View allAll Photos Tagged existentialism
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.
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.
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.
Woman of Venice, 1956
Alberto Giacometti (Swiss, 1901–1966)
Painted bronze
Description:
Early in 1956, in preparation for exhibitions of his work at the Venice Biennale and the Kunsthalle in Bern, Giacometti produced a large group of plaster sculptures of female figures. Ten of these were shown in Venice and five in Bern. Of the fifteen, only nine were later cast in bronze. They became known as the "Women of Venice", regardless of whether the plaster version had been exhibited in Venice or in Bern. The thin, gaunt bronzes are all between forty-one and fifty-two inches high, but they seem much taller. Supported on stilt-like legs held tightly together, the figures stand motionless. All have tiny heads and enormous feet, which anchor their extremely emaciated, concave bodies on plinths of varying thicknesses. The figures look as if they have withstood centuries of rough weather, which has left their surfaces crusty and eroded.
Metropolitan Museum of Art
NYC
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around for a while, you could miss it." - Ferris Bueller
Dutch postcard by Takken, Utrecht, no. AX 5050. Photo: 20th Century Fox. Publicity still for The Big Gamble (Richard Fleischer, Elmo Williams, 1961).
French actress and chanson singer Juliette Gréco (1927) was the muse of the existentialists such as Jean-Paul Sartre. Later she became the protégée of film mogul Darryl F. Zanuck, who cast her in his films.
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Such a lovely day outside, why spoil it? Here is a picture of a wonderful free bag that comes with the Henry vaccumn cleaner: it's ideal for keeping spare bags and all the attachments in.
Nasty pictures of fascist leaflets? NO!
Nice picture of a smiling red face? YES!
The other morning a UK political organisation posted a very professional article of pretty-poison through my door. One of these days I'll catch the evil munchkin that delivers them and follow them round the streets giving them a piece of my mind.
No matter how professional the leaflet, a gilded turd is still a turd. No matter how much spin and slickness, a white supremacist organisation are still a bunch of neo-nazi scumf-cks.
A certain moustachiode Austrian played on similar fears: that the "others" are the cause of all our woes. The argument today that the EU is the problem is even more immature and simplified.
Let's look at Numatic International. A small but successful UK manufacturing company, and producer of the oh-so-wonderful Henry vaccumn cleaner. Numatic export across the world: inside the EU single market, they don't have to pay trade tarrifs; to the rest of the world, they are a part of the world's largest economic body. Leave the EU, as some nationalist organisations would have us do, and the UK would still need to operate in a globalised economy, just all on it's own (paying taxes to the EU for export goods less than 20 miles away).
It's important to "know your enemy", as Sun Tsu and the "Manic's" would say. So I sat through a white-supremacist TV commercial at the last local elections. A "strong christian identity" was one of their aims. So obviously of no appeal to me as an atheist; but no doubt the many devout catholic Polish migrant workers would've paid attention at this point (although that particular slick graphic was noticeable shorter than the others: obviously a weak point in their argument which would be more dubious when stated as "kill Jews, burn mosques, beat the crap out of anyone that's different"). Unlike the woefully-backward UK parliament, the EU is an officially secular organisation: that's why it's so good to live here, with my rights to live a secular discenting life enshrined in law and the highest appeal court consisting of representatives of that secular organisation, rather than one which swears loyalty to a particular family who's forebears claimed they were chosen by a supernatural being (i.e they killed people to be there).
Many would say secularism and existentialism took a hold in the European continent post 1945. After the horrors of more then two thousand years of continual brutal squables between individual nations (i.e. rich families looking for more resources), using organised religion (that includes that evil Austrian's cult) as a rallying point. Soon after that, harmonising trade began, and the trading organisations haven't shot at each other since. Considering all of my ancestors have had to fight in some stupid pointless war for a nation state (i.e. resources) against another European's ancestors: for that reason alone the EU is an instution to fight for.
The filth leaflet can go in the recycling bin. If this particular group of fascists have their way they'd take the recycling bin away: it said so on their last election broadcast. (This is due to the EU stating that digging holes in the countryside for nations to bury their waste for future genertions to deal with was no longer acceptable: another crazy rule from Europe? I don't think so). The advert said that decent working class families couldn't cope with having waste removed once every fortnight.
Anyway rant over, if you've got his far, it is a rant and not a debate: if you don't like not having the chance to debate, keep the fascists out of all political institutions. What worked for the Austrian Corporal in '33 was people not turning out to vote. Whether it's Green, Lib Dem, Labour, Conservative, it's your responsibility: our ancestors spilt blood for it.
Bathed in soft light, she gazes through the window, yearning for freedom and the world beyond—tempting yet frightening.
© 2013 Lélia Valduga, all rights reserved. It is forbidden to read by any reproduction.
The second half of the twentieth century was characterized by a rapid urban growth and population, and the successive administrators engaged again in a series of investments in public works, while the city via disappear under the wave of progress, much of its old buildings . In parallel, the culture of Porto Alegre was characterized by a strong colorful political gathering large group of intellectuals and influential artistic producers lined up Existentialism and Communism.
