Vera Nikolaevna Bunina (1881-1961)-translator, Memoirist, Author Of Literary Articles,wife Of The Writer

Anna Maria Maiolino, Piccole Note, (ink on paper), 1984 [MoMA, New York, NY. © Anna Maria Maiolino]

Hong Sang-soo

- Virgin Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors

2000

I fidanzati (Ermanno Olmi, 1963)

Zeus Leonardo

The Choice of Evil        © Marilyn Kirsch Abstract Painting and Photography by Marilyn Kirsch

“I have a longing for life, and I go on living in spite of logic. Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring. I love the blue sky, I love some people, whom one loves sometimes without knowing why. I love some great deeds done by men, though I’ve long ceased perhaps to have faith in them, yet from old habit one’s heart prizes them. I love the sticky leaves in spring, the blue sky — that’s all it is. It’s not a matter of intellect or logic, it’s loving with one’s inside, with one’s stomach.”

— Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

NOMAD. Collection and Art direction by @nicolabortoletto - Pictures by @evelin_peach - Model @thomasdaruos https://www.instagram.com/p/CHmsCiIMfbb/?igshid=1etaswwv9kw89

Chris Drury Covered Cairn, 1993 TICKON (Tranekær International Centre for Art and Nature), Langeland, Denmark. This was commissioned as a temporary piece and comprises a cairn of glacial boulders enclosed by a dome of woven sticks

“If you’re walking for a long time, You can’t think about tomorrow. If you’re walking for a long time, keep your eyes down and don’t falter. Wolves are growling in the mountains, they will come if you’re not wise. Wolves are growling by the roadside, and robbers prowling in the trees. One eye open when you’re sleeping, the night has many arms that touch you. One eye open when you’re waking, sometimes day itself can snatch you. If you dream of grapes in the arbor, you’ll wake up with stones for eyes. If you dreams of rivers winding, there’ll be gravel where you lie. And when your father falls behind, don’t cry, there’s always someone else. And when your mother falls behind, don’t cry, and then, there’s no one else. Never ask where you are going, the wind might blow your ashes there Never also where you are going, The wind is blowing everywhere.”

—

“Children’s Lullaby,” from So I Will Tell The Ground, a book of poetry by Egyptian-Armenian Gregory Djanikian

Cited along the poem, the testimony of “an Armenian child-survivor of a deportation, 1915”

About this time, Turkish or Kurdish women would come and take children away. Realizing that there was nothing but death facing us…my mother gave me to them. So these two women held my hand and took me away.