The oldest studio

I always figured that the oldest known art work was the paintings on the caves at Lascaux, but it appears there is another category in the ancient art world – the studio!  Or perhaps it is best described as the paint manufacturer.  I think many people forget how much chemistry there is in art – here’s an article about some of the pigments that they worked with about 42,000 years ago.

It seems though that they hadn’t gotten into being muralists at that time, likely just body painting.  So that classifies it as time-based art.  Or beauty products…..

Destruction of art

So sad – a recent Artnet post outlining the (known) destruction of timeless art that has been lost not just to the countries where this war is, but to all humanity that appreciates it.

This Video Explains How Color Blind People See The World And Shows You Whether Or Not You Are — Sparkonit

If you are color blind or have a color blind friend, you have probably been in a situation where you argue with one another about the color of a particular object. Well, this video by #Mind Warehouse discusses how color blind people see the world and explains the causes of color blindness. The video also explores…

via This Video Explains How Color Blind People See The World And Shows You Whether Or Not You Are — Sparkonit

I’ve spent years mulling over this poem.

I feel that I finally got it right.  Questions on the back of a comment if you don’t get the symbolism in the first two verses and would like to know what it means…..

Tribe

First the mirror,
then blood.

The heart beats stronger
than the tree grows
on the land if there are few of you,
yet the skin is more tactile
than the cloth;
the tongue
louder than the book, which is
more vocal than the anvil.

We run ourselves ragged
in the circles in which
we think we move,
tripping over ankle-height
revolving cogs
intersecting and grinding,
snarling with different grooves
forcing us to question
our motives,
your reasons,
everyone’s voices
until we are dizzy with
the mesmer of conficts.

We cry out
‘where is our tribe?’
But the tears on the mirror
obscure our true selves,
our image
and everything behind it,
fizzling into a formless haze,
blinding us so we no longer see
we should be
we are
we cannot continue unless
we become one.