Discover two new pages in my gallery with works by Duy Huynh

Duy Huynh I
Duy Huynh II

different-paths-to-the-same-page


“Different Paths To the Same Page”

Posted in Art, Male, Spiritual | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Shakespeare

 
Shakespeare
 

Shakespeare only really wrote with two views on women- the conniving sexualized and the innocent virgins. The guys I work with in construction see me as either a sexual object or an incompetent child, so they aren’t much different than Shakespeare. Except the Bard never would have let me use a sledge hammer.


Ellie, NY Times Building, 8th Avenue

 

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“Sharing” is a misused term that needs to die

cindyschnackel

C

“How Image Sharing Sites are Undermining Photography,” by photographer Tara Bradford, July 18, 2013

http://www.tarabradford.com/2013/07/every-photographers-nightmare.html

This could as easily be about infringement of images of paintings, sculpture, etc, or for that matter, poetry and writing.

This article was posted on a Facebook group this morning, and many artists I know, (myself included), are well acquainted with the author’s struggles to protect her copyrights.  Infringement really does cause damage. It’s not flattering and it’s not really free promotion. (If its unattributed the ‘free promotion’ excuse is especially stupid.)

People may not understand that an image IS a product. It can be used as illustration, advertising, to generate ad income, support causes, make greeting cards and other products like pillow covers, key chains, mousepads, reprints, knock off versions of the art from Chinese sweat shops, and more.  All without the artist or photographer being asked or paid.  It is no wonder that…

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unseen gifts

 
Maki
 

Explore – NEW PAGE

https://culturtimemyblog.wordpress.com/gallery/maki-horanai/

 
 
unseen gifts

“unseen gifts” by MAKI HORANAI

 

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Pugalo

 

Rosalia Zelma. Pugalo

 

The Scarecrow 1990 Pugalo – Rosalia Zelma – Russian animation –

 

Pugalo (The Scarecrow), 1990
film, color, sound, approx. 10 minutes
video courtesy the artist

 

ROSALIA ZELMA

 

(born in 1938) is a Russian filmmaker who created a series of animated films from 1967 to 1992 (approximatively). For Pugalo ZELMA employs a traditional drawing to offer a story in which a scarecrow is attracted by a white hare. Sadly, the long-eared beauty’s affections hop elsewhere, in search of a suitor with deeper patchwork pockets filled with carrots*.

 

found via the Bunny Rogers Top Ten for Artforum January 2014*

 

Posted in Female, Russian | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments

Storyteller

 
 

 
 


Storyteller

 

Oh storyteller tell us a story
Make it a tale
Tell me about the people of old
Tell me about 1001 Nights
And about Lunja the daughter of the Ghoul
And about the son of the Sultan

 

I’m about to tell a story
Take us far from this world
I’m about to tell a story
Everyone of us has a story in his heart

 

Narrate and forget we’re adults
In your mind we’re young
Tell us about heaven and hell
About the bird that never flew in his life
Help us understand the meaning of the world

 

Oh storyteller, tell it just as they told you
Don’t add anything, don’t leave anything out
We could see into your mind
Narrate to make us forget this time
Leave us in the world of once upon a time

 

Souad Massi

 
 

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STILL I RISE

 
 
 
Still
 
 

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

 

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

 

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

 

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

 

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

 

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

 

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

 

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

 
 
 

Maya Angelou
born on the 4th April 1928

 
 

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FUNNY

 
 
 
Idol

Idol Kathmandu – An Offering by Navesh Chitrakar

 
 

What’s it like to be human
the bird asked

 

I myself don’t know
it’s being held prisoner by your skin
while reaching infinity
being a captive of your scrap of time
while touching eternity
being hopelessly uncertain
and helplessly hopeful
being a needle of frost
and a handful of heat
breathing in the air
and choking wordlessly
it’s being on fire
with a nest made of ashes
eating bread
while filling up on hunger
it’s dying without love
it’s loving through death

 

That’s funny said the bird
and flew effortlessly up into the air.

 
 

Anna Kamienska
1920-1986

 
 

translated from the Polish by
Stanislav Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh

 
 

Posted in Female, Polish | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

SONG OF CHILDHOOD

 
 
 
Childhood
 

When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.

 

When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.

 

When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.

 

When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?

 

When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.

 

When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.

 

It had visualized a clear image of Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought.

 

When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.

 

When the child was a child,
It was enough for it to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now.

 

When the child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.

 

When the child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today.

 
 

Peter Handke
1942

 
 

From Wings of Desire, 1987
Dir. Wim Wenders

 
 
 

Posted in Austrian, Male | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

PLANET EARTH

 
 
 
Globe_hands
 
 

It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet,
has to be ironed, the sea in its whiteness;
and the hands keep on moving,
smoothing the holy surfaces.

