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.

Schwergewichte (Starke Persönlichkeiten ) der Weltgeschichte beieinander

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Heavyweights of world history

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Les gens dans l'histoire du monde ensemble

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His body is buried in Cimetière du Montparnasse in Paris. His funeral was attended by 50,000 people.

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In 1939 Sartre was drafted into the French army. France was at war with Germany, because Germany had invaded France (World War II) Sartre was captured by German troops in 1940.

A German officer took the ready manuscript ( L'Âge de raison) from him, but kept it, and later sent for him.

Sartre spent nine months as a prisoner of war in a camp. Sartre was released - because of his bad eye - from the prison camp (jail) in 1941.

Then Sartre began working as a teacher again. He made friends with other writers and thinkers such as Merleau-Ponty, Jean-Toussaint and Dominique Desanti, and Jean Kanapa.

Jean-Paul Charles Aymard Sartre war ein französischer Romancier, Dramatiker, Philosoph und Publizist. Er gilt als Vordenker und Hauptvertreter des Existentialismus und als Paradefigur der französischen Intellektuellen des 20. Jahrhunderts.

Seit seinem 25. Lebensjahr war er mit Simone de Beauvoir liiert.

1975

Sein Verhältnis zu Beauvoir (nach wie vor per „Sie“) bestand weiter, hatte sich allmählich aber gelockert.

1980 Gespräche Benny Lévy

Man sah in den veröffentlichten Gesprächen eine Annäherung Sartres an Lévys Philosophie und dessen jüdischen Glauben

Sartre wuchs unter dem Einfluss seines Großvaters Charles Schweitzer auf, eines Onkels von Albert Schweitzer und Gymnasiallehrers (agrégé) für das Fach Deutsch.

Er nahm auch Boxunterricht, denn „le petit homme“ (das Männlein), wie er von seinen Freunden genannt wurde, maß nur 1,56 m.

Zum Beginn des Schuljahres 1931, mit 26, wurde er vom Unterrichtsministerium als Gymnasiallehrer für Philosophie nach Le Havre geschickt.

Im Herbst 1933 ging Sartre für ein Jahr als Stipendiat an das Institut français in Berlin. Hier las er Husserl und Heidegger, Faulkner und Kafka und begann aus dem factum einen Roman zu entwickeln, das spätere La Nausée (Der Ekel). Die Politik interessierte ihn nur am Rande, die gerade erfolgte Machtübernahme Hitlers hielt er, wie viele linke Intellektuelle, für einen vorübergehenden Spuk.

Zum Schuljahr 1937/38 wurde Sartre in den Pariser Vorort Neuilly versetzt, auch Beauvoir bekam eine Stelle in Paris.

„Der Mensch ist voll und ganz verantwortlich“, zunächst für seine Individualität: Mit seinem Tun „zeichnet er sein Gesicht“. Gleichzeitig aber auch für die ganze Menschheit, denn mit seinen Entscheidungen zeigt er auch, was der Mensch sein kann. Insofern ist er immer auch ein Gesetzgeber.

„Der Mensch ist Angst.“

„Der Mensch ist Verlassenheit.“

„Der Mensch ist Verzweiflung.“

Erkenntnistheoretiker ~ Deutung der Welt - Theory of Knowledge

„Es gibt Wirklichkeit nur in der Tat“: Der Mensch entdeckt sich in seinem Entwurf, er überschreitet sich, indem er sich auf etwas entwirft. Die Liebe existiert für Sartre nur als verwirklichte Beziehung, das Genie nur als verwirklichtes Genie.

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/Erkenntnistheorie

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Tombe de Jean-Paul Sartre et Simone de Beauvoir au cimetière du Montparnasse de Paris.

.. est un écrivain et philosophe français, représentant du courant existentialiste, dont l'œuvre et la personnalité ont marqué la vie intellectuelle et politique de la France de 1945 à la fin des années 1970.

fr. Jean-Paul_Sartre

L'existentialisme est un humanisme (1945)

Existentialism is a way of thinking about human freedom.

