Olivia. 22. Ontario.
Vegan. Politics. Fine Art. ///\\\///\\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\ To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence or vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget. -Arundhati Roy



I’m glad I have someone in my life that makes me really fucking happy, and I’m really fucking glad that when I close my eyes at night I know they’re mine.

I just handed in the last essay of my undergrad and I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.


I’ve never felt so consecutively overwhelmed and relieved as I do now that I’m almost done school.

…the female narcissist is dangerous to patriarchy because she obviates the desiring male subject (loving herself, she needs no confirmation of her desirability from him). in the case of an artistic practice that performs female narcissism (such as wilke’s), the threat lies in its making superfluous the arbiters of artistic value. already presuming her desirability, wilke obviates the modernist critical system; loving herself, she needs no confirmation of her artistic “value.”

amelia jones, body art: performing the subject (via karaj)