atticgirl

This is a virtual scrapbook of things I like.
I am also here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/atticgirl/
and here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rachel-Kertz-Photography/265774956784422


Thanks for stopping by :]

Summer reminds me not to take life for granted. It reminds me of the beauty in sunshine and flower petals and honey bees and the golden freckles on my bare shoulders. It reminds me that there’s nothing more satisfying than homemade vanilla lemonade and obscure ice cream flavors and cucumber salad and grill marks. It reminds me to appreciate cool breezes and ice cubes and Wayfarers and classic rock stations. But best of all, it will now forever remind me that I have a lifetime of tomorrows with your big hands and kind eyes and warm heart and crooked smile.

theonlymagicleftisart:

Flickr Group Pool Highlights - Week of July 21st 2014

Contributing Photographers from top to bottom:

1. Michel Nguie2. Gregor Petrikovic 3. Jeffrey Mckee 4. Ana Mercedes 5. Manon Paradis 6Leonor Valente 7. Thais L. 8. Veronika Gilkova 9. Miles Bowers 10. Sean Gilchrist

Hop in on the fun and join our group pool! All artists welcome, not just photographers.

Our Quarterly boxes are now $50 $30. The next box will include a hardcover photobook of Brandon C. Long's Polaroid photography and one lucky subscriber will receive a Polaroid camera and a pack of Impossible filmquarterly.co/art 

jordantiberio:

Jordan Tiberio. Lacuna, 2013-2014. Double exposure on medium format.

October, 2013,  I used to fall asleep to the melancholy lullabies of your memory each night.  Tossing and turning I’d hope the thoughts of you would seep out of my ears if I moved with enough force, but my attempts always failed.  You see, when you were mine, and as your fingers would travel along the landscape of my limbs, seeds were planted within my bones.  Your love would arrive in the form of a storm, and I was always without my umbrella.  I remember feeling the rosebuds cracking through my marrow; my skin flushing the crimson color of their newborn petals.  Their roots rejoiced to the nurturing of your lips as they danced across my flesh.  But only a year after you planted your garden, a drought abruptly roared over my plains.  Those once luscious flower beds on my bones have now been long wilted, for my heart is void of the kind of love it desires the most. 

Your voice was an octave equal to the song of the birds in the early morning, waking up the Earth.  And it was not until I was no longer awoken by it, and I forgot its sweet melody, that I realized heartbreak does indeed fade away.  At some point my memories of you started to become diluted, some of them possibly existing as figments of my own imagination, never having existed in the first place.  And even if I wish not to admit it, I’d fantasize about your next relationship.  What if you loved them more?  What if you forgot about me?  It is hard for one to imagine a love with anyone but their ex-lover, so we scoff at how they seem so unaffected by the sadness they’ve inflicted on our hearts.  But experiencing these overwhelming daydreams only lead me to the same realization that forgetting the sound of your voice did.  One day I will love someone new just as you will.  And maybe his hands will plant a new flower all of his own in the bones you have left behind.

Artifacts of you will still resurface when the future farmers of your old land harrow the soil, and when they do I will dust them off and position them proudly on my mantle.  Because it is okay to hold onto distant times.  I will never apologize for the days I spend dreaming, or the evenings I bathe in nostalgia.  I refuse to let go of the memory of how your eyes were the colors of emeralds I wish I could wear around my neck.  And I may never cease reliving the ecstasy that was once so plentiful because I can’t just let you fade away.  I loved you first.  These are my memories— only I can control their fate— and they are what will make me feel alive.  No matter where you are, you will always be with me, and although we may no longer be in love, I still love you.

But while I’m here I must not deprive myself of joy, for we’ll all become just impressions in the bed sheets one day.

(via sealegslegssea)

I think it would do wonders for my self-esteem if I stopped following photographers on Facebook and just followed more cats. Or I just stopped following more humans on Facebook in general. Or if I just started following more cats in real life.