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Artists Who Become it

Description

Discover the transformative journey of artists as they explore the intense struggle between inspiration and doubt, the paradox of creation, and the unyielding quest for legacy. This reflection delves into the profound realisation that artists are not just seeking meaning. They are becoming it through their creative processes.

Keywords

Creative self-reflection, Art and psychology, Overcoming artistic fear, Creative transformation, Artistic inspiration, Fear of mediocrity in art, Psychology of creativity, Inner artist struggle, Art and self-discovery, Emotional depth in art

 

15. Cryo Unit: Threatened to overwhelm me

 

As the de-adenosine sequence reached its apex, a cosmic symphony of dissolution began. The last, fragile barriers of selfhood, meticulously constructed over a lifetime, crumbled into stardust. The rigid distinction between my physical body and the intricate machinery that now sustained me, between the ephemeral nature of thought and the overwhelming, external chaos, bled away with an exquisite, agonising slowness. It was as if a dam had burst, unleashing a torrent of pure, unadulterated consciousness. The shimmering nebula of my mind, once a mere poetic metaphor, materialised into my literal form, an ethereal cloud of pure energy. I became an observer, detached yet intimately connected, as currents of vibrant, cosmic colour flowed through what were once my limbs. Brilliant hues, reminiscent of a newborn star's fiery birth, filled the space where my heart had once pulsed with the organic dread of mortality.

 

That primal fear, a constant companion throughout my existence, dissolved into nothingness, replaced by an unsettling, almost serene acceptance. The very logic that had anchored my understanding of the universe evaporated, leaving behind a profound sense of interconnectedness. My companions, once loaded with personal history and emotional resonance, became faint, distant stars in the swirling, luminous galaxy that was now my mind. They were memories, yes, but memories observed from an impossible distance, devoid of their former grip.

I was a ghost in a bottle, adrift in a tear in reality, a rift in the fabric of spacetime itself. The chaos that had once threatened to overwhelm me from the outside no longer felt like a menace, but rather a profound, encompassing presence, a silent witness to my transformation. And in the quiet, vibrant heart of it all, a powerful, inexplicable pull emerged. It was not the familiar, gravitational tug of a celestial body, but rather a profound sense of purpose, an undeniable calling. A silent invitation, emanating from the sentient whispers of survival and the tantalising promises of ultimate transformation, drew me deeper into the cosmic dance. I was no longer merely existing; I was becoming.

 

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The anomaly hears me

 

“What are you feeling?” I hear a voice that isn't mine. My internal monologue, usually a swirling current of unarticulated thoughts, morphs into an external inquiry, peeling back the layers of my consciousness. It’s a question laced with desperation, echoing the weight of my existential grip, a plea for clarity in the swirling fog of my mind. My mind races, grappling with the disquieting notion that the chaos outside, the incessant dark noise, the relentless march of time, the myriad demands of existence, mirrors, with terrifying precision, the tempest roiling within. A maelstrom of anxieties, unspoken fears, and simmering frustrations threatens to capsize the fragile vessel of my composure. Each breath feels shallow, a desperate attempt to draw air into lungs constricted by an invisible vise. The world inside seems to implode with veracity, its cacophony amplifying the clamour of my own thoughts, leaving me adrift in a sea of overwhelming emotion.

 

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The Decision is Grim

 

The predicament faced by BK and JB, the space travellers, was dire. Their vessel, damaged and adrift, had few remaining options. A blaring, incessant buzz from their communications console signalled an automated distress hail. It was from a rusty, ancient-looking container freight vessel, its hull scarred with years of interstellar travel. The offer was for emergency docking services, but the cost was astronomical, an amount designed to cripple any independent spacefarer: "all unallocated credits, plus seventy per cent of the cargo." This wasn't merely a setback; it was an extinction-level event for their mission. Years of meticulous savings, every hard-earned credit accumulated from countless dangerous runs and risky deliveries, would be instantly vaporised. Their entire mission's profit, the culmination of relentless effort and sacrifice, would be snatched away, leaving them with nothing but the tattered remnants of their once-ambitious dreams. The grim reality of their situation settled heavily upon them: accept the exorbitant terms and survive, or drift into the cold, silent void, their journey ending in utter ruin. Yes, we must go in.

