Ellsworth Kelly
Red Blue Green, 1963
83 5/8 x 135 7/8 inches (212.4 x 345.1 cm)
Oil on Canvas
Collection: Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego, gift of Dr. and Mrs. Jack M. Farris
©Ellsworth Kelly
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Opposite
Ellsworth Kelly
Red Blue Green, 1963
83 5/8 x 135 7/8 inches (212.4 x 345.1 cm)
Oil on Canvas
Collection: Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego, gift of Dr. and Mrs. Jack M. Farris
©Ellsworth Kelly
Analogous
Claude Monet - Water-Lilies -1914 -
Analogous - colors that contain a common hue and are found next to each other on the color wheel, e.g., violet, red-violet, and red create a sense of harmony. Remember adjoining colors on the wheel are similar and tend to blend together. They are effective at showing depth.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Não tenho pressa
Não tenho pressa: não a têm o sol e a lua
por Alberto Caeiro
Escrito em 20-6-1929
Não tenho pressa: não a têm o sol e a lua.
Ninguém anda mais depressa do que as pernas que tem.
Se onde quero estar é longe, não estou lá num momento.
Sim: existo dentro do meu corpo.
Não trago o sol nem a lua na algibeira.
Não quero conquistar mundos porque dormi mal,
Nem almoçar o mundo por causa do estômago.
Indiferente?
Não: filho da terra, que se der um salto, está em falso,
Um momento no ar que não é para nós,
E só contente quando os pés lhe batem outra vez na terra,
Traz! na realidade que não falta!
Não tenho pressa. Pressa de quê?
Não têm pressa o sol e a lua: estão certos.
Ter pressa é crer que a gente passe adiante das pernas,
Ou que, dando um pulo, salte por cima da sombra.
Não; não tenho pressa.
Se estendo o braço, chego exactamente aonde o meu braço chega (
Nem um centímetro mais longe.
Toco só aonde toco, não aonde penso.
Só me posso sentar aonde estou.
E isto faz rir como todas as verdades absolutamente verdadeiras,
Mas o que faz rir a valer é que nós pensamos sempre noutra coisa,
E somos vadios do nosso corpo.
E estamos sempre fora dele porque estamos aqui.
oferecido por uma antiga e boa amiga
por Alberto Caeiro
Escrito em 20-6-1929
Não tenho pressa: não a têm o sol e a lua.
Ninguém anda mais depressa do que as pernas que tem.
Se onde quero estar é longe, não estou lá num momento.
Sim: existo dentro do meu corpo.
Não trago o sol nem a lua na algibeira.
Não quero conquistar mundos porque dormi mal,
Nem almoçar o mundo por causa do estômago.
Indiferente?
Não: filho da terra, que se der um salto, está em falso,
Um momento no ar que não é para nós,
E só contente quando os pés lhe batem outra vez na terra,
Traz! na realidade que não falta!
Não tenho pressa. Pressa de quê?
Não têm pressa o sol e a lua: estão certos.
Ter pressa é crer que a gente passe adiante das pernas,
Ou que, dando um pulo, salte por cima da sombra.
Não; não tenho pressa.
Se estendo o braço, chego exactamente aonde o meu braço chega (
Nem um centímetro mais longe.
Toco só aonde toco, não aonde penso.
Só me posso sentar aonde estou.
E isto faz rir como todas as verdades absolutamente verdadeiras,
Mas o que faz rir a valer é que nós pensamos sempre noutra coisa,
E somos vadios do nosso corpo.
E estamos sempre fora dele porque estamos aqui.
oferecido por uma antiga e boa amiga
Happy ?
When words aren't required, nothing else needs to be said - then, you're at peace. At peace with the world, at peace with thyself.
Is that happy ?
Monday, October 26, 2009
drive alone
Notes on a Loose Piece of Paper
Remember to call home before too long.
To see the long reeds when they are in motion.
Not to punish myself as much as that again.
To miss the last train and wait for the next.
To wash off your injured hands in the creek.
Know there is no happiness without sadness.
Feel the glass caress of morning in the kiss.
Accept what the Devil offers once in a while.
Perhaps everything can in fact change.
Perhaps there's any road at all somewhere.
Remember to tell what blocks you at every turn.
