The one thing to say about art

Ad Reinhardt, Abstract Painting No. 5, 1963. Oil on canvas. +++ “The one thing to say about art is its breathlessness, lifelessness, deathlessness, contentlessness, formlessness, spacelessness, and timelessness. This is always the end of art.” – Ad Reinhardt (1962)

The one thing to say about art

Ad Reinhardt, Abstract Painting No. 5, 1963. Oil on canvas. +++ “The one thing to say about art is its breathlessness, lifelessness, deathlessness, contentlessness, formlessness, spacelessness, and timelessness. This is always the end of art.” – Ad Reinhardt (1962)

Hello world!

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Vocab (Paradise Lost)

uxorious, adj. Having or showing an excessive or submissive fondness for one’s wife. architrave, noun. The beam resting on the columns that supports the roof; the lowest section of the entablature.

Vocab (Paradise Lost)

uxorious, adj. Having or showing an excessive or submissive fondness for one’s wife. architrave, noun. The beam resting on the columns that supports the roof; the lowest section of the entablature.

And looked back on love

Hotel Lautréamont, from 1992, is one of John Ashbery’s best books, in my opinion. These are my favorites. +++ STILL LIFE WITH STRANGER Come on, Ulrich, the great octagon of the sky is passing over us. Soon the world will have moved on. Your love affair, what is it but a tempest in a teacup? But such storms exclude strange resonance: The power of the Almighty reduced to its infinitesimal root hangs like the chant of bees, the milky drooping leaves of the birch on a windless autumn day — Call these phenomena or pinpoints, remote as the glittering trash…

And looked back on love

Hotel Lautréamont, from 1992, is one of John Ashbery’s best books, in my opinion. These are my favorites. +++ STILL LIFE WITH STRANGER Come on, Ulrich, the great octagon of the sky is passing over us. Soon the world will have moved on. Your love affair, what is it but a tempest in a teacup? But such storms exclude strange resonance: The power of the Almighty reduced to its infinitesimal root hangs like the chant of bees, the milky drooping leaves of the birch on a windless autumn day — Call these phenomena or pinpoints, remote as the glittering trash…

Odilon Redon

+++ “I have married color.” +++ +++ “The rose is wrong: I know what I am doing.” +++ Above: “Meditation,” pastel. Below: “Joan of Arc,” pastel, 1900.