Alphabetarion # Innocence | Georges Bataille, 1897-1962

Josef Plenck (Austrian, 1738-1807) Flower Study

“Men know the good and love evil. 
The good is hypocrisy. Evil is love. 
Innocence is the love of sin.”

Georges Bataille, 1897-1962
The Tomb of Louis XXX


Φαντασία | Γιάννης Σκαρίμπας, 1936

Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Bridge at Chatou, 1875

Νάναι σά νά μάς σπρώχνει ένας αέρας μαζί
πρός έναν δρόμο φιδωτό πού σβεί στά χάη,
καί σένα τού καπέλου σου πλατειά καί φανταιζί
κάποια κορδέλα του, τρελά νά χαιρετάει.

Και νάν’ σάν κάτι νά μού λές, κάτι ωραίο κοντά
γι’ άστρα, τή ζώνη πού πηδάν των νύχτιων φόντων,
κι αύτός ο άνεμος τρελά-τρελά νά μάς σκουντά
όλο πρός τή γραμμή των οριζόντων.

Κι όλο νά λές, νά λές, στά βάθη τής νυκτός
γιά ένα – μέ γυάλινα πανιά – πλοίο πού πάει
Όλο βαθιά, όλο βαθιά, όσο πού πέφτει εκτός:
έξω απ’ τόν κύκλο των νερών –  στά χάη.

Κι όλο νά πνέει, νά μάς ωθεί αύτός ο άνεμος μαζί
πέρ’ από τόπους καί καιρούς, έως ότου – φως μου –
(καθώς τρελά θά χαιρετάει κείν’ η κορδέλα η φανταιζί)
βγούμε απ’ τήν τρικυμία αύτού τού κόσμου . . .

Γιάννης Σκαρίμπας
Φαντασία | σ. Ουλαλουμ, 1936


On Literature | Walter Benjamin, 1892-1940

Walter Benjamin, 1892-1940

"Literature tells very little to those who understand it."

"All great works of literature either dissolve a genre or invent one."

"Of all the ways of acquiring books, writing them oneself is regarded as the
most praiseworthy method."

"Work on good prose has three steps: a musical stage when it is composed, an architectonic
one when it is built, and a textile one when it is woven."

"You could tell a lot about a man by the books he keeps - his tastes, his interest, his habits."

"To a book collector, you see, the true freedom of all books is somewhere on his shelves."

"In every case the storyteller is a man who has counsel for his readers."

"Writers are really people who write books not because they are poor, but because 
they are dissatisfied with the books which they could buy but do not like."

"No poem is intended for the reader, no picture for the beholder, no symphony for the listener."

"Never stop writing because you have run out of ideas. Fill the lacunae of inspiration
by tidily copying out what is already written."

"Any translation which intends to perform a transmitting function cannot
transmit anything but information-hence, something inessential. This is the
hallmark of bad translations."

"The power of a text when it is read is different from the power it has when it is copied
out. Only the copied text thus commands the soul of him who is occupied with it, whereas
the mere reader never discovers the new aspects of his inner self that are opened by the text,
that road cut through the interior jungle forever closing behind it: because the reader follows
the movement of his mind in the free flight of day-dreaming, whereas the copier submits
it to command."

"Books, too, begin like the week – with a day of rest in memory of their creation.
The preface is their Sunday."

"I am unpacking my library. Yes I am. The books are not yet on the shelves,
not yet touched by the mild boredom of order."

"Books and harlots have their quarrels in public."

Walter Benjamin, 1892-1940


Flick Review < Vaxdockan AKA The Doll | Arne Mattsson, 1962

 Vaxdockan AKA The Doll (1962)
Director: Arne Mattsson
Cinematography: Åke Dahlqvist
Writers: Lars Forssell, Eva Seeberg
Stars: Per Oscarsson, Gio Petré, Tor Isedal

Vaxdockan (1962)


Alphabetarion # Mechanize | Raoul Vaneigem, 1967

Isamu Noguchi, Radio Nurse, 1937

“The same people who are murdered slowly in the mechanized slaughterhouses of work
are also arguing, singing, drinking, dancing, making love, holding the streets, picking up
weapons and inventing a new poetry.”

Raoul Vaneigem, The Revolution of Everyday Life, 1967


Secret | Wong Kar-wai, In the Mood for Love, 2000

Wong Kar-wai, In the Mood for Love, 2000 

 Chow Mo-wan: In the old days, if someone had a secret they didn't want to share...
 you know what they did?

