Scraps

newyorker:

Today’s daily cartoon by Mick Stevens: http://nyr.kr/1hYFsgA

newyorker:

Today’s daily cartoon by Mick Stevens: http://nyr.kr/1hYFsgA

(Source: newyorker.com)

iamjapanese:

Jerzy Duda-Gracz(Polish, 1941-2004)

Walc As-dur op. 42 (cykl “Chopinowi”)  Waltz in A flat major, Op. 42 (series “Chopin”)  2001

Nokturn Des-dur op. 27 nr 2 (cykl “Chopinowi”) Nocturne in D flat major, Op. 27, No. 2 (series “Chopin”)  2001

Walc a-moll op. 34 nr 2 (cykl “Chopinowi”) Waltz in A minor, Op. 34 No. 2 (series “Chopin”)  2001

Lubniewice, Nokturn H-dur op. 9 nr 3 (cykl “Chopinowi”) Lubniewice, Nocturne in B major, Op. 9 No. 3 (series “Chopin”)  2001

Chopinowi

Ballada g-moll op.23 Ballade in G minor op.23

Mazurek 4 b-moll  4 Mazurka in B flat minor  2002

Kanon w oktawie f-moll  Canon at the octave F minor  2003

(via livre-de-matieres)

Golden Ratios

jtotheizzoe:

Step 1: Go to YouTube.com

Step 2: Enter “fibonacci” in search bar

Step 3: Achievement unlocked!

writersnoonereads:

No one reads the Belgian Georges Rodenbach (1855-1898), author Bruges-la-Morte, which in addition to being called “the Symbolist novel,” was the first fictional work to incorporate photographs.
Rodenbach, who stated that silence was the thread connecting all of his work—which spanned eight volumes of poetry, four novels, a number of essays and short stories—worked as a lawyer and journalist in Paris (where he befriended Mallarme, Renoir, and Maeterlink, among others), despite his deep affection for his native soil. Of the distance he put between himself and Belgium, he wrote:













One only truly loves what one no longer has. Truly to love one’s little homeland, it is best to go away, to exile oneself for ever, to surrender oneself to the vast absorption of Paris, and for the homeland to grow so distant it seems to die. […] The essence of art that is at all noble is the DREAM, and this dream dwells only upon what is distant, absent, vanished, unattainable.













Bruges-la-Morte, which made him famous when it was published in serial form in 1892 and is undoubtedly his masterpiece, conjures the city of its title. In his forward, in fact, Rodenbach stated his goal in writing the novel was to “evoke a city… in its essence, [as] a person whose shifting moods persuade or dissuade us and determine our actions.”

The plot centers on the obsessive widower Hugues Viane, who moved to Bruges after the death of his wife several years before the novel opens. With no occupation to fill his time, Hugues wanders the melancholy town, meditating on death and longing for the grave. A bizarre and scandalous romance begins when he sees a woman he takes to be the exact double of his dead wife in the streets. The novel’s associations with morbidity and despair, not to mention its shocking conclusion, created a stir among town officials, who later refused to permit a memorial statue of the writer to be erected in Bruges—hence Rodenbach’s suitably eye-catching tomb in Paris, pictured above.
The outline of the plot may lead one to assume that the novel is a melodrama, but it steers away from action in favor of the internal world. Writing in the Guardian, novelist Alan Hollinghurst claims that Rodenbach “creates a rarefied world, internalized and intensified by feeling.” And the always reliable Nick Lezard contends that Bruges-la-Morte “is one of the greatest novels ever written about grief, loneliness, and isolation…”
Some representative passages should suffice to put you under the pall of Bruges’ gray northern skies:










Bruges was his dead wife. And his dead wife was Bruges. The two were united in a like destiny. It was Bruges-la-Morte, the dead town entombed in its stone quais, with the arteries of its canals cold once the great pulse of the sea had ceased beating in them.










And










As he walked, the sad faded leaves were driven pitilessly around him by the wind, and under the mingling influences of autumn and evening, a craving for the quietude of the grave … overtook him with unwanted intensity











For more, see a gallery of photographs included in the book or some of Fernand Knopff’s haunting artwork inspired by the novel.
Dedalus Books publishes English translations of three of Rodenbach’s works, including Bruges-la-Morte.
[Photo of Rodenbach’s tomb in Paris by nikoretro]

writersnoonereads:

No one reads the Belgian Georges Rodenbach (1855-1898), author Bruges-la-Morte, which in addition to being called “the Symbolist novel,” was the first fictional work to incorporate photographs.

Rodenbach, who stated that silence was the thread connecting all of his work—which spanned eight volumes of poetry, four novels, a number of essays and short stories—worked as a lawyer and journalist in Paris (where he befriended Mallarme, Renoir, and Maeterlink, among others), despite his deep affection for his native soil. Of the distance he put between himself and Belgium, he wrote:

One only truly loves what one no longer has. Truly to love one’s little homeland, it is best to go away, to exile oneself for ever, to surrender oneself to the vast absorption of Paris, and for the homeland to grow so distant it seems to die. […] The essence of art that is at all noble is the DREAM, and this dream dwells only upon what is distant, absent, vanished, unattainable.

