Friday, 27 February 2009



Jean-Paul Belmondo was born in 1933 in Neuilly-sur Seine, near to Paris. He had a comfortable bourgeois family background, his father being the distinguished sculptor, Paul Belmondo. As a youth he trained as a boxer before deciding that his future lay in acting. After a number of attempts, he finally gained admittance to the Paris Conservatoire in 1952, although his tutors were not overly optimistic about his prospects. It was here that he acquired the affectionate nickname Bébel.BelmondoFrench motion picture actor who embodied the antiheroic spirit of the French New Wave in his early performances and later starred in and produced many commercially successful films that highlighted his graceful agilit.



Isaiah Latuf Mucci

Clothe me with a shirt embroidered with butterflies in pink sequins and went to sleep. Cover me with a quilt with flowers, hoping that in my dreams, the butterflies were dancing in their ballet up those sleepy flowers. When I woke before the sun of summer flowering, I was like a big blue butterfly, as this beautiful dragonfly, which appeared suddenly, out of the Atlantic, last Monday of carnival in the paradisiacal site and Helium Fernando, here in Saquarema. Flowers are flying butterflies and the butterfly is a piece of blue sky, a fragment of the sea, chinks of a pond, unaware that the law of gravity. The blue butterfly is a dream of God. and wakefulness

Wednesday, 18 February 2009


  1. Elaine Erig- painting Ragazzi

Pier Paolo Passoline -

"Io sto benissimo nel mondo, lo trovo meraviglioso, mi sento attrezzato alla vita, come un gatto"

La piccola ode A un ragazzo, come scrive lo stesso Pasolini :

"Il ragazzo è Bernardo Bertolucci, figlio del poeta Attilio Bertolucci,
e ora bravissimo poeta lui stessoL'ode si colora dell'elegia al fratello Guido,
partigiano caduto per mano di partigiani nella Venezia Giulia.
Pasolini sente quasi come una colpa la morte
del fratello e così ricorda l'ultimo loro incontro:

"Era un mattino in cui sognava ignara
nei ròsi orizzonti una luce di mare:
ogni filo d'erba come cresciuto a stento
era un filo di quello splendore opaco e immenso.
Venivamo in silenzio per il nascosto argine
lungo la ferrovia, leggeri e ancora caldi
del nostro ultimo sonno in comune nel nudo
granaio tra i campi ch'era il nostro rifugio.
In fondo Casarsa biancheggiva esanime
nel terrore dell'ultimo proclama di Graziani;
e, colpita dal solo contro l'ombra dei monti,
la stazione era vuota: oltre i radi tronchi
dei gelsi e gli sterpi, solo sopra l'erba
del binario, attendeva il treno per Spilimbergo...
L'ho visto allontanarsi con la sua valigetta,
[dove dentro un libro di Montale era stretta
tra pochi panni, la sua rivoltella,
nel bianco colore dell'aria e della terra.
Le spalle un po' strette dentro la giacchetta
ch'era stata mia, la nuca giovinetta...".

The little ode to a boy, as the same Pasolini:

"It was a morning in which dreamed unaware
numerous horizons in the light of the sea:
every blade of grass grown as a barely
was a wire that immense splendor and opaque.
We were silent for the hidden argine along the rail,
yet lightweight and warm our last sleep in the nude
in town barn through the fields it was our refug

At the bottom of the
white lifeless Casarsa Terror in the proclamation of Graziani;
and affected only by the shadow of the mountains,
The station was empty: over the sparse trunks of mulberry trees and Sterpi,
just above the grass of the track, waiting for the train Spilimbergo ...
I saw away with his briefcase, where in a book of Montale
was close a few clothes, his revolver,
white color in the air and earth.
Shoulders a little 'tight inside the jacket
who had been my neck giovinetta

Tuesday, 17 February 2009




W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public


,Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood

For nothing now can come any good

English poet and critic.To the young intellectuals of the left
he was the great voice of the 30s: political,radical and uncomfortable.,his homosexuality was behind several personal refrences, appearing repeatedly in his poetry. As T.S.Eliot published the firsth collection of auden,poems 1930 he was immediately recognized as the spokesman of his generation

Erika Mann,arranged a marriage of convenience with W. H. Auden, in order to stay in England


Lotte Jacobi - Klaus and Erika Mann

Lotte Jacobi -
The avant-garde of the 20's had the curiosity and the courage to go beyond the conventional approaches in showing men and women and started to explore in depth what was obscure, ambiguous. male, Klaus Mann, female, Erika Mann. reversed roles: female looks like The photographer, Lotte Jacobi.
The shift of sexual traits in the photo suggests somehow a quest for androgyny unit..

