View allAll Photos Tagged existentialism
1. Gas war resistant pram, 2. Shooting at Dam square Amsterdam, 3. Children on sledges pulled by a car , 4. Horse Taxi - Nationaal Archief / Collectie Spaarnestad www.flickr.com/people/nationaalarchief/ - my poster was created with the mosaic maker of bighugelabs.com - a flickr-connected-tool
Portrait from Eva Schlegel & sculptures from Thomas Stimm
Seen in the exhibition
BETWEEN REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING
Finiteness & Eternity
Admont abbey – Museum of contemporary art
6 September to 4 November 2012
Curator: Michael Braunsteiner
Birth, life and death, remembering, fading and forgetting: the boundaries and the spaces in between. That is the subject of this exhibition. Some areas of the museum display works from the Abbey’s own holdings, drawing on the wealth of objects available. Others reveal the subject naturally inherent in them in the manner of a zoom. Different genres begin to communicate with each other. Past, present and future interweave:
In the furnishings and books of the baroque library and in the museum of natural history, you can find all of the questions of “Remembering and Forgetting” that interest us – and quite probably several answers, too. In the museum of contemporary art, current art on the topic communicates with historical books. In P. Gabriel Strobl’s museum of natural history, stuffed animals, ethanol-preserved specimens, countless plants and insects appear to be alive – and yet they are all long dead.
Only human intervention has saved the specimens from decay and rot. The fight against the ravages of time is also evident in the museum of art history. We try to preserve the finest art works for as long as possible, in most cases for many years and even centuries. But not for ever. Against the backdrop of the philosophy of existentialism, the paintings and prints of Hannes Schwarz (b. 1926) explore the depths of this important topic.
The baroque columned hall presents the multimedia experience of the Dramatic Poem, generally believed to be unperformable, to the music of Robert Schumann’s “Manfred”. The poem is based on a text by Lord Byron, originally conceived as an Anti-Faust. This work, directed and visualised by media artist Johannes Deutsch in 2010, and only performed three times at the Düsseldorfer Tonhalle, is concerned with a man who believes his life to be at an end, begging to be able to forget and finally dying from grief. Original drafts and storyboards give an insight into the creation of this total work of art.
Everything has an expiry date. Without exception. And in the end? What then?! We human beings are all different. Some believe that it’s all over then. Others say they will be reborn into this transient world. Christians believe and hope – believe in God and hope for eternal life after death. And some believe quite different things. Everyone thinks that they know that they are right. What do you think?
Humankind has pondered these questions from the very beginning. They are focal topics above all in religion, philosophy, science and art. Admont Abbey with its richly varied museum and library is the ideal place to explore the most burning, timeless and topical questions of our human existence.
Albert Camus: "I recognize only one duty, and that is to love."
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albert_Camus
Albert Camus (November 7, 1913 – January 4, 1960) was an Algerian-born French author, philosopher, and journalist who won the Nobel prize in 1957. He is often associated with existentialism, but Camus refused this label. On the other hand, as he wrote in his essay The Rebel, his whole life was devoted to opposing the philosophy of nihilism. On the subject of his belief or not in God, he writes in the third volume of his notebooks: "I do not believe in God and I am not an atheist."
Albert Camus was born on November 7, 1913 in Mondovi, Algeria to a French-Algerian settler family. His mother was of Spanish extraction. His father, Lucien, died in the Battle of the Marne in 1914 during the First World War, while serving as a member of the Zouave infantry regiment. Camus lived in poor conditions during his childhood in the Belcourt section of Algiers. In 1923, he was accepted into the lycée and eventually to the University of Algiers. However, he contracted tuberculosis in 1930, which put an end to his football activities and forced him to make his studies a part-time pursuit. He took odd jobs including private tutor, car parts clerk and work for the Meteorological Institute.
