Brian Patten

You lose your love for her and then
It is her who is lost,
And then it is both who are lost,
And nothing is ever as perfect as you want it to be.

In a very ordinary world
A most extraordinary pain mingles with the small routines,
The loss seems huge and yet
Nothing can be pinned down or fully explained.

You are afraid.
If you found the perfect love
It would scald your hands,
Rip the skin from your nerves,
Cause havoc with a computered heart.

You lose your love for her and then it is her who is lost.
You tried not to hurt and yet
Everything you touched became a wound.
You tried to mend what cannot be mended,
You tried, neither foolish nor clumsy,
To rescue what cannot be rescued.

You failed,
And now she is elsewhere
And her night and your night
Are both utterly drained.

How easy it would be
If love could be brought home like a lost kitten
Or gathered in like strawberries,
How lovely it would be;
But nothing is ever as perfect as you want it to be. 

Brian Patten

seis exercícios com a noite

 CT, seis exercícios com a noite,
16.abr.16

para os que não sabem ver

Constantin Brancusi, Sculpture for the Blinds, 1925

Brancusi

Simplicidade é a complexidade resolvida.

Constantin Brancusi

Constantin Brancusi, Sleeping Muse I, 1909-10

working upon you

So you must not be frightened … if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloud-shadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any agitation, any pain, any melancholy, since you really do not know what these states are working upon you?

Rainer Maria Rilke

Alexander McQueen

Malick Sidibé (1936-2016)

Malick Sidibé, Vues de Dos, 2001-2011

Malick Sidibé, Vues de Dos, 2001-2011

Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws. 

Anaïs Nin

Emily e Adrienne

CT, Emily (crowend head), 2014

The study of silence has long engrossed me. The matrix of a poet’s work consists not only of what is there to be absorbed and worked on, but also of what is missing, desaparecido, rendered unspeakable, thus unthinkable. It is through these invisible holes in reality that poetry makes its way — certainly for women and other marginalized subjects and for disempowered and colonized peoples generally, but ultimately for all who practice any art at its deeper levels. The impulse to create begins — often terribly and fearfully — in a tunnel of silence. Every real poem is the breaking of an existing silence, and the first question we might ask any poem is, What kind of voice is breaking silence, and what kind of silence is being broken?

Adrienne Rich , “Arts of the Possible : Essays and Conversations”

Ellsworth e Anaïs

    You live out the confusions until they become clear.

Anaïs Nin

Ellsworth Kelly, Barn, Southampton, 1968

Ellsworth Kelly, Sidewalk, Los Angeles, 1978

Ellsworth Kelly, Pine Branch and Shadow, Meschers, 1950

Ellsworth Kelly, Beach Cabana,Meschers, 1950

Ellsworth Kelly, Hangar Doorway, St Barthélemy, 1977

Ellsworth Kelly, Sidewalk, NY,1970

ao lado das abelhas

 CT, music to my ears (ao lado das abelhas), 2016
 

sobre a cabeça de Pedro Burmester

CT, music to my ears (sobre a cabeça de Pedro Burmester),2016

a queimada que fez na silvas em volta da casa
descontrolou-se ao vento levantado de repente,
e naquele tempo em que já lhe não tocava qualquer beleza
ele ficou a olhar a beleza assassina:
as labaredas abraçaram-no todo,
tornando-se então ele mesmo a sua morte abraçada:
e mais ninguém sabia que a beleza se consuma
num abraço a vento e ar alto
com fogo dentro

Herberto Helder, RELÂMPAGO nº 36/37

Foi assim. É assim. Arquejar. Suster a respiração.

Peter Handke, Os Belos Dias de Aranjuez

CT, music to my ears, 2016

music to my ears

CT, music to my ears, sobre a cadeira de Hockney, abril 2016

CT, music to my ears,
sobre "Interior de Montcalm, com dois cães,de Hockney,
abril 2016

For they are the moments when something new has entered into us, something unknown; our feelings grow mute in shy perplexity, everything in us withdraws, a stillness comes, and the new, which no one knows, stands in the midst of it and is silent.

--

We cannot say who has come, perhaps we shall never know, but many signs indicate that the future enters into us in this way in order to transform itself in us long before it happens. And this is why it is so important to be lonely and attentive when one is sad: because the apparently uneventful and stark moment at which our future sets foot in us is so much closer to life than that other noisy and fortuitous point of time at which it happens to us as if from outside.

--

As people were long mistaken about the motion of the sun, so they are even yet mistaken about the motion of that which is to come. The future stands firm … but we move in infinite space.

--

That is at bottom the only courage that is demanded of us: to have courage for the most strange, the most singular and the most inexplicable that we may encounter.

Rainer Maria Rilke

the unimaginable

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

Mary Oliver

Saul Leiter

I never thought of the urban environment as isolating. I leave these speculations to others. It’s quite possible that my work represents a search for beauty in the most prosaic and ordinary places. One doesn’t have to be in some faraway dreamland in order to find beauty. I realize that the search for beauty is not highly popular these days. Agony, misery and wretchedness, now these are worth perusing. 

Saul Leiter

Saul Leiter

Saul Leiter

Saul Leiter

La mer

The Gibsons of Scilly, The Mildred, 1912

profunda primavera

CT, colagem, 2005

Ninguém sabe estas coisas.
Mas, aproximando os meus sentidos todos
da luz da tua pele, desapareces,
fundes-te como o ácido
aroma dum fruto
e o calor dum caminho,
o cheiro do milho debulhado,
a madressilva da tarde pura,
os nomes da terra poeirenta,
o infinito perfume da pátria:
magnólia e matagal, sangue e farinha,
galope de cavalos,
a lua poeirenta das aldeias,
o pão recém-nascido:
ai, tudo o que há na tua pele volta à minha boca,
volta ao meu coração, volta ao meu corpo,
e volto a ser contigo a terra que tu és:
tu és em mim profunda primavera:
volto a saber em ti como germino.

Pablo Neruda, Versos do Capitão

La mer

A praia sobe até aos dedos
mínimos. Se existíssemos o
mar seria um colosso.
Se nos chegássemos a ele incan
descentes a água ficaria a
pagada. Se fôssemos algum
ser em algum espaço es
ta rebentação angulosa
seria a misericór
dia. Quando louvássemos
as faces das fontes
a sede abandonar-nos-ia.

Fiama Hasse Pais Brandão, Âmago / Nova Arte

 --

Estou a passar nas escarpas.
É um acto do meu delírio. In
color e só. Um descante longín
quo no lugar do eco. Ausên
cia fiel. A pluma poética
recorta um precipício. A
minha imaginação não é
sinistra. Ela própria
está abandonada. Exponho
-me. Salvo-me. As rochas rugo
sas são o centro da har
monia."

Fiama Hasse Pais Brandão, Âmago / Nova Arte

Paul Gauguin, Dans les Vagues,1888

reflection

CT, alexandra's orchids, 90's


























You came into my life — not as one comes to visit … but as one comes to a kingdom where all the rivers have been waiting for your reflection, all the roads, for your steps.

Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Véra

Francesca e Frida

Francesca Woodman

The most important thing for everyone in Gringolandia is to have ambition and become 'somebody,' and frankly, I don't have the least ambition to become anybody

Frida Kahlo