 

Pablo Neruda

‘In Praise of Ironing’

 
 
 

It has to be loved the way a laundress loves her linens,
the way she moves her hands caressing the fine muslins
knowing their warp and woof,
like a lover coaxing, or a mother praising.
It has to be loved as if it were embroidered
with flowers and birds and two joined hearts upon it.
It has to be stretched and stroked.
It has to be celebrated.
O this great beloved world and all the creatures in it,
It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet.

 

The trees must be washed, and the grasses and mosses.
They have to be polished as if made of green brass.
The rivers and little streams with their hidden cresses
and pale-coloured pebbles
and their fool’s gold
must be washed and starched or shined into brightness,
the sheets of lake water
smoothed with the hand
and the foam of the oceans pressed into neatness.
It has to be ironed, the sea in its whiteness.

 

and pleated and goffered, the flower-blue sea
the protean, wine-dark, grey, green, sea
with its metres of satin and bolts of brocade.
And sky – such an O! overhead – night and day
must be burnished and rubbed
by hands that are loving
so the blue blazons forth
and the stars keep on shining
within and above
and the hands keep on moving.

 

It has to be made bright, the skin of this planet
till it shines in the sun like gold leaf.
Archangels then will attend to its metals
and polish the rods of its rain.
Seraphim will stop singing hosannas
to shower it with blessings and blisses and praises
and, newly in love,
we must draw it and paint it
our pencils and brushes and loving caresses
smoothing the holy surfaces.

 
 
 

Patricia Kathleen Page
1916-2010

 
 
 

By special resolution of the United Nations, in 2001 Page’s poem “Planet Earth” was read simultaneously in New York, the Antarctic, and the South Pacific to celebrate the International Year of Dialogue Among Civilizations.

 
 

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The 20 Things You Need To Let Go To Be Happy

 
 
 
happy
 

Everyone has one common goal in life: to achieve true happiness. The biggest factor holding us back from achieving our dreams is, simply and sadly, our own selves. We put limitations on ourselves everyday, whether intentionally or unintentionally. There are so many ways we can alleviate these restraints.

 

Remember, life can either be something you embrace or something you hide from.
Stop making things complicated and just live your life. It would be so much simpler and more enjoyable if we learned to just release certain limitations.

 

Let’s take a look at the things you need to let go of in order to become a happier person.

 

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Les leçons c’est ‘tous les mêmes’ leçon n° 24

 
 

Les leçons c’est ‘tous les mêmes’ leçon n° 24 / Lessons are “all the same”

http://www.stromae.net
 

…wishing you all a happy and healthy and wonderful New Year…

 

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Get out of my Face

 
 
 
Alexa

Alexa Torre, Get out of my Face

 
 

Get out of my face

Get out of my sight

Get out of my head and give me back my piece of mind

I don’t understand why you think you

Can do the things you can’t

 

So get out of my face

Get out of my sight

Get out of my head and give me back my piece of mind

My piece of mind

 

Bring me back my piece of mind.

 
 

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People on Street

 
 
 
Old

Old women with cat

 

“Find arms that will hold you at your weakest times,
eyes that will see your beauty at your ugliest times,
and a heart that will love you at your worst.”

 

I found this anonymous quote in another blog today and loved it enough to inspire me to make these pages this morning and consider it.

 

Posted in Art Photography | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Agia Eleni and the Blue Cat

 
 
 
Helena

Saint Helena and the Blue Cat
by Zoe Blue

 
 

When St. Helena (also Empress Helena) came upon Cyprus, it was in the midst of a serious drought. It was 327 AD, and the Holy Monastery of St. Nicholas was being built, but people were fleeing the island and its deadly heat and poisonous snake infestation. She solved the problem by ordering a ship filled with cats from Egypt and Palestine delivered to the island, and the cats went to work, doing their significant part to make Cyprus the beautiful island it is now–full of strays that everyone feeds and who have no problem hopping up to the empty seat at your table in a restaurant to see if they might like some of what you’re eating. The monks kept the cats on at the monastery, using a bell to dispatch them to snake hunting and also to call them in for a house meal. The monastery is now known as the Holy Monastery of Saint Nicholas of the Cats, but it houses cats and nuns now.

The flower she carries is Sedum Anacampseros, the Evergreen Orpine, which according to Curtis’ botanical magazine “grows spontaneously in rock crevices.” Here, St. Helena brings life back to the island, astride her blue cat. The building in the back is part of a medieval church destroyed when Turkey began its occupation of the northern half of the island in 1974.

 

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Jai-Jagdeesh – Aad Guray Namay

 
 
 
 
AlexanderSigov

Painting Alexander Sigov

 
 
 

I am not dreaming

This is a real day, a beautiful one.
Do we want to return to the past
and play hide-and-seek?
We are here today,
and we will be here tomorrow.
This is true.
Come, you are thirsty.
We can walk together
to the spring of fresh water.”

 

~ Venerable Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh

 
 
 
 

 

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Live Your Way into the Answer

 
 
 
tree-hugger
 
 
 

“I beg you,

to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart

and to try to love the questions themselves

as if they were locked rooms

or books written in a very foreign language.

