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Une nuit au Louvre : Léonard de Vinci

Excellent

Julien-James Vachon's avatarDirect-Actu.fr le blogzine de la culture pop et alternative

L’exposition « Léonard de Vinci » a attiré près de 1,1 millions de visiteurs, « un record absolu pour le musée du Louvre. »
Le musée parisien a enregistré un record absolu de fréquentation pour cet événement qui s’est terminé le 24 février et réunissait quelque 150 œuvres du maître et de ses proches ou élèves.


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Art and Photographic History Literature Penwith St Ives West Cornwall (and local history)

Remembering Red Barnaloft

I have previously posted about Red Vienna – the time in the 1930s when an attempt was made to establish a form of social security system in the elegant city and when worker’s flats were built to ease the conditions of poorer citizens. Notoriously, they were shelled by nationalists in the dark period leading up to the Anschluss when the Austria was annexed to Nazi Germany. https://jacobinmag.com/2017/02/red-vienna-austria-housing-urban-planning

Karl Polanyi wrote: “Vienna achieved one of the most spectacular cultural triumphs of Western history … an unexampled moral and intellectual rise in the condition of a highly developed industrial working class which, protected by the Vienna system, withstood the degrading effects of grave economic dislocation and achieved a level never reached before by the masses of the people in any industrial society.”

In my personal psychogeography towns and cities remind me of St Ives where I spent many years of my early life. After the gas works was deconstructed and I think, before the Tate arrived many of the fisherman’s lofts and artist studios next to Porthmeor Beach were replaced by the Barnaloft and then the Piazza flats. They seemed to stand out as a statement of the modernism with which the town had been associated. The interior courtyard of the latter had an interesting Hepworth sculpture. They were not by any means worker’s flats but were frequently occupied by what has since been called champagne socialists.

Properties for Sale in St. Ives, Barnaloft St. Ives Cornwall | Nethouseprices.com

Before the flats were constructed there was the beach cafe occupied by the Val Baker family. This was a homely venue offering a superb view of the sea and marvellous sunsets over it to the West. Little was seen of Denys himself whom I assumed was upstairs with leonine head bent over the typewriter. Denys may be somewhat forgotten but represented the spirit of bohemian values to the locals. He had been active in promoting the celtic culture as a Welshman intrigued by Cornwall and St Ives in particular. He and his wife were committed to pacifism and had been active in the committee of 100. https://www.rainydaygallery.co.uk/denysvalbaker.html

100 years of Red Vienna - VIENNA – Now. Forever

The Foot family has been long associated with St Ives. Issac Foot, bibliophile and liberal politician as well as a staunch Methodist stood in the town for Parliament. That by-election was rather interesting in the troubled atmosphere of 1937 and very narrow indeed. Isaac Foot went on to become Mayor of Plymouth.

Left Foot Forward | The Isis

Paul Foot his grandson and active contributor to Private Eye was often to be seen around the town. He was an active and intelligent member of the Socialist Worker’s Party as well as a campaigning journalist with a splendid sense of humour. He died rather young and was a notable loss to radical progress in this country. His book on Red Shelley is a moving introduction to that committed poet. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Foot_(journalist)

 

Also some years ago spontaneous outdoor performances were given by another group associated with the Foot family-The Footsbarn Theatre Group. These were jolly and musical. Particularly memorable was a performance in St Ives Guildhall of Around the World in Eighty Days with a scence at the Old Bore’s Club which was gloriously funny -a tour de force.

Which leaves us with the intriguing figure of Peter Shore. Any Freudian would not be surprised that given his name he might have been strongly attracted by the glorious beach at Porthmeor. I used to see him taking his morning beverage be-shorted high above the sands at Barnaloft. These buildings were designed by the St Ives Architect, Cyril Gilbert- a shy charming gentleman who later ran the superb Wills Street Gallery near the Police Station. I digress- Shore was a fascinating figure who it seems travelled from the intellectual left of the party to total opposition to what was then called the Common Market. He was for some time an active M.P. for Stepney. Apparently he acted in a sort of Alistair Campbell role in that he advised on media promotion. I well remember how he responded when interviewed later in his career by someone like Robin Day or Brian Walden. He would begin by rephrasing the question and pointing out the precise strength of the case to which he was opposed. It was about then to be devastated by the power of his retort. However, in the questioning this just didn’t happen due to the interviewer’s interruption.  You were left with the impression of his honesty and rather sad disappointment. And yet now I feel a little more straight honesty in political matters is crucial- a Balm of Gilead.

