So much...freedom of expression...
btw, critic Jerry Saltz (in his Armory Show chat) said that in years to come Instagram will be the cassette tape of the future. Where is The Terminator when you need him most Instagram?
PHOTOS HERE of the Inside Venice book launch
Remember when there were trees. Remember when there were places where trees met with words. Where writers, artists, photographers earnt a living from royalties. Where your 'followers' were simply devout readers either in a library or their own royalty offering. Weren't 'followed' in a trail of money and exploitation as with all the words and imagery now on the internet. The wealth in freedom of speech. The wealth in human expression. The trees simply smile, though for how much longer. And Venice cries- the only salt left as the waters lap at the heart of what was once. Once. Once long ago.
Isn't she beautiful, though?
You would have liked her.
Mama did things no one had done.
Mama was funny, Mama was fun.
Mama spent money when she had none.
A few more days to see the extraordinary work of painter Paula Modersohn-Becker (1876-1907) in New York. She is known but then relatively little-known. Jealous as !!! that many of you will be able to see her work at The Musée d’Art moderne de la Ville de Paris. Oftentimes, she is very like Picasso with all the depth of human field yet without any of the 'abstraction'. Almost neo-realism. Niche is not the word for her work. The poet Rilke wrote Requiem For a Friend:
Tell me, must I travel ? Did you leave some Thing behind, some place, that cannot bear your absence ? Must I set out for a country you never saw, although it was as vividly near to you as your own senses were ? I will sail its rivers, search its valleys, inquire about its oldest customs; I will stand for hours, talking with with women in their doorways and watching, while they call their children home. will see the way they wrap the land around them in their ancient work in field and meadow; will ask to be led before their king; will bribe the priests to take me to their temple, before the most powerful of the statues in their keeping, and to leave me there, shutting the gates behind them. And only then, when I have learned enough, I will go to watch the animals, and let something of their composure slowly glide into my limbs; will see my own existence deep in their eyes, which hold me for awhile and let me go, serenely, without judgment.
(:)- apologies for the 'graphics' ain't it brave enough just to be 'black'- great period instrument recording...