Don’t search for the answers,

which could not be given to you now,

because you would not be able to live them.

And the point is to live everything.

Live the questions now

Perhaps then,

someday far in the future,

you will gradually,

without even noticing it,

live your way into the answer.”

 

~  Rainer Maria Rilke

 
 
 

Posted in Art Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

Torso

 
 
 
 
akt
 

We all carry around so much pain in our hearts.

Love and pain and beauty.

They all seem to go together like one little tidy confusing package.

It’s a messy business, life.

It’s hard to figure–full of surprises.

Some good. Some bad.

 
 

– Henry Bromel

 

Posted in Fine Art Photography | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

depression

 
 
 
 
depression
 

depression

 

Posted in Fine Art Photography | Tagged , | 2 Comments

old woman in grief

 
 
 
 
old
 

(the start and end of all pain)

 

As the end of all pain

Death is a woman

As the return to the source

Death is a woman

In the dreamless sleep

Death is a woman

In the endless peace

Death is a woman

 

Posted in Fine Art Photography | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Le jardin des supplices

 
 
 
 
Le
 

Le jardin des supplices

 

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insider

 
 
 
 
insider
 

insider

 

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A dream can dream a wonderful thing.

 
 
 
 
dream
 

(a dream within a dream)

 

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night,

or in a day,

In a vision,

or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

 

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Denied

 
 
 
denied
 

Its not our place to go,

Where beauty roams free,

We have no right to know,

Of a life we’ll never see,

They keep us caged in their charade,

And they threw away the key.

These Figureheads of life and death,

Control you with their lie,

Tell you when to hold your breath,

Then tell you when to die,

Why does this killing keep on recycling,

When is it their turn to cry?

 

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thought kept under the hand pressure

 
 
 
hand
 

hand gives power

 

Internally our clock beats to a rhythm of its own inherent measure

With life’s dismay we glorify fleeting time containing displeasure.

Rhythmic patterns ever so elusive are compromising this treasure

An insight with hastened efforts of our achievement give leisure.

 

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If you seek My light

 
 
 
 

to dream with open eyes

 

to.dream.with.open.eyes

 

If you seek My light

 

At first sight I may blind you

If you stand in My light

It will cast a dark shadow

And there all your fears

And insecurities will hide

For they love the darkness

Eventually, after enough seeking

You will see, it is not really My light

That you seek

But your own

And this Light has another name

Love

 

And when you begin to shine

That is when your shadow will disappear

But your fears will try to keep your Light dim

Don’t let them

Shine, shine, shine

Shine on in the face of your fear

And soon enough

What once kept you afraid

Will disappear, and all that’s left will be

Our Light

 
 

by Mastin Kipp

 

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

delusion

 
 
 
 

 
 
 

My spirit floats to be a part

I feel the beating of its heart

My soul, one with this bird of sea

Now knows the meaning to fly free

 
 

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don’t think about

 
 
 

 
 

You’re the world to me–

there’s no one quite like you.

You’re the one I love,

the one I want to touch.

I give you my heart,

and I need you so much.

Offer me your sweet caresses;

fill me with your wonderful light;

soothe my aching heart;

and hold me through the night.

The mere sound of your voice

summons deep emotion within

Like an old familiar song

like the comfort of a friend.

When you’re near,

I’m lost to thoughts of love

as you touch me with a magic

that’s as grand as stars above.

I want to hold your hand.

I hunger for your kiss.

Offer me sweet tidings

of true love’s tender bliss.

I promise our love shall soar,

carried on the wings of a dove.

So give me your heart,

and bless me with your love.

 
 
 

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What’s life?

 
 
 
raining
 
 

What’s life?

 

Life is a journey
that begins at birth,
an exploration of a paradise
called earth.

Life is a breath of fresh air
against your cheek.
It’s the tears that fall
and the smile that lifts you
when you’re weak.

Life is an exclamation of joy
when spring has begun.
I…t’s the excitement you feel
beneath the sun.

Life is a cherished memory
that makes you feel warm
and the comfort of a fire
in the midst of a storm.

Life is holding your newborn
and watching your child grow.
It’s pigtails and roller skates,
and fights in the snow.

Life is a heartbeat
and the song of a bird.
It’s the voice of those you love
and all the music you’ve ever heard.

Life is the most precious gift from God
that you’ll ever receive,
and to live it to its fullest,
you’ve only to believe…

that this is your life,
and you can be,
all you’ve ever
hoped to be.

 
 

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

nowhere land

 
 
 

nowhere.land

 
 
 

I saw you in the mirror, Instead of smiling at your pretty face,

I rushed away, Thinking you could be better.

I didn’t honor how beautiful, You have become,

In your day-to-day tasks,

I have forgotten your courage. And although you’ve become wise,

The little child in you needs, Tenderness and friendship, And connection.

You have forgiven your past, And broken through those chains of guilt,

You are a true crusader, A warrior!

You deserve infinite happiness, And freedom, And love,

Never Give Up

On Yourself

 

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