Bruges-la-Morte, which made him famous when it was published in serial form in 1892 and is undoubtedly his masterpiece, conjures the city of its title. In his forward, in fact, Rodenbach stated his goal in writing the novel was to “evoke a city… in its essence, [as] a person whose shifting moods persuade or dissuade us and determine our actions.”

image

The plot centers on the obsessive widower Hugues Viane, who moved to Bruges after the death of his wife several years before the novel opens. With no occupation to fill his time, Hugues wanders the melancholy town, meditating on death and longing for the grave. A bizarre and scandalous romance begins when he sees a woman he takes to be the exact double of his dead wife in the streets. The novel’s associations with morbidity and despair, not to mention its shocking conclusion, created a stir among town officials, who later refused to permit a memorial statue of the writer to be erected in Bruges—hence Rodenbach’s suitably eye-catching tomb in Paris, pictured above.

The outline of the plot may lead one to assume that the novel is a melodrama, but it steers away from action in favor of the internal world. Writing in the Guardian, novelist Alan Hollinghurst claims that Rodenbach “creates a rarefied world, internalized and intensified by feeling.” And the always reliable Nick Lezard contends that Bruges-la-Morte “is one of the greatest novels ever written about grief, loneliness, and isolation…”

Some representative passages should suffice to put you under the pall of Bruges’ gray northern skies:

Bruges was his dead wife. And his dead wife was Bruges. The two were united in a like destiny. It was Bruges-la-Morte, the dead town entombed in its stone quais, with the arteries of its canals cold once the great pulse of the sea had ceased beating in them.

And

As he walked, the sad faded leaves were driven pitilessly around him by the wind, and under the mingling influences of autumn and evening, a craving for the quietude of the grave … overtook him with unwanted intensity

Portrait of Rodenbach by Lucien Levy-Dhurmer

  • For more, see a gallery of photographs included in the book or some of Fernand Knopff’s haunting artwork inspired by the novel.
  • Dedalus Books publishes English translations of three of Rodenbach’s works, including Bruges-la-Morte.

[Photo of Rodenbach’s tomb in Paris by nikoretro]

Writers No One Reads: A Laszlo Krasznahorkai Reading List

writersnoonereads:

Over at Tin House, Stephen offers a reading list for fans of Laszlo Krasznahorkai.

In March of last year, English-language readers were finally presented with Satantango, the first novel by Laszlo Krasznahorkai, the writer Susan Sontag once called “the contemporary…

explore-blog:

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry offers one of history’s greatest definitions of love.

explore-blog:

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry offers one of history’s greatest definitions of love.

(Source: explore-blog)

jtotheizzoe:

paleoillustration:

“Evolution of Type, Fig. 1-6” by Andreas Scheiger. See previous post for more Paleo Typography.

I believe it was Charles Darwin who said “There is grandeur in this view of type.”

jtotheizzoe:

medicalschool:

Anatomical Flipbook, L.W. Yaggy & James J. West, 1885

*Don’t try this at home.

**Except maybe the lower right one, but only if you’ve already shaved your head … and don’t use permanent markers.

designandcrime:

Meriç Algün Ringborg - The Library of Unborrowed Books (2012)

There is a selection made of what books accompany us into the future. Within education, for instance, the establishment of a canon is clear – it is the venue for the particular echo that determines what books persevere, those that are to be kept in the loop and read again by the next generation. This comes natural, a selection is necessary, and it’s made in different instances either conscious or unconscious. Nevertheless, the books that are left behind — those deemed useless or for unknown reasons are abandoned — still exist in physical form, organized and systematized within the one institution representative of knowledge in all its forms, the library.

The Library of Unborrowed Books bases itself on the concept of the library as an institution manifesting language and knowledge, of the passing of awareness and the openness to all types of people and literature. This work, however, comprises all the books from a selected library that have never been borrowed. The framework in this instance hints at what has been disregarded, knowledge essentially unconsumed, and puts on display what has eluded us.

Why these books aren’t ‘chosen,’ why they are overlooked, will never be clear but whatever each book contains, en masse they become representative of the gaps and cracks of history, or the bureaucratic cataloging of the world and the ambivalent relationship between absence and presence. In this library their existence is validated simply by being borrowed, underlining their being as well as their content and form by putting them on display in an autonomous library dedicated to the books yet to have been revealed.

devidsketchbook:

Liliana Porter  “man with axe”

sculptural installation called “man with an axe” in which a man in a suit and hat smashes up what appears to be the wreckage of the past,  chopping it into bits…

(via devidsketchbook)