My name is Ryan. 22. Male. Student. Minimalist. Activist. I like photography, design, architecture, and language.
Apples, Baku
Photograph by Erik Andre Juriks, Your Shot
The snow made me treat myself to some side streets while looking for photo opportunities on my way to work, this bitterly cold morning in Baku. The rapidly changing capital of Azerbaijan always has something in store. Just outside the centuries-old Taza Bazaar, I came across the unlikely sight of an old Soviet-era Volga brimming with golden winter apples. The strange beauty of the scene brought back childhood memories of apples carefully picked and stored in the basement of our home in Norway, and the apples turning sweeter as the months of winter went by. —Erik Andre Juriks
The Amazing Underwater Forest of Lake Kaindy
What makes Lake Kaindy truly remarkable is that it contains an underwater forest. Visible on the lakes surface are the tall, dried-out tops of submerged Spruce trees that rise above the water’s surface like the masts of sunken ships. They are the only sign of the amazing frozen forest below the water’s surface.
The water is so cold (even in summer the temperature does not exceed 6 degrees) that the pine needles remain on the trees, even after a hundred years of being submerged. During the winter, the lake freezes and becomes a popular spot for ice diving.
The lake is 400 meters long and is located in Kazakhstan’s portion of the Tian Shan Mountains, about 129 km from the city of Almaty. The lake was created after an earthquake in 1911 triggered a large landslide blocking the gorge and forming a natural dam.
(via kkthnxbii)
Van Tame, Perspective (New York)
“Born in Laos and now currently based in France, artist Van Tame is a painter inspired by dynamic and energetic city streets like New York and London. Using animated strokes, the artist creates cityscapes that are full of life. Viewers will instantly feel the movement and fast pace of a city dweller, without ever having to step onto a city block. Van Tame paints on a very large scale with canvases averaging about 4 feet x 3 feet. He uses bright colors and blurred forms which capture the feelings of a place without requiring distinct detail. His bio explains, “His touch is visibly closer to impressionists because [he] does not paint objects, but reflections.” On his website, Van Tame pairs each slideshow of paintings with everyday noises of people talking, engines revving, breaks squeaking, music playing, and car horns honking - a soundtrack to life in the city.” - My Modern Met
(via dearscience)
(via ta1989)
Porto Venere, Italy (by Claudia Gaiotto)
And this is how we danced: our mothers’
white dresses spilling from our feet, late Augustturning our hands dark red. And this is how we loved:
a fifth of vodka and an afternoon in the attic, your fingerssweeping through my hair—my hair a wildfire.
We covered our ears and your father’s tantrum turnedto heartbeats. When our lips touched the day closed
into a coffin. In the museum of the heartthere are two headless people building a burning house.
In case of rain, there was always the shotgunabove the fireplace. Always another hour to kill—only
to beg some god to return the seconds. If not the attic,the car. If not the car, the dream. If not the boy, his clothes.
If not alive, put down the phone. Because the yearis a distance we’ve traveled in circles. Which is to say:
this is how we danced: alone in sleeping bodies.Which is to say: this is how we loved: a knife on the tongue
turning into a tongue.
(Source: ummhello)
I love incorrectly
There is a solemnity in hands,
the way a palm will curve in
accordance to a contour of skin,
the way it will release a story.This should be the pilgrimage.
The touching of a source.
This is what sanctifies.This pleading. This mercy.
I want to be a pilgrim to everyone,
close to the inaccuracies, the astringent
dislikes, the wayward peace, the private
words. I want to be close to the telling.
I want to feel everyone whisper.After the blossoming I hang.
The encyclical that has come
through the branches
instructs us to root, to become
the design encapsulated within.Flesh helping stone turn tree.
I do not want to hold life
at my extremities, see it prepare
itself for my own perpetuation.
I want to touch and be touched
by things similar in this world.I want to know a few secular days
of perfection. Late in this one great season
the diffused morning light
hides the horizon of sea. Everything
the color of slate, a soft tablet
to press a philosophy to.