New York City

A subway crossing the Manhattan Bridge at night, not quite as beautiful as when two subways cross it going in opposite directions...

the Smoker

Paul Cèzanne
The Smoker
1901

You know those yearly planners that have an image for every week?  I got an "Impressionists" one for 2011.  This week's is Paul Cèzanne's, The Smoker.  Right away I notice the little still life in the back, a few apples and an unidentified  bottle.  I think if a portrait like this by Cèzanne didn't have that little addition, I would feel uneasy, like something is wrong, terribly out of it's place.  But with the apples there everything is in its place.  It's not just a backdrop, it's as if those items were the man's companions.  At first glance one thinks this man is lonely, lost in a quiet room.  But no, he is in his proper place, in his thoughts, with his own world.  Also I've noticed that Cèzanne's bottles, although never crisply painted, are always open, with the cork already sticking out.  The bottle was started, and closed for a little break.  It gives a sense of continuity; like the bottle is not just a useless item of decoration.  It's constantly being used.  And such is the man.  He is not a useless lonely man, he has a full part in this world, but here he is on a break.

I'm not sure which version of the painting is truer to the original, but in my version the man's eyes are fully open.  He is not falling asleep, not bored.  He is alert.  He does not seem to be looking at something in his surrounding, but he is looking at his thoughts, almost imagining them in front of himself.  Of course, he is 'the smoker.'  So what can I say about the pipe.  You know often someone in a painting with a pipe in their mouth gains a sort of maturity, or deepness.  Here, though, I think he could easily do without the pipe.  Maybe Cèzanne painted it in last moment just to give the painting a title...probably not.  But his pipe is only reiterating that the man has won a couple moments for himself and his own thoughts, away from the needy world around him.

clock

it's strange, you always hear the clock ticking at other people's houses, but you never notice it at your own..

:-)

Happy New Year!

All the best in 2011!

View from my windows

Solid Life

I was studying at a café this morning, and there were some friends chatting at the table behind me.  I wasn't really listening to them, but I could here a constant noise from behind my back.  When they left I felt a silence, coming from the stop that just held four people.  And I thought, how crazy, for ten minutes, we were right next to each other, and now they are completely gone.  But I realized that they are not gone, they are still there, still doing something, still in the same body and mind, and with the same life, just not next me.  How nice it would be, to leave your own life for a little bit, just like that.  Just leave your body with your friends sitting there chatting at a table, and walk away for a minute.  Away from your everything that defines you, your name, your appearance, your history, and just exist without all that for a little.  If you consider it, life is a very solid thing.  Your life has to have an identity, a place, an activity, and even certain papers.  When you are with yourself, you are always with your life, and everything that your life was, is, and will be.  Even if there is nothing bad, nothing you want to change, wouldn't you want to be able to just wonder off sometimes?  Cut off some of those things that define your life?

I think that is why people who travel a lot are so attractive.  It's like their life is not so solid, it's more like air, it can bounce around from one place to another.  It's like they have less ties, they exist according to where they are.  That is also why traveling in general is attractive to people.  When you relocate your life, there are some things that you can cut, put a gap in, and start new.  But than it just builds up again, the gaps get filled, and you realize it's still that same life.

This is also the reason I felt so good when my purse got stolen in Madrid.  For once, I had no phone or phone number, no documents, no money.  The only thing I had that said, "this is me" was myself.  I felt light, I felt like all those things that tie me to that life are gone.  The only thing that existed was the moment, and whatever I was in that moment.

la verdad

os quiero decir la verdad.  la verdad es que no me gusta para nada el interfais nuevo de facebook. la verdad es que hay gente en el mundo por quienes daría la vida. la verdad es que hay alguna musica en el mundo que me hace seguir viviendo.  y de eso quiero escribir aquí.

Ok, sabeis de Pandora, sí?  Pues... la mejor, y no miento, mejor estación en pandora es la de Manu Chao.  Me encanta Manu Chao, no puedo decir cuanto, pero además, la estación es increíble.  Tocan de Gipsy Kings, de Bebe, de Emilliana Torrini (quien no he escuchado todavía) y muchos otros.

Pero quiero escribir de los cantores que me gustan.  No se si hay una palabra para describirlos todos, pero en verdad, creo que solo usando el adjectivo "emancipados" puedo tocarlos todos un poco.  Aquí hay una lista, primero en español; jarabe de palo, manu chao, gipsy kings; después ingles; joan baez, amy winhouse; después frances, pues, tal vez un poco patricia kaaz.