 

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#RT #fromrussiawithpain #russkayatoska

 

Story about Russia, Time and untranslatable mentality

 

FULL CULTURAL PROJECT LINK:

readymag.com/LN/russkayatoska/

  

#эстетикагородскихокраин #russianemptiness #национальнаяидентичность

  

Toska - untranslatable russian word....

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom."

  

Project by Lisa Nikolajeva

Ph.: Polina Sokolova

 

Lo: Dno, Russia (lit. - bottom)

 

2016-2018

All rights reserved

  

______

About, more, details - check project link and follow the hashtags:

 

#гиперреальность #транссентиментализм

#метамодернизм

#darkbeauty #darkfashion #metamodernism #postrussia

#постсоцарт

#эстетикаебеней #россиясегодня

Cryo Unit: confirmation and protocol

 

The voice, a sterile, disembodied presence that has become as familiar as my own thoughts, began its report. "Status: Your Brass Monkey cryo-unit is engaged. Internal temperature regulation is optimal." A faint hum, almost imperceptible through the thick insulation of the unit, confirmed its words. I felt the gentle thrum of the cryo-fluid circulating, a constant reminder of the fragile balance being maintained within my metallic sarcophagus.

 

"External forces, such as extreme G-load, confirm the slingshot maneuver is active, exploiting Delta-Nine traffic gravitational pull for maximum velocity." The words brought with them a subtle shift in pressure, a barely discernible tremor that resonated deep within the reinforced shell of my vessel. Delta-Nine, a scar of immense antimatter, was now a critical point in our journey, its colossal gravitational field bending space and time to propel us into the unthinkable anomaly. Are we just mere flotsam on its cosmic current, accelerating to speeds that would tear our unprotected fabric apart?

 

"You have entered the anomaly." The cyro tone remained flat, devoid of any discernible emotion, yet the pronouncement sent a shiver through what remained of my conscious mind. The anomaly. It was the reason for this perilous journey, the uncharted territory at the edge of known existence, a tear in the fabric of reality that defied all conventional understanding. Data streams, once a torrent of sensory input, now dissolved into transient light, a chaotic symphony of fractured information. This is the risk we had to take.

  

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Trapped in a cosmic gridlock, navigating space felt less like an adventure and more like rush hour back home. Ahead, the opulent cruise liner, The Stellar Serpent, dominated the view, its countless portholes gleaming with the carefree anticipation of its occupants. We were surrounded by a frenzy of vessels, from elegant private yachts to bulky cargo freighters, all vying for position, their navigation lights impatiently flickering like agitated fireflies.

Our battered Subi spacecraft

Cryo Unit: Threatened to overwhelm me again

 

As the de-adenosine sequence reached its apex, a cosmic symphony of dissolution began. The last, fragile barriers of selfhood, meticulously constructed over a lifetime, crumbled into stardust. The rigid distinction between my physical body and the intricate machinery that now sustained me, between the ephemeral nature of thought and the overwhelming, external chaos, bled away with an exquisite, agonising slowness. It was as if a dam had burst, unleashing a torrent of pure, unadulterated consciousness. The shimmering nebula of my mind, once a mere poetic metaphor, materialised into my literal form, an ethereal cloud of pure energy. I became an observer, detached yet intimately connected, as currents of vibrant, cosmic colour flowed through what were once my limbs. Brilliant hues, reminiscent of a newborn star's fiery birth, filled the space where my heart had once pulsed with the organic dread of mortality.

 

That primal fear, a constant companion throughout my existence, dissolved into nothingness, replaced by an unsettling, almost serene acceptance. The very logic that had anchored my understanding of the universe evaporated, leaving behind a profound sense of interconnectedness. My companions, once loaded with personal history and emotional resonance, became faint, distant stars in the swirling, luminous galaxy that was now my mind. They were memories, yes, but memories observed from an impossible distance, devoid of their former grip.

