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.
You can read my account of my travels at pariswander.blogspot.co.uk.
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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.
Le Cimetière du Montparnasse, Paris, France
Michèle Arnaud was born Micheline Caréon in 1919 in Toulon, and died in 1998 in Maisons-Laffitte in the suburbs of Paris.
She was a French singer, producer, and director, the mother of the singer Dominique Walter and the photographer Florence Gruère. Arnaud was awarded a Chevalier de la Légion d'honneur and Ordre des Arts et des Lettres. She was the first entrant for Luxembourg in the first ever Eurovision Song Contest.
Michele Arnaud and Serge Gainsbourg on YouTube.
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.
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.
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… the smile of the red balloon … *
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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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Selected photos and materials from the studio of Francis Bacon.
Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze
© photo Martino Margheri
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.
For more postcards, a bio and clips check out our blog European Film Star Postcards Already over 3 million views! Or follow us at Tumblr or Pinterest.
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/
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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