Camus was a pacifist. However, he was in Paris to witness how the Wehrmacht took over. On December 15, 1941, Camus witnessed the execution of Gabriel Péri, an event that Camus later said crystallized his revolt against the Germans. During the war Camus joined the French Resistance cell Combat, which published an underground newspaper of the same name. This group worked against the Nazis, and in it Camus assumed the nom de guerre "Beauchard". Camus became the paper's editor in 1943, and when the Allies liberated Paris, Camus reported on the last of the fighting. He was, however, one of the few French editors to publicly express opposition to the use of the atomic bomb in Hiroshima soon after the event on August 8, 1945.
In the 1950s Camus devoted his efforts to human rights. In 1952 he resigned from his work for UNESCO when the UN accepted Spain as a member under the leadership of General Franco. In 1953 he criticized Soviet methods to crush a workers' strike in East Berlin. In 1956 he protested against similar methods in Poland and the Soviet repression of the Hungarian revolution in October.
He maintained his pacifism and resistance to capital punishment anywhere in the world. One of his most significant contributions to the movement against capital punishment was an essay collaboration with Arthur Koestler, the writer, intellectual and founder of the League Against Capital Punishment.
nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1957/cam...
Rondreis West Amerika met Djoser ...
Hier werken van Lucien Freud ...
Lucian Michael Freud (Berlijn, 8 december 1922 – Londen, 20 juli 2011) was een Britse schilder van Joods-Oostenrijkse afkomst. Hij was een kleinzoon van Sigmund Freud en was de vader van schrijfster Esther Freud en modeontwerpster Bella Freud.
Het werk van Freud behoort tot de hedendaagse kunst en het neorealisme. De bekende criticus Herbert Read noemde hem ooit "de Ingres van het existentialisme".
Naast portretten en naakten schilderde Freud ook bomen en planten. Vaak figureert een hond of een plant op de schilderijen van mensen.
Freud wordt ook wel gezien als een exponent van het existentialisme, de geschilderde modellen lijken niet echt aanwezig, hebben een blik die vooral naar binnen gericht is. De kijkrichting is meestal naar een punt buiten het schilderij. De naakten zijn vaak in een zeer exposerende positie afgebeeld, de geslachtsdelen vragen prominent de aandacht. Het werk wordt daarom soms confronterend gevonden.
Het werk van Freud is duidelijk autobiografisch, zoals dat van Pierre Bonnard of Balthus, maar met soberder kleurgebruik. Freud wordt door voorstanders als één van de grootste kunstenaars van deze tijd beoordeeld, maar er zijn ook kunsthistorici die zijn schilderwerk niet van deze tijd vinden, evenals felle tegenstanders. Het werk brengt hoge prijzen op: een portret van Kate Moss uit 2002 bijvoorbeeld 3,9 miljoen pond in 2005. Het schilderij Benefits Supervisor Sleeping heeft in New York een recordbedrag van 30 miljoen dollar (19,4 miljoen euro) opgebracht, het hoogste bedrag dat ooit voor een werk van een nog levende kunstenaar op een veiling is betaald.
Zie verder bron: nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucian_Freud
Het Getty Center is een gebouwencomplex in Brentwood, een wijk in het westen van Los Angeles, waarin onder meer een deel van de collectie van het J. Paul Getty Museum en de wetenschappelijke instellingen het Getty Research Institute en het Getty Conservation Institute gehuisvest zijn.
De verzamelingen van het J. Paul Getty Museum gaan terug op de privécollecties van de oliemagnaat Jean Paul Getty, die daarvoor in 1953 een museum in de wijk Pacific Palisades oprichtte. Het Getty Center, waarvan de bouw in 1997 voltooid was, werd ontworpen door de Amerikaanse architect Richard Meier, in Nederland bekend door het stadhuis van Den Haag. De verzameling voorwerpen uit de Klassieke Oudheid bevindt zich sinds 2006 weer in Malibu in de Getty Villa. Het gebouw uit 1974 is een imitatie is van de Villa dei Papiri in Herculaneum. Zowel de Getty Villa als het Getty Center worden beheerd door de Getty Trust.
