Female Head, Uffizi Gallery
Leonardo da Vinci
Study of St Anne
Leonardo da Vinci
I had this in draft and noted pinterest without a source. I’m pretty sure it is from petrus on flickr.
One may have a blazing hearth in one’s soul and yet no one ever came to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way.
~Vincent van Gogh, 30 March 1853 – 29 July 1890
Image: Self-Portrait, 1887, Van Gogh Museum
What interests me is the transformation, not the monument. I don’t construct ruins, but I feel ruins are moments when things show themselves. A ruin is not a catastrophe. It is the moment when things can start again.
Anselm Kiefer - Aschenblume 2007-2012 Oil, emulsion, acrylic, shellac and chalk on canvas 380 x 280 cm (via: ozartsetc.com)
Anselm Kiefer - The Hierarchy of the Angels (Die Ordnung der Engel), 2000 (via: casadorada-sa.blogspot)
Anselm Kiefer, “Sommer in Barjac — Die berühmten Orden der Nacht” 2010, gouache on photographic paper. Courtesy Gagosian Gallery, New York (via: NY Times)
Translation of text: “Summer in Barjac — the renowned orders of the night.”
Anselm Kiefer - Gagosian Gallery (via: sunhunters.ru)
L’oro di Napoli- The Gold of Naples (pizza fritta)
Dashboard click box below for video. :)
L’oro di Napoli- The Gold of Naples
Director: Vittorio De Sica
Dino De Laurentiis … producer
Marcello Girosi … executive producer
Carlo Ponti … producer
Above: Aleph from Les 22 clés de l’alphabet hébraïque (the 22 keys of the Hebrew alphabet), Frank Lalou
On the back part of the step, toward the right, I saw a small iridescent sphere of almost unbearable brilliance. At first I thought it was revolving; then I realised that this movement was an illusion created by the dizzying world it bounded. The Aleph’s diameter was probably little more than an inch, but all space was there, actual and undiminished. Each thing (a mirror’s face, let us say) was infinite things, since I distinctly saw it from every angle of the universe. I saw the teeming sea; I saw daybreak and nightfall; I saw the multitudes of America; I saw a silvery cobweb in the center of a black pyramid; I saw a splintered labyrinth (it was London); I saw, close up, unending eyes watching themselves in me as in a mirror; I saw all the mirrors on earth and none of them reflected me; I saw in a backyard of Soler Street the same tiles that thirty years before I’d seen in the entrance of a house in Fray Bentos; I saw bunches of grapes, snow, tobacco, lodes of metal, steam; I saw convex equatorial deserts and each one of their grains of sand; I saw a woman in Inverness whom I shall never forget; I saw her tangled hair, her tall figure, I saw the cancer in her breast; I saw a ring of baked mud in a sidewalk, where before there had been a tree; I saw a summer house in Adrogué and a copy of the first English translation of Pliny — Philemon Holland’s — and all at the same time saw each letter on each page (as a boy, I used to marvel that the letters in a closed book did not get scrambled and lost overnight); I saw a sunset in Querétaro that seemed to reflect the colour of a rose in Bengal; I saw my empty bedroom; I saw in a closet in Alkmaar a terrestrial globe between two mirrors that multiplied it endlessly; I saw horses with flowing manes on a shore of the Caspian Sea at dawn; I saw the delicate bone structure of a hand; I saw the survivors of a battle sending out picture postcards; I saw in a showcase in Mirzapur a pack of Spanish playing cards; I saw the slanting shadows of ferns on a greenhouse floor; I saw tigers, pistons, bison, tides, and armies; I saw all the ants on the planet; I saw a Persian astrolabe; I saw in the drawer of a writing table (and the handwriting made me tremble) unbelievable, obscene, detailed letters, which Beatriz had written to Carlos Argentino; I saw a monument I worshipped in the Chacarita cemetery; I saw the rotted dust and bones that had once deliciously been Beatriz Viterbo; I saw the circulation of my own dark blood; I saw the coupling of love and the modification of death; I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face and my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon — the unimaginable universe.
I felt infinite wonder, infinite pity.
~Jorge Luis Borges , The Aleph
I saw all the mirrors on earth and none of them reflected me.
~Jorge Luis Borges, The Aleph
Image: Horacio Villalobos / Corbis (via: .thedailybeast.com)