Monday, 16 February 2009


Erica Mann

Annemarie Scharzenbach

Saturday, 14 February 2009


Wu Zetiãn say:


Friday, 13 February 2009


The 55-minute work, entitled
Walking The Line,
was performed in the space leading from to the foot of the staircase leading to the famous Winged Victory of Samothrace, The 55-minute work, entitled Walking The Line, was performed in the space leading from Michelangelo’s The Dying Slave
with the audience sitting on the wide steps looking down into the galleries.
The historic sculpture collection created a dramatic environment as a showcase
for Jones' sinewy body and for Tibetan singer, Yungchen Lhamo,
and French percussionist, Florent Jodelet, who accompanied him.
“Bill had worked with the singer before, and the acoustics are perfect
in this great architecture,” says designer Robert Wierzel, lighting designer for the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Company. “Yungchen has a mesmerizing, transformative voice,
and Florent added unique bells and interesting sounds that lingered in the space.
“We went to Paris last spring to check out a possible space,” Wierzel adds. “
The first idea was to perform under I.M. Pei's glass pyramid,
but it is a huge space that you can't really shape, and there wasn't any power
that could be easily accessed,” he explains. “We also looked at a conference hall,
but it was too small and too conventional. Bill wanted to involve the museum more.”
Eventually, it was the Denon wing, located to the right of the pyramid, that seduced Jones.
“It is an amazing space, with three galleries that together measure
more than 100 meters long,” notes Wierzel. Bjorn Amelan,
a set designer and sculptor who frequently collaborates with Jones,
added a Gerriets Vario dance floor in red, which punctuated the space
like a ribbon of color cutting through the galleries. “Bill is like a living sculpture
,” says Wierzel, whose challenges were to unify the three galleries for
the performances and to work within the restricted conditions of a museum,
and not just any museum.
“There was a small audience of 100 to 150 people, maximum,”
continues Wierzel. “This was the first time Le Louvre did something like this, I was told.”
That it was a first for the museum made some of the curators
a little nervous for their centuries-old collections. “These sculpture galleries
are usually lit by daylight, so there is very little artificial light available,” the LD notes.
“I wanted to transform the space as we do in the theatre,
discover how it would be revealed, and work with the limitations,
not against them.”
Thursday, and Saturday during the week of November 20 to 24, 2007).
“Everything had to be removed from inside the galleries,” says Wierzel.
“They closed at 6pm, and the performance was at 8:30pm,
so we had a two-and-a-half-hour window. It was much more like
an installation than a theatre piece. That impacted the lighting in a major way.”
At first, Wierzel thought about using fluorescent fixtures on the floor
in a sculptural manner, à la Dan Flavin, but opted for another idea.
“In the Roman gallery, which is the longest one and the one closest to
the seating area, there are big, beautiful arched windows that look out
into a courtyard,” says Wierzel, who was allowed to leave any lighting instruments
that were outside of the windows in place for the entire week.
He opted for nine powerful 5kW ARRI Fresnels, one shining in through
each window on a 30'-tall, ground-supported boom.
“This idea bathed the marble and architecture in a beautiful, sensual,
operatic quality of light and unified the space,” adds Wierzel.
A vestibule that serves as a transition to the galleries was a second space
where the lighting could be left up, so Wierzel placed a series of eight truss booms,
four on each side, to light the red dance floor,
with each boom sporting three ETC Source Four ellipsoidals. “
This provided very bright, specific lighting, with a different look from
the large gallery,” he says.
Lighting designer Robert Wierzel had to unify the three galleries that
made up the staging areas for the performances..