De verzamelingen van het Getty Museum omvatten het volgende:
Fotografie
Kunsthandwerk
Oudheidkundige (kunst)voorwerpen
Schilderijen
Tekeningen
Verluchte handschriften
Albert Camus - The Stranger
Vintage Books V-2, 1970
Cover Artist: Leo Lionni
Published in the British Commonwealth as "The Outsider"
"This book was set on the Linotype in Janson, an excellent example of the influential and sturdy Dutch types that prevailed in England prior to the development by William Caslon of his own designs, which he evolved from these Dutch faces. Of Janson himself little is known except that he was a practicing type-founder in Leipzig during the years 1660 to 1687."
my hometown Wuppertal is a real hesitation town - abandoned factories, many people without any job, even the famous monorail SCHWEBEBAHN (construction outside of the window) is no longer in action
ULTIMA LATET
...the last hour is hidden so better watch them all
let the thoughts trickle by and down into the pool
what wonder to watch them splash and spatter in the trough
and see ultima latet ut observentur omnes above the door
whistling they say soothes the silly agitation of the brain
through the lamplight the flakes flutter down onto the path
the feet also know how to step with deliberation on the ground
while the street lamp glares and the cathedral bells toll
someone's muffled paces crackle on the stony pathway
every pebble every flake every pace every noumenon
every moment is precious and every moment is wasted
it is easy to see that nothing is mine and nothing is yours...
**************************************
ULTIMA LATET
...l'ultima ora è nascosta quindi meglio guardarle tutte
lasci che i pensieri gocciolino via e piombino nella vasca
che meraviglia guardarli schizzare e spruzzare nel abbeveratoio
e vedere ultima latet ut omnes observentur sopra la porta
dicono che fischiare lenisce la sciocca agitazione del cervello
attraverso la luce del lampione i fiocchi svolazzano verso il basso e cadono sul percorso
anche i piedi sanno procedere sulla terra con deliberazione
mentre la lampada abbaglia e le campane della cattedrale suonano
alcuni passi attutiti crepitano sul sentiero sassoso
ogni sassolino ogni fiocco ogni passo ogni noumeno
ogni momento è prezioso e ogni momento è sprecato
è facile vedere che nulla è mio e niente è tuo...
**************************************
ULTIMA LATET
... die letzte Stunde ist verborgen - bleiben wir besser wachsam
Lass die Gedanken tropfen und in das Becken fallen
Welch ein Wunder zuzuschauen, wie sie spritzen und platschen in den Trog
Und über der Türe eingemeisselt: ultima latet ut observentur omnes
Pfeifen sagt man, beruhigt die alberne Erregung des Gehirns
Im Lampenschein wirbeln Flocken auf den Weg
Die Füsse wissen auch, wie man mit Bedacht auf dem Boden schreitet
Während die Strassenlaterne blendet und die Glocken der Kathedrale läuten
Jemandes gedämpfte Schritte knirschen auf dem steinigen Weg
Jeder Kiesel, jede Flocke, jeder Tritt, jedes Noumenon,
Jeder Moment ist kostbar und jeder Moment ist verschwendet
Leicht zu sehen, nichts ist mein und nichts ist dein ...
This shot on Museum of Contemporary Art.
Portfolio flic.kr/s/aHsk7LUokY
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I am Camera Assistant & Grip. At present, I am learning English in Los Angeles. Also I am looking for job & internships.
Photography is my lifework.
Filmography
Happy New Year
・Japan Association of Audiovisual Producers award 2014:Personal Communications Section
・Mito Short Film Festival :Second Prize
To me
・The 9th NHK Minimini Video Award:Gateway to success Prize
Experience
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Garcin:
‘Alors, ce ca l’enfer. Je n’aurais jamais cru... Vous vous rappelez: le soufre, le buchee, le gril... Ah! Quelle plaisanterie. Pas besoin de gril: l’enfer, c’est les Autres.’
Jean Paul Sartre, En Huis Clos, 1943.
