Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Study the Map of the World in Laminate




Man with the Glove : "Titian's
portraiture in the 1520's enters a similar phase of dignity and reserve. No expression crosses the face of [...], and the triangular relationship of hands and face functions within a color scheme restricted to black, white, and flesh tones. Yet one cannot escape the solemnity of the gaze, the luminosity of the eyes, the naturalism of the face, and the informality of the pose, all of which give the portrait a strong sense of individual character. Titian clearly sees the limited color palette as a challenge, and the effect of living, warm flesh against the black and white of the costume and the beige of the torn glove, which gives the painting its modern name, is impressive" (645).

Marta : "When a Maid's in the House, I Lose Half My Freedom"

"And this is what I find so difficult about being her mistress. This is a profound difficulty for me, and it creates a conflict with my husband. He always puts it like this: 'Well, I need a maid because you don't want to do anything. You say you'd rather not have a maid because you prefer to do it yourself, but when you do it, you always complain.' And I say, 'I complain about the way you're exploiting me, because if we didn't have a maid and shared the work half and half, wonderful, I wouldn't want to have a maid in the house.' It's even a situation that makes me feel bad. I feel invaded, as if my house were split, with a foreign universe that isn't mine, and that makes me feel constrained. Then he says, 'Well, you spoil the maid because you don't know how to be a mistress, you don't know how to yell at her, how to give her orders'" (200).

When the Skinheads Start to Grow Hair, It's Time to Leave Town "...Prague sounded terribly romantic. There were a lot of writers there. They have a dissident playwright for president. It was easy to get work even if you didn't speak the language. I had the vague impression that it was cheap. I was so ignorant that I didn't yet know they make the best beer in the world.

But I delighted in my ignorance. Prague was my great frontier. Prague was in that long pink stretch of globe that nobody would talk about in grade school, where, if you ventured, you'd encounter Communists" (110).
...

Saudades: "Things began to snowball, and my health began to suffer. I was frequently sick from a combination of loneliness, unhappiness, and lack of antibodies to your basic all-around tropical crud. Disillusioned and lonely, I slept little and was bone weary. It was summer and too hot for my fair skin at the beach. When I went anyway, the beaches were crowded, loud and dirty, and even in the midst of thousands of people having fun, [and] I felt myself to be an insignificant island of anonymity. Sundays dragged, and I longed for the lonely weekend to end so that I could bury myself in the frantic rush of work. Even in the shallow consolation of the office my composure was a façade and my self-confidence precarious. I explained all this to Ana that cool tropical night in Jurumirim.

'I was so lost and confused that day you walked into my office.'

'I remember. I was surprised you worked only two floors below me. What month was that?'

'I'm not sure, but it was just before Easter, the end of summer, because the quaresmeira was blooming in Tijuca along our running route,' I replied. 'I remember seeing you and Roberto running at 5:30 A.M. on the beach. You started saying good morning to me and I couldn't figure out why!'

'I recognized you from work, and I thought it must be hard for a foreign woman here by herself. I wanted you to have a good experience with Brazilians.'

I couldn't easily tell her how her offer of friendship had affected me, because she would have been embarrassed and denied having done anything special. I remember running back to my apartment at the base of Dos Irmãos mountain on dark cloudy mornings, and a tiny woman with Rapunzel-length dark hair and her nondescript running partner waving good morning and startling me out of my isolationist reverie. Some mornings I dreaded seeing them, dreading having to wave back. It's hard to understand now, but my isolation was so profound that I wanted no intruders. When she appeared in my office tentatively offering the treasure of friendship, my life in Brazil began to turn around" (216-217).











13 comments:

Σφιγξ said...

I have learned what I wanted from the mermaid
and her singeing conjunction of tail and grace,
Deficiency served her. What else could she do?
Failure keeps snapping up transcendence,
bubble and bullfrog boating on the surface,
belly lustily lagging three inches lowered--
the insatiable fiction of desire.
None swims with her and breathes the air.
A mermaid flattens soles and picks a trout,
knife and fork in the chainsong at the spine,
weeps white rum undetectable from tears.
She kills more bottles than the ocean sinks,
and serves her winded lovers' bones in brine,
nibbled at recess in the marathon.

3.
Our meetings are no longer like a screening;
I see the nose on my face is just a nose,
your bel occhi grandi are just eyes
in the photo of you arranged as figurehead
or mermaid on the prow of a Roman dory,
bright as the morning star or a blond starlet.
Our twin black and tin Ronson butane lighters
knock on the sheet, are what they are,
too many, and burned too many cigarettes...
Night darkens without your necessary call,
it's time to turn your pictures to the wall;
your moon-eyes water and your nervous throat
gruffs my directive, "You must go now go."
Contralto mermaid, and stone-deaf at will.

