We will sometimes fail to produce what we should, or to write or speak articulately enough, to be “right,” to be thoughtful or expansive enough, to consider the whole range of historical circumstance, to be responsible at our work’s distribution—but our failure is part of the collective project. We brave our errors in thought for the possibility that to see that their demonstration will allow others to get toward rightness. We brave the humility to learn from fair criticism, and also learn that usefully distanced shrug at the inevitable appearance of the jealous or maligning kind. We brave clumsy writing or speaking, that even in a crude form, a necessary idea will emerge as material for others to refine. When we are silent, we learn it makes room for others to speak. It’s not just our errors we become brave about, but our projects’—and our own—incompleteness. You can stop fearing death, too, if you begin to think of the collective project of being alive in the common world, that one’s own end and the end to one’s work and one’s love is not the end of what is right or good. What needs to go on will.

— Anne Boyer, Tender Theory

Ergy Landau

Ylla (Camilla Koffler, Hungarian photographer)

Paris c. 1933

Céline and Julie Go Boating (1974) dir. Jacques Rivette

Suprematism. Two Dimensional Self Portrait, 1915, Kazimir Malevich

In Indigenous agriculture, the practice is to modify the plants to fit the land. As a result, there are many varieties of corn domesticated by our ancestors, all adapted to grow in many different places. Modern agriculture, with its big engines and fossil fuels, took the opposite approach: modify the land to fit the plants, which are frighteningly similar clones.

— Robin Wall Kimmerer, “Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge, and the teachings of plants” (2013): p 134

Encyclopedia Britannica, Flowers at Work, 1956