In the farthest gallery from the audience — that of The Dying Slave
— Wierzel used small PAR lamps and 12 High End Systems Studio Color
wash units on the floor, focused on the vaulted white ceiling.
“I used animation very sparingly,” he notes. As this was one space
where the lighting had to be struck when the museum was open,
the floor provided the simplest solution.
In the front of the large gallery, closest to the stairs where the audience
was sitting, Wierzel had another four booms with Source Fours that had
to come and go, as well. These lit what he refers to as the “front stage,”
where the red dance floor ended. “I wanted all the color temperatures to match,” he says. “It was all very warm, with a natural light on the marble
and on Bill's beautiful skin texture. Even the High End fixtures were color-corrected.”
Wierzel worked closely with the museum's in-house team,
“The cueing was very meditative, except for one section where the light became very aggressive, following the emotional arch of the dance.”
One Vari-Lite VL3500 fixture was also placed on the floor in front of The Dying Slave,
pointing toward the audience and mostly used as a beacon.
“This blinked like the soft blue landing lights at an airport,
then morphed into a warm, effusive light. For me, it became a doorway of sorts,
a point of transition,” Wierzel explains, adding that this light was used
for Yungchen's and Jones' entrance. “You discovered the figure was there
before the light was too bright.” Additional cues gave movement to the
lights outside the windows in the main gallery, which followed Jones as he
made his way through the space.

Wednesday, 11 February 2009


Zombies On My Shoulder Posted by Jim Macdonald

Zombies in the graveyard make me fearful,

Zombies ‘round the farmhouse make me sigh

Zombies munching mommy make me angry

Zombies in the mall can make me die.

If I had a gun that I could give youI’d give to you a gun

that’s just like mineIf I had a torch that I could light for youI’d light that torch so you could see it shine.
Zombies in the graveyard make me fearful

Zombies ‘round the farmhouse make me sigh

Zombies munching mommy make me angry

Zombies in the mall can make me die.

If I had a car that I could drive for youI’d weld on armor and a big plow blade

And if I saw you bitten by a zombieI’d cut your fucking head off with a spade.
Zombies in the graveyard make me fearful,

Zombies ‘round the farmhouse make me sigh

Zombies munching mommy make me angry

Zombies in the mall can make me die.
Zombies almost always make me fearful, mmmmmmm….

Monday, 9 February 2009


New York gets god-awful cold in the winter
but there's a feeling somewhere in some streets.
We should be wondering tonight, "Is there a world?"
But I could go and talk on 5, 10, 20 minutes about
is there a world, because there is really no world,
cause sometimes I'm walkin’ on the ground and
I see right through the ground. And there is no world.
And you'll find out.
Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again;
we had longer ways to go. But no matter,
the road is life. of wacky comradeship

Saturday, 7 February 2009



visually potent view of the Beat Generation and beyond. Keenan's photo-documentation is necessary, for it captures many essential moments -- of Ginsberg, Whalen, Cassady, Corso, McClure, Dylan, and many others.
Without Keenan's illustration of people and events that have already hooked us deeply, we would no doubt be struggling along empty-eyed, wondering where's the color, the depth, the light, and the angle of the Beats? We know their literature; we know something about their personal biographies. Yet equally (if not more) important is knowing what everything looked like. Keenan has provided us the images. He has provided us the most incredible ocular journey, one that goes wham and hits us with sentiment and longing. Keenan wasn't just behind the camera; he was and is part of the rich fabric that wraps around several ripples of "eras," including the Beat Generation.

Wednesday, 4 February 2009


the three weeks while living in an apartment at 454 West 20th Street in Manhattan; he typed out the text on one long scroll of drawing paper, which Kerouac called “the roll.”

Monday, 2 February 2009


Long Finger Poem
by Jin Eun-Young

I'm working on my poems and working with
my fingers not my head. Because my fingers
are the farthest stretching things from me.

Look at the tree. Like its longest branch
I touch the evening's quiet breathing. Sounds
of rain. The crackling heat from other trees.

The tree points everywhere. The branches can't
reach to their roots though. Growing longer they
grow weaker also. Can't make use of water.

Rain falls. But I'm working with these farthest stretching
things from me. Along my fingertips bare shoots
of days then years unfurl in the cold air.