Σελίδες

Alphabetarion # Waiting | Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1803-1882

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"How much of human life is lost in waiting."

Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1803-1882

Book//mark - Super-Cannes | J.G. Ballard, 2000

J.G. Ballard, Super-Cannes, 2000                                                                         J.G. Ballard


“Work dominates life in Eden-Olympia, and drives out everything else. The dream of a leisure society
 was the great twentieth-century delusion. Work is the new leisure. Talented and ambitious people 
work harder than they have ever done, and for longer hours. They find their only fulfillment 
through work. The men and women running successful companies need to focus their energies 
on the task in front of them, and for every minute of the day. The last thing they want is 
recreation.”

"Intimacy and neighbourliness were not features of everyday life at Eden-Olympia. An invisible
 infrastructure took the place of traditional civic virtues...The top drawer professionals no longer
 needed to devote a moment's thought to each other, and had dispensed with the checks and 
balances of community life. There were no town councils or magistrates' courts, no citizens'
 advice bureaus. Civility and polity were designed into Eden-Olympia."

People find all the togetherness they need in the airport boarding lounge and 
the department-store lift. They pay lip service to community values but prefer
 to be alone.

"The ocean-liner windows and porthole skylights seemed to open onto the 1930's, a vanished
 world of Cole Porter and beach pyjamas, morphine lesbians and the swagger portraits
 of Tamara de Lempecka."

“If their work is satisfying people don't need leisure in the old-fashioned sense. No one ever 
asks what Newton or Darwin did to relax, or how Bach spent his weekends. At Eden-Olympia
 work is the ultimate play, and play the ultimate work.”

“Representative democracy had been replaced by the 
surveillance camera and the private police force.”

"Eden-Olympia's great defect is that there's no need for personal morality. Thousands of people
 live and work here without making a single decision about right and wrong. The moral order is
 engineered into their lives along with the speed limits and the security systems...But part of the
 mind atrophies. A moral calculus that took thousands of years to develop starts to wither from 
neglect. Once you dispense with morality the important decisions become a matter of aesthetics. 
You've entered an adolescent world where you define yourself by the kind of trainers you wear."

"The Adolf Hitlers and Pol Pots of the future won't walk out of the desert. 
They'll emerge from shopping malls and corporate business parks."

“The film festival measured a mile in length, from the Martinez to the Vieux Port, where sales
 executives tucked into their platters of fruits de mer, but was only fifty yards deep. For a fortnight
 the Croisette and its grand hotels willingly became a facade, the largest stage set in the world. 
Without realizing it, the crowds under the palm trees were extras recruited to play their
 traditional roles. As they cheered and hooted, they were far more confident than the film 
actors on display, who seemed ill at ease when they stepped from their limos, like celebrity 
criminals ferried to a mass trial by jury at the Palais, a full-scale cultural Nuremberg 
furnished with film clips of the atrocities they had helped to commit.”

“Nothing about sex ever shocks women. At least, men’s kind of sex.”

“Madness--that's all they have, after working sixteen hours a day, seven days a week.
 Going mad is their only way of staying sane.”

"I realise now that a kind of waiting madness, like a state of undeclared war, haunted
 the office buildings of the business park. For most of us, Dr Wilder Penrose was our 
amiable Prospero, the psychopomp who steered our darkest dreams towards the 
daylight...Only when I learned to admire this flawed and dangerous man was 
I able to think of killing him."

“In a totally sane society, madness is the only freedom. Our latent psychopathy is the last
 nature reserve, a place of refuge for the endangered mind. ...microdoses of madness, like
 the minute traces of strychnine in a nerve tonic..a voluntary and elective psychopathy...
the drill sergeant's boot and punishment run give back to young men a taste for pain 
that generations of socialized behavior have bred out of them.”

"The rich know how to cope with the psychopathic. The squirearchy have always enjoyed 
freedoms denied to the tenant farmers and peasantry. De Sade’s behaviour was typical of 
his class. Aristocracies keep alive those endangered pleasures that repel the bourgeoisie. 
They may seem perverse, but they add to the possibilities of life."

"Perverse behaviours were once potentially dangerous. 
Societies weren't strong enough to allow them to flourish."

