26 romantic dancer who captures emotion in movement and devotes life to art.
*if i post a photo without due credit, i am sorry. i do not take credit for anything unless it is my own and noted
Carla Fracci photographed in 1978 by Daniel S. Sorine.
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"Don’t dream it, be it."
The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975)
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Lost in Translation (2003) dir. Sofia Coppola
"Yeah. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to be, you know. I tried being a writer, but I hate what I write. I tried taking pictures, but they were so mediocre. You know, every girl goes through a photography phase. You know, horses… taking dumb pictures of your feet."
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Several ballerinas of the Mikhailovsky Ballet, dancing the role of Aurora in Sleeping Beauty (Among them Olesya Novikova, Bondareva Oksana, Svetlana Zakharova, Natalia Osipova and Kristina Shapran)
All the photos Kikolay Krusser
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*dreams about writing novel*
*thinks about writing novel*
*drinks coffee while planning more of the novel*
*finally sits down to write novel*
*stares at computer screen for hours instead of writing the novel*
*writes this text post about how not to do the novel*
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Cameron Stalheim creates mixed-media sculptures that indulge the stuff of nightmares. His most recent work, and then I saw Colby on the Street and my fantasy died, is a striking depiction of a collapsed merman taking his last breaths. Several times longer than human height, the sculpture confronts us with an image of death: in this case, the death of our collective childhood fantasies (who didn’t want to live among the mermaids when they were young?). Read more on Hi-Fructose.
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You’re the greatest wife ever. I wish I could marry you all over again.
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I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
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John Galliano Fall 2009
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