All elements of this image were photographed by myself with a Nikon D850 and the Nikkor 24-70mm/F2.8, except for the unedited photo's of the fire and the sofas, they were downloaded from Adobe Stock.
The satyrs were taken at the Devil's House in Arnhem.
Existentialism
I'll try and give this one meaning:
And there he stood, the late afternoon's sun streaming down him, trying to make sense of these two weird people with bigger eyes and noses than his three years on Earth have ever before introduced him to ;-).
PS: Of course, as per most kids, he looked at Mau next to me, not at me and the camera.
My brother is the worst wardrobe remix photographer. Truly terrible. Oh well - here's what I wore yesterday, to do 6 hours of improv, debate about existentialism, busk for 2 hours, go on a 3-way date, & nap in the library.
Red dress - H&M
Thick black leather belt - H&M
Red leather bag - vintage
Black heeled boots - gift
Screenshots taken from Ernesto Ramirez' Quantified Existentialism blog medium.com/ernesto-ramirez/quantified-existentialism-4c96...
I can hardly help myself returning to Lincoln's MP Gillian Merron's refusal to munch a fluoride tablet with this artist's impression of the occasion.
In my view, the whole thing's a scream!
Here's a letter I wrote to the Lincoln evening paper about her activities.
Unfortunately it wasn't published. So the Lincoln natives will have no idea about the great difference 'twixt them and her.
SIR -
Your MP spends a lot of time in unfluoridated places, like London. And abroad.
Naturally, like any human being, I was concerned to realise that Gillian Merron is deficient.
Lack of fluorine might mean she would have to take time off from democratically representing Mr Blair's views, to see the dentist.
I sped along to her surgery to make her take a fluoride tablet, containing one milligram.
Today [on Friday 11th November 2005] she will have the chance to vote on new legislation (yes, more!) allowing water companies to blame the health authorities entirely for their decision to feed you the same amount in each litre of their product.
Her reaction to my milligram of fluorine was rather different, though.
She did not take the optimum amount when I told her to, and indeed eyed my free health plan rather suspiciously.
Instead of getting my fluoride in her face, she seemed to expect me to get out of her space.
I cannot imagine why she would not give up this insignificant right to control what goes in her mouth, for the greater good of Britain's suffering little children (sob).
Will her vote reflect the official view, or that of a real person such as herself?
Will her choice be guided by highfalutin' political theory, or by the common sense she demonstrated on the above occasion?
I think you can guess.
Gleetings. I will tell you a story.
It is the dead of the night, under a blood red sky, somewhere.The Tony Christie Monster is lost, and in despair.
Suddenly, he meets, as out of nowhere, a lonely Troll, who is playing at being Leslie Crowther.
"Ho, there, stranger !" cries the Troll. "Come on down !"
"Er, er..." mutters the Tony Christie Monster, unsure.
"Your starter for ten ! It's a crackerjack !"
The Tony Christie Monster is frightened. He has a little accident, also cries.
"You look just like Peter thingie..." gasps the Troll, realising that this is the case.
"No ! No ! Please...is this the way to Amarillo ?"
The Troll is confused. Should not he, as Leslie Crowther, be asking the questions...
"I can tell you the way to San Jose..." he offers, but the Tony Christie Monster can no longer be reached on this plane.
"Oh, pish...." says the Troll, sadly.
Walk Tall !
Chiharu Shiota, site specific installation
Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze
© photo Martino Margheri
visit his youtube channel at www.youtube.com/user/Pajarillo57 - he is a professional guitar teacher and concert performer in Russia, Ukraine, Dniepropetrovsk - Dniepropetrovsk Conservatory - he studied at the Leningrad Music College + at the East-Ukrainian University in Lugansk and is now a professor in Dniepropetrovsk, National University - Andrey founded a brand-new flickr photo-stream: www.flickr.com/photos/52586516@N07/ would nice, if you would make a comment there ... my wordpress article about Andrey Shilov and "Russian Strength":
Gilded in the oak savanna.
