esta noite

chocolate e poesia. um vulcão antes do sono ["Two mountain chains traverse the republic..."]

- - -
FIRST LOVE
Joan Margarit

In the dreary Girona of my seven-year-old self,
where post-war shop-windows
wore the greyish hue of scarcity,
the knife-shop was a glitter
of light in small steel mirrors.
Pressing my forehead against the glass,
I gazed at a long, slender clasp-knife,
beautiful as a marble statue.
Since no one at home approved of weapons,
I bought it secretly, and as I walked along,
I felt the heavy weight of it, inside my pocket.
From time to time I would open it slowly,
and the blade would spring out, slim and straight,
with the convent chill that a weapon has.
Hushed presence of danger:
I hid it, the first thirty years,
behind books of poetry and, later,
inside a drawer, in amongst your knickers
and amongst your stockings.
Now, almost fifty-four,
I look at it again, lying open in my palm,
just as dangerous as when I was a child.
Sensual, cold. Nearer my neck.

(English translation by Anna Crowe)

nham

chocolate.

Subtraction: Tauba Auerbach

(do I love it?)



- - -
"My approach is to show that we can’t be sure that there is really a difference between order and chaos. I spent months taking pictures of my television on static—a supposedly truly random phenomenon— and patterns arose. I’ve made several drawings recently with my eyes closed and filled other drawings in based on the roll of a die, but patterns always came about. And every time I try to do something perfect and ordered I always make a mistake,and that breaks the rigidity ofthe order, and think that’s the best part. All these experiments reevaluate what is “perfect”and I think that’s a good thing, and that is what I hope my art would ask people to do. To me all of this is playful about bringing about optimism by proposing that anything possible or that things might be different than you thought they were." (T. Auerbach)

duzentas e trinta e cinco maneiras de evitar a hibernação

posso contá-las todas e fazer listas atarefadamente, mas apenas um bilhete seria eficaz. a tradição manda estar quieta e pensar em nada ou em qualquer coisa que se assemelhe a nada, doce embalar dos pensamentos enfileirados junto ao chá ou outra bebida que passe sem estrondo. acabei o Dark of the Moon com sentimentos misturados de saudade e de conforto, de quando dormia junto ao chão e num inverno frio como este e ventoso como este segui dois terços da vida detectivesca de Davenport. assim sem pensar escorreguei para a primavera, e sem pensar ainda para outras águas turvas. o que nunca cheguei a acabar, The Road, que anda por aí nas bocas, acabado de chegar. plano um ou dois e três, entretenho-me a fazer o mapa do ano, talvez este não descarrile. para janeiro, dois almoços, dois ou três filmes de cortar, Cortazár decerto, Lowry, Chatwin, Conrad sempre. Mankato ou Malmo. e ontem foi dia de lembrar a tarde em que, há catorze anos se não me engano, vi Les Rendez-vous de Paris, no Nimas.

tinha-me falhado este artigo

para ler mais tarde.

Muge photo

uma em muitas de Muge, que pude ver através dos olhos de Heidi Romano.

beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
(...)
Byron no poema "She Walks in Beauty". quatro versos para rimar, embora tivesse ficado logo pelos dois primeiros.

hosta

"The house was suburban-comfortable; its distinguishing characteristic was that the lawn was essentially a field of hosta plants. Thousands of them, like a midget army from Invasion of the Body Snatchers."

J. Sandford, Dark of the Moon.

objectos de atracção fatal

embora se possa experimentar online, ao vivo é outra coisa. aliás, não me importava de os ter todos.

jesus

"He flashed by an overpass, then caught, a half mile to his right, the red lights of the Jesus Christ radio station: a five-hundred-foot tower - they build them low on the prarie - with red lights that blinked Jesus, then went black, then Christ, and then black, and then quickly, JesusChrist-JesusChrist-JesusChrist."

J. Sandford, Dark of the Moon

na literatura rápida também se viaja e também se vêem néons, menos ácidos do que os de Nauman. o grau de acidez está em quem os lê.

identidade

"The ship wherein Theseus and the youth of Athens returned had thirty oars, and was preserved by the Athenians down even to the time of Demetrius Phalereus, for they took away the old planks as they decayed, putting in new and stronger timber in their place, insomuch that this ship became a standing example among the philosophers, for the logical question of things that grow; one side holding that the ship remained the same, and the other contending that it was not the same."

talvez tenha mexido à colher com personalidade. identidade de idêntico, não é o que eu procurava. no Great Dream of Heaven a identidade é clara como os relevos dos buttes. a identidade sociológica e psicológica perde-se em teias de bisturi, penso, ou então eu tinha a palavra errada. identidade, o que faz uma coisa-pessoa ser o que é na duração de qualquer tempo e na localização de qualquer lugar. [isto na esperança que o Rui cite o que ele sabe]. onde estamos, não nas partes que se renovam, onde estamos no tempo. tão mais fácil dizer que somos outra pessoa, que fomos outras pessoas. sempre a mesma, tal como a peça substituída não se dilui na memória. começar do zero, que sonho tão eldorado, clean slate. a surpresa de Shepard morar no Minnesota com tantos desertos escaldantes na escrita. neste Heaven que foi um sonho afinal, em que a felicidade não foi possível nem no passado, como não foi no presente e o futuro que não interessa porque na velhice o futuro já passou. fujo ao assunto. identidade somos nós em mudança, um cabo vibrante entre o que somos e os outros sem nunca chegar a um dos lados. (e quando não há outros, pensa nisso).

actividade intensa, leitura intensa, emoções intensas. para sempre vou recordar o momento em que vi uma chaga viva, no coração da formação das galáxias que são a identidade.

