Lladró

PaperMonster

divagações

classic

site here

another one bites the dust...

tendre mélancolie

"L'admirable singularité de cette figure dans laquelle éclataient les grâces naïves et l'empreinte céleste de l'âme la plus noble, c'est que, bien que de la plus rare et de la plus singulière beauté, elle ne ressemblait en aucune façon aux têtes des statues grecques. La duchesse avait au contraire un peu trop de la beauté connue de l'idéal, et sa tête vraiment lombarde rappelait le sourire voluptueux et la tendre mélancolie des belles Hérodiades de Léonard de Vinci."

Stendhal, La Chartreuse de Parme, chapitre XV.

away

beautiful flowers

found here

feline

Reclining Woman on Leopard Skin, 1927. Oil on wood. Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art, Cornell University, Gift of Samuel A. Berger © 2010 Artists Rights Society, New York/VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn.


check it out

lost in translation

its site here

Dalahast Bla

her collection here

pretty pics

Vanessa Paradis Paolo Roversi Shoot taken back in 1998



Madonna, 1994



Tilda Swinton
by Paolo Roversi
pigment print, 2005
9 1/2 in. x 7 1/2 in. (240 mm x 189 mm)
Given by Paolo Roversi, 2007
Tilda Swinton (1961-), Actress.


Laeticia Casta in Alberta Ferretti F/W2003, ©Paolo Roversi.

contente

na minha banheira um cabelo desenha um oito,
coisa que até um ignorante como eu sabe que representa o infinito

no céu da praia umas pinceladas leves de branco
tornam o azul mais azul
e a moça loira que passa sorrindo, faz tudo parecer perfeito
como perfeitas são as conchas esquecidas pelas marés

as circunstâncias mudam sempre
e o mar que nos afaga hoje,
quer nos tragar amanhã
atirado contra as rochas de pouco vale o nosso corpo

contudo agora deixo-me ficar e sorrio
contente com o céu e o mar

let go and smile

a hair on my bathtub draws the figure eight
which even an ignoramus like me knows is the infinite

at the beach look up at the sky
some soft brushes of white turn blue even bluer
the nice blonde girl smiling at me is perfect
as perfect as the shells the tides forgot are

circumstances are always shifting
and this gentle sea one day will reclaim us,
thrown against hard rocks
worthless is our body

yet now I let go and smile
satisfied by sea and sky.

Correr no azul

Prólogo

Ao ver escoar-se a vida humanamente
Em suas águas certas, eu hesito,
E detenho-me às vezes na torrente
Das coisas geniais em que medito.
Afronta-me um desejo de fugir
Ao mistério que é meu e me seduz.
Mas logo me triunfo. A sua luz
Não há muitos que a saibam reflectir.
A minh’alma nostálgica de além,
Cheia de orgulho, ensombra-se entretanto,
Aos meus olhos ungidos sobe um pranto
Que tenho a força de sumir também.
Porque eu reajo. A vida, a natureza,
Que são para o artista? Coisa alguma.
O que devemos é saltar na bruma,
Correr no azul à busca da beleza.

oh Heliodor

To Heliodor from Przemysl: “You write, ‘I know my poems have many faults, but so what, I’m not going to stop and fix them.’ And why is that, oh Heliodor? Perhaps because you hold poetry so sacred? Or maybe you consider it insignificant? Both ways of treating poetry are mistaken, and what’s worse, they free the novice poet from the necessity of working on his verses. It’s pleasant and rewarding to tell our acquaintances that the bardic spirit seized us on Friday at 2:45 p.m. and began whispering mysterious secrets in our ear with such ardor that we scarcely had time to take them down. But at home, behind closed doors, they assiduously corrected, crossed out, and revised those otherworldly utterances. Spirits are fine and dandy, but even poetry has its prosaic side.”

found here

este pastor perdeu a cabeça

Judith with the Head of Holofernes
oil on canvas (89 × 73 cm) — c. 1515

só que era um general bêbado...o que só prova que toda a sorte de homens a perde.

Lamentation

Arena Chapel, Pádua, 1305-06

look closer now