In the leaning hills, where the summer sun turns the grassland to tinder, the savanna is a wind chime, rustling a harmonious lullaby like a new deck of cards in nimble fingers. Grasshoppers and mayflies and the chaff of newly dried seed catch in the sun. A dry, hot blizzard in an amber streetlamp.
The Arastradero Open Space Preserve is home to rattlesnakes, coyotes, and mountain lions and innumerable flavors of insects and birds, yet it is the trees that bring me here time and again. Before the axe and the wheel came to this land, enormous oak savannas like this one stretched across the midwest, the southwest and here along the west coast.
But the axe and the wheel did come and the savannas left. I like to think of the craggy and twisted forms that remain as wounded but unbent descendants of the stalwart soldiers who resisted the blade and the advance of civilization to hold the dusty California soil to the ground and to provide shade for the coyotes and mountain lions and rattlesnakes that weave through the tall grass of the American Veldt. As these sentinels slowly march from mother to child up and down the wind-tousled steppe, we flit about the outskirts of this preserve as insects, building and gnawing and living and dying. I hope that’s all we’ll ever do.
I came to the Arastradero preserve to connect with a particularly beautiful oak I’d passed (and photographed) on hikes before. I found her on the hillside as ever, arms outstretched, singing in the late evening breeze, fluttering fingers of bright green.
As I stood for a while here on the hillside, gilded in the afternoon, alone with my thoughts but for the oak and the whisper of the breeze and the hum-drum clicks and tweets of grassland animals, I thought, “I’ve been away too long,” and was reminded of Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree, and I’ve been thinking about it since.
I came back to the preserve to reconnect with a spot where I’d taken an old photo. Only now do I realize that same photograph was made nearly a year ago to the date. Oliver (who now runs and speaks and laughs) was with us then, asleep as an absolutely tiny three-month-old infant.
The change over the last year in Oliver provided, for me, a stark contrast with the constancy of the natural world, of these stalwart trees. How little they’ve changed. How little indeed will they change over the next century. Long may they roam on these hills and long may they feed my heart.
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In the leaning hills.
I’ve cared a great deal about taking photographs for a long time. When people ask me how long I’ve been “into” photography, I often don’t have an answer. I can vividly remember becoming interested in my father’s camera when I was a kid. No idea how old.
In point of fact, my mother was cleaning house recently and asked that I sort through some old papers of mine. Tucked in a bunch of junk were loads of old prints made with a Vivitar point and shoot given me by my parents sometime while I was in fifth grade. The landscape/candid ideas are all there, but the execution was a long way from developed (and often still is)!
I found a renewed passion for image making when I was in college and then again in graduate school, although if truth be told, it’s been relatively steady for most of my life and those moments of renewed energy are likely just an interpretation of mine in hindsight.
I often return to the question of “Why?” Why should photography feel a bit like breathing and why should I derive so much satisfaction from it? I have loads of standard answers that you see on photoblogs and photo news sites ad naseum, revolving around physical/emotional enjoyment and the risk/reward of creativity and sharing, but these are pretty unsatisfactory.
I’ll tell you that the social networking and community aspects of photography are not what drives me to carry a camera to beautiful places. Neither is building a portfolio of images what puts my feet out the door. Although I run this blog and make every effort to post frequently, I often find myself going to great lengths to make images I find interesting and then leaving them on the hard disk at home for months or years at a time.
This isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy every part of the process, from shooting to publishing; it’s just that, if those weren’t a feature of the photography/photoblog world, I would still shoot.
There is something about images and cameras that has always spoken to me, something in the process of making an extraordinary image that drives me across states and out of bed at strange hours. Images lie at the boundary between real and surreal, between ordinary and fantastic. They can tell the truth, they can lie, but good ones never let you know which. I find it thrilling to compare the different truths of the reality and the image made after. I like to imagine for a moment that the world is as strange as photographs make it seem, then I realize it’s far stranger.