Der Existentialismus ist ein Humanismus, „weil wir (die Existentialisten) den Menschen daran erinnern, dass es außer ihm keinen anderen Gesetzgeber gibt und dass er in seiner Verlassenheit über sich selbst entscheidet; und weil wir zeigen, dass nicht durch Rückwendung auf sich selbst, sondern immer durch die Suche nach einem Ziel außerhalb seiner, welches diese oder jene Befreiung, diese oder jene besondere Verwirklichung ist – dass dadurch der Mensch sich als humanes Wesen verwirklichen wird.“

Essais

Situations I (1947)

Situations II (1948)

Situations III (1949)

Situations IV (1964)

Situations V (1964)

Situations VI (1964)

Situations VII (1965)

Situations VIII (1972)

Situations IX (1972)

Situations X (1976)

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Taking a page from the German phenomenological movement, he believed that our ideas are the product of experiences of real-life situations, and that novels and plays can well describe such fundamental experiences, having equal value to discursive essays for the elaboration of philosophical theories such as existentialism.

Jean-Paul Charles Aymard Sartre (21 June 1905 – 15 April 1980) was a French existentialist philosopher, novelist, playwright, screenwriter, and critic. He won the Nobel Prize in Literature for 1964, but refused it. saying "a writer should not allow himself to be turned into an institution".

He was a Marxist and an atheist.

Chiharu Shiota, site specific installation

Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze

© photo Martino Margheri

Painting by Edward Munch - better known for painting "The Scream"

create greeting card

pureevilgallery.arloartists.com/portfolios/39791-busk-ble...

BUSK BLEACH & ZADOK began painting in 1985 , 1995 + 2000 and have consistently charted new territory with their amazing street pieces . Now, 3 distinct minds from 3 decades of painting come together to create a groundbreaking exhibition / installation show at the pure evil gallery.

BUSK BLEACH AND ZADOK present a show entitled PASCALS WAGER

Pascal’s Wager (or Pascal’s Gambit) is a suggestion posed by the French philosopher Blaise Pascal that even though the existence of God cannot be determined through reason, a person should wager as though God exists, because living life accordingly has everything to gain, and nothing to lose. It was set out in note 233 of his Pensées, a posthumously published collection of notes made by Pascal in his last years as he worked on a treatise on Christian apologetics.

Historically, Pascal’s Wager was groundbreaking as it had charted new territory in probability theory, was one of the first attempts to make use of the concept of infinity, marked the first formal use of decision theory, and anticipated the future philosophies of pragmatism and voluntarism.

Blaise Pascal argued that if reason cannot be trusted, it is a better “wager” to believe in God than not to do so.

The wager builds on the theme of other Pensées where Pascal systematically dismantles the notion that we can trust reason. Although his notes were found without definite order after his death (the Pensées numbering scheme was added by publishers for reference purposes), it can be inferred that the section regarding the wager would have followed his other thoughts that supply the foundation. Much of the book attacks certainty, and is often cited as the first work on existentialism .

Show runs until Wednesday 26th May

mister-higgs.tumblr.com/post/92318868944/the-queens-head

russellhiggs.shutterchance.com/image/2014/07/20/the-queen...

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.

Jean-Paul Sartre - The Psychology of Imagination

Washington Square Press W-1045, 1966

Cover Design uncredited

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

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.

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.

Saratoga Springs, New York.

Isamu Noguchi, Gregory (Effigy), 1946, cast 1964, bronze, 175.6 x 41 x 41.9 cm (Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, Bentonville) © estate of the artist

Tabula Rasa (’ täbyoŏlə ˈräsə; ˈräzə) refers to an absence of preconceived ideas or predetermined goals; a clean slate. The phrase carries baggage from belief systems in which the human mind at birth is viewed as having no innate ideas. Denying what is obvious is praticed as a gesture of resistance by some of the artists, most or all of whom are affected, however indirectly, by the notions derived from existentialism and the nothingness of existence, ennui. Inspired curatorially by the concept of residual information that persists after erasure, the exhibition is one of several to date by Evonne M. Davis concerning the nature of knowing, learning and unlearning.

ORIGIN Latin, literally ’scraped tablet,’ denoting a tablet with the writing erased.

