light juxtapositions

Interior with a Woman Sitting at the Piano. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas. MacConnal-Mason Gallery.

Holsøe was to become renowned for interior scenes, often sparsely furnished rooms. Such scenes frequently includied a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.

anonymous asked:

But Maya, if that door symbolizes Harry's potential coming out, why alone ? Isn't it sad to see him walking through that door alone without Louis ? I mean, do you think there's a chance that they will come out seperately ? I hope i didn't sound too rude or stupid. I'm just sad on Louis' behalf. He seems stuck while Harry seems not :( i want the best for both of them :(

Yeah but that opening the door and walking into the light symbolism in juxtaposition with Louis being knee deep in stunts is :/

We all wish the best for all of them, and H&L in particular (well, so I hope), and no, I don’t think Harry is about to come out for real, be it alone or with Louis. It’s just a symbol that seemed to catch our attention. It’s a really good ad!

No real big emotions for me until Louis is miles away from those crappy people, both the Calabasas morons and his fake team.

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

I was built on voodoo

I was built on shards of selenite

I was built and torn and built again by nonstop ostracism;

Worry not, I rarely bite.

I believe in pushing boundaries, only when necessary

I believe in rebellion, I believe in obedience

I believe life is a juxtaposition | light versus dark

Keep it balanced, clear quartz sphere in the ballpark.

I believe in sexual liberation, but never giving yourself away,

I believe in colour, just as much as I praise in all things grey.

I was built on tears,

I was built on shame,

self discovery | Strengthen myself every day.

I was built on God, I was built on Azazel,

I can bring Heaven, same way I can bring Hell.

I am a dream, I am a nightmare,

I am the reason why you all stare.

Call me the anti-Christ, when I’m anti-lies?

Search for the truth in my eyes, in my opalescent mind;

Iridescent life, when I rock black and white.

I’m my own silver lining, no one can make me truly happy,

because of my stoic yet stellar mentality.

I was built from clouds

I was built from flames

Shards of fluorite in my clawed nails

Hematite as my high heels.

I drip sweet key lime honey in my tears.

I was built from heartbreak

from onyx in my lungs, and abandonment,

Growing from it, I’ll never do that to my kin.

I was built from an orphanage within a home

building myself every day, piecing together rainbows

on a sun shower; using them as thread- creating the

lacing on a Matryoshka, a portrait for my babushka.

I was built from incense burning dim in my room,

right beside my ivory Buddha, I kiss his forehead after every ritual.

I am a believer in the spiritual, the esoteric, the minimal.

I was built from fashion: Chanel, Betsy, Versace

Knowing how to read at three years old  

(gratitude goes to my Abuela Anna),

Taking pleasure in DIY, it’s part of my pride.

Adoring luxury, my goal is to work towards luxury, but

never forgetting those who stuck on me, like glue, and

never forgetting about being there for others,

Devote all of me.

I was built on mysticism, for bells and whistles own


I was built on knowledge contained in the crisp pages

of books on a shelf.

Knowledge is a power I know all too well.

I was built on Bowie, Joan Jett, Alice, and Grace Jones,

but also having White Witch: Stevie Nicks, in my


I fell in love with GAGA, bisexual and proud,

Women run the world, Gia is my gal.

I was built from Warhol, Picasso, Dalí, Tim Burton;

I see my world through a different lens.

I was built from all these things,

A vivid menagerie,

A boudoir of oddities and crystals and birds and bees.

I am a siren, with a voice so sweet, notes so pristine,

almost deadly.

I was built from grapes so ripe, I make my own wine,

but I can hold my liquor, my stomach is iron (Fe), bring

me Chivas whiskey-

Light up a nice one and I’ll tell you my epiphanies.

Now you know me,

some, not all, of me,

Alas I bestow my blessings!


-Lilith Aurora

Reading – The Painter’s Wife. Carl Vilhelm Holsøe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas. MacConnal-Mason Gallery.

Interior scenes, often sparsely furnished rooms were a feature of Danish painting in the latter part of the 19th Century. Vilhelm Hammershøi, a contemporary of Holsøe, was also a painter who specialised in such scenes and, like Holsøe, frequently included a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.

Interior with a Reading Lady. Carl Vilhelm Holsöe (Danish, 1863-1935). Oil on canvas.

Interior scenes, often sparsely furnished rooms. were a feature of Danish painting in the latter part of the 19th century. Holsøe specialised in such scenes, frequently including a single, invariably, female figure. Holsøe achieves a defined space in these interiors through harmonious colours, subdued light and the careful juxtaposition of objects.

I'm a Los Angeles photographer specializing in fashion, beauty and portrait photography. I used to work in video production in the art world before discovering a preference for still imagery and transitioning to photography. My photography work is informed by my art background, however, in that I enjoy a visual aesthetic that is minimalist, clean and crisp. I am drawn to minimalist spaces and styles because I find beauty in simplicity. Stark contrasts, especially in the juxtaposition of light and dark, appeal to me greatly, too. I’ve been very fortunate to have had fantastic opportunities in my relatively short time behind the camera and am excited about what’s next!

Home Again

It isn’t enough to say that this episode was beautiful. It was such a reminder of the original show and we owe so much to Glen Morgan for that.

Yes, there was a monster. It was a monster scary enough to make me shudder and the case was gruesome enough to make me fist-pump; because this is our show on full display. Mulder and Scully ran around in the dark with their flashlights shining right in my face through my dark living room. The sound of rain was comforting, as it called back to 1993 when the same two agents huddled in a motel room, and other monsters did some dirty work of their own. “Downtown” played over the top of a murder, in that gorgeous juxtaposition of light and dark, á la “Home.”

But, as always, the real interest and heart of the show was in Mulder and Scully. It’s been said that when Scully cries, we all cry. That’s clearly still the case. This woman who has lost almost everyone in her life but the man she had to walk away from, lost her mother too. And Mulder knew how much that hurt. He had been there. As Scully stood by her mom, Mulder stood by Scully in a show of support and love that only the man who shared the most important years of her life and her child could do.

I count it a privilege - a privilege - to have seen Scully break down and be vulnerable with Mulder. They have come so far to be able to be more vulnerable with each other and talk about what’s ripping them apart inside, to know what the other needs and to let them do it.

Seeing the flashbacks to what we knew of their life together before was one of, if not the most, touching things about this episode. It shows so sharply point A and point B. Journeys are so important and this episode helps us remember just how far Mulder and Scully have come together and what significant, life-altering moments they have shared snd how that has brought them to this place.

I can’t say enough about this episode. It was truly The X-Files.