adeus ao Stefan Brand

female hysteria

“When, however, one reads of a witch being ducked, of a woman possessed by devils, of a wise woman selling herbs, or even of a very remarkable man who had a mother, then I think we are on the track of a lost novelist, a suppressed poet, of some mute and inglorious Jane Austen, some Emily Bronte who dashed her brains out on the moor or mopped and mowed about the highways crazed with the torture that her gift had put her to."

VIRGINIA WOOLF

sleepwalking through life

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escrever com cortes, cortar com a escrita

Como nesta sequência mágica que começa com um três e acaba com um dois. Em tão grande plano, tão perto, tão grande, tão perto que só lhe resta ir, depois desse plano em que ela se levanta sozinha do negro, feita aparição. Água que escorre.

Nunca mais vais ter uma noite assim. 

Mas muito mais tarde Nino pergunta-lhe porque é que se vão embora, porque é que o deixaram nas garras do tio, esse velho homem, como no filme de Nick Ray...

O amor, todo o amor, implica sempre uma espécie de traição. 

Porque nas festas capazes de valer, que posso fazer por mim.

JOÃO BÉNARD DA COSTA

... com uma força e uma doçura que me desfazem.

Au fond du café, dans la pénombre de l’arrière-salle, une femme était étendue par terre, inerte. 

Un homme, couché sur elle, agrippé à ses épaules, l’appelait calmement.

– Mon amour. Mon amour.

MARGUERITE DURAS, Moderato Cantabile

o prazer do texto

...writing as the condition of living under the the double commandment of a floating truth and a mysterious urgency; 

whose first point of appearance, floating outside of everything, would only ever be remains.

SCHEFER on BARTHES

VICTOR ERICE, El Sur

In the seventeenth century, nostalgia was considered to be a curable disease, akin to a severe common cold. Swiss doctors believed that opium, leeches, and a journey to the Swiss Alps would take care of nostalgic symptoms.

By the end of the eighteenth century, doctors discovered that a return home did not always treat the symptoms. 

In fact, once at home, the patients often died.

SVETLANA BOYM, Nostalgia and its Discontents

É bom sonhar com a chuva?

ainda não era eu nascida e estava já amaldiçoada.

encontrado em O Inverno na Poesia Portuguesa: antologia

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entretanto, com o destino irremediavelmente traçado, já tudo anotei, sublinhei e escarafunchei neste livro (a falta duma poetisa nesta antologia era demasiado chocante para persistir nas minhas mãos)

Soon we will be strangers. No, we can never be that. Hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. 
We will be dangerous acquaintances with a history.

HANIF KUREISHI

Chorus of Crickets

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Si on convoque une centaine de jeunes gens, que vous projetez La nuit du carrefour de Renoir, ils vont dire : « Ouh ! le son ! l’image, flou ! FLOU ! ». Et c’est un film fantastique qui est fait de brouillard et de flou. On se frotte les yeux, moi je me suis frotté les yeux pendant tout le film. Et c’est magique. 

On croit voir parfois des spectres.

PEDRO COSTA

GYROVAGI’S TRAJECTORY

CONSTANTIN SCHLACHTER

At the beginning of Christianity, Gyrovagi were wandering monks without fixed residence or leadership. Free from all dogmas, they are constrained by a strong link to nature and matter. Thus they travelled to break that link, and find a trajectory to reach their own spiritual center. 

This project is a free interpretation of the Gyrovagi’s concept. The images were made in an instinctive way during retreats and wanderings. These loneliness and silent periods transform feelings and lead to self-interrogations. 

To find that, pictures are manipulated in order to lose their realism, scales and colors. It transforms the natural matter into a spiritual one. This alchemic process consists of finding the original feelings through mental landscapes, with their own animals and figures. It is a mystical roam to return to a primeval notion of Nature.

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angel eyes, that old devil sent

It is herself she remembers, her emotions, her reactions. Not him.

She is talking only to herself, as always.

Imagination is so much easier than reality for these two, who can never get beyond the make-believe life of the amusement-park train trips – because they do not wish to. 

These two share a disease, not a love: a total despair.

Max Ophuls: A New Art - But Who Notices?