Daria - Do You Want To Come In?

Thought I’d let you know Society6 is having another sale in case you want to take advantage:

Promo: 25% Off Everything With Code GIVEART25 Start: Sunday, 11/12/17 at 12:00am PT End: Monday, 11/13/17 at 11:59pm PT

{shop}

Passive income like this really helps me and other illustrators keep going and keep making work so if you’re on the hunt for holiday gifts already, I hope you’ll check out the sale!

If you like you can read [this book], and a lot of other science fiction, as a thought experiment. Let's say (says Mary Shelley) that a young doctor creates a human being in his laboratory; let's say (says Philip K. Dick) that the Allies lost the Second World War; let's say this or that is such and so, and see what happens... In a story so conceived, the moral complexity proper to modern novel need not be sacrificed, nor is there any built-in dead end; thought and intuition can move freely within bounds set only by the terms of the experiment, which may be very large indeed.  The purpose of a thought experiment, as the term was used by the [physicists], is not to predict the future [...] but to describe reality, the present  world.  Science fiction is not predictive; it is descriptive. Predictions are uttered by prophets (free of charge); by clairvoyants (who usually charge a fee and are therefore more honored in their day than prophets); and by futurologists (salaried). Prediction is the business of prophets, clairvoyants, and futurologists. It is not the business of novelists. A novelist's business is lying. The weather bureau will tell you what next Tuesday will be like, and the Rand Corporation will tell you what the twenty-first century will be like. I don't recommend that you turn to the writers of fiction for such information. It's none of their business. All they're trying to do is tell you what they're like, and what you're like - what's going on- what the weather is now, today, this moment, the rain, the sunlight, look! Open your eyes; listen, listen. That is what the novelists say. But they don't tell you what you will see and hear. All they can tell you is what they have seen and heard, in their time in this world, a third of it spent in sleep and dreaming, another third of it spent in telling lies. [...]  They may use all kind of facts to support their tissue of lies.They may describe the Marshalsea Prison, which was a real place, or the battle of Borodino, which was really fought, or the process of cloning, which really takes place in laboratories, or the deterioration of a personality, which is described in real textbooks of psychology; and so on. This weight of verifiable place-event-phenomenon-behavior makes the reader forget that he is reading a pure invention, a history that never took place anywhere but in that unlocalisable region, the author's mind. In fact, while we read a novel, we are insane- bonkers. We believe in the existence of people who aren't there, we hear their voice, we watch the battle of Borodino with them, we may even become Napoleon. Sanity returns (in most cases) when the book is closed. [...]  In reading a novel, any novel, we have to know perfectly well that the whole thing is nonsense, and then, while reading, believe every word of it. Finally, when we're done with it, we may find - if it's a good novel- that we're a bit different from what we were before we read it, that we have been changed a little, as if by having met a new face, crossed a street we never crossed before. But it's very hard t say just what we learned, how we were changed.  The artist deals with what cannot be said in word.

Ursula Le Guin, Introduction,The Left Hand of Darkness, 1976. 

Wassili Kandinsky, Couple à cheval, 1906-1907, huile sur toile, 55 x 50,5 cm, Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus, Munich.

Source: “Le mythe de la couleur”, 29 juin au 21 novembre 2012, Fondation Pierre Gianadda, Martiny. 

Scottish Highlands, United Kingdom, 2016.

Source: Mystic Cheesecake Balloon. 

Paul Cézanne, Le pont de Maincy, 1879-1880, huile sur toile, 58,5 x 72,5 cm, musée d’Orsay, Paris.

I've a pocket full of dreams to sell," said Teddy, whimsically,... "What d'ye lack? What d'ye lack? A dream of success--a dream of adventure--a dream of the sea--a dream of the woodland--any kind of a dream you want at reasonable prices, including one or two unique little nightmares. What will you give me for a dream?

Lucy Maud Montgomery, Emily Climbs, 1925. 

When my brain is burnt by work...

Me: Sorry I didn’t have more time to write.

Also me: *spend 30 minutes training Siri to understand how I pronounce “Gus Van Sant”*

“Cassius Clay, happy after he won his fight against Archie more as he predicted he would”, Stanley Weston, 1962, Los Angeles, USA. 

Marc Chagall, Le monstre de Notre-Dame, 1953, huile et sable sur toile, 106 x 83,7 cm, collection privée.

Source: “Chagall, entre guerre et paix”, du 21 février au 21 juillet 2013, Musée du Luxembourg, Paris.