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Pergaminu - Graxa, piche, verniz e lápis dermatográfico sobre páginas de livro de anatomia do sec.XIX. ... Ao fundo xilogravura sobre tecido de algodão.
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.
This is for you.. Yes you. You who's burning in the pyre of suffering, consumed in the flames of anguish. You who's down and nearly out.. You, who's shrouded in darkness, losing hope of seeing the light again.. I hope it reaches you at the right time, when you really need to hear it.. right now. I hope that you can feel me reaching out to touch you, assuring you that it's okay. I hope that I can make you feel just a little bit better I just want you that I'm there. That you are loved and cared for... even while you suffer silently, alone. I want you to know that I understand I understand it's hard. So damn hard... I know. I see the broken pieces of you... And it breaks my heart. I feel your hurt, your pain... your sorrow. I see it engulfing you, overpowering you. I feel so helpless, I wish I could do something to help. But right now my presence is all I can give. I know the hurt will go away eventually, I hope it goes soon. Yes I know this is part of your journey that you must go through. And yet I hope you don't suffer too much. Dear love, this is for you. Why? Because you matter Because you're special And unique And beautiful in ways I can't even begin to put into words. You. Are irreplaceable. You deserve to be loved and cherished and celebrated. I hope you can join in the celebrations too. I hope you know this is just a phase... this too shall pass. Know that you will see the light of day again, no matter how dark it may seem now. I hope you know it's all for the good, that it's going to make you stronger, more resilient. I know you won't stop burning, not just yet. But I hope you let this fire cleanse you, purge you, and spark the fire in your belly. And while you're still burning, I hope you burn brightly, glow, radiate the warmth and light that you so naturally exude. And when the fire does end, I hope you rise like a Phoenix from the ashes. For more, follow The Existentialist on Facebook. Tags: #existential, #existentialism, #existentialist, #existence, #life, #lifequotes, #lifelessons, #love, #care, #affection, #hope, #poetrycommunity, #despair, #agony, #depression, #poetry, #melancholy, #suicide, #suicideprevention, #hurt.. Check out this post on Instagram! ift.tt/2pberTd.
"The existentialist…finds it extremely embarrassing that God does not exist, for there disappears with Him all possibility of finding values in an intelligible heaven. There can no longer be any good a priori, since there is no infinite and perfect consciousness to think it. It is nowhere written that “the good” exists, that one must be honest or must not lie, since we are now upon the plane where there are only men. Dostoevsky once wrote "if God did not exist, everything would be permitted"; and that, for existentialism, is the starting point. Everything is indeed permitted if God does not exist, and man is in consequence forlorn, for he cannot find anything to depend upon either within or outside himself. He discovers forthwith, that he is without excuse. For if indeed existence precedes essence, one will never be able to explain one’s action by reference to a given and specific human nature; in other words, there is no determinism — man is free, man is freedom. Nor, on the other hand, if God does not exist, are we provided with any values or commands that could legitimise our behaviour. Thus we have neither behind us, nor before us in a luminous realm of values, any means of justification or excuse. — We are left alone, without excuse. That is what I mean when I say that man is condemned to be free. Condemned, because he did not create himself, yet is nevertheless at liberty, and from the moment that he is thrown into this world he is responsible for everything he does."
Jean-Paul Sartre
The future brings uncertainty.
we don't exactly choose what we are gonna become.
fate has a hand in shaping us too (semi-anti-existentialism).
we can wish it but with no tangible assurance,
we can will it but it is not without doubt, and
we can move towards it although the path isn't without intersections.
but there's one thing we can do still
and that is hope for it
neverminding the negatives and the positives, it gives us a surprise that will eventually have a true shock value in our lives.
the flower bud seems to think so too as he's forming a sort of "ok" sign with that lone petal :-).
I Am Lost In The Endless Cycle
Description:
A haunting exploration of urban alienation and the endless cycle of modern life. Lose yourself in reflective surfaces, traffic lights, and the fragmented digital self.
Keywords:
experimental music video, urban alienation, cityscape, modern life, traffic lights, selfie, fragmented self, digital identity, loop, existentialism
Blogger:
Pergaminu - Graxa, piche, verniz e lápis dermatográfico sobre páginas de livro de anatomia do sec.XIX. ... Ao fundo xilogravura sobre tecido de algodão.
Another favorite feature at the Indianapolis Children's Museum is the Water Clock in the Sunburst Atrium. It's fascinating to watch this contraption work. It's part art and part mad science, with just enough existentialism thrown in -- it is time, after all.
I took this photo from behind the clock, because all my pictures from the front were weirdly lit, so the hours are on the right and the minutes are on the left, and the numbers are all backwards. The green neon is the clock's pendulum.
Americans in Paris
An American couple at Café Les Deux Magots
Camus, Sartre and Hemingway used to frequent this cafe! Now it's a little hard to imagine an artist feeling comfortable enough to create in such a calculated atmosphere... nevertheless, I went in honour of Camus, my favourite writer.
St.Germain-des-Pres, Paris
deuxmagots_20071201_05xsmc
I don't think that religious groups should get pedantic, after all, the future being orange is probably far more likely than a bloke walking on water and feeding thousands with one fish sandwich.