Artists: Dave Beck, Katrina Bello, Michael Davies, Brian DeLevie, Gary Duehr, Maria Emilov, Jonathan Franco, Erik Hanson, Greg Leshe, Casey Lynch, Carol Petino, Kara Rooney, Ryan Schroeder, Joshua Schwebel, Travis LeRoy Southworth, Ian Summers, Alexis West

Please Visit iansummersartwork.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.

Io sono due

è chiaro ora

sono due più uno

meno uno e fanno due

che due volte sono

nata e due volte morta

due volte mi sono persa

forse una volta di più

perché due e una sono tre

le volte che ho sbattuto

e una volta ho anche vomitato

ma erano forse due

dato che sono in quattro

a tirarmi per i piedi

mentre dormo con voce di drago

e una volta sola ho amato

ma saranno duecento le volte

che ho toccato l’allegria

però non duecento volte sono nata

perché al centonovantanove

mi sono stufata ed ecco

al due mi sono scordata

non fosse due sarebbe zero

sono io e l’altra due

prendimi come sono

di una due e di due una.

Dacia Maraini

(Ingrid, 8/2013)

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.

He is like a stranger to me of late...

Really believes that Julie Delpy is going to stop by his table and share un cafe cognac with him...

From my blog What William Wears

Inside my (man) bag:

My iPhone, headphones and charger.

A couple of pens: Le Pen and a Pilot Fineliner.

Sun protection: Chapstick and my Wayfaker sunnies.

Reading material: Existentialism and Human Emotion by Jean-Paul Sartre, Jesus' Son by Dennis Johnson and The Medium is The Massage by Marshall McLuhan and Quentin Fiore

A plastic collapsible cup with a pillbox in the lid, 'cause there's never any cups by the water cooler at work!

An envelope containing $1.50 in quarters.

My keys and Comme Des Garçons wallet.

A hard bound grid Moleskine and a tiny old crescent wrench for my bike.

Just the essentials.

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.

Steve Toltz

A Fraction of the Whole

First published in:

This edition:

ISBN: 978-0-141-04179-7

Genre: fiction

Pages: 711

Cover photo: Heritage Collections, State Library of Tasmania

Every single bookstore. There it was. Stacked on the display table (not the shelves, no no. The table). Hot pink dots on the cover joined the phrase "Shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2008". It was irresistible to me, a book I felt deeply I should read as a reviewer, but also as a lover of books. This was one I couldn't miss. When I found A FRACTION OF THE WHOLE at ABC The Hague, well. In the shopping bag it went.

Still, it took me a while to actually read it (earlier this year), possibly because I read the Man Booker winner (Aravind Adiga's THE WHITE TIGER) and found myself to be rather underwhelmed. How would I feel about a nominee if the winner didn't do it for me?

The answer? I feel a little silly. The Man Booker is an important literary prize, but winning it says nothing about the quality of the other shortlisted books (or longlisted books - or books that didn't even make the cut).

I quickly realized when I started reading A FRACTION OF THE WHOLE that I liked this book so much more than the winning book.

Martin Dean's entire life has revolved around one important thing: his brother Terry's actions. A notorious criminal, Terry's been on a murdering spree - killing athletes who took pay-offs, for one - until his own death, which made him an even bigger legend. Ever since, Marty's been focused on being A Somebody Too, but that's not an easy feat when you're a cynical misanthrope who analyzes and philosophizes everything to death. Marty's son Jasper looks on in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to be free from his father's overbearing opinions on life, but unable to because his dad is all Jasper's got. It's only when Marty dies that Jasper can actually look upon their lives together and their crazy adventures (in Paris, Thailand and their homeland, Australia) in a different, more independent light, allowing himself to discover who he is with, and without his dad.

A FRACTION OF THE WHOLE is Toltz's debut, and an impressive one: the fractions that make the book a whole are so, so strong.

Toltz is a fantastic storyteller; his work is highly imaginative without going inexcusably overboard. If you think Steve Toltz is insane, try reading a book by Christopher Moore - whom I adore, but yeah, he's insane. It's why I buy his books. They're delightful.