Sometimes it is salutary to hear what the opposite case – this clip exudes English chauvinism which is deeply misguided.

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Eight novels of the Mexican Revolution

Looks like a fascinating review and perhaps somewhat disregarded topic.

Tony Messenger's avatarMessenger's Booker (and more)

The impact of Mexico’s revolution (1910-20), the last of the great peasant revolts and the first major revolution of the twentieth century was felt on much of the literary production of the country throughout the first two-thirds of the last century.

- ‘The Contemporary Spanish-American Novel: Bolaño and After’ Edited by Will H. Corral, Juan E De Castro and Nicholas Birns

The Mexican Revolution, a field rich with characters, narrative, metaphors, and stories. Not only a political turning point but a pivot in Mexican literature’s history. Whilst there are numerous titles using the Revolution as a setting or indirectly referring to the fallout and subsequent events, I have chosen ten books, written by Mexican writers, that have been translated into English and although some may be obscure, they are available as I have only recently filled my shelves with a number of these titles.

The numbering here is…

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Gib mir Asyl im Paradies – Gemälde von Susanne Haun

Diese Farben finde ich sehr ansprechend.

Susanne Haun's avatarSusanne Haun

Atelieransicht, Herbst, Asyl im Paradies, Gemälde von Susanne Haun (c) VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2020Atelieransicht, Herbst, Asyl im Paradies, Gemälde von Susanne Haun (c) VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2020

Dieses Gemälde von Susanne Haun ist sehr persönlich. Während die Künstlerin das Bild malte, hörte sie die Musik von der Band Silly speziel das Lied “Asyl im Paradies”. Die Sängerin Tamara Danz wusste zu der Zeit als sie das Lied sang schon, dass ihr Tod nahte. Den Text hörend weinte die Künstlerin beim Erstellen des Bildes. Die Tränen übertrugen sich sinnbildlich in die auf dem Bild laufende sepiafarbende Tusche.

steht es in der Objektbeschreibung der Pariser Galerie Singulart (-> Klick)

Noch heute kann ich das Lied von Tamara Danz nicht hören, ohne zu weinen und zu trauern. Hier könnt ihr das Lied auf youtube hören (-> klick)

Vor kurzem habe ich in der Augsburger Allgemeine Zeitung einen Artikel über die Performance Künstlerin Marina Abramovic gelesen.

Abramovics hat ihr Begräbnis schon…

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The Clerk’s Tale and the expectation of astonishment

Interesting to see you tackling your old exam papers! When I was learning the algebra of conic sections and Fitzgerald was writing her her amazing novels!

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Avoiding Death in Venice

Did Karl understand his daughter?

Did she look like Romola Garai?

Did he foresee the dialectical change- Miss Marx the film star?

Perhaps this was an example of what?

A clear example of antithesis.

Could he now explain how the intensification of labour led to social distancing?

Perhaps this is what he meant by reification-

the consequence of capitalism in a higher stage.

Certainly alienation.

Wet market in Wuhan arriving at the film festival

In Venice.

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Today’s Haul

I was trying to get into Eva Ibbotson’s “The Dragonfly Pool”. It is actually quite good and suitable for regression. Maybe because the current situation seems to require hyper-vigilance or some other reason, I am reading it somewhat slowly. I know she has written interestingly about Vienna but this is set in Dartington in the pre-war era. The school is not called Dartington- but Delderton Hall in the book is clearly there. Incidentally this reminds me of an Edward Crispin crime novel about a cathedral which was set in the same area but a slightly later era.

Robert Lowell has much been in the news currently- I believe his letters were recently reviewed in the LRB or perhaps the TLS. The poem of his that I liked most was “Sailing Home from Rapallo” –

The crazy yellow and azure sea-sleds
blasting like jack-hammers across
the spumante-bubbling wake of our liner,
recalled the clashing colors of my Ford.
Tom Pauling has an interesting appreciation of this poem in his book “The Secret Life of Poems” In any case this poem and a distant memory of his most famous poem “The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket” https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48984/the-quaker-graveyard-in-nantucket 
In any case my reading about his friendship with John Berryman was enough to tempt me to part with £2-99 for the collection of essays about Lowell from the charity shop. Thumbing through this volume in a nearby coffee shop I discovered an essay explaining how Lowell and Berryman were in a tradition stretching back to Baudelaire- poète maudit. Outsiders responding to the new criticism of a special few like Allen Tate and Randall Jarrel. They were living in the era of the Cold War and also living life at an extreme pace, devoted to literature and studying its classical roots.
The Hemingway begins with a kind of prose poem to a particularly downtrodden and louche venue seen through the approach of autumnal mists- the Cafe des Amateurs. It no longer exists. It develops into a surreal story which Hemingway sounds lyrical and slightly sozzled!
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10 of the best novels set in Russia – that will take you there

I would add The Siege by Helen Dunmore and The Beginning of Spring by Penelope Fitzgerald.

