Fuck Yeah, Book Arts!

thedsgnblog:

Torjan Rood Vastveit   |   http://sdg.no

“Annual Report for TINY, a chain of stores that sells clothes and toys for children.”

Torjan is a passionate designer and ideas guy experienced in working on forward-thinking brands. Torjan has more than 7 years of experience working for brands in Norway , the UK and Denmark. Areas of expertise include branding, advertising and interactive design. Hobbies include good sound systems, design of all sorts, and spotting fast red Italian cars on the road, or on YouTube.

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nevver:

Life

anndesignn:

Bloom by Raw Edges

djevojka:

The Reader by Yelena Bryksenkova

Lillian Gish reading with a white kitten on her shoulder

(Source: kittenmeats)

Crochet Sakura Blossom Wooden Journal by Tanja Sova

(Source: kitten-little)

vintageanchor:

From Lemony Snicket’s ‘Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can’t Avoid’.

(Source: vintageanchorbooks)

hattienewman:

Me in a book

When I close a book 
I open life. 
I hear 
faltering cries 
among harbours. 
Copper ignots 
slide down sand-pits 
to Tocopilla. 
Night time. 
Among the islands 
our ocean 
throbs with fish, 
touches the feet, the thighs, 
the chalk ribs 
of my country. 
The whole of night 
clings to its shores, by dawn 
it wakes up singing 
as if it had excited a guitar. 

The ocean’s surge is calling. 
The wind 
calls me 
and Rodriguez calls, 
and Jose Antonio— 
I got a telegram 
from the “Mine” Union 
and the one I love 
(whose name I won’t let out) 
expects me in Bucalemu. 

No book has been able 
to wrap me in paper, 
to fill me up 
with typography, 
with heavenly imprints 
or was ever able 
to bind my eyes, 
I come out of books to people orchards 
with the hoarse family of my song, 
to work the burning metals 
or to eat smoked beef 
by mountain firesides. 
I love adventurous 
books, 
books of forest or snow, 
depth or sky 
but hate 
the spider book 
in which thought 
has laid poisonous wires 
to trap the juvenile 
and circling fly. 
Book, let me go. 
I won’t go clothed 
in volumes, 
I don’t come out 
of collected works, 
my poems 
have not eaten poems— 
they devour 
exciting happenings, 
feed on rough weather, 
and dig their food 
out of earth and men. 
I’m on my way 
with dust in my shoes 
free of mythology: 
send books back to their shelves, 
I’m going down into the streets. 
I learned about life 
from life itself, 
love I learned in a single kiss 
and could teach no one anything 
except that I have lived 
with something in common among men, 
when fighting with them, 
when saying all their say in my song.

- Pablo Neruda