Wednesday, March 3, 2010

A Life










Annemarie Schwarzenbach : A Life



Annemarie Schwarzenbach was born on May 23rd, 1908 in Zurich, into one of the richest families in Switzerland of that period. Her father, Alfred Schwarzenbach, was one of the great patrons of the textile industry. She grew up in the family house and studied History in Zurich and Paris. In 1931, she received her doctorate and wrote her first book. In 1930, she made friends with Erika and Klaus Mann, with whom she remained close for most of her life. Schwarzenbach lived as a writer in Berlin where she had her first experiences with morphine. From 1933, she began traveling, first with the photographer Marianne Breslauer, to the Pyrenees, then to the Near East. Her first six-month trip took her to Beirut, Jerusalem, Baghdad, Baki and Teheran where she met the French diplomat, Claude Clarac. In 1934, she accompanied Klaus Mann to the first Congress of Writers, in Moscow.

Schwarzenbach was often in conflict with her family. It was because of this turmoil that she made her first suicide attempt. Shortly thereafter, she left for Teheran to marry Claude Clarac. She obtained French nationality and a diplomatic passport. But, soon after, she fell into a depression, which was aggravated by her appetite for drugs. In addition, her love affair with the daughter of the Turkish Ambassador in Teheran, provoked a scandal.

Her meeting with American photographer, Barbara Hamilton-Wright marked a new period in Schwarzenbach's life. It was with Hamilton-Wright that she would make her first journey in the United States. During the summer of 1936, she left for New York. Hamilton-Wright had proposed that they take a trip to document the great industrial regions of northeastern United States.

She arrived in America in the middle of an economic and social crisis. It was the time of the Great Depression, of social upheaval, of great strikes and of President Roosevelt's attempts to aid these crises with his deep reforms of his New Deal. In January of 1937, Schwarzenbach left Washington with Hamilton-Wright to visit the Alleghenies and the industrial center of Pittsburgh.

"Thus began for her a year that was a part of the most momentous and the most important of her life - all under the plan of a journalistic journey. Everywhere she traveled, she took photographs which depicted misery in a striking manner. The snapshots that she brought back to Switzerland had an extraordinary quality, which are totally unrelated to the insignificant landscapes she executed at the beginning of her career." (1)

Two of her stories were published in Switzerland at the end of her first trip, confirming the interest in her work. After her return, and two months rest in Switzerland, she left again in May 1937, this time for eastern Europe: Danzig, Riga, Leningrad, Moscow. There also, her articles and photographs showed a careful and relevant observation of the social reality of a Europe dominated by the rise of fascism.

In September 1937, she returned to the United States. This time, Schwarzenbach and Hamilton-Wright left for the deep South, in order to bear witness to the supposed "hinterland of American prosperity". The two women crossed Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia and Alabama. The misery and violence that they witnessed surpassed anything that either of them had yet seen in their journeys. From social problems came the added racial conflicts. In the mountains of Tennessee, they encountered woodcutters who were starting to organize unions. Schwarzenbach took passionately to these issues, and published many politically engaged articles reporting on the suffering and upheaval in the southern United States.

She returned to Europe at the beginning of 1938, profoundly touched by her journey. But by the time she found herself on the boat back to Europe, she again was lured by drugs. What followed was a period where she alternated between writing and rehabilitation for her drug habit. In 1939, she met the writer Ella Maillart, who, after much hesitation, took Schwarzenbach with her by car to Afghanistan. This trip made a great impression on Ella Maillart, who tried in vain to cure Schwarzenbach of her drug problem. They left in June 1938, but by the time they reached Sofia, Schwarzenbach obtained morphine substitution, which created a great tension between the two women. They ended by separating in Kabul, Maillart left alone for India. A scandalous love affair with the woman archeologist Hackin had left Schwarzenbach forbidden to travel in the excavations of Turkmenistan, which rendered her journey impossible.