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.
Adj.1.sapiens - of or relating to or characteristic of Homo sapiens
Homo sapiens (sp-nz):The modern species of humans.
Just in case this guy stumbles on my picture and still needs help finding out who he is.
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.
Vase 01
To reflect the obsession that takes over when I work with abstractly created motives by just drawing dots, I choose to use everyday objects as well as personal items and over draw them with the dots, to not only give them a new appearance but to also translate the transformation of these objects into something new, almost unrecognizable underneath the pattern. These works are inspired by the very nature of organisms, such as ants, mushroom, plants, parasites etc. that 'take over' an other object or living being, reforming/ recreating it. It also represents ideas of existentialism and existential angst, in which we found ourselves wondering about our existence, searching for explanations and purposes, unable to find satisfying answers and therefore turning our sight into the very moment of the act of creation. In this I aim in my work to capture the feeling of that very act, trying to translate it into the process of deconstructing an object as it is and making it become something else.
nur.nurdan.c@gmail.com
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.
I have been thinking quite a lot about astrology. Specifically, astrology/horoscopes. Zodiac signs. It's kind of been infuriating me, to be honest. Because I've spent the last 10+ years studying various things in science, as well as spirituality, consciousness and existentialism. As I have developed a better understanding of each of these things, I have come to realize what so many people seem to completely miss.
When it comes to science and spirituality, we really have to watch the language that we use when discussing them. So much of it just comes down to this. I actually talked about this a little bit elsewhere in another blog post - The Truth Theory. I pretty much touched on the idea of "truth" not just being empirical, and that there are different kinds of truths. We can't use scientific language to talk about intersubjective experiences, it doesn't quite work.
This is where astrology and signs come in. I'm just gonna explain all of this the best way I know how. This might just sound like the ramblings of an idiot. It might be a bit sloppy but I'll try to make it as coherent and cohesive as possible.
The position of the sun or moon does influence life on Earth. Life would not be what it is now without the moon pulling on our planet, keeping its rotational axis from shifting around and causing big, sporadic changes in seasonal temperatures. That's fine. What I have a problem with is the notion that this same science somehow affects your personality in the same way. Because at that point, we're talking about two completely different domains. 3rd person, empirical science and 1st person, intersubjective consciousness.
There's a natural law that the physical world has to uphold, one that it is not allowed to stray from. And though I as a human being am part of that physical world and am in it, my emotions do not work the same way.
When we talk about things within that 3rd person, objective domain, there is a certain language we use. Like the world location, for example. Physical objects have a location - planets, moons, stars, etc. The Earth. However, anger and pettiness do not have a location. Emotions do not have a location. Because they're not objects.
Emotions are strictly a 1st person, conscious experience that is characterized by intense mental activity - temperament, personality, mood - it's all within that 1st person, intersubjective domain. No location, and no, they're not located in the brain because if they were, you'd be able to cut my brain open and physically touch them and slap them down on a table to examine objectively.
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You can hook me up to a machine and see that I have certain brain activity while experiencing these emotions, but you can't simply reduce them to brain activity. I can see an apple in my head but if you look in my brain, you won't see an apple. Science can't account for this. This is my intersubjective consciousness and it does not play by those rules. So how can these things operate the same way as things in the 3rd person, objective domain?
Because they would have to, if the idea of your personality being impacted by astrology is true. If horoscopes are true. But if we can't use scientific language to talk about emotions - if I can't use terminology like "location," length," "width," height," 'distance," "weight," etc. to discuss emotions, anger, jealousy, happiness...how can they be affected by the location of the moon? There's no correlation. There's no connection. How are they connected?
These two things do not operate by the same laws. My emotions are not a scientific law, they're not bound to any of that. You can't even point to them, you can't hear, smell, taste, touch or see them. In that sense, they have no connection to the physical realm.
"No, but, the same way the location of the moon causes tidal effects on Earth, it also affects your mood and personality."
How? How does that work? Emotions don't work the same way the planetary system does. We can't even use the same language and terminology to talk about them. Emotions are not planets, they're not stars. They're not bound to a gravitational pull. Why are you trying to talk about them as if they're objects floating around in space?
You're ignoring my intersubjective, conscious experience - which is not objective, it's not something you can empirically measure like a molecule or an atom or a frog.
You have to think about these things in a different way. Scientific theories require the accumulation of empirical evidence that is consistent with a hypothesis. To talk about emotions, we don't use that same empirical process. So clearly they're not the same thing, they don't operate the same way.
