Η ασύδοτη τρυφερότητα | Αλέξανδρος Ίσαρης, 1976

Leonora Carrington, March Sunday, 1990

 Αυτές οι μέρες
Της ασύδοτης τρυφερότητας
Θα ακινητοποιήσουν
Τη ζωή σου∙
Θα σταματήσεις για πολύ
Καιρό να βλέπεις
Τα σύννεφα και τους τυφλούς
Που τραγουδούν στο δρόμο∙

Μετά
θα ξαναφύγεις
Για τα χιόνια.

Αλέξανδρος Ίσαρης, Η ασύδοτη τρυφερότητα
συλ.  Όμιλος Φίλων Θαλάσσης - Ο Ισορροπιστής, 1976

Paintings by Ukrainian Avant-garde painter Anatol Petrytsky, 1920s

 Anatol Petrytsky, Sketch of a male costume for the opera by G. Rossini, 1927  /   Anatol Petrytsky, Prince Igor. A Sketch for the Opera 'Prince Igor' by A. Borodin, 1929
Anatol Petrytsky, Sketch of Costumes for G. Puccini's Opera 'Turandot', 1928 /  Anatol Petrytsky, Dance costume sketches for Eccentric Dances, 1922
Anatol Petrytsky, Sketch of Costumes for the Play 'Footballer'                          Anatol Petrytsky, Costume sketch, 1920s
Anatol Petrytsky, Costume sketch, 1920s                                         Anatol Petrytsky, Footballers, 1920s
Anatol Petrytsky, An Eccentric Dance, 1922                       Anatol Petrytsky, Gnat Yura, 1926
 ^Anatol Petrytsky, Don Juan (costume) for Lesia Ukrainka's play The Stone Host, 1921
Anatol Petrytsky, Donna Anna (costume) for Lesia Ukrainka's play The Stone Host, 1921 ^

Petrytskyi’s talent was highly appreciated abroad. The album "Theatrical costumes by
 Petrytskyi", published in 1929 in Kharkiv, were purchased by P. Picasso for his library.

 Anatol Petrytsky, 1930s

 Anatol Petrytsky (1895-1964) was a Ukrainian painter, stage and book designer.

The fate of Anatol Petrytsky (1895–1965), a first-rank artist of the Ukrainian avant-garde of
 the first third of the twentieth century, reflects the many twists and turns in twentieth-century
 Ukrainian art as part of the history of Ukraine, its struggle for independence, its defeats and 
victories. Like his older predecessors who were born in Ukraine at the end of the nineteenth 
century (Kazimir Malevich, Aleksandra Exter), he sought to develop his talent in foreign 
capitals and art centers. He was drawn to the Higher Art and Technical Studios (VKhUTEMAS)
 in Moscow, where he studied in 1922–24, and the Bauhaus, whose entrance examination he 
passed in 1933 but was prevented from attending by the fateful changes in the sociopolitical 
life of Germany.

However, Petrytsky was already formed as an artist by the 1910s on the solid basis of the then 
already transformed Kyiv school of painting: the Kyiv Art School, the studios of Aleksandra
 Exter and Oleksandr Murashko, Mykhailo Boichuk’s monumental painting workshop at the 
Ukrainian State Academy of Arts, and the strong influence of Vasyl Krychevsky and Danylo
 Shcherbakivsky. He took part in the process of reviving Ukrainian art from his early years. 
Together with Mykhailo Semenko he blazed the trail for Futurism. Together with Les Kurbas 
he reformed Ukrainian stage design: he began working on musical productions (Mykola Lysenko’s
 Taras Bulba, Aleksandr Borodin’s Prince Igor), exploring new avant-garde forms fused into a single
 undivided whole with the artistic traditions of the professional and folk art of Ukraine. In the 1920s,
 Petrytsky gained fame at home and abroad primarily as a brilliant avant-garde scenographer. 
His high status as an artist was confirmed by his highly successful participation in the 17th 
Venice Biennale (1930), where his large canvas Disabled (1924) became the “highlight 
of the exhibition,” according to art historian Mykhailo Drahan.  


Flick Review < The Sniper | Edward Dmytryk, 1952

“Stop me — Find me and stop me. I’m going to do it again.”