Steve Toltz has tons of ideas and he does go everywhere with his story - some of them are outrageous, especially in the end - but he goes everywhere with self-confidence, a goal. He's forgiven because he remains very much in control, careful not to let the crazy overshadow the heart of the tale. And there's plenty of heart.

FRACTION is absolutely lough out loud funny. This started immediately; I'd already laughed a gazillion times by the time I reached page 30. There was something witty on every page - at least, I felt it was witty. His humor seems to come natural to him; it doesn't feel forced, the jokes aren't done before. It's fresh, it's daring, it's cynical - but it never puts down serious issues which do occur in the book.

An important theme is suicide; one of the most moving moments in the novel is when Jasper's classmate commits suicide, and the effect it has on his father, a teacher none of the kids could stand. It's a moment I won't forget; FRACTION has a lot of these memorable moments.

It's moments like these which brings me to the strongest aspect of FRACTION, and that is its characters. FRACTION does have a plot line but is clearly a character-driven book. Moments in their lives define Toltz's characters, as do relationships with each other. It's about Jasper's coming of age, absolutely. But even more, FRACTION explores the relationship between father and son (who share the position of narrator), and the bond between two (competitive, and very different) brothers. This is what you need to realize when you read this book. The heart of the book lies between two brothers, and the son of one. Toltz writes about these men with feeling, with soul... and with his brains.

Toltz is an opinionated man - a man who lets his thoughts (existential, philosophical) roam free. The thing that makes it work, is that he's able to get it all across to his readers without making them feel stupid - which a lot of other authors simply fail at. (I'll never forget putting down a revered book by Dutch author Harry Mulisch, in which existentialism is discussed at length between characters. I understood what he was talking about, but it all sounded like pretentious drivel and it put me off entirely.)

It's good that you're thinking about life and death, authors, and that you have questions and are seeking answers, but if you plan on dumping them on your readers (who expect a book about a dysfunctional father/son relationship, not necessarily a work containing a lot of philosophy), at least make it relatable, understandable, transferable. Toltz gets that and I appreciated this.

Furthermore, the reader doesn't have to agree with everything to see the literary value in Toltz's writing. His thoughts are so cleverly worded, that they make for enjoyable reading, so much that it didn't bother me that (my edition of) the book was 700+ pages long. I enjoyed every single word on every single page.

I'm such a huge fan of this author. Please please please, write another book, Steve Toltz. I'll be one of the first to read it. I have complete faith in this man's ability to write a brilliant sophomore novel.

It's not a big literary prize (it's not even real but shh, not the point), but it's a heartfelt one: the Karin Elizabeth Prize 2008, it's yours, Steve Toltz.

© Karin E. Lips 2010

www.reading-reviewing.com

Don't use without permission.

No group invites/images in my comments.

Saratoga Springs, New York.

San Antonio River Lock with SAMA in the distance.

R. Sikoryak, 1990

Snake Eyes #1

Kierkegaard's name literally means graveyard. Ironic for such a solemn man who was obsessed with death. Kirk gaard = Church yard. Graves used to be predominantly placed in church yards. Assistens Kirkegaard was outside the city walls but eventually became a fashionable place for the well-to-do to be buried. Today it's a lovely place to spend your day and reminded me a lot of Central Park with joggers and bikers cutting through and couples lounging on the grass. Many famous people are buried here including Hans Christian Andersen and Neils Bohr. Regina, Kierkegaard's love, was buried only 200 feet away or so next to her husband Schlegel.

Arcangelo Sassolino, site specific installation

Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze

© photo Martino Margheri

Nathalie Djurberg

Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze

© photo Martino Margheri

My best friend Marge sent this wonderful top probably from 'Anthro' as a birthday gift. I'm wearing it with a midnight blue thrifted pleated skirt.

Perfect for teaching 'Existentialism by Nite'!

I made the necklace. Shoes from 'Target'.

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.

Chiharu Shiota, site specific installation

Exhibition view "Francis Bacon and Existential Condition in Contemporary Art", CCC Strozzina, Palazzo Strozzi, Firenze

© photo Martino Margheri

Arcangelo Sassolino, site specific installation

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.

translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=da&u=http...

