sábado, 30 de agosto de 2014

Do Amor

Robert Indiana, The Garden of Love (1982)
«(...) Somente o Amor é capaz de nos ajudar a alcançar, pela ultrapassagem de nós mesmos, tudo o que existe de eterno e de divino. O Amor é uma inspiração infinita na direcção de um além que o transfigura.»
Denis Huisman, A Estética, Edições 70, 1997, p. 17.

quinta-feira, 28 de agosto de 2014

Evasões: Óbidos

Los viajes me devuelven, transeúnte,
al lugar preferido de la casa,
para soñar y meditar poemas,
llegar a otras vidas con la mía.

quarta-feira, 27 de agosto de 2014

Outra realidade

Anne-François-Louis Janmot, Le Poème de l'âme (séc. XIX, Musée des Beaux-Arts, Lyon)
«(…) Music, like reading (another private pleasure which can be done in public, on trains or buses), has often offered a sort of inner landscape of feelings, emotions and associations to which we can retreat from the bustle and hassle of the “real world”, a sort of “second world”, adjacent to but separate from the everyday one. We can tune in, through music, to the imagination, or escape into ourselves (…).»
du Gay, P., Hall, S., James, L., Mackay, H. and Negus, K. (1997) Doing Cultural Studies: The Story of the Sony Walkman. Sage Publications (in association with the OpenUniversity), p. 20.

Espelhos Mágicos II

Which Has to Do with a Mirror and its Fragments

Now then! We will begin. When the story is done you shall know a great deal more than you do know.

He was a terribly bad hobgoblin, a goblin of the very wickedest sort and, in fact, he was the devil himself. One day the devil was in a very good humor because he had just finished a mirror which had this peculiar power: everything good and beautiful that was reflected in it seemed to dwindle to almost nothing at all, while everything that was worthless and ugly became most conspicuous and even uglier than ever. In this mirror the loveliest landscapes looked like boiled spinach, and the very best people became hideous, or stood on their heads and had no stomachs. Their faces were distorted beyond any recognition, and if a person had a freckle it was sure to spread until it covered both nose and mouth.

"That's very funny!" said the devil. If a good, pious thought passed through anyone's mind, it showed in the mirror as a carnal grin, and the devil laughed aloud at his ingenious invention.

All those who went to the hobgoblin's school - for he had a school of his own - told everyone that a miracle had come to pass. Now, they asserted, for the very first time you could see how the world and its people really looked. They scurried about with the mirror until there was not a person alive nor a land on earth that had not been distorted.

Then they wanted to fly up to heaven itself, to scoff at the angels, and our Lord. The higher they flew with the mirror, the wider it grinned. They could hardly manage to hold it. Higher they flew, and higher still, nearer to heaven and the angels. Then the grinning mirror trembled with such violence that it slipped from their hands and fell to the earth, where it shattered into hundreds of millions of billions of bits, or perhaps even more. And now it caused more trouble than it did before it was broken, because some of the fragments were smaller than a grain of sand and these went flying throughout the wide world. Once they got in people's eyes they would stay there. These bits of glass distorted everything the people saw, and made them see only the bad side of things, for every little bit of glass kept the same power that the whole mirror had possessed.

A few people even got a glass splinter in their hearts, and that was a terrible thing, for it turned their hearts into lumps of ice. Some of the fragments were so large that they were used as window panes-but not the kind of window through which you should look at your friends. Other pieces were made into spectacles, and evil things came to pass when people put them on to see clearly and to see justice done. The fiend was so tickled by it all that he laughed till his sides were sore. But fine bits of the glass are still flying through the air, and now you shall hear what happened.
Hans Christian Andersen, The Snow Queen

segunda-feira, 25 de agosto de 2014

Virgem / Virgo

La Vierge (Virgo) (séc. XIII, Cathédrale d'Amiens)
Giovanni Maria Falconetto, Signo de Virgem (1515-1520, Palazzo d'Arco, Mantua)
Jacob Jordaens, Virgo (séc. XVII)
Mikalojus Ciurlionis, Virgo (1907)

quinta-feira, 21 de agosto de 2014

Noites de verão

Marcela Calderón (link)
“Not only do we live among the stars, the stars live within us.” 

quarta-feira, 20 de agosto de 2014


Ohara Koson, Seagulls over the Waves (c.1915)
«The castle of Cair Paravel on its little hill towered up above them; before them were the sands, with rocks and little pools of salt water, and seaweed, and the smell of the sea and long miles of bluish-green waves breaking for ever and ever on the beach. And oh, the cry of the sea-gulls! Have you heard it? Can you remember?»

quarta-feira, 6 de agosto de 2014


Paul Gabriël, Il vient de loin (Kröller-Müller Museum)
«To move, to breathe, to fly, to float,
To gain all while you give,
To roam the roads of lands remote,
To travel is to live.»

sexta-feira, 1 de agosto de 2014


Irmãos Limbourg, Les très riches heures du Duc de Berry: Aout (1412-1416, Musée Condé, Chantilly)
Oficina de Simon Bening, Livro de Horas: Calendário (mês de Agosto) (1530, 1534, Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga)
Jacob van Huysum, Twelve months of flowers: August (The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge)
Edward Hopper, August in the City (1945, Norton Museum of Art)