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An eclectic reflection about life in the present. Photography. Brief writings.
About Me
- cafe selavy
- You'll know me if you read the blog. You can't just look at the pictures. You have to read.
Blog Archive
Inventory of Mortality
Photography is the inventory of mortality. . .
Susan Sontag
Susan Sontag
Success
"The only thing that ever stood between me and success was me."
Woody Allen
Arrested Development
"You're not a moron. You're only a case of arrested development."
- Chapter 6, The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway
- Chapter 6, The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway
Tiziano Terzani
"The truth is, at fifty-five one has a strong urge to give one's life a touch of poetry, to take a fresh look at the world, reread the classics, rediscover that the sun rises, that there is a moon in the sky and that there is more to time than the clock's tick can tell us."
Wild At Heart
"This whole world's wild at heart and weird on top"
Barry Gifford, Wild at Heart
Barry Gifford, Wild at Heart
Secret About A Secret
A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know.
Diane Arbus
Diane Arbus
I am, I am
Blind moil in the earth's nap cast up in an eyeblink between becoming and done. I am, I am. An artifact of prior races.
Cormac McCarthy
Suttree
Transformation
The photograph isn't what was photographed, it's something else. It's about transformation. . . . There is a transformation, you see, when you just put four edges around it. That changes it. A new world is created.
Gary Winnogrand
Gary Winnogrand
LIfe Is Short
Life is short,
But by God's Grace,
The Night is Long
Joe Henry
But by God's Grace,
The Night is Long
Joe Henry
Safe Passage
Here I am, safely returned over those peaks from a journey far more beautiful and strange than anything I had hoped for or imagined - how is it that this safe return brings such regret?
Peter Matthiessen
Peter Matthiessen
A Generation of Swine
"What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death?. . . [T]here is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation."
Dr. Hunter S. Thompson
Orson Welles
"If you try to probe, I'll lie to you. Seventy-five percent of what I say in interviews is false. I'm like a hen protecting her eggs. I cannot talk. I must protect my work. Introspection is bad for me. I'm a medium, not an orator. Like certain oriental and Christian mystics, I think the 'self' is a kind of enemy. My work is what enables me to come out of myself. I like what I do, not what I am. . . . Do you know the best service anyone could render in art? Destroy all biographies. Only art can explain the life of a man--and not the contrary."
Orson Welles, 1962
Late Work
“ ‘Late work.’ It’s just another way of saying feeble work. I hate it. Monet’s messy last waterlilies, for instance — though I suppose his eyesight was shot. ‘The Tempest’ only has about 12 good lines in it. Think about it. ‘The Mystery of Edwin Drood.’ Hardly ‘Great Expectations,’ is it? Or Matisse’s paper cutouts, like something from the craft room at St. B’s. Donne’s sermons. Picasso’s ceramics. Give me strength.”
"Engleby"
Sebastian Faulks.
"Engleby"
Sebastian Faulks.
The Sun Also Rises
It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night is another thing."
Ernest Hemingway
What's Remembered
"The only things that are important in life are the things you remember."
Jean Renoir
Jean Renoir
Winesburg, Ohio
"One shudders at the thought of the meaninglessness of life while at the same instant. . . one love life so intensely that tears come into the eyes."
Sherwood Anderson
Sherwood Anderson
Perception
“The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.”
Henri Bergson
Henri Bergson
Joyce's Lament
"History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake."
Stephen Dedalus, "Ulysses"
Stephen Dedalus, "Ulysses"
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Indeed. Boy. Of course I find 'it" here.
ReplyDeleteLook at his tentative posture and clumpy clothing. and the light line -- that horizon and spotlight.
a good friend of mine wrote this poem many years ago -- the poem fits the "feeling" i get from looking at your Boy photos.
A boy
Within the roamed of moaned
the gutter thief.
the wonderful alone
the stone the little boy picked
up and marvelled at, the shine
that stitched along the cracks
the glitter in the seams
and smashed against the wall
with quick spark
ignited in the humid air,
let fly with youthful aim
a strike against the world
of fierce confusing color,
nor was that all.
How could it be?
the despised lethargy
that caused roam to moan,
the depressing purple people
of long snout who had too long done without,
the counted cost of cork without a name,
the flung bottle, long toothed in the bright
sun of morning, roam questioned, a plea,
too tall the freaking world and splayed
the gimpky printer's lathe. I know not
what it said and roamed alone again,
if not touche then what a little later on
leaning counter clockwise in the not matter
of the childrens phrase he found a crooked stick
along the wall, roaming outside the slaking hall,
albeit not with you at all but alone
biting on a basketball, swirling colors
to fit you. And banged it on the head of an old dog
who looked at him with hurt, yet followed on,
and woe the truth of love he knew not what about,
but not alone, but roam, still
through moping Automobile
to Grandfather's still with stick
and basketball and friend,
and sits quietly listening to the old men
talk awhile.
Peter Pan: I want always to be a boy, and have fun.
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