red-lipstick:

Kimsooja (b. Taegu, Korea, 1957, South Korean) - A Reflective Palace Of Rainbows, 2006   The Palacio de Cristal was originally built in the late 1880s in Madrid, Spain. In 2006 artist Kimsooja transformed it into this rainbow reflecting palace.    Installations

(Source: kimsooja.com, via adzsofunkee)

(Source: volume2a, via ossacoxae)

(Source: karabisa, via lusidar)

euo:

Jenny Holzer 1985

euo:

Jenny Holzer 1985

(via caseylee)

nearlya:

Jeremy Deprez. Untitled, 2013

nearlya:

Jeremy Deprez. Untitled, 2013

nearlya:

Jeremy Deprez. Untitled (conflated), 2013

nearlya:

Jeremy Deprez. Untitled (conflated), 2013

(Source: jemeos, via ossacoxae)

thezu:

http://inkajarvinen.com/ PART III, UNTITLED 4 Serigraphy 18 x 26 cm Edition of 10 2013 From the exhibition “Spaces in Between”

thezu:

http://inkajarvinen.com/ PART III, UNTITLED 4 Serigraphy 18 x 26 cm Edition of 10 2013 From the exhibition “Spaces in Between”

(via lusidar)

lameteodujour:

Maria Serebriakova/ Untitled/ 1993 (via)

lameteodujour:

Maria Serebriakova/ Untitled/ 1993
(via)

(via floresenelatico)

absolvd:

Jenny Holzer,
'[no title]' -from Inflammatory Essays, 1979-82

absolvd:

Jenny Holzer,

'[no title]' -from Inflammatory Essays, 1979-82

(via lusidar)

likeafieldmouse:

Leon Kirchlechner - Nowhere (published 2013)

(via 7knotwind)

artruby:

Tauba Auerbach.

codyhoyt:

Light & dark stoneware. 5” x 5” x 5” 2014

codyhoyt:

Light & dark stoneware. 5” x 5” x 5” 2014

(via louisezhang)

"

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

"

It’s not that I don’t love you. (via exoticwild)

(Source: extrasad, via fuckyeahexistentialism)

(Source: sacredwhores, via caseylee)