“The consumer society hungers for the deviant and unexpected. What else can drive the bizarre
 shifts in the entertainment landscape that will keep us "buying"? Psychopathy is the only
 engine powerful enough to light our imaginations, to drive the arts, sciences and 
industries of the world.”

“Idealists can be quite a problem when they get disgusted with themselves.”

“The twentieth century ended with its dreams in ruins. The notion of the community 
as a voluntary association of enlightened citizens has died forever. We realize how
 suffocatingly humane we've become, dedicated to moderation and the middle way. 
The suburbanization of the soul has overrun our planet like the plague.”

“Sooner or later, all games become serious.”

"Meaningless violence may be the true poetry of the new millennium. 
Perhaps only gratuitous madness can define who we are...These criminal 
activities have helped them to rediscover themselves."

“People no longer need enemies--in this millennium their great dream is to become victims. 
Only their psychopathies can set them free...”

J.G. Ballard, Super-Cannes, 2000


Προσοχή | Παυλίνα Παμπούδη, 2004

 Thomas Kiesewetter, Untitled, 2012

Οφείλω να προσέχω ακόμα περισσότερο, καθώς διατρέχω την κάθε μου μέρα, 
τα πράγματα και τους ανθρώπους. Ήδη, νομίζω πως είμαι πολύ πιο 
παρατηρητική - σχεδόν όσο ήμουν ως παιδί.

Παυλίνα Παμπούδη, Προσοχή / Πρώτη Ύλη, 2004


Alphabetarion # Tender | Sherwood Anderson, 1919

Utagawa Hiroshige, New Year's Eve Foxfires at the Changing Tree, Ōji, 1857


“Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night. You must 
not try to make love definite. It is the divine accident of life. If you try to be definite
 and sure about it and to live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long 
hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing wagons
 gathers upon lips inflamed and made tender by kisses.”

 Sherwood Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio, 1919 


Frame Inside | Portrait of Olga in an Armchair / Pablo Picasso, 1917 - 1918

 Pablo Picasso, Olga Khokhlova in the studio, 1917                     Pablo Picasso - Portrait of Olga in an Armchair, 1918

 

Self-Reflection | Robert Walser, 1924-1933



Because they didn't want me to be young, I became young.
Because i should've been a sufferer, many pleasures flattered me.
Because they tried their best to put me in a bad mood,
I sought and found ways into moods more welcome than any I ever
could've wished for.
Since they impressed fear on me, courage cheered and laughed with
me.
They abandoned me, so I learned to forget myself,
which allowed me to bathe in my inspired soul.
When I lost much, I realized losses are winnings,
because no one can find something he didn't first lose,
and to discover what's lost is worth more than any safe possession.
Because they didn't want to know me, I became self aware,
became my own understanding, friendly doctor.
Because I found enemies in my life, I attracted friends,
and friends dropped away, but enemies, too, stopped being hostile,
and the tree that bears the most beautiful fruits of luck is called
misfortune.
On life's path, we lift all the peculiarities given to us
by our birth, our family home and our schools,
and only those who couldn't help but strain themselves need to be
rescued.
No one who's content with himself ever needed help,
unless he happened to be in an accident and needed to be carried to the
hospital.

 Robert Walser, Self-Reflection, 1924-1933
from poems written in Berne

Also:

Alphabetarion # Personality | Jim Morrison, 1943-1971

d.m.nagu, Most Wanted, 2021

 “The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. 
You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. ”

Jim Morrison, 1943-1971

Invisible, Extinct and Endangered species | Women Portraits by Gerd Tinglum | Vanessa Bell / Virginia Woolf / Charlotte Brontë / Emily Brontë / George Eliot / Gertrude Stein / Alice B. Toklas / Anna Akhmatova / Katherine Mansfield / Unica Zürn, 1991-2005

