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Josef Koudelka, Spain 1977.
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Luchino Visconti and Dirk Bogarde filming Death in Venice, 1970.
Do you ever feel in the fall like there’s something out there in the night that pulls you out into the cold air towards the hills, towards the high places—pulls at something old that’s woven into the deep places of your mind—I feel it.
But out of consideration for my girlfriend, who was concerned that I would be taken by hill people and never come back, I just walked around the neighborhood for an hour and called it a night instead of wandering off towards dawn. It was not enough.
What is it that’s out there, in the night, or who? I have never found the answer.
Almost romantic
During our anniversary dinner—
Kat: If you were going to read me a love poem, which would it be?
Me, after a lengthy monologue on this fragment of Sappho that I like from Longinus: Sappho also wrote this other poem that I like, and I will try to remember it right—
Some men say an army of horse and some men say an army on foot
and some men say an army of ships is the most beautiful thing
on the black earth. But I say it is
What you love.
... but Kat, it is a conundrum—because, I love boats.
Kat (pressing her hand to her forehead): You were so close
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Bauhaus cover. Utopia. Dokumente der Wirklichkeit. 1921.
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Egon Schiele, Mime van Osen, 1910
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pentauroi
Daido Moriyama
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“A Watchful Guardian” by @blundertron
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Wake Forest University by @blundertron
This was kind of fun—my girlfriend asked me to take a few photos around her campus, just to sort of capture the memory of being there. I walked around for half an hour or so... I don't do very much of this kind of thing anymore, but it took me back to being a first-year photography student. I interpreted the captures like I would have back then: black and white, high acutance, high contrast. The vague recollection of Ilford Pan F+, carefully developed so as not to blow the highlights to hell.
The pictures are, predictably, much the same as any beginning photography student might make, but their merit is of less importance than the fact of their making—as souvenirs, their interweaving of (personal and historical) past and present.
blundertron reblogged
Butts
lol
My first ever Tumblr post. It took me a minute to figure out that I wanted to take up art criticism again and explore that (largely dormant) part of my psyche. Still love butts.
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Margot Bergman - Blossom (1996)
Very into Margot Bergman lately... I'm more familiar with her more recent work but I love this piece from 1996. Her work has a sort of gentleness to it even at its most confrontational or notionally grotesque. You get the sense of someone teasing at boundaries to extract truths—or perhaps not truths, but insights, careful incisions into the fabric of our collective unconscious—in this fundamentally open and honest way. Not a provocateur but provocative. A critic but always an additive one, almost collaborating, not dismissing or destroying but revealing and then building upon that which is revealed.
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paintingarchives
Margot Bergman
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SURIMONO 摺物 de Takashima Chiharu 高島千春 (1777 - 1859).
Les surimono sont de luxueuses estampes japonaises, jouant le rôle de cartes de vœux, et imprimées à titre privé.
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kureiji-deactivated20191028
kureiji
je sais juste que mon corps coule
et se fond
dans les rigoles creusées
au centre de l'angle
où je me terre..
Mood
You walk amid sparse brush across the high steppe in the freezing but snowless winter. The sun is setting. There are no trails.
The crows that you saw earlier have gone. Everything is still and silent and cold.
You are not fast enough to outrun the night.
The last shard of the sun disappears below the horizon; you stop. All you can hear is your breathing, and then, when you hold your breath, your heartbeat.
You walk onward in the freezing dark.
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Time to make my move, wish me luck lads