Sentences with phrase «big space rocks»

Air incinerates all but the biggest space rocks before they pummel our planet; the vast majority never even make it past the stratosphere.

What's the point of protecting the environment if bad luck brings a big space rock on a trajectory that crosses Earth's path?

Not exact matches

Feel your heart beat and listen to the voice of your love ones and see for yourself that Jesus is real, and that two big rocks colliding in outer space did not and couldn't create you me or anything else on this planet.You see your denial of him will not change his love for you nor his existence.

A comet is essentially a big lump of icy space rock.

«The uncanny consistency of this stellar remnant offers intriguing evidence that the fundamental force of gravity — the big «G» of physics — remains rock - solid throughout space,» said Weiwei Zhu, an astronomer formerly with the University of British Columbia in Canada and lead author on a study accepted for publication in the Astrophysical Journal.

It is the residual heat of creation — the afterglow of the big bang — streaming through space these last 14 billion years like the heat from a sun - warmed rock, reradiated at night.

For many people, asteroids are big rocks that drift menacingly through space and are great places to have a laser cannon dogfight.

At 45 metres wide, the space rock is the biggest object in recorded history to swoop this close to Earth.

The meteorite is an achondrite, a relatively rare type of space rock that comes from a planet or big asteroid — something large that generated enough internal heat early in its history to melt partially, producing a metallic core surrounded by rock.

An over-scaled purple people eater and disaster of silly - looking CGI character design, voiced with a pleasingly incongruous sensitivity by Brolin — this big bad guy from outer space jumps around dimensions gathering magic space rocks to fit into a hilarious tin glove that will grant him infinite powers once the collection is complete.

Big cats prowl the open spaces, and snakes dart out from among the rocks.

The beach is not very big, but as there is several areas on rocks, there is normally space for kids to play in.

Another work, «Big Rock Candy Mountain,» appropriately titled for the 48 square feet of wall - space that it occupies, evokes a shoreline, a mountain, or both.

2018 — Figurative Diaspora: The Migration of Academic Training from Russia to China in the Service of Progressive Art, Co-curated by Mark Tansey 2017 — Piss & Vinegar: Nina Chanel Abney, Robert Arneson, Sue Coe, Robert Colescott, R. Crumb, Nicole Eisenman, Natalie Frank, Hilary Harkness, Peter Saul, Robert Williams 2016 — Now and Then: Drawings from the 19th Century to the Present 2015 — Beautiful Beast: Ball, Cook, de Jong, Demetz, Dill, Dupont, Fischl, Fox, Mennin, King, Penny, Piccinini, Pondick, Silverthorne, Smith, Taplin, Wilkinson Gallery, New York, NY 2014 — The Big Picture, Desiderio, Fischl, Rauch, Saville, Tansey, Wilkinson Gallery, New York, NY 2011 — Iconomancy, Wilkinson Gallery, New York, NY 2011 — I've Got a Secret, The Forbes Galleries, New York, NY 2011 — Uncovered, Eden Rock Gallery, St. Barths 2010 — Just Off, Sloan Fine Art, New York, NY 2007 — Normal, Linda Warren Gallery, Chicago, IL 2006 — Uprising, Lower Manhattan Cultural Council Space, New York, NY 2005 — Primed, Parsons School of Design, New York, NY 2003 — The Burbs, DFN Gallery, New York, NY 2003 — Space Invaders, FishTank Gallery, New York, NY 1985 - 89 — The Drawing Center, New York, NY, Artist Curator, Responsible for interviewing artists, portfolio reviews and initial selections for group exhibitions.

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,