4.
I see you as a baby killer whale,
free to walk the seven seas for game,
warmhearted with an undercoat of ice,
a nerve-wrung back...all muscle, youth, intention,
and skill expended on a lunge or puncture--
hoisted now from conquests and salt sea
to flipper-flapper in a public tank,
big deal for Sunday children...My love--
on the Via Veneto, a girl
counting windows in a glass cafem
now frowning at her menu, now counting out
neanderthals flashed like shorebait on the walk...
Your stamina as inside-right at school
spilled the topheavy boys, and keeps you pure.

5.
One wondered who would see and date you next,
and grapple for the danger of your hand.
Will money drown you? Poverty, though now
in fashion, debases women as much as wealth,
You use no scent, dab brow and lash with shoeblack,
willing to face the world without more face.
I've searched the rough black ocean for you,
and saw the turbulence drop dead for you,
always lovely, even for those who had you,
Rough Slitherer in your grotto of haphazard.
I lack manhood to finish the fishing trip.
Glad to escape the beguilement and the storm,
I thank the ocean that hides the fearful mermaid--
like God, I almost doubt if you exist.

Σφιγξ said...

..."Mermaid" by Robert Lowell

Σφιγξ said...

cafe*

Σφιγξ said...

This is another personal favorite:

http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/giovanni-battista-moroni-the-tailor-il-tagliapanni

A future Exercise should be a sitter, with a limited tonal range.

http://www.howtodrawjourney.com/raffaello-sanzio.html

https://books.google.com/books?id=iZXQH_xh6FUC&lpg=PT94&dq=%22It%20is%20Raphael's%20self-portrait%22&pg=PT94#v=onepage&q=%22It%20is%20Raphael's%20self-portrait%22&f=false

Σφιγξ said...

Maids. I do not like a person feeling exploited in my midst. Perhaps the underlying assumption of being under the same roof is wrong? That way, you can have your privacy, property, and propinquity, with whomever, and then you can be yourself.

No, this is not the reason I like Elizabeth Bishop.

I remember your white tights in your office, Marta. I wanted to delay to more closely examine the postcards facing your desk.

Σφιγξ said...

Being a quarter through the marathon, I am not pressured at this point to live or commit to anything or anyone. It has been a long preamble. My feelings might change, but I cannot be anything other than what I am, and that is not enough.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WAnYiAdr2tM

Σφιγξ said...

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/18/arts/design/frick-collection-moroni-review.amp.html

https://www.farrow-ball.com/en-us/paint-colours/sulking-room-pink?gclid=Cj0KCQiAxrbwBRCoARIsABEc9sh8IdwPY_T3fzZLaAqL6tPm-Gy0_vq4WGcwswnXm1v99QUsI9O5eNAaAmB8EALw_wcB

Σφιγξ said...

I revise the January 2018 statement to say that I have grown more sensitive to conflict as I have gotten older. I do not want or deserve a situation where I am the subordinate party, the interloper, the incumbent, or the junior. My life did not turn out as I planned, but I do a good job in my profession, and maybe one day, I will find satisfying work and relationships with others.

Σφιγξ said...

https://books.google.com/books?id=o9eODQAAQBAJ&pg=PA445&dq=imbuia+tree&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi455e3_LXqAhUpknIEHdHzCzIQ6AEIJzAA#v=onepage&q=imbuia%20tree&f=false

https://books.google.com/books?id=EQZKDwAAQBAJ&pg=PA83&dq=imbuia+ocotea+porosa&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj88c-c_bXqAhXpgnIEHRGCBLsQ6AEIODAC#v=onepage&q=imbuia%20ocotea%20porosa&f=false

Σφιγξ said...

https://www.chemistryworld.com/opinion/water-isnt-normal/4019218.article

The conclusion one can draw is how much do either of us tolerate being alone versus adapting to being together? Change is difficult, and rather than being the majority/minority or senior/junior partners, why not try to see life from that person's point of view?

Σφιγξ said...

Exercise 91.

Σφιγξ said...

https://www.emerywalker.org.uk/emery-walker

https://news.artnet.com/art-world/doves-typeface-2454807/amp-page

To be read. I look at it on my shelf every morning.

https://nymag.com/nymetro/arts/books/reviews/n_9611/
https://books.google.com/books?id=mN9V7XLVw64C&pg=PT9&source=kp_read_button&hl=en&newbks=1&newbks_redir=0&gboemv=1#v=onepage&q&f=false

Σφιγξ said...

I haven't decided on the order, Apple in the Datk or Oracle Night.