Not to speak while watching the cormorants.
Hold out a hand to the doubts and the fears.
Drive along alone without orientation.
From Meanwhile Take My Hand by Kirmen Uribe, translated by Elizabeth Macklin. Translation copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Macklin.
Remember to call home before too long.
To see the long reeds when they are in motion.
Not to punish myself as much as that again.
To miss the last train and wait for the next.
To wash off your injured hands in the creek.
Know there is no happiness without sadness.
Feel the glass caress of morning in the kiss.
Accept what the Devil offers once in a while.
Perhaps everything can in fact change.
Perhaps there's any road at all somewhere.
Remember to tell what blocks you at every turn.
Not to speak while watching the cormorants.
Hold out a hand to the doubts and the fears.
Drive along alone without orientation.
From Meanwhile Take My Hand by Kirmen Uribe, translated by Elizabeth Macklin. Translation copyright 2006 by Elizabeth Macklin.
Fuzzy
Oh I can be lost, just like Dylan
Bob himself, till a Highway Patrolman finds me
speeding in the supermarket lane
Oh I am lost like a Christmas Carol in July.
Coração independente
Algumas pessoas têm a capacidade de romper com os géneros e tocar a todos...esses são os verdadeiramente grandes.
eu vou ser como a toupeira
Sigo os números, estou melhor mas não me apetece saír para a rua e caminhar livremente pelo passeio como costumo fazer, assim vou no meio da multidão pelo interior da estação.
Passamos uns dias longe, em casa, afastados desta vida de insecto e sentimos sempre um arrepio de estranheza quando nos juntamos ao formigueiro, mas passa rápido, ou então, poderemos entrar em zonas perigosas e começar a navegar em baixios cheios de nevoeiro, e quando encalhamos levamos um bom bocado até conseguirmos ganhar água de novo. Eu sei.
Contra a multidão vem uma moça, com um cabelo, tal qual um daqueles tapetes que fizeram furor na era dourada dos tecidos sintéticos - acho que há uma idade própria para fazermos experiências connosco próprios, com o nosso corpo, com o nosso ser...
Desço para o Metro e já esqueci, já não estou em idade para experiências...
Passamos uns dias longe, em casa, afastados desta vida de insecto e sentimos sempre um arrepio de estranheza quando nos juntamos ao formigueiro, mas passa rápido, ou então, poderemos entrar em zonas perigosas e começar a navegar em baixios cheios de nevoeiro, e quando encalhamos levamos um bom bocado até conseguirmos ganhar água de novo. Eu sei.
Contra a multidão vem uma moça, com um cabelo, tal qual um daqueles tapetes que fizeram furor na era dourada dos tecidos sintéticos - acho que há uma idade própria para fazermos experiências connosco próprios, com o nosso corpo, com o nosso ser...
Desço para o Metro e já esqueci, já não estou em idade para experiências...
Adoração
Adoration of the Kings
FRAY JUAN BAUTISTA MAINO
1612
Oil on canvas, 315 x 174 cm
Museo del Prado, Madrid
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Não uso preto
O meu cabelo não vai crescer mais. Vou cortá-lo sempre.
Não tenho medo de viver aqui sózinha, nem mesmo à noite : tenho os cães e as estrelas quando se deixam ver, como companhia.
Vou pouco à vila, só mesmo quando não o consigo evitar, toda a minha vida está aqui neste monte. Cresci aqui sózinha, com os meus pais enquanto foram vivos, sem irmãos e sem gente por perto, as minhas companhias : os bichos e as plantas...as pedras também.
Os anos da escola, só me interessaram pelos livros e por ti. De resto, nunca me interessaram os outros, as suas intrigas e brincadeiras vazias. Os professores nunca me chegaram a impressionar, por vezes havia um que chegava e parecia trazer dentro um pouco do fogo dos livros, alguma paixão das matérias - depressa se cansava e rápido se via que desistia daquele bando de campónios desinteressados e desinteressantes.
Logo se sabia que andava a tratar de fugir daquela vilória longe de tudo.
O que eu gostava mais era de voltar da escola pelos campos até ao monte. Gostava da parte em que caminhávamos juntos, dos banhos que tomávamos no rio, dos bichos que perseguíamos, gostei de começar a gostar de ti. Nunca mais saíste de mim.
