View allAll Photos Tagged existentialism
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
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.
Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze
© photo Martino Margheri
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.
Prince Stanislas Poniatowski (1754-1833) was fantastically wealthy, heir to the Polish throne, and an art-world psychopath: the Bernie Madoff of carved gems. Poniatowski assembled a renowned collection of 2600 supposedly ancient gems, published with great fanfare in 1830. Turns out they were bogus, of the highest quality, naturally (above, Zeus and Kapaneus before the Walls of Thebes, now owned by the Getty). The "Poniatowski scandal" is just one of the stories in the Getty Villa's "Carvers and Collectors: The Lasting Allure of Ancient Gems." Though it's gotten little buzz, "Carvers and Collectors" is a major international loan exhibition that happens to fit in one small room. It's not really about forgeries. Within that one room lie mini-retrospectives of Gnaios, Dioskourides, and Solon—big names in this micro-mini-medium—and many of the world's most legendary gems (the Strozzi Medusa, the Felix gem, the Marriage of Cupid and Psyche). All four signed gems by Gnaios are here. That's something like an exhibition of Renaissance painting that packs in multiple works by Michelangelo and Raphael and every known Leonardo.
Like last year's Dilettanti show, this one is partly about the odd spell antiquity has cast down the ages. A case in point is Poniatowski, motivated not by gain but by the desire to be known as a great collector. Like Madoff, Poniatowski apparently worked on a need-to-know basis. He commissioned the finest Italian hands to design and execute his gems. Their efforts tended to be oval, just a little bigger and better than the ancient models, and favoring clever literary themes the ancients had bypassed. It's believed that Poniatowski had another carver or carvers forge Greek signatures onto his gems. He must have considered it the perfect crime, like stabbing with an icicle. Even today, there is no scientific way of determining the age of a carved gem. Ancient carvings often look as fresh as new.
Poniatowski wisely did not let many people see his treasures. He was almost tripped up by pride, however, when he sent plaster impressions of his best pieces to the Berlin Antiquarium. The implicit message: Eat your heart out, guys. Based on the impressions, curator Ernst Heinrich Toelken quickly concluded that Poniatowski's gems were fakeloo. Ironically, this was partly because the signatures were just too beautiful. The letters were neoclassical-perfect, not the crude, muscular lettering of antiquity. Despite his dismissal of their authenticity, Toelken wrote, "The impressions are indeed the most beautiful you can expect to see in art."
From there on, the story is less Bernie Madoff than The Talented Mr. Ripley. Suspicions grew over time, though Poniatowski was never exactly busted. The prince died in 1833, and his collection was sold at Christies in 1839. Captain John Tyrrell purchased most of the collection for 65,000 pounds. He thought he was getting a bargain. Tyrrell became the collection's staunchest defender against the doubters. It is "not probable that a nobleman of his [Poniatowski’s] high character and honour would have asserted that which he did not believe to be true," Tyrrell wrote. He commissioned a catalog illustrated with the new medium of photography. It was a bad investment. When Tyrrell auctioned the gems in 1861, some went for as little at 2 pounds apiece. (For more on the Poniatowski collection, download Claudia Wagner's "A Picture-Book of Antiquity: The Neoclassical Gem Collection of Prince Poniatowski.")
The Getty's installation geniuses nailed the lighting of daguerreotypes, and you might hope they'd do the same for carved gems. Most of the pieces here are presented through portholes behind glazing (necessary for pocketable jewels that would be obscured by any serious clamp). All are beautifully lighted with fiberoptics. It works well with cameos, where the image projects from the stone; less so with intaglios (where the image is convex). Opaque intaglios are hard to read, and some colorless-transparent gems look washed out, too. Needless to say, everything is small. We're talking half-dollar- to Viagra-size.
A traditional solution is to exhibit intaglio gems next to impressions. But impressions can look amazingly different from the gems, no matter how they're illuminated. Compare this photo of the garnet Sirius with its plaster impression (both from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts' site; the plaster is not in the Getty show). Because impressions are more readable, viewers tend to ignore the gems themselves, and that defeats the purpose of showing the original object.
The appearance of gems also varies with lighting. Under the Getty's backlighting, Gnaios's Sirius glows weirdly beautiful (and is not much like the photo). Recognizing the legibility issues, the Getty has installed digital cameras with some displays. You can position the camera over a gem, rotate a ring to focus, and then view it greatly magnified on a video screen. These cameras get a lot of use, but that doesn't mean they're effective. The video images have blown-out highlights and are far inferior to the professionally lighted photos you can get on the exhibition's website.
This show thus raises an unsettling Walter Benjamin question. What if a work of art is better appreciated in reproduction, than in the original object? (It's something another local museum is dealing with, with much-smaller artworks and budget).
