not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

toward, together and apart



 the intoxication of singularity:



9 comments:

  1. that first photo looks like a painting!

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  2. Excellent Shots!! Congrats!!
    Salut from Barcelona

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  3. L'ivresse de la singularité, qui te remplit de joie et trouble tes sens, n'est que la constatation de notre propre solitude, face au bonheur de ceux qu'on aime et qui ne seront qu'un " à tout jamais" face au malheur qui nous frappe si nous le perdons, parce qu'ils ne seront jamais remplacés. Ainsi, errons nous dans nos propres désirs "A la recherche du temps perdu" comme l'écrivait Marcel Proust".
    L'art est une manière de sublimer cette grande solitude,cette finitude de l'être qui s'énivre de bonheur de faire de peur de tout perdre.
    Tes photos parlent de ça. Tes photos parlent de toi et ...Je les aime bien

    Amicalement.

    Roger

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    Replies
    1. again i selfishly bring James's translation here so that i might remember your valuable contribution, roger))

      The drunkeness (giddiness) of singularity, which fills you with joy and troubles your senses, is nothing more than the proof of our individual solitude, facing the happiness of those whom we love, and who would be only a "nevermore" in the face of the sorrow that would strike if we lost them, because they will never be replaced. So we wander inside our own desires "in search of lost time," as Marcel Proust wrote.
      Art is a means of sublimating (i.e., diverting to a higher purpose) this great solitude, this finitude of a being delirious with happiness and with the fear of losing everything.

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  4. thank you everyone:)) it's a valuable dialogue to have with yourself and for us to have with one another, the nature of selfhood and how we relate to one another and the world. my children give me plenty of opportunity to see how the world has been set in motion and plays through us)))

    xo
    erin

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  5. that expression, the concept of singularity, yes. truly, madly, deeply, it is.

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))