O mesmo com os livros, comecei com os da escola, ganhei o hábito de ler e naqueles tempos, li tudo o que havia para ler na biblioteca da vila, durante anos foi uma das razões para lá ir, procurar mais livros para ler. Para isso, também já lá não vou mais.
A escola acabou, não ia continuar a estudar como tu e alguns outros, ir até à cidade, ficar por lá e ser como as pessoas da televisão, viver sempre entre quatro paredes fechada, usando roupas que nos apertam e obedecendo a convenções que nos tolhem, não, isso não era, nem é para mim.
Um dia encontrei-te por acaso, ainda os pais eram vivos, tinhas voltado disseste, conseguido um dos poucos cargos que a vila podia oferecer, estavas bem e tinhas familia, quiseste ir ver o rio comigo. Voltaste.
Com muitas cautelas encontrávamo-nos junto ao rio, acho que nunca ninguém descobriu, não sei como, tinhas maneira de adivinhar que eu andava pela vila, via-te de longe e pelo teu olhar sabia, que era dia de te esperar junto ao rio.
Os pais morreram, contra todos, recusei ir viver para a vila, continuei no monte, arrendei as terras de lavoura, fiquei só com o casario para mim, o jardim, a horta, o pequeno pomar e as capoeiras. O meu mundo, ocupa-me os dias desde então, alimenta-me e dá-me um excedente que uso para as ofertas que as convenções obrigam.
Sabem que como os meus pais, sou espartana, dura e suficientemente instruída para não guardar riquezas junto a mim. Nunca despertei cobiças, sou assim apagada.
Poucos dias depois da morte dos pais, apareceste-me uma noite, a pé, silenciosamente olhaste-me, soltaste a minha trança, libertaste o meu cabelo, só depois me abraçaste, entrámos. Passou a ser assim, quando podias vinhas sem te fazeres anunciar, era sempre igual : olhavas-me silenciosamente à entrada, desfazias a minha trança e só depois me abraçavas e beijavas.
Passou tempo, o Inverno inteiro e a Primavera já estava quase Verão, desde esse tempo que não aparecias. Vi a tua mulher ao longe e já não era ela. Agora é uma viúva, mais uma das velhas de negro que são dos poucos que vão restando na vila.
Fui cortar o cabelo, o meu cabelo não vai crescer mais. Não uso preto.
Não tenho medo de viver aqui sózinha, nem mesmo à noite : tenho os cães e as estrelas quando se deixam ver, como companhia.
Vou pouco à vila, só mesmo quando não o consigo evitar, toda a minha vida está aqui neste monte. Cresci aqui sózinha, com os meus pais enquanto foram vivos, sem irmãos e sem gente por perto, as minhas companhias : os bichos e as plantas...as pedras também.
Os anos da escola, só me interessaram pelos livros e por ti. De resto, nunca me interessaram os outros, as suas intrigas e brincadeiras vazias. Os professores nunca me chegaram a impressionar, por vezes havia um que chegava e parecia trazer dentro um pouco do fogo dos livros, alguma paixão das matérias - depressa se cansava e rápido se via que desistia daquele bando de campónios desinteressados e desinteressantes.
Logo se sabia que andava a tratar de fugir daquela vilória longe de tudo.
O que eu gostava mais era de voltar da escola pelos campos até ao monte. Gostava da parte em que caminhávamos juntos, dos banhos que tomávamos no rio, dos bichos que perseguíamos, gostei de começar a gostar de ti. Nunca mais saíste de mim.
O mesmo com os livros, comecei com os da escola, ganhei o hábito de ler e naqueles tempos, li tudo o que havia para ler na biblioteca da vila, durante anos foi uma das razões para lá ir, procurar mais livros para ler. Para isso, também já lá não vou mais.
A escola acabou, não ia continuar a estudar como tu e alguns outros, ir até à cidade, ficar por lá e ser como as pessoas da televisão, viver sempre entre quatro paredes fechada, usando roupas que nos apertam e obedecendo a convenções que nos tolhem, não, isso não era, nem é para mim.
Um dia encontrei-te por acaso, ainda os pais eram vivos, tinhas voltado disseste, conseguido um dos poucos cargos que a vila podia oferecer, estavas bem e tinhas familia, quiseste ir ver o rio comigo. Voltaste.