- - -

de passagem, um outro blogue fantastique. um filósofo com as fotos favoritas dos últimos meses, desde o verão mais precisamente.

depois

de quase duas semanas, falta pouco para o momento querido mudei a casa.

de resto, no dia em que a diferença esquerda-direita se nota no parlamento, lembro-me que por mim abolia o malfadado casamento. mas há quem goste.

no modo solitário

mas foi isto mesmo.

chance

Sakura Park
Rachel Wetzsteon

The park admits the wind,
the petals lift and scatter

like versions of myself I was on the verge
of becoming; and ten years on

and ten blocks down I still can’t tell
whether this dispersal resembles

a fist unclenching or waving goodbye.
But the petals scatter faster,

seeking the rose, the cigarette vendor,
and at least I’ve got by pumping heart

some rules of conduct: refuse to choose
between turning pages and turning heads

though the stubborn dine alone. Get over
“getting over”: dark clouds don’t fade

but drift with ever deeper colors.
Give up on rooted happiness

(the stolid trees on fire!) and sweet reprieve
(a poor park but my own) will follow.

There is still a chance the empty gazebo
will draw crowds from the greater world.

And meanwhile, meanwhile’s far from nothing:
the humming moment, the rustle of cherry trees.

: : :

"In Memory, And Admiration", no The New Republic.

kindl-ing

depois de terem sido vendidos mais livros Kindle do que em papel no dia de natal, volto a kindlar sem vergonha. os livros inacessíveis são mais que muitos. mas os acessíveis são mais ainda. e além disso: é mais leve, cabe melhor na mala, vai directamente para a última página lida e posso saber exactamente quantas vezes Sam Shepard escreve "deserto". ou "Minnesota". e onde.

[obser.: em dieta temporária de imagens. visuais]

a casa do futuro

"There was a sign propped in the window of the little stone house that read "CONCEPCIÓN" - just that one word, handwritten in orange crayon with little blue Christmas lights around the border. A small porcelain crucifix hung right above the sign and the bright blood from Christ's wounds seemed to stand out even more intensely against the pure enameled white of his skin." Sam Shepard, "Conceptión" em Great Dream of Heaven. outra casa para a aldeia, desta vez a da vidente.

gone different ways

ou seja, em liberdade. quantas vezes se pode dar a sentir o apelo da maria-vai-com-as-outras, no bom sentido. de outro modo, quantas vezes se compromete pelo calor da companhia. comigo foi o cinema de fim-de-semana, sabendo lá o que iria perder e menos ainda o que iria ganhar. para além da escolha há a teia de consequências das consequências lá fora. os polvos mortos na praia não queriam morrer, apesar de ficar sempre tão bem na literatura light um suicídio colectivo de negação metafórica. e nem pensar em ficar aí no canto com esgar de riso superiorista que o íman tem dois lados e nenhum deles implica uma opção.

no labirinto dos favos, pois que não percebo de desenho de labirintos e esta forma particular me atrai mesmo que não tenha corpo, devorei contos depois de contos. short stories. quando digo contos lembro-me das aulas e das regras que era preciso decorar. tem de ter isto. tem de ter isto. short story vem como mundo concentrado, janela breve, Maupassant. lá fora, o rum-rum do corta-relvas.

agora isto:

"There's the silent pay phone, marooned on a chrome pipe with a pale blue plastic globe guarding it from the blasting sun. Its modernism disgusts him; makes him feel worse off, more removed. (...) He swings out and slams the door of the Dodge. The sound doesn't carry. It ends abruptly at his feet. He digs for change and crunches toward the phone through loose gravel and mouse bones, flattened beer cans and sun-bleached condoms. He sees all these objects very clearly now; sees them as though they've been laid out on a steel table for his personal examination, like crime evidence. He can see her face too. Her big eyes." Sam Shepard, "Coalinga 1/2 Way", em Great Dream of Heaven.

no dia 3

mais um sol posto

engenheiros cozinheiros pilotos médicos

"We depend on the voices of critics and arts reporters to help create a conversation with our community."

branco

se dizes branco gela-me a boca e estala quase o esmalte, gelo a tiritar contra os dentes. quando era novo e caminhava de costas quase hirtas via-o longe na sua farda marítima, magro e empunhando binóculos contra um fundo de icebergs como no filme, mas este sem a melodia das cordas e o metal dos sopros, só vento e o ruído amuado da água quando vira as costas. ou flores. as de hoje em branco, por nascer, três vasos que ficaram lá fora junto ao cansaço, no jardim que queria ser espuma e afogar-se.