Vanessa Bell (1879–1961) Cyperipedium Calceoulus, 1991/2005                        Virginia Woolf (1882–1941) Arnica Alpina, 1991/2005
 Charlotte Brontë (1816–1855) Saxifraga Hirculus, 1991/2005                 Emily Jane Brontë (1818–1848) Rhododendron Lapponicum, 1991/2005
Alice B. Toklas (1877–1967) Hydrocharis Morus Ranæ, Extinct, 1991/2005             Gertrude Stein (1874–1946) Crepis Multicaulis, Extinct, 1991/2005
Anna Akhmatova (1889–1966) Nigritella Nigra, Highly Endangered, 1991/2005       Katherine Mansfield (1888–1923) Schoenus Nigricans, Extinct, 1991/2005
Unica Zürn (1916–1970) Viola Hirta, 1991/2005                         George Eliot (1819–1880) Glaucium Flavium, 1991/2005
Simone de Beauvoir (1908–1986) Lemna Gibba, Extinct, 1991/2005                    Marguerite Yourcenar (1903–1987) Epigogium Aphyllum, 1991/2005


In 1991 Gerd Tinglum exhibited a series called Invisible, extinct and endangered species, 
featuring thirty portraits of women each partly obscured by a plant.

You Were Clear and Calm | Hans Arp, 1944

Hans Arp and Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Ascona, 1925


You were clear and calm.
Next to you, life was tender.
When the clouds were about to cover the sky
your gaze moved them away.

Your gaze was calm and careful.
You gazed carefully at the world,
the earth,
the sea shells on the beach,
your brushes,
your paints.

You painted the bouquet of light
that grew,
that broadened,
that blossomed forth,
unceasingly on your clear heart.
You painted the rose of tenderness.
You painted the star-spring.

I often saw your profile as you worked,
before the window
before the distant sea.
You would always work carefully.
I saw you attentively bowing your head,
your head full of pearls of dreaming.
You carefully dipped your brush into the paint.
You carefully mixed the paint.
You attentively drew the lines.
You attentively colored the drawings.

You breathed calmly.
Your eyes were radiant.
Tenderly without trembling you would open the door
to light.
I often saw your profile as you worked,
before the window,
before the olive trees,
before the distant sea.

Sometimes you beat your wings and laughed,
as you kept on working.
You wanted to frighten me.
You were pretending to fly away.
But the picture progressed
and it was always a bouquet of light.

You left clear and calm.
Near you, life was so tender.
Your last painting was done.
Your brushes were neatly put away.

Hans Arp, 1944

*
Arp's wife, the artist Sophie Taeuber-Arp, died in an accident (stove, leaking valve) in 1943.


Also:

Alphabetarion # Us | Marcel Proust, 1896-1900

 
Joseph Beuys, Telephone S - ∃ 1974

“Love teaches us much, 
but also it much corrupts us.”

 Marcel Proust, Jean Santeuil, 1896-1900


Peri/od/ical: Life Magazine | Covers 1900s-1920s

1908                                                     1912                                 
1909                                                                                1913                     

1906                                                     1911

1912                                                  1915
1923                                                   1905
1925                                         1909
1927                                                                                                              1927
1926                                                                                 1910



Book//mark - My Fathers' Ghost Is Climbing in the Rain | Patricio Pron, 2011

^ Patricio Pron, My Fathers' Ghost Is Climbing in the Rain, 2011                                                                           Patricio Pron


 "Nobody had fought, we all had lost and barely anyone had stayed true to what they believed,
 whatever that was, I thought; my father's generation had been different, but once again, there 
was something in the difference that was also a meeting point, a thread that went through the 
years and brought us together in spite of everything and was horrifically Argentine: the 
feeling of parents and children being united in defeat."

"I understood for the first time that all the children of young Argentines in the 1970s were going 
to have to solve our parents’ pasts, like detectives, and what we would find out was going to seem 
like a mystery novel we wished we’d never bought. But I also realized that there was no way 
of telling my father’s story as a mystery or, more precisely, that telling it in such a way would 
betray his intentions and his struggles, since telling his story as a detective tale would merely
 confirm the existence of a genre, which is to say, a convention, and all of his efforts were meant 
to call into question those very social conventions and their pale reflection in literature."

“You don't ever want to know certain things, because what you know belongs to you,
 and there are certain things you never want to own.”

"I wondered what my generation could offer that could match the exuberant desperation and thirst
 for justice of the preceding generation, our parents'. wasn't it a terrible ethical imperative that
 generation unintentionally imposed on us? how do you kill your father if he's already dead and, 
in many cases, died defending an idea that seems noble even if its execution was remiss or 
clumsy or wrong-headed? how else could we measure up if not by doing as they did, fighting a
 senseless war that was lost before it began and marching into slaughter to the sacrificial chants 
of disaffected youth, arrogant and impotent and stupid, marching to the brink of civil war against 
the forces of the repressive machinery of a country that, in essence, is and always has been
 conservative?