I photograph because that’s who I am, it’s an authentic expression of myself. I mean authentic in the existential sense—that I am doing what comes naturally and being true to who I am. Sometimes explanations and reasons are trite and you just have to accept that you are what you are. Simply put, photography is.
Of course, existentialism takes for granted that, to the mind, the material world presents itself as incongruous and absurd. And maybe that’s what I find so damned rewarding about photography; the world is messy and strange and absurd, but there is a great harmony and undeniable humanity in standing amongst the nodding, tawny, and wind-threshed grain, catching on a wafer of silicon a few trillion photons that have spent eons bouncing around the interior of our sun, all the while inundated with the smells of flowering plants and buzzing insects, luring one another to sex and death in the burning heart of the afternoon, in the leaning hills.
"Dare"
"To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. To not dare is to lose oneself completely." - Soren Kierkegaard
Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus)
National bird and symbol of the United States of America
Location: Lock and Dam No. 14 Recreation Area, Le Claire, Iowa
Camera: Nikon D90
Lens: Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6G IF-ED AF-S VR Zoom
F-stop: f/5.6
Exposure time: 1/1000 sec.
ISO speed: ISO-200
Focal length: 300mm
35mm eq. focal length: 450mm
Lighting: Natural lighting, no flash
Handling: Handheld with VR on
Photoediting: Background replacement (cloning/blurring, Magic Wand, linear gradient tool) with respective cloning/blurring around eagle’s perimeter, minor level adjustments, and added text in Photoshop Elements 5. Essentially uncropped and eagle largely unedited except for a little sharpness.
Personal notes: At first I was pretty frustrated with this photo because I liked the eagle, but hated the background. Over the past few weeks, I’ve become more comfortable with Photoshop Elements 5, and I’m thrilled that I was able to clean up the background. This is the first photo that I have enlarged to a 20" x 30" poster print. It was satisfying to be able to make myself a motivational poster from one of my own photos.
An excerpt: His Divine Eminence did not mention who the creator of that fireball is. God's creation will start with something which was already created. His Divine Eminence said, ‘There was a ball of fire. It was commanded to cool down.’ All these planets were once part of the sun. This system, galaxy, rocks and every single planet - everything was fragmented from the Sun. Everything came from the Sun - including the Moon.
rariazgoharshahi.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/the-truth-about-b...
Le Cimetière du Montparnasse, Paris, France
I headed south to le Cimetière Montparnasse. After the Paris churchyards closed in the 18th century, a full three quarters of a century before the English closed their urban churchyards, four great cemeteries were laid out to the north, east, south and west of the city. Pere Lachaise is the most famous, Montmartre the most aesthetically pleasing, but Montparnasse probably the most interesting. I spent about three hours and three hundred photographs pottering about. Some of the famous graves are easy to find because they are well documented, and visitors have placed tributes on them. For example, the first grave I went in search of, Samuel Beckett's, has metro tickets placed on it by visitors as a mark of having waited for something.
I already knew where Beckett's grave was, but two others in the same section were more difficult, as I did not have exact locations. I eventually found the grave of Phillipe Noiret, an actor I very much admired particularly for his role in my favourite film, Cinema Paradiso, but also for his role in Le Cop, which has criminally never had a DVD release with English subtitles. There were no public tributes on it, merely a plaque from his wife saying 'pour mon Cher Philippe' and a picture of a horse. While I was photographing it, four gendarmes, two men and two women, passed behind me and came across to see why I was photographing it. "Noiret!" exclaimed one of the men, and then "mais pourquoi le cheval?" wondered one of the women. But they didn't stop for me to explain, for I had read an article about Noiret about fifteen years previously in a copy of La Nouvelle Observateur while staying in a hotel in Boulogne, and I knew that he had bred horses in his spare time.
The other grave I had hoped to find in this section was that of Susan Sontag, but I couldn't track it down.