enquanto isto, lá se corre pela linha negra da estrada que atravessa a planície, perdão, planalto diz o meu pai, branca. livrinho por colorir. ali: coisas caseiras e só, de tudo foi melhor o caramelo inicial, pela cor de ouro e por se espalhar em papel vegetal, onda de açúcar. se derretesse a neve em caramelo. e acoli: restauradores para condizer com o tom.

tratar de poinsettias [pulcherrima] e mexicana. crescem alto e tornam-se pequenas árvores que florescem em datas festivas. a minha luta com o inverno. morre de frio a menos de 10º. mantida no escuro de noites longas para florir. amanhã regressa a casa, lá por serem palavras não quer dizer que não sejam coisas também.

reparei que ouço e ouço e por vezes acredito naquela história particular e afinal quando lá cheguei o fim estava no início e o meio misturava-se em tudo, os velhos eram novos e tinha-se perdido a conclusão moral. depois passei a ter uma outra expressão. se há quem dê por ela.

resumo

"Family Stuff", Huang Qingjun and Ma Hongjie

pela cor sobretudo, mas pela ideia - que já tinha visto em circunstância diferente, "Waste Not", de Song Dong. por outro lado: se pusermos todos os objectos em exposição ficamos nus?

"When Huang Qingjun and Ma Hongjie agreed to collaborate on their project ‘Family Stuff’ in 2005, they knew it would take a while. Aiming to portray Chinese families from different regions and ethnic backgrounds, they planned this project very much like a long-term expedition. So far, a series of 20 images has been compiled that were exhibited at the 798 Photo Gallery in Beijing in 2007, two pieces were also shown at last year’s Paris Photo. In 2011 the project is scheduled to end with a total of 50 pictures and a book.
For Huang, this is not the first project concentrating on aspects of China that may not last. His previous UNESCO-awarded work, a photographic cycle featuring the country’s last still operating steam locomotives, gained him an international reputation. Ma has been chronicling Chinese life, preferably behind the scenes, for over 15 years. His works have been published in national as well as international newspapers and magazines.

The Authentic Side
Due to the professional backgrounds of Huang and Ma,‘Family Stuff’ can be considered both a journalistic and an art project, its formal concept successfully merging both perspectives. While artist Huang (b.1971) is particularly interested in the social change that is becoming visible in daily life, photojournalist Ma (b.1963) is concerned with showing China from its authentic side, the reality of the country’s rural majority instead of the urban facades usually portrayed by the media. Above all, however, both artists want to document the profound transition China is undergoing. Nowhere else can this be observed more clearly than in the everyday life of normal families. Family is the central institution in the Confucian tradition; the family home represents identity rather than style. It is this rural way of life where home is a means of existence and livelihood that Huang and Ma sought to document and that has already been superseded by a more westernised, materialistic understanding in the cities. The times are changing...

The Secret Protagonist
Time is in fact the secret protagonist in these photographs. Every picture shows its effects and relativity: It eats away at aged houses soon to be replaced by modern construction sites already looming in the background; it presents its manifestations in TV-sets and refrigerators alongside traditional furniture and cooking accessories; it is even directly captured in the clocks that Huang likes to place prominently in his staged arrangements. The images demonstrate that progress takes as much as it gives. To Huang’s mind, the positive effects should not be overlooked. He points out that life has become safer and easier in the last 30 years. The expressions of the families portrayed are indeed mostly content, they are proud of what they have gained, little as it may seem from a Western point of view. But troubled smiles can be noted too, as in the faces of the family in the resettlement programme in Beijing, waiting to be moved to their new home so their old one can be demolished.

Naked in a Way
Huang and Ma work as independent partners, Huang covering the North, Ma the South of the country. Convincing families to expose themselves to their cameras in such a radical totality, naked in a way, is the major challenge that both face on their respective expeditions. Building trust and laying the groundwork for the shoot can take months, again and again Huang and Ma have to explain why they want the families to empty their houses and let the artists decoratively arrange their belongings outside. Once they have agreed to participate, most families are happy to display their possessions, even more so since they receive financial compensation. In some cases, not all belongings are permitted to be shown, in others not all furniture fits through the doorways; but generally, the artists confirm, their portraits depict average Chinese reality as it is today: simple, unpretentious and compared to 20 years ago, strikingly void of political paraphernalia. With its playful quotation of traditional documentary photography and the portrait genre, ‘Family Stuff’ is a compelling work, undoubtedly a great gift to future generations - and as intriguing as it is humbling for any Western audience accustomed to a mass market of products ‘made in China’."

um texto de Lisa Contag na Damn deste mês.

outro texto, aqui. o site, aqui.

uma ideia

"the family home represents identity rather than style." num contexto diferente mas era isso mesmo que eu queria dizer.

seda