Caverns and Waves

"They tell us that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself, but I don’t believe that," he said. Then, a moment later, he added: "Oh, the fear is there, all right. It comes to us in many different forms, at different times, and overwhelms us. But the most frightening thing we can do at such times is to turn our backs on it, to close our eyes. For then we take the most precious thing inside us and surrender it to something else. In my case, that something was the wave."  

                                                                              Blind Willow Sleeping Woman - Haruki Murakami

   Acrylic on canvas

                          

                                                          

                                                                          

            "One can coincide with oneself only by agreeing never to rejoin oneself" 

Simone De Beauvoir

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The Wasteland

"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidiin ampulla pendere,  

et cum illi pueri dicerent:Σιβυλλα τι θελεις; respondebat illa: αποθανειν θελω.
(...)

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

         (...)"

   - T.S Eliot -The Wasteland -

Pencil on Paper

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  For the full poem read by Eliot himself:

                                            

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"...at noon at the edge of the field"

" 'Down from our heads veils fell,' said Rhoda, ' We clasped the flowers with their green leaves rustling in garlands.'
' We changed, we became unrecognisable,' said Louis. 'Exposed to all these different lights, what we had in us (for we are all so different) came intermittently. in violent patches, spaced by blank voids, to the surface as if some acid had dropped unequally on the plate'"

The Waves - Virginia Woolf  

Pencil on paper

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"It is an illusion that we were ever alive,
Lived in the houses of mothers, arranged ourselves
By our own motions in a freedom of air.

Regard the freedom of seventy years ago.
It is no longer air. The houses still stand,
Though they are rigid in rigid emptiness.

Even our shadows, their shadows, no longer remain.
The lives these lived in the mind are at an end.
They never were…..The sounds of the guitar"

I. Seventy Years Later - Wallace Stevens

                   

Check out Erased Tapes Label, this is their wonderful new contribution. 

On paper it leaves

"Recalling a piercing voice in old dreams
And ghostly images of black trains
Now seeing every page is turned away
I wanted to own your portrait
Wanted to have it

You and your scribbled paper makes me shiver so"

Little Dragon - Scribbled paper

Pencil on paper. Image inspired by Shaun Tan's "Eric"

                                        



                                           

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More to come

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