I was a ghost in a bottle, adrift in a tear in reality, a rift in the fabric of spacetime itself. The chaos that had once threatened to overwhelm me from the outside no longer felt like a menace, but rather a profound, encompassing presence, a silent witness to my transformation. And in the quiet, vibrant heart of it all, a powerful, inexplicable pull emerged. It was not the familiar, gravitational tug of a celestial body, but rather a profound sense of purpose, an undeniable calling. A silent invitation, emanating from the sentient whispers of survival and the tantalising promises of ultimate transformation, drew me deeper into the cosmic dance. I was no longer merely existing; I was becoming.

 

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The Decision is Unstable and Risky

 

The shimmering cosmic anomaly, a swirling vortex of unknown energies and theoretical physics, presented itself as a "tantalising, almost magical solution." It was a high-stakes gamble, a desperate, final throw of the dice that held the potential to "save everything," or, conversely, to cost them "far more than credits", a price that could only be measured in lost lives, shattered dreams, and the very fabric of their reality.

 

The stakes could not have been higher. Inside their rapidly deteriorating vessel, BK, her usually steady hands now wracked with uncontrollable tremors, struggled to maintain her composure. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a testament to the accelerating decay of their predicament. Beside her, JB lay barely conscious, his life signs flickering like a dying candle, his face pale and clammy. Time, that most precious of commodities, was a luxury they no longer possessed; it was slipping through their fingers like fine dust.

 

The oppressive silence in the cockpit was finally shattered by Katcha, the genetically modified cyborg spoodle. His voice, usually a comforting rumble, was now tight with a new, fierce determination, each word clipped and precise. His canine eyes, generally full of playful curiosity, were narrowed with a grim resolve. He had weighed the impossible odds, absorbed the desperate cries of their dying comrades, and understood the terrifying gravity of their situation. With a deep breath, Katcha, the unlikely hero, prepared to take the gamble. The future of their mission, and perhaps even the fate of their entire civilisation, rested on his calculations and Subi’s logistical clarity.

 

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The Necropolis Corridor is an uncharted and treacherous region of space. It can be described as a "black scar across the vast space"

The Anomaly has a Signature

 

The anomaly manifests as a faint, almost imperceptible energy signature, easily overlooked by an untrained eye. This signature resonates at a frequency subtly distinct from its surroundings, creating a unique yet elusive presence. Those sensitive to such variations might describe it as a gentle hum or a soft vibration at the periphery of their awareness.

 

Space travellers note that the Anomaly often coincides with specific environmental conditions, perhaps during rare celestial alignments or in areas where natural energies converge. This conjunction makes detection even more challenging, as the signature blends seamlessly into the natural tapestry of energy flows that permeate our world.

 

The Anomaly's true nature is a subject of intense debate. Some believe it contains secrets to the fabric of reality, seeking to weaponise it for tactical advantage and to reshape the understanding of warfare. Others approach it with caution, fearing that its mismanagement could unleash unforeseen intergalactic consequences. The pursuit of harnessing this energy signature remains shrouded in secrecy.

 

The Anomaly: a mystery beyond comprehension. Katcha and Subi are driving us straight into it, challenging the boundaries of what we can expect.

 

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Entering a deep space anomaly

 

Navigating the profound enigma of a deep space anomaly demands a level of "extreme precision" that borders on the paradoxical. A vessel attempting entry must achieve a delicate equilibrium: expending minimal energy while simultaneously reaching maximum velocity. This seemingly contradictory requirement hints at the very nature of the anomaly itself – to enter a paradox, one must first embrace and execute a paradox. The journey is not merely a feat of engineering and physics, but a philosophical and existential challenge, pushing the boundaries of known cosmic laws and the very definition of spatial traversal.

 

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The Kepler Kiss

 

Served in a matte-black ceramic mug, the Kepler Kiss is a sight to behold. Its rim glows with a turquoise light, casting an ethereal glow that accentuates the coffee's deep, cosmic allure. The drink itself is a masterpiece, with its surface shimmering like a miniature nebula. Swirls of indigo and violet dance gracefully, interspersed with flecks that resemble distant stars. As you gaze into this cosmic concoction, wisps of steam rise elegantly, forming spiral patterns that subtly mimic constellations.