The Sniper (1952)
Director: Edward Dmytryk
Writers: Harry Brown (screen play), Edna Anhalt (story), Edward Anhalt (story)
Cinematography: Burnett Guffey
Stars: Arthur Franz, Adolphe Menjou, Gerald Mohr, Marie Windsor

The Sniper (1952)


Also:

Stereosc2pe + The Perfect Red | Diana Vreeland, 1903-1989

Bernardino Luini, Portrait of a boy with red cap, 15th - 16th century                                     Eugene De Blaas, Portrait of a Boy, 1884


 “All my life I’ve pursued the perfect red. I can never get painters to mix it for me. It’s exactly 
as if I’d said, ‘I want rococo with a spot of Gothic in it and a bit of Buddhist temple’—they 
have no idea what I’m talking about. About the best red is to copy the color of a child’s 
cap in any Renaissance portrait.”

Diana Vreeland, 1903-1989

Also:

J[A-Z]Z / p1ck ( Johnny Griffin | The Congregation, 1958

Johnny Griffin | The Congregation, 1957
Design:  Reid Miles / Illustration: Andy Warhol
Photography: Francis Wolff

Johnny Griffin Quartet - The Congregation


Recorded at Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey
on October 23, 1957
Released: March 1958

Johnny Griffin - tenor saxophone
Sonny Clark - piano
Paul Chambers - bass
Kenny Dennis - drums

...

"The great tenor saxophonist Johnny Griffin is heard in top form on this
 near-classic quartet set... It's recommended for bop collectors."

 AllMusic review by Scott Yanow

Also:

Book//mark - Zoo, or Letters Not About Love | Viktor Shklovsky, 1923

 Zoo, or Letters Not About Love, 1923                                                   Viktor Shklovsky, 1893-1984

“You told me once that spring makes you feel as if you’ve lost or forgotten 
something and you can’t remember what.”

“Misfortune of this kind comes to many. Life is well ordered, like a nécessaire, but not
 all of us can find our places in it. Life tailors us for a certain person and laughs when 
we are drawn to someone unable to love us.
All this is simple--like postage stamps.”

“She is the only island for you in your life. From her there is no turning back 
for you. Only around her does the sea have color.”

"At first, I was drawn to you as sleep draws the head of a train passenger 
toward his neighbor's shoulder."

“Drink, friends– drink, great and small, from the bitter cup of love! No special qualifications 
required. Standing room only. And it is easy to be cruel– one need only not love. Love too
 understands neither Aramaic nor Russian. Love is like the nails used to pierce hands. 
The stag uses its antlers in combat, the nightingale does not sing in vain, but our
 books avail us nothing. This wound will not heal.”

“I’m not going to write about love. i’m going to write only about the weather.”

“He had begun to weep in Prague not out of sentimentality, but the way windows
 weep in a room heated for the first time in many weeks.”

“Life is hard for anyone who loves a woman or his art.”

"Quit writing about How, How, How much you love me, because at the third 'how much,' 
I start thinking about something else." - Alya

“Of all the contradictions, the most painful to me is that while the lips in question are
 busy renewing themselves, the heart is being worn to frazzle; and with it go the 
forgotten things, undetected.”

“Sick birds don’t like to be watched.”

“In Moscow, city of pedestrians, it was the engine that drove a driver to crime. A weapon makes
 a man bolder. A horse turns him into a calvryman. Things make of a man whatever he makes 
from them. Speed requires a goal.
Things are multiplying around us--there are ten or even a hundred times more of them now 
than there were two hundred years ago. Mankind has them under control,
 but the individual does not.”

"Allow me to be sentimental. Life has hold of me in a foreign 
land and it does with me what it will."

"So I write another letter.

I love you very much. You are the city I live in; you are the name of the month and the day.
 I float, salty and heavy with tears, barely keeping my head above water. I seem to be sinking,
 but even there, underwater-where the phone doesn’t ring and rumors don’t reach, where it is
 impossible to meet you-I will go on loving you.

I love you, yet you force me to hang onto the running boards of your life. My hands are 
freezing. I’m not jealous of people: I’m jealous of your time. It is impossible not to see you.

So what can I do when there is no substitute for love? 
You know nothing about the weight of all things."

Viktor Shklovsky, Zoo or Letters Not About Love, 1923

 Elsa Triolet, 1896 -1970 

While living in exile in Berlin, the formidable literary critic Viktor Shklovsky fell in love
 with Elsa Triolet. He fell into the habit of sending Elsa several letters a day, a situation
 she accepted under one condition: he was forbidden to write about love. 


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