Midorikawa hesitantly began playing “’Round Midnight.” At first he played each chord carefully, cautiously, like a person sticking his toes into a stream, testing the swiftness of the water and searching for a foothold. After playing the main theme, he started a long improvisation. As time went by, his fingers became more agile, more generous, in their movements, like fish swimming in clear water. The left hand inspired the right, the right hand spurred on the left. Haida’s father didn’t know much about jazz, but he did happen to be familiar with this Thelonious Monk composition, and Midorikawa’s performance went straight to the heart of the piece. His playing was so soulful it made Haida forget about the piano’s erratic tuning. As he listened to the music in this junior-high music room deep in the mountains, as the sole audience for the performance, Haida felt all that was unclean inside him washed away. The straightforward beauty of the music overlapped with the fresh, oxygen-rich air and the cool, clear water of the stream, all of them acting in concert. Midorikawa, too, was lost in his playing, as if all the minutiae of reality has disappeared. Haida had never seen someone so thoroughly absorbed in what he was doing. He couldn’t take his eyes off Midorikawa’s ten fingers, which moved like independent, living creatures.

Colourless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage (2014) by Haruki Murakami // ‘Round Midnight (1941) by Thelonious Monk

Det var en vacker glöd (2014) by Galen Milne-Hines

Det var en vacker glöd (2014) by Galen Milne-Hines

5 Aug 2014 Reblogged from bonhomiebonhomie

and if I found them all I’d know,

the secrets of the past,

perfect edges of our souls,

and where they go at last.

What’s Out There (2013) by Yellowbirds

And in the leaves,

And in my mind,

You’re always there.

After Hours (2007) by Caribou / Dan Snaith

"A short time before the death of Amaranta she suddenly stumbled into an open space of lucidity within the madness and she trembled before the uncertainty of the future."

One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

"Upset by two nostalgias facing each other like two mirrors, he lost his marvelous sense of unreality and he ended up recommending to all of them that they leave Macondo, that they forget everything he had taught them about the world and the human heart, that they shit on Horace, and that wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end."

One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

In the bright sunny south and peace and content,

These days of my boyhood I scarcely have spent,

From the deep following spring to the broad flowing stream,

Ever dear to my memory, sweeter is my dream.


Bright Sunny South (2013) by Sam Amidon

seanlewisdraws:

Prints for sale! If you have inquiries or requests for specific dimensions please email me at seanislewis@gmail.com

Special thanks to Bill Grigsby at Reactor for printing help, Celtie Ferguson for cropping and Yuan Zhang for documenting!!

my friend’s fantastic paintings are now available in print! Splash some colour on your wall and support a local toronto artist :)

13 Feb 2014 Reblogged from seanlewisdraws

Polish Patterns III (2012) by Kacper Kowalski

Polish Patterns III (2012) by Kacper Kowalski

Spring IV (2009) by Kacper Kowalski

Spring IV (2009) by Kacper Kowalski

Plus Minus I (2010) by Kacper Kowalski

Plus Minus I (2010) by Kacper Kowalski

I gave her Pink Floyd, Animals when we were in sixth grade.
And it was on her turntable when I met her on Sunday.
Her mom was gone, and we were listening to Dogs.
She reached down my pants and discovered I was bald.
Then when I touched her down there she was blossoming and soft.
And the next day at school she ignored me in the halls.


- Dogs (2014) by Sun Kil Moon

"I’ve been in the Rue de Lancry, listening to chamber music,’ he said. ‘Schumann. Things… oh! you can’t imagine what they were like! Things that get you here, somehow, at the back of your head, like a woman breathing down your neck…. Not like a kiss…. No, more insubstantial than that… a breath, a soft, faint breath. Oh! it’s like… like feeling your soul going out of your body!’"

L’œuvre - The Masterpiece (1886) by Émile Zola

"Do you see what I mean? Perhaps that’s what we need now, sunlight, open air, something bright and fresh, people and things as seen in real day-light. I don’t know, but it seems to me that that’s our sort of painting, the sort of painting our generation should produce and look at."

L’œuvre - The Masterpiece (1886) by Émile Zola

"His voice sounded suddenly so different that the other two stopped at once, while he, after scraping off the head of his nude figure, drew it afresh and painted it in again after the drawing of Christine, though his hand was feverish, uncertain and often clumsy. From the head he went on to the breasts, which as yet were barely sketched in. This keyed him up even more, for, chaste as he was, he had a passion for the physical beauty of women, an insane love for nudity desired but never possessed, but was powerless to satisfy himself or to create enough of the beauty he dreamed of enfolding in an ecstatic embrace. The women he hustled out of his studio he adored in his pictures. He caressed them, did them violence even, and shed tears of despair over his failures to make them either sufficiently beautiful or sufficiently alive."

L’œuvre - The Masterpiece (1886) by Émile Zola