Many of the stories that Schwarzenbach brought from her voyage were published in Switzerland, including one written with Maillart. In May of 1940, Schwarzenbach returned once more to the United States. She became involved in an unhappy love affair which caused her to suffered from a depression which led her, in December, to another suicide attempt and an internment in a psychiatric clinic. In February of 1941, she was authorized to leave the clinic on the condition that she leave the United States. She returned to Switzerland via Lisbon. As soon as she arrived, however, she left again for the Belgian Congo, and undertook a voyage in the bush where she continued to write. In 1942, she left via Lisbon for Morocco where she found Claude Clarac. She stayed there for two months, then left for Switzerland with the hopes of working in Lisbon as a foreign correspondent. But on September 7th, she suffered a devastating fall on her bicycle, and she fell into a coma for three days; she awoke to amnesia.

The last weeks of her life, she was cared for in her house in Sils, she did not recognize anyone. Annemarie Schwarzenbach died on the 15th of November in Sils, and she was buried in Zurich.

-Barbara Lorey de Lacharrière, (trans. Gabrielle Giattino)

(1) Dominique Gente, Nicole Müller, L'ange inconsolable, Lieu Commun, 1989.

No caben más presos en nuestras cárceles




"No hay redención de condena por trabajo y la libertad condicional es más difícil de obtener. En resumen, cada vez entran más presos y salen menos. También creo que los jueces son más estrictos en su aplicación de las leyes por la fuerte presión social".

"La sociedad parece creer que la cárcel está llena de delincuentes peligrosísimos, pero no es cierto", continúa. "La inmensa mayoría están presos por delitos de drogas o contra el patrimonio. La prisión debe usarse cuando es realmente imprescindible. No vale para todo. España tiene que pensar en alternativas eficaces a la prisión, con expertos y de forma sosegada. No caben más presos en nuestras cárceles".
...
"No digo que el Derecho Penal no sea necesario", concluye. "Pero tiene que ser lógico y eficaz. No puede servir para ganar votos ni para canalizar sin más nuestros sentimientos de venganza".

Acho que vale a pena ler tudo

streetwise






Alex Diamond blog

Cheia

O rio fora das margens baralha todas as coisas. Os meus óculos partiram-se. Sem ler fico como um peixe fora de água. Aproveito para olhar ao longe, ao longe vejo.
Os pássaros aproveitam os campos inundados e brincam em bandos, indiferentes aos comboios vagarosos. De repente bate-me, nós não somos um. Nunca seremos.
Nós somos múltiplos, diferentes de um rio ou de uma árvore, as nossas raízes as nossas margens, estão espalhadas por muitos lugares.
Respiro.

from Korea






Flickr stream from Korea

Monday, March 1, 2010

meet me

misfits





The two met, they hug, one hides the face into the other's chest and says : - Take me home away from home.

delicate





moving

me

go

Existe

Existe este rio,
existem estas margens

Existe este homem
existe esta mulher

Existe esta casa
existe esta família

Um dia este rio extravasa das margens
Um dia existem outro homem, outra mulher
Um dia esta família muda

Existem tantas partidas e menos chegadas
existem muitos gestos, mas nem todos querem dizer algo
Existem vontades e entregas, mas nem sempre se concretizam

Existe um rio que corre
Um amor que perdura
uma família que ri.

Existe.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Alhandra




Hoje mais uma vez o rio ganhou a batalha e conseguiu inundar as ruas da vila.
Habituadas a esta longa guerra as pessoas da terra souberam acautelar-se a tempo.
Na vila existe uma fábrica de cimento e o vento Sul que traz as grandes chuvas consigo, traz também o cheiro da mistura calcária crua à entrada dos grandes fornos. Um cheiro que excita as gentes e as traz para as ruas da vila, curiosas de ver a água ou solidária a ajudar um vizinho.