"What must the novel my father wanted to write have been like? Brief, composed of fragments, 
with holes where my father couldn't or didn't want to remember something, filled with symmetries—
stories duplicating themselves over and over again as if they were an ink stain on an assiduously
 folded piece of paper, a simple theme repeated as in a symphony or a fool's monologue—and 
sadder than Fathers' Day at an orphanage."

“I’d seen enough mystery novels already and would see many more in the future. Telling this 
story from the perspective of genre would be illegitimate. To begin with, the individual crime was 
less important than the social crime, but social crime couldn’t be told through the artifice of a 
detective novel; it needed a narrative in the shape of an enormous frieze or with the appearance 
of an intimate personal story that held something back, a piece of an unfinished puzzle that would 
force the reader to look for adjacent pieces and then keep looking until the image became clear.
 Furthermore, the resolution of most detective stories is condescending, no matter how ruthless the
 plotting, so that the reader, once the loose ends are tied up and the guilty finally punished, can 
return to the real world with the conviction that crimes get solved and remain locked between 
the covers of a book, that the world outside the book is guided by the same principles of justice 
as the tale told inside and should not be questioned.”

"As I thought all this standing beside the telephone, I noticed it had started to rain again, and I 
told myself I would write that story because what my parents and their comrades had done
 didn't deserve to be forgotten, and because I was the product of what they had done, and because 
what they'd done was worthy of being told because their ghost—not the right or wrong decisions 
my parents and their comrades had made but their spirit itself—was going to keep climbing in 
the rain until it took the heavens by storm."


Patricio Pron, My Fathers' Ghost Is Climbing in the Rain, 2011

J[A-Z]Z / p1ck ( Tender Feelin's | Duke Pearson, 1960

Photo: Francis Wolff / Cover: Reid Miles

Duke Pearson  - I Love You ( Cole Porter), 1960

Recorded at Van Gelder Studio, Englewood Cliffs
December 16 and 19, 1959

Duke Pearson - piano
Gene Taylor - bass
Lex Humphries - drums, tambourine

 Also:


Alphabetarion # Reflection | Alfred De Musset, 1834

Ida O'Keeffe, Variations on a Lighthouse Theme IV, 1931-32 

 “You’re like a lighthouse shining beside the sea of humanity, motionless: all you
 can see is your own reflection in the water. You’re alone, so you think it’s a vast, 
magnificent panorama. You haven’t sounded the depths. You simply believe in the 
beauty of God’s creation. But I have spent all this time in the water, diving deep into 
the howling ocean of life, deeper than anyone. While you were admiring the surface, 
I saw the shipwrecks, the drowned bodies, the monsters of the deep”

Alfred De Musset, Lorenzaccio, 1834

Flick Review < Secrets of a Soul | Georg Wilhelm Pabst, 1926 / The First Film About Psychoanalysis



Secrets of a Soul / Geheimnisse einer Seele (1926)
Director: Georg Wilhelm Pabst
Writing: Karl Abraham, Hans Neumann, Colin Ross, Hanns Sachs
Cinematography: Robert Lach, Curt Oertel, Guido Seeber
Stars: Werner Krauss, Ruth Weyher, Ilka Grüning

*
Sigmund Freud, whose book "The Interpretation of Dreams" largely influenced this film,
 was approached to serve as a consultant on psychoanalysis. Freud declined, believing 
that film could not capture the complexities of the science of psychoanalysis.

Ufa Studios incorrectly announced Sigmund Freud's approval of the project, sparking rumors
 and stories from Vienna to New York. The New York Times reported on July 26, 1925 that
 "Psychoanalysis will be popularly explained through a screen filming which will be passed 
upon and partly directed by Professor Freud." Freud, so angered by the incorrect announcement,
 demanded retractions in several newspapers and publications, and even paid for a second 
notice to be printed in some.

*
 The former are filmed in a style characteristic of the neue Sachligkeit  [new objectivity
an art movement that emerged in Germany at the time as a reaction to expressionism.