Hans Baluschek, Train station, 1904 Travel is useful, it exercises the imagination. All the rest is disappointment and fatigue. Our journey is entirely imaginary. That is its strength. It goes from life to death. People, animals, cities, things, all are imagined. It’s a novel, just a fictitious narrative. Littré says so, and he’s never wrong. …
Giovanni Fattori, Il Salto Delle Pecore (The Sheeps’ Jump), 1887 September, let us go. It’s time to migrate. Now in the land of Abruzzi my shepherds leave the pens and go down to the sea: they go down to the wild Adriatic that is green like the mountain pastures. They drank deeply from the mountain …
Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale (1871-1945), Romeo and Juliet Farewell Lunge da voi, mio core, mille volte m’uccide il mio dolore. Perché la mia partita mi tolse l’alma; e s’io ripenso in lei mi ritoglie la vita, e tutti sono morti i pensier miei. Oh miseria infinita! È quel felice ch’una volta more. Do you know this poem …
Giorgio de Chirico, Melancholy of a beautiful day, 1913 Nostalgia never left my side throughout the journey it was right there by me even in the dark it wasn’t like my hands and feet for when one sleeps hands and feet are lost and I never lost nostalgia even when asleep Nostalgia never left my …
Andrew Hem (b.1981), Unknown Terrain We have got onto slippery ice where there is no friction and so in a certain sense the conditions are ideal, but also, just because of that, we are unable to walk. We want to walk so we need friction. Back to the rough ground! Siamo finiti su una lastra …
Jean Dubuffet, Vicissitudes, 1977 if I tear myself away from you, I get torn up: but the best of me (or the worst) stays attached to you, sticky, like honey, like glue, like viscous oil: I come back to myself, when I come back to you: (and I rediscover my thumbs and lungs): I’m about …
Edoardo Sanguineti – Il Mio Meglio / The Best of Me Read More »
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