 

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Surfing the interior barrel of the deep space anomaly

 

The journey through the deep space anomaly represents not merely a pinnacle of engineering and physics but a profound philosophical and existential crucible. It challenges the very foundations of known cosmic laws and redefines the essence of spatial traversal. Navigating this unpredictable phenomenon demands an unparalleled blend of skill, intuition, and courage, akin to the dexterity of a big wave surfer expertly evading entrapment within the turbulent maw of a colossal barrel. The anomaly's inherent unpredictability, its shifting temporal and spatial distortions, and its potential to unravel the fabric of reality itself necessitate a constant vigilance and an adaptive mindset. Every decision, every maneuver, is a high-stakes gamble against the unknown. Humanity's survival hinges on its relentless pursuit of knowledge, even in the face of the unimaginable.

 

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The Anomaly is incomprehensible

 

Every sensor on the console blinks a warning, a cacophony of alarms that I've long since learned to ignore. My fingers, steady despite the growing unease, hover over the controls, ready to initiate evasive maneuvers if the anomaly shows any signs of aggression. I grip the console tighter, the cool metal grounding me in this moment, a tangible anchor in the face of the ethereal display before me. Yet, I can’t shake off the sense of impending chaos, the premonition of a profound shift in my existence. It feels as though I am on the precipice of something vast and incomprehensible, a journey into the heart of the universe’s most guarded secrets.

 

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Dreams of Morpheus

The Anomaly is Unmapped

 

The anomaly represents a crucial, unmapped energy signature located deep in space adjacent to the entry of the hazardous Necropolis Corridor. This is a treacherous region of space bordering the vast and largely unexplored Kelpian Expanse. For the beleaguered crew of the Subi spacecraft, this enigmatic signature is more than just a navigational curiosity; it embodies a desperate hope and a potential, albeit perilous, path of survival. Their current trajectory places them in dire straits, with resources dwindling and the looming threat of the Necropolis Corridor's inherent dangers closing in. The anomaly, therefore, is not merely a distant beacon but a tangible, albeit uncertain, opportunity to escape their predicament and secure their future. Its precise nature and potential uses remain a mystery. Yet, the very existence of such a powerful and unrecorded energy source offers a tantalising possibility of reprieve from an otherwise inescapable doom.

 

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My Conflict with Cognition

 

The GRIP has retreated, yet its echo lingers—a phantom limb of integrated shadow. My sole refuge is narration: to catalogue the event, analyse the psychical intrusion, and report the findings. However, the words feel empty, a fragile defence against an encroaching storm. My mind drifts to an infuriating calm amidst the chaos, prompting the thought, "Just talk it through." I'd always dismissed this concept as intellectual trash, yet how can survival be guaranteed without a constant internal dialogue? My mind yearns for a voice, a narrator to make sense of the abyss.

 

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The Anomaly Entrypoint

 

As I approach the swirling anomaly, a feeling of dread begins to settle in my stomach, cold and heavy like a lead weight. The ship trembles slightly, a subtle vibration that hums through the deck plates and up into the soles of my boots. I can see the glowing colours reflecting off the cockpit’s interior – shifting hues of cerulean, violet, and emerald, each one pulsing with an unnerving, otherworldly light. It’s mesmerising and terrifying all at once, a cosmic dance of light and shadow that draws me in, an intoxicating invitation to step beyond the confines of reality and into the unknown.

 

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Our paralysis

 

The chaos swirls, a furious vortex. A single thought, soft yet firm, cuts through the noise. Don’t panic. Breathe.

Our gaze turns inward, intense. Maybe the real anomaly… isn’t out there. The inner whisper repeats, a fragile anchor in the storm. A slow turn of the head in the dark. A flicker of understanding. It’s all in our minds.

Our plunge is sudden as we pierce the surface of our fears, a vanishing into our psychological depths. Brilliant, laser-like thoughts fire from the core. A calm voice echoes from within the swirl, thoughtful. Then a louder shadow voice echoes from the depths, creeping to the edge of our meaning. And that was when our paralysis set in.

 

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Dressed in a timeless gown of shimmering, futuristic fabric, seamlessly blending advanced technology with classic design, she cradles an ornate vessel filled with spirit-rejuvenating spice. Behind her, a spectacular panorama of swirling, vibrant nebulae, stars, and cosmic dust stretches into the vastness of space. Understanding this immensity, she values intimate wellbeing, fostered by the space station's carefully curated environment where lush flora infuses the air with natural fragrance, harmonising technology and nature.

