Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
the road
"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains.
You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of
their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand.
Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patters that
were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes.
Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens
where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery."
— Cormac McCarthy (The Road)
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Labels: Books, Lines that make me ponder, LOVE
Friday, January 28, 2011
Gothic Duet, A Scream, Darkness and Light, Wax & Blood
Iwajla Klinke via P8 gallery Curator: Sagi Refael
Posted by Moon River at 7:39 AM 0 comments
Labels: Art, Photography
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The Road
"There is no God and we are his prophets."
— Cormac McCarthy (The Road)
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Labels: Books, Lines that make me ponder
BLACKMETALCYTWÖMBLY / Volumes I, II & III | Andrew McLeod
Posted by Moon River at 4:28 AM 7 comments
Labels: Art
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Map of What Is Effortless
Francesco Clemente, Map of What Is Effortless 1978 Gouache on paper 60 x 57 in (152.4 x 144.8 cm) Private collection
Clemente, Francesco The Four Corners 1985 Gouache on twelve sheets of handmade Pondicherry paper, joined by cotton strips 94 x 94 in (238.8 x 238.8 cm)Posted by Moon River at 4:48 AM 0 comments
Labels: Art, map and art
Sunday, January 23, 2011
"Colossus" by Miri Chais
Posted by Moon River at 1:33 AM 1 comments
Labels: Art, Installation, miri chais, tel aviv, Tel-Aviv
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Posted by Moon River at 11:08 PM 1 comments
Labels: Art
Turing
Posted by Moon River at 12:02 PM 1 comments
Labels: Art
Friday, January 21, 2011
Patrick Watson - The Great Escape
via murmurevisible
Posted by Moon River at 2:28 PM 1 comments
Labels: music
Ecrire
"Écrire. Je ne peux pas.
Personne ne peut.
Il faut le dire, on ne peut pas.
Et on écrit.
C’est l’inconnu qu’on porte en soi écrire, c’est ça qui est atteint. C’est ça ou
rien.
On peut parler d’une maladie de l’écrit.
Ce n’est pas simple ce que j’essaie de dire là, mais je crois qu’on peut s’y
retrouver,
camarades de tous les pays.
Il y a une folie d’écrire qui est en soi-même, une folie d’écrire furieuse mais ce n’est pas
pour cela qu’on est dans la folie. Au contraire.
L’écriture c’est l’inconnu. Avant d’écrire, on ne sait rien de ce qu’on va écrire. Et en toute lucidité.
C’est l’inconnu de soi, de sa tête, de son corps. Ce n’est même pas une réflexion, écrire,
c’est une sorte de faculté qu’on a à côté de sa personne, parallèlement à elle-même, d’une autre personne qui apparaît et qui avance, invisible,douée de pensée, de colère, et
qui quelquefois, de son propre fait, est en danger d’en perdre la vie.
Si on savait quelque chose de ce qu’on va écrire, avant de le faire, avant d’écrire,
on n’écrirait jamais. Ce ne serait pas la peine.
Écrire, c’est tenter de savoir ce qu’on écrirait si on écrivait — on ne le sait
qu’après — avant, c’est la question la plus dangereuse que l’on puisse se poser. Mais c’est la plus courante aussi.
L’écrit ça arrive comme le vent, c’est nu, c’est de l’encre, c’est l’écrit et ça passe comme rien d’autre ne passe dans la vie, rien de plus, sauf elle, la vie." M.D. Neauphle-le-Château, 1993.
Texte de Marguerite Duras Collection folio, Editions Gallimard, 1993.
Posted by Moon River at 12:20 PM 0 comments
Labels: Lines that make me ponder
"If our titles recall the known myths of antiquity, we have used them again because they are the eternal symbols upon which we must fall back to express basic psychological ideas."
- Mark Rothko
Posted by Moon River at 4:19 AM 1 comments
Labels: Art, Lines that make me ponder
Monday, January 17, 2011
Posted by Moon River at 1:23 PM 0 comments
Labels: Art
Sunday, January 16, 2011
This is the Colour of My Dreams
Joan Miró - This is the Colour of My Dreams (1925) via
Posted by Moon River at 11:28 PM 7 comments
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Burnt Norton
.....Here is a place of disaffection
Time before and time after
In a dim light: neither daylight
Investing form with lucid stillness
Turning shadow into transient beauty
Wtih slow rotation suggesting permanence
Nor darkness to purify the soul
Emptying the sensual with deprivation
Cleansing affection from the temporal.
Neither plentitude nor vacancy. Only a flicker
Over the strained time-ridden faces
Distracted from distraction by distraction
Filled with fancies and empty of meaning
Tumid apathy with no concentration
Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind
That blows before and after time,
Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs
Time before and time after.
Eructation of unhealthy souls
Into the faded air, the torpid
Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,
Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,
Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.
From T. S. Eliot Poems
The Four Quartets
Posted by Moon River at 11:46 PM 0 comments
Friday, January 07, 2011
Bird Catcher
William Kentridge "Bird Catcher", 2006 Charcoal, pastel and ink on paper 6 drawings 40 x 40 cm each
Posted by Moon River at 7:51 AM 1 comments
Labels: Art