Janelle Monáe - Electric Lady [Official Video]

Asger Jorn, Quatre Affiches, 1968

Max Ernst, The Barbarians, 1937

Claude Cahun, Untitled [Don’t kiss me I am in training], 1927

Claude Cahun, Self Portrait, 1928

Claude Cahun, Untitled [Don’t kiss me I am in training], 1927

Claude Cahun, Self Portrait, 1928

Man Ray, La Marquise Casati, 1922

Man Ray, La Marquise Casati, 1922

Marcel Duchamp, First Papers of Surrealism, 1942

Joan Miró, Ciphers and Constellations in Love with a Woman, 1941. Art Institute of Chicago

Enjoying a lovely work day in the Peabody Library 

  1. Camera: iPhone 5
  2. Aperture: f/2.4
  3. Exposure: 1/20th
  4. Focal Length: 4mm

L’oeil à l’état sauvage: l’atelier André Breton, un film de Fabrice Maze pour Centre Pompidou

Herbert Bayer, Things to Come, 1938

Herbert Bayer, Things to Come, 1938

Manet, Etude des arbres, 1859

"She thinks you’re straight and you have a marriage of convenience and never find love but your friendship inspires a hit movie with a clothes shopping montage and accompanying Mariah song."
— Emma in response to one of my many “what’s the worst that could happen?” queries. 


Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb

Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life

Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,

The absolute sacrifice.
It means no more idols but me,

Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles

These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,

Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sacks.

Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,

Nobody’s about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting

Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.

O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,

The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks

Glittering and digesting

Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.

— Sylvia Plath, 28 January 1963

Almost forgot about this…what a shame. 

Just gonna leave this right here…