Incidentally, the Getty Villa is now showing its smartest group of loan exhibits ever. The biggest coup is the Chimaera of Arezzo, the sort of treasure that rarely travels, here given the focus-show treatment. "The Golden Graves of Ancient Vanni" is a plodding archeologist-procedural with much newly excavated material. Many of of the questions it raises remain unanswered. Among them: what's with those ritual stick figures that look like Giacometti's atom-bomb existentialism?
Watching one of Federico Fellini's movies is a great way to cultivate one's mind.
The strange way this photograph turned out was rather bizarre...
Our Daily Challenge:
CULTIVATE YOUR MIND is the topic for Wed Aug 19 2020
Serena Malloch
Painting
existentialism
noun: a philosophical theory or approach which emphasizes the existence of the individual person as a free and responsible agent determining their own development through acts of the will.
Is There Anything Out There? (2021) is a project that visualizes the concept of existentialism. These works are a commentary on my own first-hand experiences, but the intent is for them to be relatable to a wider audience, as existential decisions are faced by all people at some point.
Watercolour paints are used in a delicate matter where the paint spreads freely and pools as it likes alluding to the unpredictability of life.
The concepts of semi-permeance and natural decay are also explored through the lack of frames and protection of these paper works, leaving them susceptible to the outer world and allowing them to naturally age like all living things.
Nathalie Djurberg
Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze
© photo Martino Margheri
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.
with all my respect to Nuri Bilge Ceylan
*******************************************
Nuri Bilge Ceylan (born 1959 in Istanbul) is a Turkish photographer and film director.
His third feature Uzak (Distant) received many awards including the Grand Jury Prize and the Best Actor Prize at Cannes, and was praised internationally.
Ceylan usually deals with the estrangement of the individual, natural existentialism, monotonous real human lives and fundamental details of life. Having started his career as a photographer, Ceylan makes minimalist movies with an extremely low budget. His cast generally consists of amateur actors, most of which are his family members, including his mother and father. Most critiques link the strikingly natural atmosphere in his movies with this selection of actors. More specifically, the characters in Ceylan's movies appear to be people from our everyday life and the audience can form a warm and friendly relationship with the actors, which appears to be a much more difficult task for professional actors.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Nuri Bilge Ceylan (d. 1959, İstanbul) Türk yönetmen, senarist ve fotoğraf sanatçısı.
56. Cannes Film Festivali’nde yarışan ve favori filmler arasında gösterilen Nuri Bilge Ceylan’ın 2002 yapımlı dram filmi Uzak, Altın Palmiye’den sonra festivalin ikinci önemli ödülü olan ‘Büyük Jüri Ödülü’nü (‘Grand Prix’) aldı.
property of the Nedbalka Gallery in Bratislava, Slovakia
collection of a modern Slovak art
for educational purpose only
please do not use without permission
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.
Skipping through Dystopia on way to Utopia
A lone figure moves with an unsettling grace in the dim twilight of a decaying city, where the remnants of civilisation stand as silent witnesses to their demise. Each step taken amidst the desolation seems to mock the essence of existence as if moving forward is a futile rebellion against the oppressive weight of being. The air is thick with the stench of rust and decay, a tangible reminder of the absurdity that permeates this forsaken world.
As the figure advances, the surrounding gloom intensifies, the shadows growing longer and more oppressive. The skeletal remains of the old world loom ominously, their presence a stark reminder of the inescapable reality of existence. Yet, amidst this suffocating despair, there is a fleeting, almost imperceptible shift where the oppressive darkness gives way to a horizon bathed in a cold, indifferent light. The figure pauses, gazing back at the path traversed, a journey marked by the relentless confrontation with the absurdity of being. In this moment, there is no utopia, no redemption, only the stark, unyielding reality of existence and the solitary figure's acknowledgment of it.
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Keywords:
Dystopia, Utopia, Existentialism, Decay, Resilience, Transformation, Hope, Desolation, Journey, Rebirth, Solitude, Redemption, Wellness
Luciano Minguzzi (Bologna, 24 May 1911 - Milan 30 May 2004) was an Italian sculptor who exhibited from the 1930s onwards. In 1951, he was chosen to design the fifth door of the Duomo in Milan. This period in the artist's career was marked by a series of powerful plastic works featuring acrobats, contortionists and playing children. From the late 1950s into the 1960s, his sculptures included references to concentration camps, gas chambers and other war-related themes. It was also in this period that he introduced bas-relief into his work, often made of bronze with iron inserts. He experimented with different styles of work, such as semi-abstract sculpture. Luciano Minguzzi's art constantly expresses an aesthetic attraction to all aspects of life that normally remain hidden, such as sex, wounds, death, all the elements in which he can find primal force to set nature in motion. Although a convinced atheist, he also often touches on sacred themes, so that his sculptures are seen as emblematic expressions of visceral existentialism.
