c.1656
Jan Vermeer
1632-1675
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Die MilchmagdVermeer war ein Genremaler. Obwohl er hohe Auszeichnungen für seine Bilder bekam, starb er als sehr armer Mann.
The milkmaid
Vermeer was a painter of household genre. Although he received high prices for his paintings, he died a very poor man.
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• Holland/Dutch
Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam
*
who remembers the Duchess of Malfi?
I do .
When I saw this painting I see the Duchess..
of Malfi_ she is a Kierkegaardian heroine.
Or Amy Lanyer
its the work the work which counts work work work whatever one is doing
work do more do less do do do. do. time tick. counts. do
no matter what think. do. do and then do more. dont die, dont stop. work.
work. never mind the definitions or the ideas. the ideas are in the work.,
the theory is in the practice. the practice is in the do. get to the point where do is die is do is do is do . breath do. do do. breath do. sleep do. love do. rest do. And then i ask myself myselves the believers is this the production machine of misery? of work. no.
not.
do and do its fun and fun and more. its do and fun and fun do do . hahah dodododo fun? capi fun capi fun capitalist fun. notso serious as all that dreadful becoming. I hereby renounce the becoming that I claimed so High and Hyped and Mighty of becoming before. I diddle diddle the Cow and Fiddle Denounce Deleuze and Guattari! themselves! my fathers and mothers!
so its do dodod do. And i renounce the others too. I nounce them
and nounce them and Nounce them!!
Flounce them!
Scrog Them
Give me my Cup of Tea!
"The ascription of beauty to truth and to meaning is either a rhetorical flourish, or it is a piece of theology. It is a theology, explicit or suppressed, masked or avowed, substantive or imaged, which underwrites the presumption of creativity, of signification in our encounters with text, with music, with art. The meaning of meaning is a transcendent postulate...it is the enterprise and privilege of the aesthetic to quicken into lit presence the continuum between temporality and eternity, between matter and spirit, between man and`the other.´"
Real Presences, George Steiner
I think it s interesting to set this beside Keat's idea of the Egotisical
Sublime, and the Negative Uncertainty (in the letters... think of this guy younger than my father at the time, writing these letters, writing the things he did, meeting Wordsworth, ... dying in Italy.. a few years younger than Arthur Rimbaud... it so funny! he studie to be a pharmacist... the poet as drugstore operator that idea pops up and reappears in one of Tzara's earlier pomes... the poet is a druggust he says... ). Beauty is truth and etc. from that famous poem...
and presence, what presence in a body in a unreal world?
O Duchess! O my Duchess!
Webster and Browning the Ring and the Book
the wrong and the right! or the flight!
By George we need no more Secondary Cities.
But think of Pope and his Enormous
Apparatuses _ is that how you spell the word?
Notes and inner notes, and quotes
within quotes and coats
within bodies
and bodies within bodies
and dreaming in side fantasy and hands
over the astral waves
and presences inside magic carpets
which wing us to the
.
On the other hand, Steiner is topheavy. as they say.
How's this?
Alberto Giacometti: When I walk down the
street and see a girl walking ahead of me, all dressed up,
I see a girl. When she is in the room and naked before
me, I see a goddess.
Jean Genet: For me a naked woman is a naked woman.
She doesn't make much of an impression. I certainly
cant see her as a goddess. But I see your statues
the way you see naked girls.
Giacometti: You think I manage to show them
the way I see them?
The Studio of Alberto Giacometti _ Jean Genet.
Giacometti does not work for his contemporaries, nor
for the generations to come:
he makes statues that ultimately delight the dead.
To be among the dead, wandering
like Ulysses and Orpheus
Antigone and Eurydice
there is so much to absorb and always has been
I could kill myself, the wealth of it overwhelms
me. the wealth of world art, and nothing
a fraction seen with my own eyes.
What eyes do I have?
The museum without Walls will have to do.
My City, my beloved,
Thou art a maid with no breasts
283. N. Y._ Ezra Pound
I know where is an hind