How I've always imagined Kafka's architecture.

found on "engrish funny"

They sit under the dim, flickering candles and the glow of a dusk-soaked horizon. Their faces are drawn tight with the weight of unspoken truths. The city below sprawls like a labyrinth of enchanted uncertainties, its lights starting to blink like fractured stars as if taunting them with the chaos they’ve chosen to leave behind or perhaps walk into. Their glasses, half-empty or half-full depending on one’s disposition, quiver in their hands with every shallow sip.

The man, his jacket glinting as though armoured against his hesitations, stares at the woman with a tender and probing gaze. But his eyes don’t rest entirely on her; they pierce through her, reaching toward a reflection of himself.

She, wrapped in the blood-red softness of her dress, sits poised but restless. Her lips parted slightly, perhaps to say something, but the weight of their journey and the choice to abandon one life for another seals her words before they can escape.

Perhaps it is a subtle act of rebellion for them to sit together, sharing their time over the remnants of the past. They will raise their glasses in a tentative toast to a future that may prove as fragile as the amber liquid within them. And, arrive at the crushing realisation that freedom does not equate to instant salvation; rather, it forges the endless burden of choice yet to come.

Arcangelo Sassolino, site specific installation

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.

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.

Chapa de ferro gravada, osso, pano, piche e graxa.

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.

Cineaste365 (December 19, 2013 - DAY 069) - Today's Cineaste365 goes to Agnes Varda's "Cléo from 5 to 7".

Fantastic! That is my feeling of “Cléo from 5 to 7″ after watching it. Agnès Varda does a remarkable job of writing and directing a film that chronicles a woman’s life and to see her go through these wide range of emotions and the feeling of existentialism and looking at her life around the people around her.

In the beginning, we see how Cléo truly is. A popstar who shows how vain of a woman she can be. When she looks at the mirror and tells herself that “As long as I’m beautiful, I’m even more alive than the others”, one can immediately look at Cléo and see the lifestyle she has lived. Frivolous and possibly a lifestyle of a queen, buying whatever she wants and reacting to when she hears her music and letting people know that is her on the radio. But it’s when we see those layers of Cléo stripped down. She is now in despair and has left that life that she has lived temporarily to be alone and to get the biopsy results. Giving her a chance to see life differently when faced with her own mortality.

The film has style, it has grace, we see Cléo going through many areas of Paris, driving through Paris as we are like a passenger as we watch the scenery from the front window and of course, the film is also known for its inclusion of the short silent film “Les fiances du pont Macdonald” which feature a newly married Jean-Luc Godard, actress Anna Karina, Georges de Beauregard, Jean-Claude Brialy, Daniele Delorme, Alan Scott, Eddie Constantine and many other popular celebrities and directors from the French New Wave.

The editing is creative and artistic, in fact the inclusion of art in the film is a beautiful touch to a film that has so many enjoyable things going for it. But most importantly is how Varda was keen on detail. Wherever there is a clock (may it be in various restaurants, cafe’s to clocks out in the middle of the stress of Paris, we see the time). Varda and crew were determined to capture the clock at the time Cléo is near it and that the time coincides with what is happening with the film.

Speaking of Paris, what I loved about the film is how we see Cléo in various areas around Paris, the artwork of Hans Baldung Grien (which prior to the film, I always found his artwork hauntingly creepy) and to make a comparison of what I enjoyed about Eric Rohmer’s “My Night at Maud” from 1969 about using the camera and driving through Paris and the viewer is like the passenger, Varda uses this technique many years prior to the film and I just love seeing that incorporated if the scenery is worth capturing and in this case, cinematography in this instance and also of Cléo walking around Paris was well-done!

“Cléo from 5 to 7″ captures Paris in the early 1960′s. A lot of the locations we see in the film are no longer and personally, I don’t know if a film can be shot today with as much access or detail or in such a way as Agnès Varda was able to capture Corinne Marchand walking around in public with not much worry about rabid fans trying to get into the film. You see eyes looking straight at the camera (in fact, these people are probably wondering why they were being filmed) but it captures the time of people in Paris so innocently, and its a shame that some of the locations shot are no longer around. The cinematography is breathtaking and again, the editing is well-done! The film is literally a visual time capsule of Paris from yesteryear.