View allAll Photos Tagged existentialism
Le Cimetière du Montparnasse, Paris, France
I headed south to le Cimetière Montparnasse. After the Paris churchyards closed in the 18th century, a full three quarters of a century before the English closed their urban churchyards, four great cemeteries were laid out to the north, east, south and west of the city. Pere Lachaise is the most famous, Montmartre the most aesthetically pleasing, but Montparnasse probably the most interesting. I spent about three hours and three hundred photographs pottering about. Some of the famous graves are easy to find because they are well documented, and visitors have placed tributes on them. For example, the first grave I went in search of, Samuel Beckett's, has metro tickets placed on it by visitors as a mark of having waited for something.
I already knew where Beckett's grave was, but two others in the same section were more difficult, as I did not have exact locations. I eventually found the grave of Phillipe Noiret, an actor I very much admired particularly for his role in my favourite film, Cinema Paradiso, but also for his role in Le Cop, which has criminally never had a DVD release with English subtitles. There were no public tributes on it, merely a plaque from his wife saying 'pour mon Cher Philippe' and a picture of a horse. While I was photographing it, four gendarmes, two men and two women, passed behind me and came across to see why I was photographing it. "Noiret!" exclaimed one of the men, and then "mais pourquoi le cheval?" wondered one of the women. But they didn't stop for me to explain, for I had read an article about Noiret about fifteen years previously in a copy of La Nouvelle Observateur while staying in a hotel in Boulogne, and I knew that he had bred horses in his spare time.
The other grave I had hoped to find in this section was that of Susan Sontag, but I couldn't track it down.
The joint headstone of Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir is easily found by the main entrance, and I thought it rather sweet that they were remembered together. Despite all their efforts for existentialism and feminism, it was like a headstone in a quiet English churchyard which might have 'reunited' or 'together in eternity' inscribed on it. I think he wasn't pleasant company, and while she was certainly more intelligent than he was she made intellectual arrogance respectable. I photographed their headstone more out of interest than admiration.
Admiration was at the heart of my search for a gravestone lost in sections 6 and 7 which I think is not found often. It is for the surrealist photographer Man Ray. I was delighted to find it after barely 20 minutes searching. He designed it himself, and in his own handwriting into the cement it says 'unconcerned, but not indifferent', which could be taken as rebuff to Satre and his circle I suppose. Charmingly, beside it like the other half of a book is a photograph of him with his wife and the inscription 'Juliet Man Ray 1911-1991, together again'. Enough to leave De Beauvoir spluttering into her Pernod.
You can read my account of my travels at pariswander.blogspot.co.uk.
Be greeted psychoneurotics! For you see sensitivity in the insensitivity of the world, uncertainty among the world's uncertainties. For you often feel others as you feel yourselves. For you feel the anxieties of the world, and its bottomless narrowness and self-assurance. For your phobia of washing your hands from the dirt of the world, for your fear of being locked in the world's limitations, for your fear of the absurdity of existence. For your subtlety in not telling others what you see in them. For your awkwardness in dealing with practical things, and your practicalness in dealing with unknown things, for your transcendental realism and lack of everyday realism, for your exclusiveness and fear of losing close friends, for your creativity and ecstasy, for your maladjustment to that "which is" and adjustment to that which "ought to be", for your great but unutilised abilities. For the belated appreciation of the real value of your greatness which never allows the appreciation of the greatness of those who will come after you. For your being treated instead of treating others, for your heavenly power being forever pushed down by brutal force; for that which is prescient, unsaid, infinite in you. For the loneliness and strangeness in your ways. Be greeted! (Written by Kazimierz Dąbrowski, Polish psychologist, psychiatrist, and physician) For more, follow The Existentialist on Facebook. Tags: #existential, #existentialist, #existentialism, #life, #lifelessons, #depression, #mentalhealth, #mentalillness, #mentalhealthawareness, #psychology, #writersofinstagram, #writerscommunity, #poetry, #poetsofig, #poetsofinstagram, #poetrycommunity, #depressionquotes, #gifted, #wordporn, #writing, #mind, #psycho, #manic, #depressed, #wisewords, #bipolar, #bipolardisorder, #support, #anxiety, #healing.. Check out this post on Instagram! ift.tt/2uAVXhZ.
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
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.
A glorious view from an ancient fishing port in Iceland. You have to lift a 40 kilo rock on the beach to work on a boat back then.
“In life, a man commits himself, draws his own portrait and there is nothing but that portrait.” –Sartre, Existentialism is a Humanism
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.
nobody knows you, when you're down and out ... - compare the version of CARLA BRUNI - presenting the famous BESSIE SMITH blues frizzkolumne.wordpress.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.
The Future of Romanticism
The skyline stretched before them, glowing in a kaleidoscope of neon blues and golds, a pulsating organism of light and technology. The towering dome across from their terrace blinked with ads seamlessly melded with art, its design a fusion of engineering precision and opulent creativity. This was their city; they knew it as a declaration that no height was unattainable, and no boundary was unbreakable.
The man rested his hands on the table's edge, his posture deliberate, almost rehearsed. His tailored jacket was woven with subtle patterns of light, a fabric that signalled wealth and power. His face, however, betrayed none of the pride his clothing implied. Instead, his eyes lingered on the horizon, searching for something he couldn’t quite name. His mind flickered between the cold ledger of their accomplishments—networks built, markets dominated, cities shaped—and the vague dissatisfaction that had crept into his soul like a shadow. "We’ve done it all, haven’t we?" he thought, in pride and disappointment.
She looked up from her glass, her features soft but distant. Her flawless, minimalist dress glowed faintly against the ambient lights around them. It was not the kind of attire for someone bound to the past. Yet, as she met his thought, something unspoken revealed in her eyes. We are climbing the same ladder over and over again. What else is left? Her every movement was a touch of perfection — her vitality, longevity, efficiency of decision-making, and lasting beauty. When does more stop being enough?
Blogger
www.jjfbbennett.com/2024/11/a-romantic-celebration.html
Nu Jazz by JJFBbennett on YouTube music
www.youtube.com/channel/UCrxQKZRnAka3dliF7lp1-Ow
Keywords:
Dystopia, Utopia, Existentialism, Decay, Resilience, Transformation, Hope, Desolation, Journey, Rebirth, Solitude, Redemption, Wellness, Love, Prosperity, Perfection
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.
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
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
Don't use without permission.
No group invites/images in my comments.
Jean-Paul Sartre - The Psychology of Imagination
Washington Square Press W-1045, 1966
Cover Design uncredited
French postcard by Editions P.I., Paris, offered by Les Carbones Korès Carboplane, no. 588. Publicity still for The Sun Also Rises (Henry King, 1957).
French actress and chanson singer Juliette Gréco (1927) was the muse of the existentialists such as Jean-Paul Sartre. Later she became the protégée of film mogul Darryl F. Zanuck, who cast her in his films.
For more postcards, a bio and clips check out our blog European Film Star Postcards Already over 3 million views! Or follow us at Tumblr or Pinterest.
Arcangelo Sassolino, site specific installation
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'.
Nathalie Djurberg
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.
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.
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.
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
mass phenomena: two world wars, human beings framed by steel, aggression and anxiety, a crowd like this in my German hometown gives me a flashback into the times of dictatorship and brainless followers, of hate and racism - but nowadays it's only a fleamarket, the crowd only PLAYS to go back in time... - compare my set www.flickr.com/photos/frizztext/sets/72157608616414361/ RESTAURANT GALLERY / Ranking by dopiaza
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...
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)
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.
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.
played my repertoire yesterday in an abandoned factory in my hometown Wuppertal - maybe this could be the cover image?