This was just the usual 'we're all going to die/save your soul/jesus loves you' rubbish. If the future isn't bright then I should like to spend what little time there is left not being harrassed and told I'm going to burn in Hell for the Eternity. Frankly, after a while, it gets boring.
Rant over.
Blackberries have no essence before their existence because there is no Creator. Thus: "existence precedes essence". The juice from existentialist blackberries on dirty hands.
Apologies to Jean Paul Sartre.
Best on black
This is made for the TMI Paint That Tune! Challenge. This abstract is inspired by the Rogers and Hammerstein 'Carousel Waltz' which opens the musical 'Carousel'
I wanted to capture the feel of the opening of the film version. It's a great opening, rich with stylized acting and jump cuts all timed to the waltz.
Artist name - Jung-Yong Lee
Height (cm) - 122.1
Width (cm) - 145.5
Medium - Acrylic on canvas
Date artwork created – 2010
Article No - 32028
Other information - Although my work begins with a photographic image, the intention is not to idealize the mechanical hand. Rather, I wish to surpass the limitations of the visual phenomenon and elicit a viewer’s response to the illusionistic quality of the painting. My work consists of various portraits of human faces, through which I try to investigate existentialism. A face not only represents a subject by reflecting one’s personality and characteristic but also embodies various meanings. The doll-like faces rendered in a manner that lies on the boundary between reality and illusion delivers a certain impact. Such discrepancy in the relationship between image and illusion gives a room for infinite possibilities in the imaginative mind of the viewer.
Today the clock on the wall is ticking in French, and well, the celebration is freedom, the kind that doesn’t ask permission and doesn’t leave a forwarding address. Today we celebrate Simone de Beauvoir.
Born in Paris, 1908, same world, different weather. A philosopher, a writer, a troublemaker in sensible shoes. She didn’t just walk into a room, she rearranged the furniture and then asked why it was there in the first place. Beauvoir said you’re not born what you are, you become it. That line landed like a dropped glass in a quiet kitchen. Still echoing. She looked at the rules, the labels, the neat little boxes, and said they were written in pencil, not stone. And then she sharpened the eraser.
She ran with Jean-Paul Sartre, no wedding bells, no white picket fence, just long conversations, cheap cafés, and ideas smoking like unfiltered cigarettes at three in the morning. They made a pact: no lies, no cages. That kind of deal scares people. Still does.
Her book The Second Sex came out in 1949.
Hit the shelves like a cold wind through an open door. Some folks called it dangerous. Others called it necessary. Usually means it’s telling the truth. She wrote about women the way blues singers write about heartbreak; plainspoken, unsentimental, and impossible to ignore. Simone de Beauvoir believed freedom wasn’t a gift, it was a responsibility. Heavy coat to wear, especially in winter. You’re free, she said, but you’re also on the hook for what you do with it. No hiding behind the curtain. No blaming the script. Now, Beauvoir was very clear, and sometimes unsettling, about women’s own responsibility. She never said oppression wasn’t real; she said it was real and complicated, because freedom always exists, even under constraint. Even inside oppression, there is responsibility. Beauvoir argued that women are often encouraged to accept passivity, dependence, and safety, but accepting them is still a choice. A pressured choice, yes. A limited one, yes. But not a neutral one. She wrote that many women are taught to find comfort in being “the Other,” because it relieves them of risk. Letting others decide for you can feel safer than acting freely. Borrowing from existentialism, she said people, including women, sometimes live in bad faith: pretending they have no freedom in order to avoid responsibility. So when a woman says, “I have no choice,” Beauvoir asks: Is that absolutely true or is it partly fear, habit, or social reward speaking? This was controversial, because she was careful not to blame women, but she also refused to absolve them entirely. Beauvoir believed laws, economics, education, and culture must change but here’s the trick, she also believed women must actively claim their freedom, even when it’s uncomfortable or costly. Freedom, to her, was not happiness or ease. It was risk, ambiguity, and action.
So today remember Simone de Beauvoir, a woman who asked the big questions and didn’t wait around for the answers to be easy. She knew life was improvised, and authenticity was the only tune worth learning.
ink, watercolor on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
Public swimming beach at Walden Pond State Park. If walking around to Thoreau's homesite, it disappears behind you away from view as you walk
According to the three fortunes I received with my two cookies, even in these tough economic times my sly nature will bring about a contagiously thrilling time.
My idea of conveying psychedelics and existentialism through these pictures was delivered through the semitransparent layer of people posing to match the artwork in the background of the photos. Psychedelics are actually a class of drug that cause hallucinations and are said to be linked with discovering things “out of body”. I find this concept fascinating, and i wanted to capture this. in the background the psychedelic and out of body vibe is given off by Alex Grey's artwork lined up with the semitransparent layer. These show the idea that there is a "third eye", so to speak, in all of us. My goal from the artist’s perspective was to capture the viewers eye with strong colors, courtesy of alex grey, and guide their eyes with patterns to look at the detail of the artwork in the background and how the art adds an “inside the person” idea to the portrait of the person
"Sing me something soft,
Sad and delicate.
Or loud and out of key:
Sing me anything."
-Existentialism on Prom Night, Straylight Run
Right on the coast. Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) in California, next to a cliff. To the right there is the ocean. :)