Julian Worker's avatarJulian Worker - Journeys

This list of novels and novellas will help you explore Russia’s vast landscapes and complex history

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Penwith West Cornwall (and local history)

Mousehole on a Summer Evening -A Guest Posting

Many tangential thoughts on Mousehole on a summer evening –

I went to Mousehole this evening – it is of course an enclave and playground for the rich, consisting now almost entirely of holiday and second homes, which I noticed more than ever before. Still, I’ve always loved it there – perhaps the way and reasons I do are part of the problem.

The atmosphere is all loveliness and lingering warmth. The ice cream shop is still open. It’s crowded but there’s no hurry. Doors and windows are left open – cars left parked in the middle of the street. It’s not full of any old tourists either (this isn’t Penzance we’re talking about) and as it was late many of them will have been staying there. Wealth and the ease that comes with it was everywhere. An endless leisurely parade passed by, whilst their manner and the cut of their clothes silently shouted at me.

I watched, in what felt like slow-motion, as a thin woman in the whitest white jeans (clearly so expensive they managed not to look tacky, a feat) hesitantly starts to lower herself onto the harbour steps before realising she has a blanket in the house – no don’t worry, it’s literally 30 seconds away. A balding man carries a full glass of red wine out of a house further down the cobbled street to better enjoy the view, another follows with the bottle.

And all at once I realised I was feeling a discomfort that wasn’t only coming from insecurity to jealousy or general misanthropy. I mean I expected all this, it’s bloody August and I took the bus to bloody Mousehole. I went because I thought it would be beautiful on a summer evening. And really – awful realities aside – how can I fault others for wanting to see beauty?

But – that beauty is somehow flattened and now it doesn’t stand up on its own.

(I had a similar feeling when I was young on holidays in France – some of the places we went to felt curiously empty, though full of people. I’d tell myself – this is so beautiful – you should be feeling something here, finding something here. But some substance or context had gone. And I felt a guilt I couldn’t define, as though I was the reason. It was like visiting a model town, a perfect replica in every way but still a replica. And we would think – what a lovely change, to travel, to go away – what might we learn from this place, how might it change us. Still, we have paid to be here, this room was built for us to stay in – so, how lovely is the view we see, how good is the food we eat. Was it disappointing or would you recommend it to a friend? And there again was the emptiness that we’d brought).

So, this evening in Mousehole that valuable sea-view felt like something that was owned and hollowed. And I was colluding in it, and had to look away.

I’d never felt more strongly a ghost of somewhere with an identity, with continuity, the ghosts of lives lived and shaped by place, of real homes and a strong landscape with a beauty that’s incidental, of a sea that defines and encloses rather than being set back and seen. I’ve never felt more intensely that the place I was visiting was not that – because of us it was something and somewhere else.

And all I could do was sit on a bench, wearing clothes that until then I’d thought were smart, eating a pasty in a manner that would make a dog excuse himself from the table – pausing only to angrily brush chunks of potato off my jumper – and stare inland. Thinking about a place that loses itself over and over again, a summer at a time – and wondering how long even a ghost would be able to stay.

( Post from I V-W with thanks)

 

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Art and Photographic History Poetry

Qui est ce jeune plongeur ?

Is that really Maupassant readying

himself to dive  among the ladies?

These, modestly dressed like himself

beneath the white high cliffs of Étretat.

Behind him on the perilous board

a gentleman stands with arms

folded, wearing a woolen hat, about

to inspect the quality of the dive

into this so called “mer d’huile”.

Notchalantly, a modern-looking

girl in her black bathing costume floats

seemingly unaware of the garrulous.

society society on the nearby anchored punt.

So this jeune homme is conceivably

the fellow who will meet

Flaubert and Swinburne and

pen Bel Ami?

 

[With thanks to Paris Match]

The painter’s details are below:-

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eug%C3%A8ne_Lepoittevin

Eugène] Le Poittevin, peintre (Getty Museum)