Com muitas cautelas encontrávamo-nos junto ao rio, acho que nunca ninguém descobriu, não sei como, tinhas maneira de adivinhar que eu andava pela vila, via-te de longe e pelo teu olhar sabia, que era dia de te esperar junto ao rio.
Os pais morreram, contra todos, recusei ir viver para a vila, continuei no monte, arrendei as terras de lavoura, fiquei só com o casario para mim, o jardim, a horta, o pequeno pomar e as capoeiras. O meu mundo, ocupa-me os dias desde então, alimenta-me e dá-me um excedente que uso para as ofertas que as convenções obrigam.
Sabem que como os meus pais, sou espartana, dura e suficientemente instruída para não guardar riquezas junto a mim. Nunca despertei cobiças, sou assim apagada.
Poucos dias depois da morte dos pais, apareceste-me uma noite, a pé, silenciosamente olhaste-me, soltaste a minha trança, libertaste o meu cabelo, só depois me abraçaste, entrámos. Passou a ser assim, quando podias vinhas sem te fazeres anunciar, era sempre igual : olhavas-me silenciosamente à entrada, desfazias a minha trança e só depois me abraçavas e beijavas.
Passou tempo, o Inverno inteiro e a Primavera já estava quase Verão, desde esse tempo que não aparecias. Vi a tua mulher ao longe e já não era ela. Agora é uma viúva, mais uma das velhas de negro que são dos poucos que vão restando na vila.
Fui cortar o cabelo, o meu cabelo não vai crescer mais. Não uso preto.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
no dreams.
No dreams, only the thunder of rain
No dreams, only the noise of running water in the street
no dreams, have to get up, face the music and dance, take the morning train
no dreams, gotta work all day
no dreams.
Should I get married? Should I be Good?
Marriage
Should I get married? Should I be Good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustaus hood?
Don't take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It's beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky--
When she introduces me to her parents
back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie,
should I sit knees together on their 3rd degree sofa
and not ask Where's the bathroom?
How else to feel other than I am,
often thinking Flash Gordon soap--
O how terrible it must be for a young man
seated before a family and the family thinking
We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou!
After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?
Should I tell them? Would they like me then?
Say All right get married, we're losing a daughter
but we're gaining a son--
And should I then ask Where's the bathroom?
O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends
and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded
just waiting to get at the drinks and food--
And the priest! He looking at me if I masturbated
asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife?
And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue!
I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back
She's all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha!
And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on--
then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes
Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates!
All streaming into cozy hotels
All going to do the same thing tonight
The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen
The lobby zombies they knowing what
The whistling elevator man he knowing
The winking bellboy knowing
Everybody knowing! I'd be almost inclined not to do anything!
Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye!
Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon!
running rampant into those almost climatic suites
yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel!
O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls
I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy a saint of divorce--
But I should get married I should be good
How nice it'd be to come home to her
and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen
aproned young and lovely wanting by baby
and so happy about me she burns the roast beef
and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair
saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf!
God what a husband I'd make! Yes, I should get married!
So much to do! like sneaking into Mr Jones' house late at night
and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books
Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower
like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence
like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest
grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky!
And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him
When are you going to stop people killing whales!
And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle
Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust--
Yet if I should get married and it's Connecticut and snow
and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn,
up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me,
finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man
knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear not Roman coin soup--
O what would that be like!
Surely I'd give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus
For a rattle bag of broken Bach records
Tack Della Francesca all over its crib
Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib
And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon
No, I doubt I'd be that kind of father
not rural not snow no quiet window
but hot smelly New York City
seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls
a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job!
And five nose running brats in love with Batman
And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired
like those hag masses of the 18th century
all wanting to come in and watch TV
The landlord wants his rent
Grocery store Blue Cross Gas & Electric Knights of Columbus
Impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking--
No! I should not get married and I should never get married!
But--imagine if I were to marry a beautiful sophisticated woman
tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves
holding a cigarette holder in one hand and highball in the other
and we lived high up a penthouse with a huge window
from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer days
No I can't imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream--
O but what about love? I forget love
not that I am incapable of love
it's just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes--
I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother
And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible
And there maybe a girl now but she's already married
And I don't like men and--
but there's got to be somebody!
