Summer days | André Édouard Marty, 1882 - 1974

André-Edouard Marty, A l'Ombre du Parasol, 1922
André-Edouard Marty, Bathers, 1930
Andre Edouard Marty, Sisters Talking On A Hill, (1882 – 1974)
Andre Edouard Marty from the French fashion magazine, Gazette du Bon Ton (1912-1925)
Illustration by Andre Edouard Marty For La Vie Parisienne, 1918
Andre Edouard Marty from the French fashion magazine, Gazette du Bon Ton (1912-1925)

Conscious | Henri Cartier-Bresson by René Burri, 1959

Henri Cartier-Bresson, New York, 1959. Photos by René Burri

“While we’re working, we must be conscious of what we’re doing.” 

 Henri Cartier-Bresson

Clown | Henri Michaux, 1939

Claude Cahun, Henri Michaux, 1925

                                                                   One day, 
                                                                   One day, maybe soon. 
                                                                   One day I’ll uproot the anchor that keeps my ship far from the seas. 
                                                                   With the sort of courage that’s needed to be nothing and nothing but nothing, I’ll let loose what seemed                                                                                         indissolubly close to me. 
                                                                   I’ll carve it up, I’ll knock it down, I’ll smash it, I’ll give it a shove. 
                                                                   All at once disgorging my miserable modesty, my miserable schemes and “needle and thread” chains. 
                                                                   Drained of the abscess of being someone, I’ll drink nourishing space again. 
                                                                   Striking with absurdity, with degradation (what is degradation?), by explosion, by void, by a total dissipation-                                                                               derision-purgation, I’ll oust 
                                                                   from myself the form they believed was so well connected, compounded, coordinated, suited to my entourage and                                                                      to my counterparts, 
                                                                   so respectable, my so respectable counterparts. 
                                                                   Reduced to a catastrophe’s humility, to a perfect levelling as after a big scare. 
                                                                   Dragged down beyond measure from my actual rank, to a low rank that I don’t know what idea-ambition made me                                                                      abandon. 
                                                                   Annihilated in pride, in reputation. 
                                                                   Lost in a far off place (or not), without name, without identity. 

                                                                   CLOWN, demolishing amidst laughter, amidst grotesqueness, amidst guffaws, the opinion which against all                                                                                  evidence I’d formed of my 
                                                                   I’ll dive. 
                                                                   Without a cent into the underlying infinite-spirit open to  everything, 
                                                                   open myself to a new and unbelievable dew 
                                                                    by force of being null 
                                                                    and blank... 
                                                                    and laughable...

Clown, Henri Michaux, Peintures, 1939
tr. John Hayes


A Letter from Charlie Parker to his wife Chan Parker

To you;
The way I thought was wrong, having not known, it was right. Here is the proof of my feelings, 
Don’t hate me, love me forever: —
Beautiful is the world, slow is one to take advantage. Wind up the world the other way. 
And at the start of the turning of the earth, lie my feelings for thou.

To you
Shame on me.
I love you.”

Charlie Parker to Chan Parker

Charlie and Chan Parker

This undated letter was sent by legendary jazz saxophonist Charlie ‘Bird’ Parker to his common-law-wife Chan Richardson (also known as Parker). Born Beverly Dolores Berg, a name she disliked, Chan changed it as soon as she was able. By the time she met Parker, in 1945, Chan’s unofficial title was ‘Queen of 52nd Street’, the place associated most wth jazz in the 1940s and 50s. Her extraordinary beauty, wit and intelligence meant that the 18-year-old Chan could have had her pick of men. In fact, when she met the 23-year-old Parker, she was already married, as was the musician. Despite this, their friendship quickly developed into love. Chan and her young daughter moved in with Parker in 1950. Ebony featured the couple on the cover of the magazine, a progressive act considering that they were an interracial couple at a time when society largely disapproved of the public expression of such love.
Parker’s own drug abuse and the very tragic death of the Parkers’ three-year-old daughter, Pree, in 1954, brought further strain to their relationship and they split up. A year later, Parker was dead, but this rather lovely letter shows the power of Parker’s love for his Chan.
Chan later wrote a memoir about her relationship with the great musician. She described Parker’s life as ‘a joyous thing. He lived it fully, loved his kids, music, movies. Simple things. Bird liked simple things. He was the strongest man I ever met in my life.(.)

Charlie and Chan Parker

Flick Review < Little Fugitive (1953) | Ray Ashley / Morris Engel / Ruth Orkin

A production still from The Little Fugitive dir. Morris Engel, Ruth Orkin, Ray Ashley, 1953

This film heavily influenced the French "New Wave" style cinema of the late 1950's and 1960's.

François Truffaut was inspired by Little Fugitive's spontaneous production
style when he created The 400 Blows (1959), saying long afterwards: 

“Our New Wave would never have come into being if it hadn’t been for the young American
Morris Engel, who showed us the way to independent production with [this] fine movie."

 Little Fugitive (1953)                                                                                          Morris Engel & Ruth Orkin

Little Fugitive (1953)
dir. Morris Engel, Ruth Orkin, Ray Ashley
Stars: Richie Andrusco, Richard Brewster, Winifred Cushing, Jay Williams

Cinematography: Morris Engel
Music: Lawrence Manson

Little Fugitive, Morris Engel, Ruth Orkin, Richie Andrusco
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...