Cock Pheasant (1916). Designed by John Henry Dearle (Workshop of William Morris). Maufactured by Morris & Co.
Tapestry (1916). Wool and silk on cotton warp.
Birmingham Museums Trust, licensed under CC0.
Cosimo Galluzzi
art blog(derogatory)

Acquired Stardust
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Origami Around
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oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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will byers stan first human second

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
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@onemoretime
Cock Pheasant (1916). Designed by John Henry Dearle (Workshop of William Morris). Maufactured by Morris & Co.
Tapestry (1916). Wool and silk on cotton warp.
Birmingham Museums Trust, licensed under CC0.

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Cian McCarthy :: @arealmofwonder
Beginning the day with some P. G. Wodehouse is always a capital idea.
Bangkok, Thailand. 2025.
Souvenir d'achats de nuit
Brass astrolabe, Morocco, circa 1700
from The Khalili Collections

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Jackson Pollock, "Number 7A," 1948,
Oil and enamel on canvas,
35 x 131 ½ in. (88.9 x 334 cm.)
Courtesy: Christie's
Giuseppe Castiglione (A.k.a. 郎世寧 / 郎世宁 / Láng Shìníng), Qing Dynasty
"I always want to bottle the scent of morning. The mix of hope and arrival and dew and energy. If morning owned an element it would be air. Air is equal parts oxygen, day dreams and possibility." ~ Victoria Erickson (Author, Edge of Wonder)
Nancy Crystalworks Luxor perfume bottle, 1920s

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Buddhist temple hanging, Japan, Mid-Edo 1675-1775. Image via Yorke Antique Textiles.
Samuel John Lamorna Birch
On June Blossoming in June
by Karen An-hwei Lee
This summer, we drank cardamom iced tea sweetened with agave — savoring an idea of sweetness lingering, not as if we actually ate honey from the lovely overflow of liquid summer heat and soft beeswax tongued with a wedge of spanakopita and a platter of shaved lamb strewn on pita bread with yogurt cucumber dip — glistening slices of salmon topped by edamame, wakame seaweed, crushed macadamia nuts mingled with black sesame on beds of rice, and steaming cups of chai with black tea and milk, loose-leaf sencha, and chunks of sea bass with a tossed mesclun of tender greens garnished by crisp curls of chicharrónes and chopped beet salad with tart beets—the mellow gold ones soaked in wine vinegar, dressed with tendrils of microgreens — corollas of night-blooming honeysuckle and star jasmine flaming with small cups of heady fumes wafting on trellises across the lot with a walk-in hair salon and laundromat — then avocados with eggs-over-easy in hollandaise sauce over muffins alongside triangles of toast dipped in yolks beaten with cinnamon, and flavorful black coffee with a drop of fresh cream, quiche with crimini mushrooms, feta, swiss cheese, not leeks or truffles, shot through with julienned sundried tomatoes the color of stop signs, and mocha spiced with chili, black pepper, chocolate, cardamom again by a plate of smoked salmon and capers, ricotta, buttery arugula, and baby spinach drizzled with olive oil on thin sourdough toast in glowing strokes of late June light fringed by the noise of peninsula traffic on the harbor laced by grease and silt from the machinery of life — the sea isn’t far away though only gulls could spy it from here — so why don’t we walk all the way to the inlet of the marina, a landing where children play in the fading light blanched on grassy edges as if already a memory of summer within summer — and you say, with the air of a prophet who ate locusts and honey, join me in the place where lives are bound together by a cord of three strands.

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Colley Whisson (Australian Artist, born 1966)
"Winter Colors",
2019.Oil on Canvas
How swiftly the strained honey
of afternoon light
flows into darkness
and the closed bud shrugs off
its special mystery
in order to break into blossom
as if what exists, exists
so that it can be lost
and become precious
- Lisel Mueller / In Passing