If there's information that contradicts or disproves anything I wrote here, I'd love to read/here it. smj12.com/astrology-objectivity-intersubjectivity/
cities with underground transit systems: Amsterdam, Ankara, Athens, Barcelona, Beijing, Brasilia, Brussels, Bucharest, Budapest, Buenos Aires, Cairo, Calcutta, Chicago, Copenhagen, Delhi, Dublin, Genova, Haifa, Hiroshima, Hong Kong, Istanbul, Lisboa, London, Madrid, Mexico City, Montreal, Moscow, Munich, Napoli, New York, Novosibirsk, Oslo, Paris, Prague, Rio de Janeiro, Rome, St. Petersburg, San Francisco, Sao Paulo, Seoul, Shanghai, Singapore, Taipei, Tehran, Tokyo, Ufa, Vienna, Warsaw, Zurich
Nathalie Djurberg
Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze
© photo Martino Margheri
Adrian Ghenie
Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze
© photo Martino Margheri
Description: His Yearning
Creator: Rotem, Varda
Medium: bronze sculpture
Persistent URL: http://museums.cjh.org/Display.php?irn=15783
Repository: Yeshiva University Museum, 15 West 16th Street, New York, NY 10011
Accession number: 2009.013
Rights Information: No known copyright restrictions; may be subject to third party rights. For more copyright information, click here.
See more information about this image and others at CJH Museum Collections.
Is eating cheese in a car park on a summer afternoon a form of existentialism, because it feels like it?
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.
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.
Good Friday is not a holiday in Italy. This is one of the mysteries of Italy. I guess on this flickr stream I've already talked about this. Anyway, my new company was closed, and I took the opportunity to run to the library to return this book, have another job interview and then take a plane to germany... few, was quite a day!
"Never let me go" by Kazuo Ishiguro has been on my reading list quite a while, about a year. It caught my interest not by the cover (which is really beautiful, but doesn't grasp anything with the story), but by the fact that it has been listed "the 100 best English-Language novels from 1923 to the present" by Time magazine. I remember, in a bored moment i clicked through their list and took notes. Never let me go, was one of them. Time passed. The book turned into a movie (I hate when this happens), I lost my job and had time to read. I went through my reading list, and this book was somewhere on the bottom.
So. Question. There are only 99 english lanuage novels from 1923 to the present that are better than this one? Oi oi oi.
It's not bad. But so many holes. No development, no growth. No questions followed up. I hate this. People fulfill their destiny. I have the feeling it's again a kind of existentialism. Sci-fi-existentialism.
How my weekend in germay was, did you already see in my pictures.
The interview was quite interesting. A social media start up. They searched someone who was experienced (sort of) and italian mothertongue (no way). And they told me that they've already seen tons of 'very talented' people. Good for them.
Unexpectedly they called me for a second interview, which I had today (not too bad for someone not mothertongue) - being one of the 'last five'. That's what they wanted: "start up a social media agency, minimum 40h a week, but we all know it needs more, if you do well you might be considered for a renewal after 6 month, but who knows, the contract doesn't cover holidays, sickness, motherhood and overtime and we'll give you 1000 euros a month. What do you think?"
Buahahahahahaha! Good luck! If you want call me for counseling.
This appeared in a Seattlest Re:Take article.
In that article I discuss the loss of the Orpheum Theatre, which has its backside to us in the 1964 photo. A letter to the editor in 1967 took the long view, realizing that the new hotel itself would be demolished some day. Apparently Seattle had already seen tremendous change, or the writer was tripping on still-legal LSD -- something must explain the abnormal existentialism of the letter!
Our 1964 photo is a simple, unassuming, forgettable, beautiful, perfect snapshot of a place in time. Today our strict advertising and sign ordinances mean we're leaving fewer clues and remnants for public historians to consider in the future. So it makes these old photos seem even more full of life.
The dentist on the left moved to 6th and Pine when the Westin forced him out, followed a few years later by retirement and then the inevitable.
The highway signs on the corner point to US Highway 10, which no longer reaches Seattle. It was replaced by Interstate 90. Interstate 5 was open, but old signs still point the Highway 99 route to Seatac Airport -- your GPS today would take you to the University Street or Howell I-5 entrance.
Trader Vic's was a landmark Seattle restaurant in the Orpheum, done in at the same time.
The Benjamin Franklin Hotel, with the large sign on top, was joined with the first Westin tower and then replaced by the second.
And there have been infrastructure changes.
The extra fancy bus shelter was built for streetcars fifty years earlier, and replaced within a short time by the mushroom-looking bus shelter that we just recently destroyed to make a streetcar structure.
Overhead, bus trolley lines lead up 6th. It's only odd when you consider that today no buses run on 6th Avenue at all, let alone electric coaches. This must have led to the old bus barn parking lot across from the Seattle Center. It was converted to parking, later housed a skate park and Sonics training facility, and is now being redeveloped as the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation headquarters.
For rephotography, it's always easiest when there are remnants left to frame. Across the street, the concrete retaining wall still exists. Of course the Space Needle stands out. And you can just see the Grosvenor House apartments blocking the base of the needle.
One thing I missed was the street lights themselves. If they're original, I needed to stand another couple feet to the right to match alignment. But I love the yellow cars in my photo, so I'll never bother to try for a better photo.
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.