Tô Ngọc Vân, Les Brodeuses, 1932

Late Night Snow - Jeremy Miranda , 2024.

American , b. 1980 -

Acrylic on board , 10 x 12 in.

Li Wenwen, knowing she has secured the Gold medal, carries her coach onto the stage to celebrate instead of attempting her final lift.

In 1998, I found myself in Aparan, a large town an hour’s drive from Armenia’s capital, Yerevan. A local dance troupe was performing that evening, in the open air, with most of the suburb in attendance. The old, the young, everyone was present, sitting hunched on stools or cross-legged on the floor, transfixed. In the background, small mountains and jagged cliffs framed the scene.

As soon as I took my first shot, an old man approached me. Tears streamed down his face. He told me that his son had died. That he had been electrocuted, that he was his pride and joy, and that I looked just like him. He broke into sobs and moved towards me with outstretched arms. His name was Ishran.

I asked if he would dance for me, and he began dancing. The troupe paused and perched on an outcrop of rocks in the background. It was beautiful, not because the man is beautiful, but because he represents something deep inside the collective consciousness of the Armenian community: a celebratory resilience in the face of overwhelming loss.

Antoine Agoudjian, “An Armenian man dances for his lost son”

Palestinian ButchFemme wedding, 2022, @/leilanations

Hirō Isono - Untitled, n.d.

Miffy and Mondrian, from the book Nijntje in het Museum (Miffy at the Museum), 1997 | illustration Dick Bruna (Dutch, 1927–2017)

Photos from the protests against government crimes in Thessaloniki (1) and Athens (2+3), showing part of the crowd. Elderly and children are also present.

The government itself tried to put those down those peaceful protests with violence but people still persist!

panels from Manuel by Rodrigo Muñoz Ballester, 1985

It's the Martyr's Prize Diamond gaze Eyes like pimples simple Simon I gotta make ends meet skim the water line like I'm taking a seat Saving my tears for the marginal me and the me that was made to eat me

Ayyyyy but give the pamphlet thank god, it's a dress code nothing bad happens to hamlet said I, among the nonfiction fates thank god for these men and their women the women who operates to realize her own oppression her own demise confessions to concessions til the fins congregate til they take us to heaven without the lessons This is how we destroy we this is how we forsake we we been dead for weeks tools for the fool and weak tools from the master subscription code inheritance of the meek never get old fire for thine eyes hooked without the hook you made it this far, look you've been dead for weeks happy feet disappearing in god fearing tar buy a bigger car never get old

Eleni R

Abdulhalim Radwi (Saudi, 1939-2006), Untitled, 1984. Oil on canvas, 48 x 35 ¾ in.