Because what if I'm 60 years old and not married,
all alone in furnished room with pee stains on my underwear
and everybody else is married! All in the universe married but me!
Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
then marriage would be possible--
Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover
so I wait--bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Everything fits
No carro à nossa frente vão três passageiros atrás, o do meio é um homem de cabelos brancos, de cada um dos seus lados vai um menino, o do lado do condutor possívelmente o mais novo, leva o braço apoiado no ombro do homem.
Tudo bate certo.
In the car ahead of us, three people seat on the back seat, a man with white hair goes in the middle, at each side a little boy, the one behind the driver, probably the youngest, takes his arm on the man shoulder.
Everything fits.
Tudo bate certo.
In the car ahead of us, three people seat on the back seat, a man with white hair goes in the middle, at each side a little boy, the one behind the driver, probably the youngest, takes his arm on the man shoulder.
Everything fits.
Friday, October 16, 2009
i carry your heart
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)i am never without it(anywherei go you go,my dear; and whatever is doneby only me is your doing,my darling)i fearno fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i wantno world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)and it's you are whatever a moon has always meantand whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the budand the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which growshigher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars aparti carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
ee cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)i am never without it(anywherei go you go,my dear; and whatever is doneby only me is your doing,my darling)i fearno fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i wantno world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)and it's you are whatever a moon has always meantand whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the budand the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which growshigher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars aparti carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
ee cummings
Nothing twice
Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.
Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.
No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with exactly the same kisses.
One day, perhaps, some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.
The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?
Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.
With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.
Wislawa Szymborska
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.
Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.
No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with exactly the same kisses.
One day, perhaps, some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.
The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?
Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.
With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.
Wislawa Szymborska
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Sophie TAEUBER-ARP Vertical and horizontal composition Olhares/Looks
Tintoretto’s Susanna and the Elders, c.1555-56
Do livro de Daniel uma história de todos os tempos
From the book of Daniel, a tale for all ages
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Red & Orange Streak
Georgia O’Keeffe, Red & Orange Streak, 1919. Oil on canvas, 27 x 23 in. Philadelphia Museum of Art. Bequest of Georgia O’Keeffe for the Alfred Stieglitz Collection, 1987 [Courtesy of the Philadelphia Museum of Art]
But João...
Wassily Kandinsky - "The Blue Mountain" - (1908-09)
Oil on canvas - The Solomon R. Guggebheim
Museum, New York, NY, USA - Image
Copyright © (cf. Olga's Gallery)
"But João, stones and rocks are alive too. Their molecules just move very slowly."
Says Ruth and I think about an old Philip Glass piece,
the music revolving around itself, like in a frame by frame mode and I
think of stones and rocks the same, moving, moving.
Moving about itselves in a way, that mere humans can't aprehend.
Cats
For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry (excerpt, Jubilate Agno)
For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.
Christopher Smart
For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.
Christopher Smart
Deserts
Georgia O'Keeffe Black Place I, 1944; painting; oil on canvas, 26 in. x 30 1/8 in. (66.04 cm x 76.52 cm);
Georgia O'Keeffe was one of the XXth century great artists - I think she was somehow diminished by gender associations and some imagery was forced upon the viewers of her work...
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
The wind like a bugle
this is interesting
There Came a Wind Like a Bugle
by Emily Dickinson
There came a wind like a bugle;
It quivered through the grass,
And a green chill upon the heat
So ominous did pass
We barred the windows and the doors
As from an emerald ghost;
The doom's electric moccasin
That very instant passed.
On a strange mob of panting trees,
And fences fled away,
And rivers where the houses ran
The living looked that day.
The bell within the steeple wild
The flying tidings whirled.
How much can come
And much can go,
And yet abide the world!
Resignação
biografía : Este joven artista nació en Pamplona, en 1978. Cursó estudios de bachilerato artístico en la Escuela de Arte de Pamplona, y una vez finalizados se matriculó en Bellas Artes en la Universidad del País Vasco. Su formación ha sido muy completa, complementariamente ha realizado talleres y seminarios con Víctor Erice, Andoni Euba, Agustín Ibarrola, Miroslaw Balka, Peio Aguirre, Pedro G. Romero y Albert Folch. Ya ha expuesto su obra en La Ciudadela con anterioridad (Pabellón de Mixtos, años 1998, 1999, 2000, 2002, 2004 y 2005), además de en otras ciudades como Estella, Vitoria o Bilbao.