Se puede cantar del corazón, decir lo que quiere decir la alma, expresar lo que hay en el cuerpo.  Creo que la mayoría de nosotros queremos expresarnos así, pero no podemos.  Imagínate, si solo puedieramos siempre, siempre, sempre, levantar nuestras almas, en esa manera tan grande, estrechando las cuerdas de la guitarra, y dejar en el aire todo lo que queremos decir, apostar la verdad contra los nubes.  Toda la emoción para los que queremos lo más...

La Verdad es que extraño Madrid.

le gare SNCF

I love the trains in Europe.  They are a little expensive if you want to do it the fancy way.  But hey, 10 € Rome-Naples?  As long as the Italians who get on the train with nothing but a deck of cards and a piece of cardboard to play the cards on don't start flirting with you, you're in paradise, and even then, it's not so bad.

This summer I had a train pass.  It was for 2nd class, but I didn't realize it actually said that on the pass until I got on the last train of the summer, and nobody ever said anything, even when they checked.  So I would get by ticket, with a seat and everything, in the first class, on the fastest trains, slide into a huge 1rst class seat, squash my backpack into the one next to it, relax and enjoy the ride.

A picture I took out the train window on the way to Genova.

The trains are amazing.  They leave and arrive exactly on time.  The ride is so smooth, and the view from the window is beautiful.  Forests, fields, once you go around the Italy into the Southern border of France the railroad runs right along the sea.  Sometimes they stop at little towns, and you can observe the town people hustling at the station.  But the train from Avignon to Paris didn't stop a single time.  And in Paris it was cold, and raining when I arrived.  The trains get so cozy, by the end you don't want to get off.

a little on Men, if I may dare

I was reading an article on Marjane Satrapi's novel discussing the "veiled woman."  It viewed the veil as an object with two clear articulate functions; one is that it covers the woman's body completely, the other is that it makes the veiled woman a highly desirable exotic object.

Reflecting on my own experience... I got to thinking, that a man generally wants his woman to remain desirable and untouchable, and at the same time, wants to discover every centimeter of her body.  He wants the woman to remain perfect, but also wants to see how much of a mess he can make out of her.  He holds her gently with his arms, to make sure she's comfortable, but hopes that she doesn't protest when he turns on the rough edge.

Paul Gauguin "Spirit of the Dead Watching" 1892

And the more the man is interested, the more he wants to explore, the more he tries to find this sneaky balance between the veil and the exotic; or so I wish to think...  Think about those short drunken flings, it could have been good or bad, but maybe just not so interesting.

The woman, in turn, is just the same.  But the woman discovers her man by watching his reactions to her puzzles and treasures.  I don't want to call this a game, because a game involves pretense and a set time frame.  It is just some kind of feeling that exists in between these two genders, each alluring in its own ways.

May I bring up a man, named Paul, who, however romantic and bizarre his adventures in Tahiti really were, painted native women with a sincere interest.  He kept them at some distance, yet the way he searches for so many tones in their skin, makes it feel like he went over every molecule with a magnifying glass.

Klimt

I read a little book about Gustav Klimt; interesting life.  He lived at home with his mother and sister, never married.  He was a smart man, but quiet, and seemed to stay out of scandals, except of course those created by his original paintings.  He had a studio, where he worked most of his time.  He had lots of models, who spent the days with him at the studio.  He was a nice man, and the models were completely at ease with him.  They wallowed around all day, clothed or unclothed, and allowed him to paint them, whenever he caught them in a pose of interest or a moment of ecstasy.

Gustav Klimt Portrait of Eugenia (Mäda)Primavesi(1912)

He had a couple serious relationships, but not a lot is known about them.  Some of his models probably had children by him, and he accepted them.  One story tells that when a model didn't show up for work, he demanded someone to search for her; she reported that she did not show up because she was pregnant, Klimt had her come to work anyways, and she is probably the model in many of his paintings of pregnant women.  Interesting also, is that in most of his preparatory drawings and sketches, the women are naked, however, in the final works, their bodies are covered up with his delicate designs.

Klimt also painted many portraits, in which he kept very true to his style, even though he tried to adhere to the person's taste.  In these portraits though, we see more emphasis on personality, than in some of his leisure works.  This one, of Eugenia Primavesi, is a stark contrast to Klimt's relaxed females, but it strikes me with it's beauty and sense of confrontation.