Title of the work: Six persons
More about this work:
This work of art can be admired at the Middelheim open air museum at Antwerp: www.middelheimmuseum.be/en
Luciano Minguzzi (Bologna, 24 mei 1911 – Milaan 30 mei 2004) was een Italiaanse beeldhouwer die vanaf de jaren 1930 exposeerde. In 1951 werd hij uitgekozen om de vijfde deur van de Duomo in Milaan te ontwerpen. Deze periode in de carrière van de kunstenaar werd gekenmerkt door een reeks krachtige plastische werken met acrobaten, slangenmensen en spelende kinderen. Vanaf het einde van de jaren 1950 tot in de jaren 1960 bevatte zijn beeldhouwwerk verwijzingen naar concentratiekampen, gaskamers en andere oorlogsgerelateerde thema's. Het was ook in deze periode dat hij bas-reliëf in zijn werk introduceerde, vaak gemaakt van brons met ijzeren inzetstukken. Hij experimenteerde met verschillende stijlen van werk, zoals de semi-abstracte sculptuur. Uit de kunst van Luciano Minguzzi spreekt voortdurend een esthetische aantrekkingskracht op alle aspecten van het leven die normaal verborgen blijven, zoals seks, wonden, dood, alle elementen waarin hij oerkracht kan terugvinden om de natuur in beweging te brengen. Hoewel overtuigd atheïst, sneedt hij ook vaak sacrale thema's aan, waardoor zijn sculpturen worden gezien als emblematische uitingen van visceraal existentialisme.
Meer over dit werk: search.middelheimmuseum.be/details/collect/148301
Dit werk kan bewonderd worden in het openlucht museum Middelheim in Antwerpen: www.middelheimmuseum.be/nl
Luciano Minguzzi (Bologne, 24 mai 1911 - Milan 30 mai 2004) était un sculpteur italien qui a exposé à partir des années 1930. En 1951, il est choisi pour dessiner la cinquième porte du Duomo à Milan. Cette période de la carrière de l'artiste est marquée par une série d'œuvres plastiques puissantes mettant en scène des acrobates, des contorsionnistes et des enfants qui jouent. Dès la fin des années 1950 et dans les années 1960, ses sculptures font référence aux camps de concentration, aux chambres à gaz et à d'autres thèmes liés à la guerre. C'est également à cette époque qu'il introduit le bas-relief dans son œuvre, souvent en bronze avec des inserts en fer. Il a expérimenté différents styles de travail, comme la sculpture semi-abstraite. L'art de Luciano Minguzzi exprime constamment une attirance esthétique pour tous les aspects de la vie qui restent normalement cachés, comme le sexe, les blessures, la mort, tous les éléments dans lesquels il peut trouver une force primitive pour mettre la nature en mouvement. Bien qu'athée convaincu, il aborde aussi souvent des thèmes sacrés, de sorte que ses sculptures sont considérées comme des expressions emblématiques d'un existentialisme viscéral.
Titre de l'œuvre: Six personnages
Cette œuvre peut être admirée au musée en plein air Middelheim à Anvers: www.middelheimmuseum.be/fr
Annegret Soltau
Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze
© photo Martino Margheri
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
Existentialism found in a dumpster in the Smith Street area of Brooklyn, NY
This photo was called "When I am old and worn out I hope they don't discard me too" but I thought folks were reading too much in it. For some reason, go ask Freud, these shoes provoked my muse to wax existential. Or maybe it was my collective unconscious. In any case I'm opting for a more cryptic title.
Le Cimetière du Montparnasse, Paris, France
To the Victims of the Republican Guard of the City of Paris
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
Jean-Paul Sartre was a French existentialist philosopher, playwright, novelist, screenwriter, political activist, biographer, and literary critic. He was one of the key figures in the philosophy of existentialism, and one of the leading figures in 20th-century French philosophy and Marxism. His work has also influenced sociology, critical theory, post-colonial theory, and literary studies, and continues to influence these disciplines. Sartre has also been noted for his open relationship with the prominent feminist theorist Simone de Beauvoir. He was awarded the 1964 Nobel Prize in Literature and refused it, saying that he always declined official honors and that "a writer should not allow himself to be turned into an institution".
Simone de Beauvoir was a French writer, intellectual, existentialist philosopher, political activist, feminist, and social theorist. While she did not consider herself a philosopher, Beauvoir had a significant influence on both feminist existentialism and feminist theory. Beauvoir wrote novels, essays, biographies, an autobiography, monographs on philosophy, politics, and social issues. She is best known for her novels, including She Came to Stay and The Mandarins, as well as her 1949 treatise The Second Sex, a detailed analysis of women's oppression and a foundational tract of contemporary feminism.
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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.