Tokyo Skytree (東京スカイツリー) is a broadcasting, restaurant, and observation tower in Sumida, Tokyo, Japan. It became the tallest structure in Japan in 2010 and reached its full height of 634.0 metres (2,080 ft) in March 2011. It is a popular tourist destination and large crowds can be expected especially during the weekends. Queues to go up the observatory can take hours and visitors are advised to pre-book the tickets beforehand. There are many viewing spots to see the sky tree. One of the most popular is from across the Asakusa side of the Sumida River.

 

What do hallucinogens have to do with Oskar Blues' Metamodern IPA? I don't know. The beer, however, is fine.

 

Summer drinking, not tripping.

20 August 2016.

 

***************

▶ "A Metamodern IPA conceived of hand selected hops from down under. Malt barley and red wheat combine to create a clean malt backbone with foolproof flavor and mouthfeel to support the main act of Enigma, Vic Secret, Ella, Topaz and Galaxy hops. The hops strum juicy and sweet aromas with headline notes of passion fruit, raspberries, pineapple and citrus. This straight-up strain is Oskar Blues IPA (6.43% ABV). To each their own til we go home."

6.43% alcohol-by-volume (abv)

70 International Bittering Units (IBUs)

Oskar Blues Brewery

Longmont, Colorado; Brevard, North Carolina; Austin, Texas, USA.

 

***************

▶ The reference on the beer can's label apparently is to the alt-country song, "Turtles All the Way Down," by Sturgill Simpson, on his album, "Metamodern Sounds in Country Music."

 

"Marijuana, LSD, Psilocybin, and DMT

They all changed the way I see

But love's the only thing that ever saved my life

 

So don't waste your mind on nursery rhymes

Or fairy tales of blood and wine

It's turtles all the way down the line

So to each their own til' we go home

To other realms our souls must roam [emphasis mine]

To and through the myth that we all call space and time."

 

***************

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Cryo Unit: The Logical Assessment of Risk

 

The statistical ghost of 45 per cent probability haunted my thoughts, a chilling counterpoint to Katcha's irrefutable logic. We both stared at the same data, the models screaming impending structural damage, yet she chose this over the slow, inevitable death of financial ruin. One hundred per cent failure was not an option, not when a 45 per cent chance of disaster, however terrifying, offered a slim thread of hope. The math was clean, flawless.

 

So why did my gut churn with an acid dread that no amount of logic could quell? It was primal, an irrational fear JB would have simply noted as another data point. Was my subconscious flagging a variable the models missed? A micro-fluctuation in the energy signature I registered but didn't consciously process? Or was it merely the body’s raw response to a coin-flip chance of atom-by-atom disintegration?

 

The light. Another problem to dissect. Those crimson and violet pulses, hallucinatory and vivid, were not real. Temporal distortions, a symptom of system failure, render my own senses unreliable. And the gut feeling? Could it be just another glitch, another phantom signal in a failing system?

Right. Catalogue the sensory error. Do you perceive the error? It's noise. Disregard the noise. Is mathematics audible? The math is sound. The logic is sound. The chaotic symphony of logic.

 

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The Necropolis Corridor features a notable location known as "Where All Machines Must Die

Cryo Unit: Debating the Anomaly's Purpose

 

The symphony crescendoed. The clean, sharp notes of logic warped and bent under the immense pressure of the anomaly until they were no longer math, but music. The 45 per cent probability became a deep, resonant cello note, a vibration I felt not in my ears, but in the very cryo-fluid that suspended me, a sound of immense tearing, of a promise being kept.

 

Through the flickering haze of my dissolving consciousness, I registered a distant, silent violence. The reinforced shell of my vessel, the ship that had been my world, was succumbing to the temporal distortions and gravitational shears. A deep groan echoed, not as sound, but as a wave of pressure against my capsule, the final scream of tortured metal. The debris field depicted in my frantic risk analyses was no longer a simulation; it was my reality, a cloud of shattered components tumbling past me in a slow, hypnotic dance of destruction.