Ah Ping: Have no idea.

Chow Mo-wan: They went up a mountain, found a tree, carved a hole in it, and whispered
the secret into the hole. Then they covered it with mud.
And leave the secret there forever.

Wong Kar-wai, In the Mood for Love, 2000 

Woman in the Window | Paintings by Edvard Munch / Johannes Vermeer / Vilhelm Hammershøi / Carl Vilhelm Holsøe / Winslow Homer / Frans Vervloet / Harold Harvey / Caspar David Friedrich / Jacobus Vrel / Peter Vilhelm Ilsted, 1510 -1917

Johannes Vermeer, Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window, 1657–59                                           Unknown Artist, Woman at a Window, 1510-30
Peter Vilhelm Ilsted, Girl Reading, 1901
Jacobus Vrel, Woman at a Window, waving at a Girl, 1650                       Caspar David Friedrich, Woman at the window, 1822
Harold Harvey, First Light, 1919
Frans Vervloet, A Girl at a Window, 1816                                                   August Friedrich Siegert (1820-1883), Dreaming on the Windowsill
Peter Ilsted (1861 – 1933) Woman a white summer dress by an open window
Winslow Homer, An Open Window, 1872                                 Carl Vilhelm Holsoe (1863-1935) Woman at a Window
Carl Vilhelm Holsøe, Young Girl Embroidering by the Window (n.d.)
John Lavery, Daylight raid from my studio window, 1917                                         Margaret Preston, The studio window, 1906
 Vilhelm Hammershøi, Figures by the Window, 1895  
 Edvard Munch, The Girl by the Window, 1893                        Vilhelm Hammershøi, Bedroom, 1890  
Edvard Munch, Kiss by the Window, 1892

Book//mark - The Ultimate Safari | Nadine Gordimer, 1989

illustration by Dorah Ngomane

 ''That night our mother went to the shop and she didn’t come back. Ever. What happened?
I don’t know. My father also had gone away one day and never come back; but he was
fighting in the war. We were in the war, too, but we were children, we were like our
grandmother and grandfather, we didn’t have guns. The people my father was fighting –
 the bandits, they are called by our government – ran all over the place and we ran away
 from them like chickens chased by dogs. We didn’t know where to go. Our mother went to
 the shop because someone said you could get some oil for cooking. We were happy because
 we hadn’t tasted oil for a long time; perhaps she got the oil and someone knocked her down
in the dark and took that oil from her. Perhaps she met the bandits. If you meet them, they
 will kill you. Twice they came to our village and we ran and hid in the bush and when
they’d gone we came back and found they had taken everything; but the third time they
came back there was nothing to take, no oil, no food, so they burned the thatch and the
roofs of our houses fell in. My mother found some pieces of tin and we put those up
over part of the house. We were waiting there for her that night she never came back.''

illustration by Dorah Ngomane

"We were frightened to go out, even to do our business, because the bandits did come.
Not into our house – without a roof it must have looked as if there was no one in it,
everything gone – but all through the village. We heard people screaming and running.
We were afraid even to run, without our mother to tell us where, I am the middle one,
the girl, and my little brother clung against my stomach with his arms round my neck
and his legs round my waist like a baby monkey to its mother. All night my first-born
brother kept in his hand a broken piece of wood from one of our burnt house-poles.
It was to save himself if the bandits found him."

“Every morning, when people are getting up in the tent, the babies are crying, people
are pushing each other at the taps outside and some children are already pulling the crusts
of porridge off the pots we ate from last night, my first-born brother and I clean our shoes.
 Our grandmother makes us sit on our mats with our legs straight out so she can look carefully
 at our shoes to make sure we have done it properly. No other children in the tent have real
school shoes. When we three look at them it’s as if we are in a real house again, with no
war, no away.” 

Nadine Gordimer, The Ultimate Safari, 1989

illustration by Aletah Masuku 

The story tells a ten-year-old girl’s story of her family’s travel from 
Mozambique to South Africa, escaping violence in their home country. 
Set in Mozambique, Kruger National Park, on the border of Mozambique 
and South Africa.

Aletah Masuku, Alsetah Manthosi, and Dorah Ngomane illustrated the 
book. Although not artists, they had actually made the dangerous journey 
through Kruger National Park.

illustrations by Aletah Masuku, Alsetah Manthosi & Dorah Ngomane

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