Talking about women’s faces.
Camille Claudel. Sculptor and Rodin’s mistress, who went crazy.
This is her at 19. Wide sensual mouth. Could-give-a-fuck, tangled hair. Love ravaged. Work ravaged. Chin a bit up, as if to say “yes, motherfucker, I can do this as well as you.”
And all the kewpie dolls of the 19th century fade away. And you look at Camille Claudel’s beautiful, brave, careless face. And you think, “Woman, I know you”
Episode 2.09: “Secret Spaces & Hiding Places”
I think “Post-Coital Bowl of Cereal” would make a great band name, actually.
My favvvvvvvvvv part of the shop!
Someday I am going to check into a hotel just to have a working tub so I can TRY ALL THE BUBBLE BARS! The last time I had a tub? When they were still selling Fox in the Flowers in the shops.
Reblog for-fucking-ever.
Fuck. The. Haters.
Fuck being “proportionate.”
Fuck being an hourglass.
Fuck fat accepting/body positive spaces that constantly drool over people with traditionally “curvy” silhouettes while the rest of us are left out. It’s great if you’re shaped like that, but fuck, I am so sick and tired of feeling humiliated for the way my body has decided to distribute its fat.
You don’t have to like my body. But I do.
It’s funny—just an hour ago I was feeling quite terrible about myself. Then I made that bra post and so many of you related to the feelings I had about my boobs not being big enough for a fat girl…whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean, anyway. So many of us get own on ourselves over meaningless proportions. What the hell does having a proportional body mean, anyway? Does it mean you’re smarter, kinder, or more hard working? Does it make you a better person? Your proportions are just fine. You are shaped exactly the way you are supposed to be shaped.
We should be celebrating this shit. I am celebrating this shit. My body doesn’t look like anyone else’s, and that’s awesome. God, life would be so boring if we all looked the same. Fuck that. My body is WEIRD AND I LOVE IT.
Today, December 17th, is the anniversary of Tunisian street vendor Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation in Sidi Bouzid. Perhaps one of the most powerful and ultimately catalyzing instances of individual protest, Bouazizi (whose real first name is Tarek) self-immolated to protest his mistreatment at the hands of the government and the inability to make a living for himself - a pain and frustration that resonated with Tunisians, and then citizens of nations across North Africa and the Middle East. He later died on January 4th, but the protests and demonstrations that were set in motion across the region have continued to this day - so far leaving three dictators downed in their wake.
Above (clockwise from the top): demonstrators in Tunisia hold a large poster of Bouazizi (Salah Habibi/AP); graffiti in Tunisia by an unknown artist shows Bouazizi’s face and his last name in tribute to his martyr status; his cousin Walid Bouazizi mourns at his grave in Garaat Benour cemetery in Sidi Bouzid in January (Fred Dufour/AFP); Manoubia Bouazizi holds a photograph of her son (Maxpp/Zumapress).
What a year.
Did everyone read Rebecca Solnit’s lovely Open Letter to Mohamed Bouazizi from a month or so ago? She says it so much better than I can.
