André Breton

Numa floresta onde todas as aves são chamas
E também sempre que uma rajada mais violenta faz aparecer na quilha
Uma chaga deslumbrante que atrai as sereias
Não pensava que estivesses no teu posto
E eis que ao romper da aurora num dia de 1937
É extraordinário havia cerca de cem anos que estavas
morto
Ao passar avistei um ramo muito fresco de violetas a teus pés
É raro florirem as estátuas de Paris

André Breton, Ode a Charles Fourier 

Francisco de Zurbarán, Alegoria da Caridade, detalhe, c. 1655

Forough Farrokhzad

I will greet the sun again
and the little river that once ran in me
and the clouds that were my ruminations
and the aching blooms of poplar trees,
my companions in those seasons of drought.
I will greet the crowd of crows again,
who brought me their rich perfumes,
gifts from gardens of the night,
and my mother who lived in the mirror
and whose shape was the shape of my own old age.
I will greet the earth again,
who in her lust to create me again,
fills her fiery belly with seeds of green.
I am coming, I am coming, I will come again,
with my long hair dripping the scent of dirt,
with my eyes inflicting the density of darkness,
with brambles I’ve picked from the far side of the wall.
I am coming, I am coming, I will come again,
and the doorway once more will be filled with love
and I’ll greet the lovers standing in the doorway,
and the little girl there
still standing in love.

Forough Farrokhzad

...

Saudarei de novo o sol

e o pequeno riacho que dantes corria em mim

e as nuvens que eram os meus pensamentos

e os doridos rebentos dos álamos,

meus companheiros nessas estações de seca.

Saudarei de novo a multidão de corvos,

que me trouxeram os seus nobres perfumes,

presentes dos jardins da noite,

e a minha mãe que vivia no espelho

e cuja sombra era a sombra da minha própria velhice.

Saudarei de novo a terra,

que na luxúria de me criar de novo,

enche a sua fogosa barriga de verdes sementes.

Estou a chegar, estou a chegar, chegarei de novo,

com o meu longo cabelo pingando o aroma da poeira,

com os meus olhos impondo a densidade das trevas,

com amoras escolhidas do lado oposto da parede.

Estou a chegar, estou a chegar, chegarei de novo,

e a entrada mais uma vez se encherá de amor

e saudarei os amantes, de pé à porta,

e a menina aí

ainda firme no amor.

(trad. muito livre, CT, dezembro 2019)

Forough Farrojzad

Talk to me,

Say something,
I am sheltered in the window,
I have a relationship with the sun.

Forough  Farrojzad ( trad. de farsi para inglês por Maryam Ala Amjadi)






Forough Farrojzad (1934-67), poetisa, cineasta e escritora iraniana

Francisco de Zurbáran

Francisco de Zurbáran, Cup of Water and a Rose,c.1630

Master of Claude de France

Master of Claude de France, Book of Flower Studies, c.1510-1515

Marlene Dumas

Marlene Dumas, The Mother, 2009

David Hockney

David Hockney, My Mom Sleeping, Los Angeles, 1982

Mirtha Dermisache

S/título,  c.1972

S/Título 1973

S/Título c. 1970

S/Título, 1970

"I started writing and the result was something unreadable. In fact, illegibility is a key aspect of my work. With hindsight, I must admit that all my works create some tension between the communication formats offering a stable framework and the act of writing, which provides the unstable dimension. Maybe it’s like saying that for me the liberation of the sign takes place within culture and history, and not on their margins. In this sense my work is not behind the times, at all. Graphically speaking, every time I start writing I develop a formal idea that can be transformed into the idea of time. My work is characterized by movement. There are no closed forms.

There are no secrets in my work. I develop a form up to its highest point of evolution. You will never find any title referring to feelings or psychological dimensions. Titles just identify the format, i.e. they tell how to organize writings on the paper and possibly their order of appearance in a given year of production."

Mirtha Dermisache, September 2011

Mirtha Dermisache, Buenos Aires, 1940-2012

Pierre Boucher

                  Pierre Boucher, Henri Matisse,Nice, 1946

Pierre Boucher, Henri Matisse,Nice, 1946

Pierre Boucher, Serge Lifar no papel de Ícaro, no bailado de Diaghilev,1946

Pierre Boucher, Janine Prévert, 1938

Pierre Boucher, L'Eau, 1935

Bridget Riley

Bridget Riley, Untitled (Study for Circular Movement), 1961

Honoré Daumier

Honoré Daumier, Fumador e Bebedor de Absinto, c. 1860

Frederico Mira George

Frederico Mira George, Carta de Despedida I, Évora, 2019

Andre Kertesz

Andre Kertesz, Washington Square Day, 1954

Raoul Dufy

Raoul Dufy, Autoretrato, 1901

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early

And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he'd call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love's austere and lonely offices?



Robert Hayden (1913-1980), Those Winter Sundays

Ernst Haeckel

Ernst Haeckel, Artforms of Nature, Líquenes, 1904

Le Monde de la Mer

Alfred Frédol , (Molusco sem concha)  Le Monde de La Mer, 1866

(via An Na)

James Ensor na praia

James Ensor na praia de Ostende, c.1890

definição de desenho

O Desenho é o risco que percorre tudo o que existe, de dentro para fora e de fora para dentro, é uma qualidade que se acrescenta aos sentidos.

Frederico Mira George, outubro 2019

Kiki Smith

Kiki Smith, The Blue Feet, 2003