I sing the body electric

Sábado, meio dia.
Subo mais uma vez o monte do "Castelo" acompanhado da Leah e do Baltazar, no miradouro junto à igreja, com o rio e a lezíria a meus pés, sinto a força do vento, que tudo parece querer levar.
O Tejo acirrado pelo vento, atira-se brutal contra os valados, tentando ganhar os campos.
Os pescadores na margem de cá, correm apressados, tentando proteger os barcos da força do temporal. Indiferentes a tudo o resto, os sinos da igreja, começam a tocar e entoam uma singela e feliz melodia.
Como que apoiado nela, um rapaz atira prancha e vela ao rio e com arrojo, cavalga rio e vento, em correrias de velocidade exaltante.
Penso como somos nós, os receptores de toda esta energia e como só nós lhe podemos trazer sentido. De repente sei o que quer dizer : I sing the body electric, porque o sinto no corpo.

Friday, February 26, 2010

another me

always me




April


edouard boubat . rémi écoutant la mer . 1955

T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). The Waste Land. 1922.

The Waste Land




I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD


APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering 5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie, 15
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

Vain







Site here

Azkenase




a "new" Van Gogh


Vincent van Gogh, Le blute-fin windmill, 1886, oil on canvas, 55.2 by 38 cm. Photo De Fundatie museum

José Sócrates




Não preciso de dizer isto, mas de alguma forma sinto que tenho de o fazer : eu votei em José Sócrates, ou para ser preciso votei no Partido Socialista nas 2 últimas eleições gerais.
Fi-lo porque acho que chegamos a um ponto nas nossas vidas em que devemos ser assertivos, afirmar as nossas escolhas sobre o que queremos para o nosso país e para a nossa vida. Chega de nos escondermos atrás do voto em branco ou da demissão da abstenção.
Pode-se sempre dizer que existiam outras alternativas, algumas mesmo virgens de poder, mas a vida fez-nos realistas, o que acontece no país e no mundo hoje são fenómenos globais, orquestrados, não podemos simplesmente parar e saír fora da engrenagem.
Sabemos que isso não é possível nas nossas vidas privadas, sabemos que politica e economicamente também não o seria possível para o nosso país.
José Sócrates e aqueles que o rodearam, prometeram mudança, mudança a sério daquela que poderia magoar. Magoou e isso sentiu-se, só que esta atitude exigia uma ética, uma maneira de estar que nem José Sócrates, nem os seus amigos, nem o seu partido têm. Muitos dos cidadãos nomeados ou escolhidos para cargos públicos não o mereciam simplesmente, ou então tem-nos exercido sem mérito.
É triste, é muito triste, mas vivemos numa democracia e não temos porque ficar parados, esperando que outros resolvam por nós.
Façamo-nos ouvir, mostremos que estamos atentos e pensamos e julgamos.

old polaroids





Another Walker Evans

I do am...

meditation







Ross Bleckner

Thursday, February 25, 2010

time



beauty

Amazing


SAFE LANDING: Space shuttle Endeavour landed at the Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, Fla., Sunday after completing a mission to deliver parts to the International Space Station. (Gary I. Rothstein/European Pressphoto Agency)

We used to be amazed by the daring feats mankind (or at least the chosen few) took in our attempt to conquer space.
In a time of division, space race united mankind, it celebrated human intelligence and courage. Now in the globalized world it’s second rate news, should it be ?

some people do love trains

let it rain




discréte





Mourad Gharrach est un jeune artiste franco-tunisien, né en 1982. Il est étudiant en 3éme année à l’Ecole nationale supérieure d’Art et de Design - Saint Etienne. Il a déjà participé à la Biennale du design de Saint-Etienne. Il est membre actif du collectif d’artistes et de designers de Green house.

es couleurs de Mourad Gharrach sont simples, noir, blanc et rose mais explosent en de superbes gerbes de lumières et d’ombres.

Femme Mauresque », « Femmes drapées » et « Vierges du désert », effet de réminiscence ou choix délibéré, le désert et la femme sont récurrents dans ses oeuvres.

esoin obsessionnel de restituer son substrat culturel, les photographies de Mourad, travaillées avec minutie, portent en leur sein la discrétion, symbolisée par le voile traité avec une admirable munificence.