity, narcissism, preserves what should be let go. On the other hand, these notes intensify the inner life, which, left unexpressed, slips through your fingers. If only I could find a better kind of journal, humbler, one that would preserve the same thoughts, the same flesh of life, which is worth saving. Moreover the writer invents himself [or herself] as a character in this form. He shapes himself from the shards of the everyday, from the truth of that daily life. Which is also a truth not to be scorned.”
— Anna Kamienska, from “In That Great River: A Notebook,” trans. Clare Kavanaugh, Poetry (June 2010)
"In a consumer society, contentment is a radical proposition. Recognizing abundance rather than scarcity undermines an economy that thrives by creating unmet desires. Gratitude cultivates an ethic of fullness, but the economy needs emptiness."
—Robin Wall Kimmerer (Braiding Sweetgrass)
What goes too long unchanged destroys itself. The forest is forever because it dies and dies and so lives.
—Tales From Earthsea: Dragonfly, by Ursula Le Guin
On this day in 1970, we lost 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗞𝗢, whose work left an indelible impression on millions of people. Many viewers have had transformative emotional experiences interacting with his paintings, the same kinds of experiences Rothko claimed to have painting them. In spite of the grand scale of many of his works, Rothko sought an intimate communication between the work of art and the “Sensitive observer” he trusted more than any critic.
It’s impossible for artists to rise above their myth, doubly perhaps when the manner of your death creates headlines overshadowing more measured insights that might push us towards elucidation. Maybe Rothko was temperamental or had good and bad paintings. Maybe some have dimmed too far to be still reachable, but Rothko’s impact is impossible to shrink to irrelevancy or chalk up to artistic fad. His work endures and burns brightly in hearts of generations of art lovers.
Today I’ll share the artist’s reflection on his own work, a rare later statement from Rothko who had all but given up, trying to explain himself by the time he addressed the Audience at the Pratt institute in 1958.
Peace and love to everyone and thanks for sharing the artwork and helping it live.
Art © Kate Rothko Prizel & Christopher Rothko / Artists Rights Society
I’m slowly learning that even if I react, it won’t change anything. It won’t make certain people suddenly love, understand & respect me, it won’t magically change their minds. Sometimes it’s better to say nothing & detach myself from them.
Tibetan Citipati mask depicting Mahākāla. The skull mask of Citipati is a reminder of the impermanence of life and the eternal cycle of life and death.
Toni Morrison to Lucille Clifton, New York, NY, November 5, 1973 [Rose Library Blog, Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library, Emory Libraries, Emory University, Atlanta, GA]
selections from my personal fortune cookie fortunes collection
The fossil is not the animal.
The fossil is not the bones of the animal.
The fossil is the stone’s memory of the bones of the animal.
And that’s a poetry older than words.
I do think the majority of us should strangle the shame that lives inside of us like wringing water from the rag until we are soft and dry and weightless
we have an innate ability to understand beauty and i dont mean beauty as an aesthetic bc aesthetics require judgement, whereas to intuitively understand the beauty of everything (e.g. nature, other animals, other humans, each encounter with another regardless of the attitude of the perceived), we need to look at it with our minds eye, connected to the higher self, which doesnt include judgement or the “I” as a perceiver. this requires full attention, zero judgement. it is difficult to reach, it is rarely reached and even then usually just as a short glimpse, but it is those moments of clarity that are paving the way.