Friday, October 9, 2009
The blessings of love
Botticelli, the Madona of the Pomegranite
Andei toda a manhã pelos pinhais com a Leah...ela muito contente, sempre a correr, bem à minha frente. Muitos pássaros a cantar ao nossso redor.
Almoçámos com os vizinhos, o Senhor Manuel num momento da conversa, disse : "- Gosto de pegar nas coisas que eram da minha mãe, porque falam-me dela..."
Penso nas bençãos do amor - uma vez vividas nunca mais são esquecidas. Podemos estar adiantados na idade, como o próprio Senhor Manuel, mas lembramo-nos sempre do amor e agarramo-nos a ele.
Sinto-me bem ao saber, que em todos os lugares daqui, mesmo nos mais pequenos ou mesmo onde não existe vivalma, as pessoas contruiram casas - casas para abrigar a imagem de uma jovem mãe, com o seu filho pequeno ao colo.
Sei que para outras pessoas, existem outras razões e essas casas têm outros usos, mas a mim conforta-me pensar que é o amor de uma mãe que sustenta tudo.
I've been walking all morning in the fields with Leah...she was very happy, always running well ahead of me. Many birds singing all around us.
During lunch with the neighbours, one of them, Senhor Manuel at one point, said : "- I like to hold my late mother things, they speak to me of her..."
I think in the blessings of love - once felt they're never forgotten, you can be well up in your years, like Senhor Manuel, but you remember love and you hold on to it.
It's nice to know that all around here, even in the smallest of villages, even where there's nobody, people built houses; houses just to keep the image of a young mother, holding her small son. Don't care what it means more, what other uses people give to it, just want to think that it's the love of a mother that sustains it all.
(I'm sorry for my particular english,it is bad, I know, I'm just trying to reach out, touch more of you or trying to...)
Monday, October 5, 2009
Luís Manuel
O Luís Manuel tinha o Nice Pair dos Pink Floyd e o primeiro dos Santana. Foi o primeiro de nós a ter matracas (e o único também, se descontarmos o Júnior...), também de nós foi o único a ter uma fase maoista, bom isto se descontarmos o Júnior, que começo a achar agora, se calhar ao tempo,seguia o Luís um bocado - também foram os dois primeiros a usar os jeans bem justos até ao joelho e depois bem largos a partir daí...sonhávamos em ser rock stars, quer dizer pilotos de fórmula 1, jogadores de futebol (isso mais eu), engenheiros, generais...
Tínhamos o mundo inteiro ao nosso alcance, ali naquela casa do quintal da avó do Óscar, enquanto o país ardia nos Verões quentes de 1974 e 1975, nós discutiamos tudo e experimentávamos connosco próprios - aprendíamos as aventuras dos sentimentos.
Na versão final, a "Casinha" tinha a sala vermelha, onde estava o gira discos, a sala de entrada onde dominava a cara do Hendrix, em alto contraste a negro sobre fundo café e finalmente a sala negra, onde numa parede o José João tinha reproduzido a capa do Dark side of the Moon. Quando chegaram os fumos e outros vícios, muitos cobiçaram o nosso refúgio e a "Casinha" acabou.
Depois disso o Luís foi outra vez o primeiro a casar, o primeiro a divorciar-se e atravessou noites nas quais mais nenhum de nós se atreveu. Ás vezes estivemos perto como era certo, outras estivemos distantes, por ignorância e esquecimento.
Também com a morte, o Luís Manuel foi destinado a ser o primeiro, não lhe foi nada fácil e se alguém tivesse dúvidas, a morte mostrou a sua verdadeira face : ela é a prova final e joga sempre com as suas próprias regras, não podes negociar com ela ou sequer tentar iludi-la.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Patrias
"A minha Pátria é o meu frigorífico!"*
"My fatherland is my fridge!"
"Ma patrie c'est mon frigo!"
*atribuido a Paulo Nozolino
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