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Dipti Dhakul

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“The first thing that we demand of a wall is that it shall stand up. If it stands up, it is a good wall, and the question of what purpose it serves is separable from that. And yet even the best wall in the world deserves to be pulled down if it surrounds a concentration camp. In the same way it should be possible to say, ‘This is a good book or a good picture, and it ought to be burned by the public hangman.’ Unless one can say that, at least in imagination, one is shirking the implications of the fact that an artist is also a citizen and a human being.”

ArtMoralsCensorship
Book:Essays
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“The computer can never be an artist, not until it doubts itself. Not until it is so full of shame and regret. And not until that fetid shame is sprinkled with glittering hope and inspiration. Then, when it is lost, desolate, and still hopeful - when it is utterly confused - only then can it call itself an artist. A machine can’t be that way. So, walk away from it. Do not protest it. That which you protest, you merely give strength - by pushing against it, you prop it up, you stop it from falling over. Walk away, let it collapse under the weight of its own hubris. Let it lie in ruin - unseen, unheard, unneeded. Let it rot unattended, and maybe then can it truly understand what it means to be an artist.”

HumansArtAiComputersNeural NetworksAi Art
Book:eN
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“DYSTOPIA Dark, early streets and high walls of empty houses a lonesome bird singing a hollow duet with its own echo - autumn feels like spring once you have lost everything and stand with nothing to hold onto at winter's edge - walkways glooming in buzzing orange neon light imitating fallen leaves, making the city's concrete jungle a forest - soon November is here, crawling along the pavement and dulling the grey of the ruins they call buildings - sudden flickering accompanied by loud buzzing: the lights went out while winter's edge cuts violently through the streets & building cracks - the bird stopped singing.”

LoveArtPoetryLiteraturePoemAestheticsModernismDark AcademiaLight Academia
Author:Laura Chouette
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“FLORENCE Soft emerald valleys lay in crimson light beneath the rolling hills; the waters of the Arno gleam like bronze the city's vein, so still. Each artist at the shore of the river stares in wonder and delight - how far do the lines reach across the bridge, beyond their work? One may seek rest under the cypresses and soft light of the August amber sun - here, at his grave, the city walls lay high around the garden, he knew once as paradise. His dark eyes still seem to pierce the lines of the hills, like he searches for his soul - still; (somewhere between the Arno and the nightfall). The trees - heavily laid with summer's fruit - stand high above the city in marble glance. Clear is now the dark sky - full of shards which dreamers call the stars.”

LoveArtPoetryLiteraturePoemAestheticsDark AcademiaLight AcademiaCottage Core
Author:Laura Chouette
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“THE MONSTER & THE MAN One obstacle pierces his soul and calls him down the dark road - heavy sighing he must carry on and at last, the thorn is retrieved - with agony in his brown eyes - he suddenly sees: Fever dreams, scarlet on blue velvet, like ink drowning in words - words drowning inside his veins - words that pleaded in vain - words so scarlet... so stained. Empty lines for empty souls that carry too much inside; empty pages for empty hands with nothing else to hide nor to control the beast inside his soul.”

LoveArtPoetryLiteraturePoemAestheticsDark AcademiaLight AcademiaCottage Core
Author:Laura Chouette
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“SIENA I wander down the steps along the walls of bricks and high houses - down to the waters that lay deep. Streaming down from the hill on which the old city was built with a tower standing high, that reaches up not far from the grave that these waters lay in. Alabaster is the hand that reaches in it and cold is the heart that touches the pale divine. Beating fast after climbing back to the light and narrow streets - I found now what it seeks. Descending down, down to the hidden stream - oh Siena, my goddess without a pomegranate seed.”

LoveArtPoetryLiteraturePoemItalyAestheticsDark AcademiaTuscany
Author:Laura Chouette
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