The Dears

Allyson Mitchell

Tinha que partilhar o trabalho desta fiber artist (como dizer isto em português, ajudem-me!).

A Allyson Mitchell é escultora, tecelã, videasta, activista.

E foi sobretudo esta instalação no MOCCA - Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art, chamada Granny Square Wreck Room que me chamou a atenção.










Lindo!

Pieces

Fotos minhas fotos da Pata fotos do Zé fotos do Paulo ilustrações Black Apple

Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity, Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman, The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings, The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud, Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming, Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening, The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair, The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body, The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out, The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees,The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones,The exquisite realization of health;O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul,O I say now these are the soul!

Walt Whitman

"Sim, é teu o céu, mas a terra, só o sábio e o intacto a conhecem" A.A.

Agora
somos só meninas em casa.
Sabe bem. Tem um sabor doce tem um sabor verdadeiro, que se mastiga mais devagar.
Tobias - o gato - olha por nós todas.

***


Ces battements de sang, ces transes étoilées
qui dans ta combustion trouvent leurs rythmes-nés
peuvent bien ramener l'éclat de tes pensées,
ta haine, ton amour, ta foi, ta charité,
au despotique accent de ce luth insensé
nommé coeur, Israfel, du ciel
et brûler comme lui pour le laisser chanter,
quand les astres portant ces transes sont muets,
c'est ton coeur, Israfel, qui les pousse à brûler,
car les passions du ciel sont celles d' Israfel.
Antonin Artaud


***