This is Rose Valland, one of the heroes of Nazi-Occupied France. An employee of the Louvre, she kept records of the art stolen by Nazi officers—what was taken, from where, and by whom. She was instrumental in the postwar return of countless stolen pieces, and one of the most decorated women in French history.
“My girlfriend and I went on a 2+ month long backpacking trip across Morocco, Turkey and several European countries. We are both artists and are making a book of photographs from the photos we collected on our trip. We created a few series throughout the trip and one of them is called “twenty one beds”, in which we took self portraits in every bed, couch or floor we slept on throughout the trip.” - Yaek Malka
Lisa! Such a beauty!
I suspect it’s difficult for men to imagine a world in which their bodies have long been inextricably linked to their value as an individual, and that no matter how encouraging your parents were or how many positive female role models you had or how self-confident you feel, there is an ever-present pressure that creeps in from all sides, whispering in your ear that you are your body and your body defines you. A world where, from the time of pubescence on, you can feel the constant and palpable weight of the male gaze, and not just from your male peers but from teachers and sports coaches and the fathers of the children you baby-sit, people you’re supposed to respect and trust and look up to, and that first realization that you are being looked at in that way is the beginning of a self-consciousness that you will be unable to shake for the rest of your life.Even if they are never verbalized, the rules of bodily conduct for females become clear early on: when school administrators reprimand you for the inch of midriff that shows when you lift your hands straight in the air or youth group leaders tell you that the sight of your unintentional cleavage is what causes godly young men to fall, you learn that your body is dangerous and shameful and that it’s your responsibility to cloister it in a way that is acceptable to everyone else. You learn that your body is a topic of public debate that everyone is entitled to weigh in on, from a male classmate telling you that those jeans make your ass look huge to the male-dominated United States Congress dictating the parameters that rape must fall within to be considered legitimate. To be a woman, and to live life in a woman’s body, is to be held to a set of comically paradoxical standards that make you constantly second-guess yourself and jump through a million hoops in pursuit of an impossible perfection.
Stop Catcalling Me (via albinwonderland)