Friday, July 22, 2011

adorabless: sous le soleil exactement

adorabless: sous le soleil exactement

An Unfamiliar Face

Every letter is a person's back. They can turn around at any time. An author who believes his own text should be familiar down to the last letter is fooling himself. Whenever a letter turns around, an unfamiliar face is made visible.
Yoko Tawada

Monday, May 23, 2011


He could not persuade himself that, if he wrote
round about his subject with facility or treated it
from any standpoint of impression, good would
come of it. On the other hand he was persuaded 
that no-one served the generation into which he
had been born so well as he who offered it, whether
in his art or in his life, the gift of certitude.

James Joyce, Stephen Hero

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

                                                                                                                 Jose Carlos Martinat 
“…has taken the white veil; and there is a higher horror in this whiteness of her woe. Old as Pizarro, this whiteness keeps her ruins for ever new; admits not the cheerful greenness of complete decay; spreads over her broken ramparts the rigid pallor of an apoplexy that fixes its own distortions. I know that, to the common apprehension, this phenomenon of whiteness is not confessed to be the prime agent in exaggerating the terror of objects otherwise terrible; nor to the unimaginative mind is there aught of terror in those appearances whose awfulness to another mind almost solely consists in this one phenomenon, especially when exhibited under any form at all approaching to muteness or universality.” 

Herman Melville. Moby Dick, 1851

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

as forgotten

The visual event of the painting happens only starting from this rend that, before us, separates what is represented as remembered from everything that presents itself as forgotten. 


Tuesday, March 15, 2011


Current runs through the bodies
And then doesn’t.
On again
Off again
Always two things.
One thing instantly replaces another.
It was the language
of the Future.


l' Aveugle

Thursday, March 10, 2011


Black A, White E, Red I, Green U, Blue O: vowels.
Someday I’ ll explain your bourgeoning births:
A, a corset,; black, hairy, buzzing with flies
Bumbling like bees around a merciless stench,

And shadowy gulfs,; E, white vapors and tents, proud
Glacial peaks, white kings, shivering Queen Anne’s lace;
I, purples, bloody spittle, lips’ lovely laughter
In anger or drunken contrition;

U, cycles, divine vibrations of viridian seas;
Peace of pastures sown with beasts, wrinkles
Stamped on studious brows as if by alchemy;

O, that last Trumpet, overflowing with strange discord,
Silences bridged by Worlds and Angels:
-       O the Omega, the violet beam from His Eyes!

Arthur Rimbaud

Wednesday, February 23, 2011