 

“External vessel integrity compromised,” the sterile voice stated, as calm as if reporting the morning weather. “Life support functions rerouted to capsule autonomy. Standby.”

 

No longer on a ship, I was the ship itself. This metallic sarcophagus, this capsule, was my new universe—a solitary seed pod launched into a precisely orchestrated storm.

 

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Anticipation hangs in the air as partners capture a selfie within the state-of-the-art cockpit of their "Subi Compact 2-seater (pre-Collapse Jump)" vessel

The Necropolis Corridor It is an area of extreme navigational hazards. The corridor is characterised by dense fields of derelict ship hulls

Slingshot into an anomaly.

 

But Katcha's mind intertwined with Subi, a final desperate plea, "A predictive model for a slingshot to the anomaly!" "Best case, worst case": a gamble to save everything we hold dear, with a 45% chance of structural damage, battling hope and fear. To that faint, almost imperceptible energy signature, we must fly, A needle in a cosmic haystack, beneath this silent sky.

  

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Psychological Fire X

The core conflict between BK and JB is not a mere personality clash but the engine driving their narrative, particularly after the violent collapse of their advanced, technologically-dependent world. As their tools fail and reality dissolves into the "anomaly"—a psychological and existential threat—this inner tension is laid bare.

Their opposing views represent two fundamental, yet necessary, facets of the human response to breakdown. BK's emphasis on control provides vital mental structure, while JB's reliance on instinct offers the raw, immediate drive for survival. This very conflict is simultaneously their greatest potential strength. Ultimately, their survival depends on whether these warring philosophies can, under extreme duress, forge a precarious but essential synergy.

 

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The Anomaly is in the depths of my psyche

 

“Maybe the real anomaly isn’t out there,” I whisper to myself, the words barely audible above the frantic beat of my own heart. The concept feels slippery, haunting, like a half-remembered dream that refuses to fully surface. My gaze drifts to the swirling patterns on the condensation-streaked window, mirroring the maelstrom within my mind. A part of me, the logical, scientific part, struggles to reconcile this burgeoning intuition with everything I've ever known, every axiom I’ve ever held dear. Yet, I can’t deny the visceral, almost magnetic pull of the unknown; it’s an intoxicatingly alluring force, beckoning me to explore the unfathomable depths of my own psyche, to venture into territories no map can chart.

 

The air in this sphere feels charged, thick with unrecognisable questions. The fear of losing myself, of dissolving into something unrecognisable, intertwines with a profound and almost desperate desire for transformation. What if I step into it, this swirling vortex of self-discovery? What if it consumes me, leaving behind only an echo of who I once was? A shiver traces a path down my spine, a frisson of both terror and exhilaration. Is this madness, or a revelation?

 

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this is legit- there is a giant buddha statue on 7th on the other side of the freeway.

#RT #fromrussiawithpain #russkayatoska

 

Story about Russia, Time and untranslatable mentality

 

FULL CULTURAL PROJECT LINK:

readymag.com/LN/russkayatoska/

  

#эстетикагородскихокраин #russianemptiness #национальнаяидентичность

  

Toska - untranslatable russian word....

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom."

  

Project by Lisa Nikolajeva

Ph.: Polina Sokolova

 

Lo: Dno, Russia (lit. - bottom)

 

2016-2018

All rights reserved

  

______

About, more, details - check project link and follow the hashtags:

 

#гиперреальность #транссентиментализм

#метамодернизм

#darkbeauty #darkfashion #metamodernism #postrussia

#постсоцарт

#эстетикаебеней #россиясегодня

Undergoing visualizations of the project: Brandscape Architecture – City as a Shopping Mall

[The Internal Flâneur edition]

Architectural design, 3D modeling, renderings and post-processing by Dejan Jovanovski © 2012

[all rights reserved]

Image of a man is courtesy of Nikola Eftimov [Lezzet underwear collection, 2004 | photography by I. Osmani]

 

An Anthology of 19th and 20th century Romanian Women

1,100 pages, Social and political Overview, 160 biographies, 600 Quotations, 3,000 references,

E-Book available to download,

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some Women:

