Ouabuko

Floral patterns embroidery with orange blossoms and green-blue feathered leaves on a light brown background

Embroidery design by May Morris (1862-1938) influential English artisan, embroidery designer, jeweller, socialist, and editor #WomensArt

Sorry, just to clarify, you mean Templeton provides similar levels of funding to the humanities and is closer to the right? Or do you mean something else I’m missing? (I can’t read the article.)

Recovery for whom? Not those in concentration camps.

To everyone thanking me, much appreciated but not why I posted! Pls support your local immigrant defense group like:

The Immigrant Law Center of Minnesota: www.ilcm.org/donate/

Or my hometown LUCE: www.lucemass.org/donate

Or Google your city/state & “immigrant defense” to find your local heroes!

So the confrontations, violent apprehensions, and general fear bearing down on communities like Minnesota is only the beginning of the nightmare. Behind the scenes, Orwellian anti-judicial antics thwart lawful recourse. And hidden from sight, non-citizens are tortured for being noncitizens.

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Four monochrome photographs featuring images of a white woman caught in mirrors , reflections and shadows, in streets and an interior

Vivian Maier's (1926-2009) photographic self-portraits in mirrors, shadows, reflections, suggest her enigmatic persona, a shadowy presence behind her camera which enabled the capture of candid moments of life #WomensArt

Thank you!! 🥰

What are the flowers by the pond, the yellow ones? Gorgeous and happy sounds!!! ❤️

Page 1 of a child’s handwritten letter, written in pencil in Spanish. Colorful doodles of a rainbow and hearts are found throughout the page. Translation: “I am Maria Antonia Guerra Montoya and I have been 113 days in detention I miss my friends and I feel they are going to forget me. I am bored here. I already miss my country and my house, I came on vacation for 10 Days and they took me into an ice office an officer interrogated me 2 hours without my mom, I was traveling with flight attendant because my mom lives in new york, they only wanted to arrest my mom, because my mom didn’t have documents to live in U.S.A., I always traveled with my tourist visa but ice used me to catch my mom and now I am in a jail and I am sad and I have fainted 2 times here inside. When I arrived every night I cried and now I don’t sleep well, I felt that being here was my fault and I only wanted to be on vacation like a normal family.”

Page 2 of a child’s handwritten letter, written in pencil in Spanish. Translation: “They don’t give me my diet I am vegetarian, I don’t eat well, there is no good education and I miss my best friend julieta and my grandmother and my school I already want to get to my house. Me in dilei [Dilley] am not happy please get me out of here to colombia.” Below the text is a drawing of the girl and her mother in the government-issued gray sweatsuits of the detention center.

6/ “When I arrived every night I cried and now I don’t sleep well, I felt that being here was my fault and I only wanted to be on vacation like a normal family.”

9-year-old Maria Antonia Guerra Montoya, detained on her way to Disney World, spent 113+ days at Dilley.

This helped bring my heart rate down in the park today.

#vancouver #canada #forest #moss

“The most chilling thing is what happens to society, but also to individuals. Fear becomes internalised, and we begin to censor our own thoughts. We wonder if the law will actually protect us if they come for us one day.”

Thank you!

Can you share without the paywall?

They were careless people, Tom and Daisy- they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.

This is for the kids who die, Black and white, For kids will die certainly. The old and rich will live on awhile, As always, Eating blood and gold, Letting kids die. Kids will die in the swamps of Mississippi Organizing sharecroppers. Kids will die in the streets of Chicago Organizing workers. Kids will die in the orange groves of California Telling others to get together. Whites and Filipinos, Negroes and Mexicans, All kinds of kids will die Who don't believe in lies, and bribes, and contentment And a lousy peace. Of course, the wise and the learned Who pen editorials in the papers, And the gentlemen with Dr. in front of their names. White and black, Who make surveys and write books. Will live on weaving words to smother the kids who die, And the sleazy courts, And the bribe-reaching police, And the blood-loving generals, And the money-loving preachers Will all raise their hands against the kids who die, Beating them with laws and clubs and bayonets and bullets To frighten the people— For the kids who die are like iron in the blood of the people— And the old and rich don't want the people To taste the iron of the kids who die, Don't want the people to get wise to their own power, To believe an Angelo Herndon, or even get together.

