Sentences with phrase «magical second work»

This magical second work is about a young girl who discovers she can taste people's emotions in the food they cook, and must deal with what she learns about others.

Not exact matches

I'm truly honored to be a part of a company that feels like a family; a place where I refer to my peers as friends first, coworkers second; a place that I can wake up every morning and get excited about going to; a workplace environment that empowers its occupants to produce their absolute best work; and a place that is full of so much love, care, dedication, and selflessness that the only appropriate word that I can think of to describe it would have to be «magical».

My second novel, the first book in the Veiled Magic series, still featured a witch whose magical practices followed the general way I wrote about in my nonfiction books — with more oomph, of course, because it is fiction, and I can make some things work there that don't work in real life.

The work is a 30 second version of McGinleyʼs original film for Icelandic band Sigur Rósʼ track Varúð, which features a magical golden haired girl skipping throughout the streets of New York.

In 2000, Niki de Saint Phalle began work on a second sculpture garden: Queen Califia's Magical Circle in Escondido, California.

The second in a series of major explorations of slow - motion technology, the work eloquently speaks to Carr's ever - present concern with moments of magical transformation: a semi-mystical gesture located in the everyday that unleashes ripples of chaos and beauty in equal measure.

Among her visual works is SPIRIT HOUSE, a site - specific installation presented at Project Row Houses (Houston, TX) investigating magical methods used for house protection, As a musician and songwriter, she is a founding member of the psychedelic folk trio Goddess which released their second album Paradise in 2015.

, 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,

This magical art adventure exposes second grade students to art, art making, and a personal connection with working artists.

The second floor of the Carlyle Hotel is the site of Blain Di Donna, where a magical rendezvous with 34 works by an artist / philosopher invites us to surrender to a trance state of mind.