ARISTOCRATS: Pss Catherine Caradja, Pss Marina Stirbey,

BALLERINAS: Alina Cojocaru, Magdalena Popa, Ruxandra Racovitza

COURTESANS: Pss Georges Ghika (Liane de Pougy), Elena Lupescu

DESIGNERS: Mica Ertegün

EXPLORERS: Lady Florence Baker

GYMNASTS: Nadia Comaneci

MOVIE STARS: Lauren Bacall, Aurora Fulgida, Maria Forescu, Nadia Grey, Elvire Popesco, Silvia Sidney

OPERA: Maria Cebotari, Viorica Cortez, Ileana Cotrubas, Angela Gheorghiu, Nelly Miricioiu, Leontina Vaduva, Virginia Zeani

PAINTERS: Ioana Celibidache, Nathalie Dumitresco, Micaela Eleutheriade

PIANISTS: Cella Delavrancea, Clara Haskil, Madeleine Lipatti

POETS: Ana Blandiana, Nina Cassian, Anna de Noailles, Helene Vacaresco

POLITICAL PRISONERS: Ioana Arnautoiu, Madeleine Cancicov, Ana Novac, Elisabeta Rizea, Annie Samuelli, Sabina Wurmbrand

POLITICIANS; Elena Ceausescu, Hortense Cornu, Ana Pauker

REVOLUTIONARIES: Maria Grant Rosetti,

ROYALTY: Carmen Sylva, Pss Ileana, Archduchess of Austria, Queen Marie, Pss of Great Britain, Queen Anna, Pss of Denmark and of Bourbon-Parme, Helen Queen Mother of Romania, Pss of Greece,

SCIENTISTS: Ana Aslan, Ioana Meitani, Elisabeth Roudinesco

STAGE & COSTUME DESIGNERS: Maria Bjornson, Marie-Jeanne Lecca

VIOLINISTS: Lola Bobescu, Silvia Marcovici

WRITERS: Elizabeth Asquith Bibesco, Marthe Bibesco, Alina Diaconu, Dora d'Istria, Marie-France Ionesco, Doina Jela, Oana Orlea

 

WHAT THE READERS SAY:

 

* "It is a Herculean Work..." (Editor, Buenos Aires)

 

* "It is beautifully written and meticulously researched and presented. It is accessible to the lay reader and will be a treasure-trove for further research by academics drawn from a wide range of disciplines " (Political Analyst, UK)

 

* "For those who think that Romania is nothing more than Dracula and Ceausescu, the book has a lot to teach you... ' (IT geek, London)

 

* "Constantin Roman invites us for a walk, during which he enjoins past and present alike, in a brisk coming and going of the narrative. It is a narrative that cannot suddenly end, but rather one which compels us to start all over again and revisit. It is a truly wonderful gift, a very happy surprise indeed of an inherently original book, which haunts us like the persistent music of those Romanian women’s voices." (French Government Adviser, Paris)

 

* There is no doubt, what so ever, that if Romania is the creation of a male society as well as of political conjectures, its place in the Western European psyche is entirely due to its women, who knew how to impose their reputation in the aristocratic salons of Paris, in the world of literature, or in the English clubs so intimately linked to politics. For “Blouse Roumaine” is an incursion charged with passion, which conjures varied names, such as Queen Marie of Romania, Countess Anna de Noailles, the Princess Bibesco, or the actress Elvire Popesco, not forgetting the diabolic Ana Pauker and Elena Ceausescu." (Art Historian, Paris)

 

* "... an audaceeous choice..." (Reader, France)

 

* "So long as the masculine and the feminine are not absolutely complementary notions in terms of fair percentages, it is a good idea to write a book about Romanian Women of World repute." (Novelist, Argentina)

 

* "... it represents the idea of metamodernism as cultural paradigm to an alternative synthesis of modern and postmodern paradigms" (Researcher, New Zealand)

 

* ...an easy book, which offered me, at least, the joy of reading an interesting, well-documented Anthology, without being bored." (American Scientist)

 

* ' Blouse Romaine' is a fascinating book about women who, for the sake of their ideals, sacrificed everything in order to safeguard basic values of humanity , generosity and compassion, women who fought the communist dragon imposed by fellow women. (Researcher, Cluj, Transylvania)

 

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