Listen, kids who die— Maybe, now, there will be no monument for you Except in our hearts Maybe your bodies'll be lost in a swamp. Or a prison grave, or the potter's field, Or the rivers where you're drowned like Leibknecht. But the day will come— You are sure yourselves that it is coming— When the marching feet of the masses Will raise for you a living monument of love, And joy, and laughter, And black hands and white hands clasped as one, And a song that reaches the sky— The song of the life triumphant Through the kids who die.

“Kids Who Die”
Langston Hughes, 1938

Hedda Sterne. Violin Lesson, 1944

Hedda Sterne. Moonlight, 1946

At fifth grade, I visit the school library. On a wall by the door, a poster claims, "If you read books, you live more than one life." Now I'm thirty and whenever I look at faces around me, old or young, on each forehead I read: "If you live in Gaza, you die several times.”

Mosab Abu Toha

“all I hear is the wind slapping against the gravestones of those who did not make it…” - @clintsmithiii.bsky.social

YouTube video by Eduardo Enríquez Odetta - Another Man Done Gone (Live)

youtube.com/watch?v=eKVp...

Fred Leist composed this work one morning at 2am in 1942 overlooking the sea in Cornwall. He captures a moment when the world seems to be simplifying itself into light and shadow, losing substance and becoming dreamlike.

My quote of the day

To argue with a man who has renounced the use and authority of reason, and whose philosophy consists in holding humanity in contempt, is like administering medicine to the dead, or endeavoring to convert an atheist by scripture.

Thomas Paine

The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.

Orwell

In 1872 John Atkinson Grimshaw was commissioned by the House of Commons to paint three views of the Roundhay Estate (of which this is one) in consideration of the Leeds Corporation Improvement Bill that proposed to turn this former private estate into a public park.

Photograph of a cloudy winter sky and below it, its reflection in a still lake. On the near shore, there are rocks, on the far left side, trees. In the background, hills and trees begin again. The photo was taken in color but it seems to only show whites, greys, silver, black and near-blues within those colors.

The words you speak become the house you live in.

Hafiz

Photograph of a path through a forest. Lush moss on rocks, wood chips from a rotted tree. A strange rock structure in the distant left side. A chasm creeping between the two sides of the ground.

Do not look either in front of behind, but within yourself. There is the point of departure.

Edmond Jabes

"People are always shouting that they want to create a better future. It's not true. The future is an apathetic void of no interest to anyone. The past is full of life, eager to irritate us, provoke and insult us, tempt us to destroy or repaint it. The only reason people want to be masters of the future is to change the past. They are fighting for access to the laboratories where photographs are retouched and biographies and histories rewritten." Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting

Milan Kundera

Photograph of what remains of a marble statue from Greek or Roman times--unsure--at the Metropolitan Museum in NYC. The sculpture to untrained eyes looks like a haggard but energetic, corroded female museum who seems to be caught mid-beseeching someone or warning them. Her arms are cut off between the elbow and shoulder. Her face is eaten by time and somehow it looks like her mouth is open and that she's an old woman with wide eyes. But that open mouth is likely just a wound of the stone. Her hair is fashioned in a casual style above her head with some sort of band holding it off her face. She probably isn't meant to look old. It seems in this light that her clavicles show and also a vein along her left bicep. Her outfit is tied interestingly around the solar plexus. To me she looks like an old woman who might have been in bondage, beseeching or crying a warning or a threat. She's remarkably "alive." At any rate, a historian or someone who'd read or photographed the plaque could tell who she really is believed to be, and what effects are those of time corroding art versus the original image. Behind and around her, there are other pieces of sculpture, and some vessels are behind her in a glass display. Something appears to be at her left side, part of her stonework.

Always loved this harrowing remnant (located at the Met).

Difficult Times / Schwierige Zeiten Standing at my desk I see the elder tree in the garden through the window And make out something red in it, something black And instantly recall the elders Of my Augsburg childhood. Then for several moments I seriously deliberate Whether to go to the table For my glasses, so that I might see Those black berries again on such delicate stalks. - Bertold Brecht

Difficult Times, by Bertold Brecht
(translated by Ron Slate)

DON'T HESITATE If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that's often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don't be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Mary Oliver, always on point.