Echoes all over, minotaur for the common man.
Sometimes artists aren’t, you know, nice.Also I have been going to museums all my life and have never been told until today (multiple times) to move my bag so that it lays against my chest or side. “Due to incidents with backpacks that touch art work.” What is wrong with everything? Also this bag is just comprised of soggy pants and a notebook. I wish I would have brought extra socks today. I wish I was eating cinnamon toast by the beach again.
[Flemish Northern Renaissance Painter, ca.1516-1570]
The Fall of the Rebellious Angels (detail)
Oil on panel, 308 x 220 cm
Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Antwerp
I wish we still spoke so I could talk about this dream with you, so I could explain how often we end up running together while I’m unconscious. But maybe it’s fine that we don’t, maybe the desire was always more than the execution of the act.But damn if words didn’t come easy around you.
I can’t stop thinking about that. I can’t stop thinking about the sound of tires irritated at the ice and me for being in front of a driver who couldn’t be bothered to stop. I can’t stop thinking about how I should call home more often and clean my bathtub and stop buying so many fancy donuts every time I get a little bit sad (which this winter has been too much). Spending so much time indoors is not great for my mental health and I’m so grateful for getting to visit new coastlines and see an old friend much happier than the previous time we met and for how much every day seems to get better in one way or another.