The joint headstone of Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir is easily found by the main entrance, and I thought it rather sweet that they were remembered together. Despite all their efforts for existentialism and feminism, it was like a headstone in a quiet English churchyard which might have 'reunited' or 'together in eternity' inscribed on it. I think he wasn't pleasant company, and while she was certainly more intelligent than he was she made intellectual arrogance respectable. I photographed their headstone more out of interest than admiration.
Admiration was at the heart of my search for a gravestone lost in sections 6 and 7 which I think is not found often. It is for the surrealist photographer Man Ray. I was delighted to find it after barely 20 minutes searching. He designed it himself, and in his own handwriting into the cement it says 'unconcerned, but not indifferent', which could be taken as rebuff to Satre and his circle I suppose. Charmingly, beside it like the other half of a book is a photograph of him with his wife and the inscription 'Juliet Man Ray 1911-1991, together again'. Enough to leave De Beauvoir spluttering into her Pernod.
You can read my account of my travels at pariswander.blogspot.co.uk.
Luigi Pirandello was a Nobel laureate Italian playwrite and novelist in the first half of the 20th century. The mask was a recurring leitmotif in his literary works. Among many other famous plays he wrote Six Characters in search of an Author and It is so if you think so. His works greatly influenced playwriting in general. He was also considered a precursor to Existentialism.
Alberto Giacometti, Walking Man II (1/6), 1960, bronze, 188.5 × 27.9 × 110.7 cm (National Gallery of Art)
Alberto Giacometti, Walking Man II (1/6), 1960, bronze, 188.5 × 27.9 × 110.7 cm (National Gallery of Art)
German Party (2) - this time my wife Barbara makes the video - walking around between the musicians of www.chris-and-the-poor-boys.de - lead singer: Wibke Jackson - you can find me sitting among the audience :-) - the complete video (3 minutes) at www.youtube.com/watch?v=TX86iQJXkb0 YOUTUBE
Alberto Giacometti, Walking Man II (1/6), 1960, bronze, 188.5 × 27.9 × 110.7 cm (National Gallery of Art)
*
Radical Transcendence *
- * -
... Looking into the mirror - Seeing my face in it - And the words and signs on the mirror glass - Looking deep - Long and deep - And ever deeper - Deeper - So deep until I look through my face - Looking into me - Until the thoughts dissolve - Until the face dissolves in its familiar forms - Until the words and signs dissolve - Until I dissolve - And come to me at the same time ... *
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... In den Spiegel blicken - Darin mein Gesicht sehen - Und die Worte und Zeichen auf dem Spiegelglas - Tief hineinblicken - Lang und tief - Und immer tiefer - Tiefer - So tief bis ich durch das Gesicht blicke - In mich hineinblicke - Bis sich die Gedanken auflösen - Das Gesicht in seinen bekannten Formen auflöst - Die Worte und Zeichen sich auflösen - Bis ich mich auflöse - Und gleichzeitig zu mir gelange ... *
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Photo: Patricia Adler
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Wolfgang Sterneck:
In the Cracks of the World *
Photo-Reports: www.flickr.com/sterneck/sets
Articles and Visions: www.sterneck.net
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Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze
© photo Martino Margheri
Alberto Giacometti, Walking Man II (1/6), 1960, bronze, 188.5 × 27.9 × 110.7 cm (National Gallery of Art)
KABK Graduation Festival
Den Haag 2016
“Hauch!” Is a complex installation that develops another dimension. Here the walls are no longer only walls, but “heavens crying drama”. The floor loses its most basic function and becomes a source of life represented by the colourful land of acid green. It blends with different texture tonalities of pink, evoking the essence of human flesh. Spaces are defined by elements representing different existentialisms that are brought on the same line through the videos in which a woman carries out daily activities in which pain lurks, associated with the canon of beauty that goes against nature by confusing the human being.
THESIS: A coffee with Anne
The thesis is built through a dialogue between me and an almost fictional character named Anne, a man dressed as a woman that was close to me during my route here at the academy. Everything takes place in a bar, in front of a coffee, where I tell about myself through my fears, my needs, my dreams about my artistic career.