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olivebee.bsky.social
olive
@olivebee.bsky.social
12 followers 10 following 18 posts
🏳️‍⚧️ he/they 𓆟 lots of art, books, plants and my little critters
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olivebee.bsky.social
olive @olivebee.bsky.social · Nov 24
a small collection of past pieces #art #drawing #painting
Reposted by olive
kayannbee.bsky.social
some out-of-towners visiting Wash Park in Denver
Male ring-necked duck in the water A male northern shoveler duck in water A male American wigeon in water
December 1, 2024 at 4:25 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
saturday morning
November 30, 2024 at 5:09 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
sketchbook oil pastels #art #sketchbook #oil
November 29, 2024 at 2:24 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
some past acrylic pieces #art #acrylic
November 27, 2024 at 3:18 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
Annie Dillard
in the forest The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace performed are whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there. gas station, here, this western wind, this tang of coffee on the tongue. , and I am patting the puppy, I am watching the mountain. The second I verbalize this awareness in my brain, I cease to see the mountain or feel the puppy. I am opaque, So much black asphalt, but at the same second, the second I know I've lost it, I also realize that the puppy is still squirming on his back under my hand. Nothing has changed for him. He draws his legs down to stretch the skin taut so he feels every fingertip's stroke along his furred and arching side, his flank, his flung-back throat. I SiP my coffee. I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia and recognition, but no real feeling, save a secret astonish- ment that you are now strangers. Thanks. For the memories. It is ironic that the one thing that all religions recognize as separating us from our creator-our very self-consciousness-is also the one thing that divides us from our fellow creatures. It was a bitter birth day present from evolution, cutting us off at both ends. I get in the car and drive home. What do I make of all this texture? What does it mean about the kind of world in which I have been set down? The texture of the world, its filigree and scrollwork, means that there is the possibility for beauty here, a beauty inexhaustible in its complexity, which opens to my knock, which answers in me a call I do not remember calling, and which trains me to the wild and extravagant nature of the spirit I seek
November 27, 2024 at 3:05 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
a small collection of past pieces #art #drawing #painting
November 24, 2024 at 7:56 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
sketchbook journey #art #sketchbook #painting
November 24, 2024 at 7:07 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
Tar Hollow Trans | Autobiography of Red
November 23, 2024 at 7:11 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
morning routine:
1. coffee
2. read some of a book
3. skateboard with dog
#dogs
November 23, 2024 at 5:26 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
I am transported back to blissful and innocent summers; Gina Chung has captured the beauty and heartbreak of queer adolescence amongst the culture of religion, without shame but rather with pure curiosity #books #author
I don't tell Stacy that when she spit on my knees all I could think about was how her spit might taste. Or that when I wet the bites on my body with my mouth, I imagined that I was kissing her, breathing into her after pulling her out of deep-blue water. That I think maybe God is just whatever good news is waiting for Us, and the trouble that always finds us. Or maybe God is the warm spit from her mouth cocooning my bites, soothing what- ever it is that makes me want to tear open my skin again and again. Or that maybe God can be whatever we want to believe, and that Id rather believe in her wet-lashed shadows, her dap- pled tongue, the imprint of her nails on my skin, than anything else in the world.
November 22, 2024 at 2:54 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
Linda C. Mayes - Lyn Cowan - Clarice Lispector
ictable, and sometimes chaotic and irregular. We do not become whowe are solely by the genes we were given, the children we were, or the lives we have experienced. In a sense, what makes development happen or continue as adults is how much we are able to accept a reflective inner responsiveness toward those present, past, and future timesof developmental reorganization and adaptation made necessary bythe internal demands ofour biology and psychology and the externalcircumstances which we both choose and find ourselves in. The effort to reflect upon how development happens lifts us a little above day today adulthood. The ability to hold paradox and ambivalence, and to experience impossible unions, belongs to maturity. These attributes, intrinsic Parts of the experience of masochism, transcend childhood's irreconcilable conflicts. Masochism in the mature adult can be an ongoing process of drying out, a shifting from free-flowing ego-guilt to a hot, dry sense of shame in the soul. The residue of each masochistic experience ST ash, stored in little piles in the hid- den, deep recesses of the soul, in its history and memory. and each of these dried, preserved experiences can be sifted again and again. I , the narcissist spends his eternal youth near the water, drowning in love, the masochist reaches maturity by fire, burned and scarred, his damp narcissistic identifications evaporated in the heat of shame and humiliation, his delusions of power, purity, and beauty reduced to ash. In one sense at least, it is the quality of recognition which sets p narcissism and masochism as contrasts. The narcissist does not recognize the substance of his own reflected self in the water, and os does not recognize the quality of reflection in his own soul. Watery vision, misty thinking sentimental `infatuation these aspects nar cissism give only shimmering picture and a surface reflection. a However the reflection in a mirror-a favorite prop of masoch- ists--is exact, clear, and backed with mercury, the alchemical ele- ment of psychic reflection. The mirror gives a reflection of depth thout distortion. The masochist sees not a stranger but his II return to the unknown Part of myself and when I am born shall speak of "he" or she. For now, what sustains me is the "that" that is an "it'" To create a being out of oneself is very Se- rious. 1 am creating myself. And walking in complete darkness in search of ourselves is what we do. It hurts. But these are the Pains of childbirth: a thing is born that is. Is itself It is hard as a dry stone. But the core is soft and alive, perishable, perilous it. Life of elementary matter.
November 21, 2024 at 2:03 AM
olivebee.bsky.social
a collection of beautiful sights and vibrant colors from the other day #nature #textures #rocks
November 19, 2024 at 2:05 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
my little pimiento pepper #cat
November 17, 2024 at 2:38 PM
olivebee.bsky.social
goal before the new year, fixing up damage and add details to this piece #oilpaint #painting
November 17, 2024 at 12:32 AM
olivebee.bsky.social
inspirational rocks #rocks #nature #texture
Flat stone with wavy pattern surrounded by dried pine needles and moss Flat stone with wavy pattern and lichen on top
November 16, 2024 at 6:59 PM