Gin Soaked Boy

Engraçado como há dias em que as coisas, ou as pessoas, ou os astros, ou seja lá o que for deste e/ou de outro(s) universo(s) se conjugam e nos trazem assim, de uma assentada, tão simples e naturalmente, exactamente aquilo de que parecíamos necessitar, deixando-nos embasbacados, mas de sorriso nos lábios, perante tal consonância no tempo certo.

- E um escreve… “Nada é mais forte do que a nossa vontade de vencer.”

- E outro telefona só para dizer o que acabou de ler num pacotinho de açúcar, coisa doce, doce :o)…  “Com cada beijo um ano mais de vida.”

- E outra manda “kiwis”, daqueles especiais, que só ela sabe fazer.

- E outra manda mãos-cheias de ternuras encaracoladinhas.

- E outro faz-nos fechar os olhos e levar naquela maravilhosa massagem de shiatsu.

- E outros, outras, tantos, tantas…

- E o cansaço já era!
                 - E o stress onde está?
                                       - E a neura é só sorriso!
                                                                                                              

- E, e, e, e... até já é fdsemana!!! :o)

 

Andy Warhol

The kiss
of spring
causes a blush
of blossoms
upon the face
of the earth.

©2006 Joseph* ~ OneLight*®

 

 

 

 

Foto: Howard Schatz

“Se podes olhar, vê. Se podes ver, repara."

Epígrafe da obra Ensaio sobre a Cegueira, de José Saramago, numa referência ao Livro dos Conselhos de Marc Augé.

 

Criticando a sociedade decrépita contemporânea, em Ensaio sobre a Cegueira Saramago faz-nos reflectir sobre a capacidade que aquela tem de se auto-destruir.  Sem qualquer razão aparente, a multidão começa a ser invadida pela cegueira. Trata-se de uma cegueira branca, que nos vamos apercebendo ser a cegueira da razão. Esta é provocada pelo facto de as pessoas não conseguirem mais pensar umas nas outras, mas apenas em si, de serem capazes de todos os atropelos, justificados, simplesmente, pela salvação própria, de se terem tornado em quasi-feras por egoísmo, por incapacidade de serem solidárias. Fica-se cego pela fartura, pelo excesso (de cor). Tantos progressos científicos e tecnológicos e tão pouca preocupação em distribuir o bem equitativamente por todos. Ao andarem, umas, perdidas pela cidade e ao serem, outras, colocadas de quarentena num manicómio, despojadas de tudo, as pessoas vêem-se na necessidade de reflectir sobre a sua condição, sobre a necessidade que têm do outro, sobre a sua obrigação de reaprenderem a (con)viver, a dar-se aos outros, usando o seu instinto e os seus afectos. Possuímos os instrumentos que nos permitem olhar os outros, mas, habitualmente, não os vemos. No entanto, mesmo quando o fazemos, não conseguimos ir muito além das aparências, não conseguimos reparar. Mas nem tudo parece estar perdido. Nesta visão negativa do ser humano está implícita uma esperança na mudança, porque é possível aprender a ser melhor, educar os sentidos e os sentimentos e, não perco a esperança, educar para a (con)vivência e para a fraternidade, para a igualdade e para a justiça.

Mó do tempo - Mourisca, Setúbal - Jan. 2006

 

Ainda a propósito de carneiros, de lobos, de pastores e de cães de guarda e pastoreio, inspirando-me nos amigos 3za, m.zen, além mar, … e continuando numa de bucolismo…

 

 

Há quem seja como a mó

Não se canse de moer

Leve o tempo que levar

Fazer, desfazer, refazer, …

*

Qual cão de guarda e pastoreio

Mói e torna a moer, insiste

Entre carneiros a discutir leis de lobos

Mói e torna a moer, resiste

Vence!

 

 

Metamorfoses II (1939-1940) - Escher

 

Nem começo nem final

Simplesmente retorno. (H)À origem.

Sempre regresso àquele ponto essencial. Inicial.

Identidade (re)conquistada, de ser tornado homem.

 

Meio.

Da mudança, da (re)criação daquele que cresce, se transforma, amadurece.

De si para si, deste para o mundo, num voltar de novo a si.

(N)Um ciclo eterno que se repete.

 

The point of no (the eternal) return.

 

 

Detail of Grass for those who cry, 1974

Hundertwasser (1928-2000)

Em Janeiro de 1999, de combóio da Suíça para a Áustria, numa viagem nocturna, de improviso (são as melhores). As vistas já eram, claro. Restavam as da imaginação. Pela janela do compartimento do wagon-lit, que todos os passageiros acharam por bem deixar aberta para a paisagem das luzes e sombras ao longo de toda a viagem, adivinhavam-se aldeias, campos abertos, lagos e rios, montanhas ao longe, cidades corridas, ... Pouca vivalma decerto fruto do adiantado das horas.

Manhã cedo chegada a Viena. Nevava um pouco, apenas o suficiente para tornar o pavimento escorregadio e dar um certo ar de graça maior aos jardins e telhados. Esperava-me o meu amigo vienense, um gigante ao pé de mim :o), lembro-me de pensar, então. Boas-vindas calorosas, que fizeram esquecer o frio, e logo partimos à descoberta (eu da cidade, porque ele, acho, terá sido mais de mim :o) ), de uma das cidades que havia encantado a minha imaginação da infância. Vi Viena. Jardins, beira-rio, monumentos, museus, ... igualzinha a qualquer turista comum, menos nas compras, que nunca me fascinaram por aí além quando em "cursos de crescimento" como este. Vivi Viena. Percorri ruas sem fim, misturei-me com as gentes, senti na pele o ambiente e deixei-me engolir por ele.

Quando "encontrei" as formas e cores de Hundertwasser, sobre quem só tinha lido e ouvido falar até aí, senti-me fundir. Nelas. Nele. A emoção da paixão tomou conta de tudo. A cabeça zonza, o coração a saltar do peito, descompassado, as lágrimas a brotarem sem aviso, os lábios entreabertos de espanto, a boca seca, os arrepios de felicidade, a vontade de abraçar tudo e todos naquele arco-íris vestido de vulcão de sensações tão puras, originais, simples e completas ao mesmo tempo. Então, sei que pisei o paraíso.

Hundertwasser por ele próprio/Hundertwasser by himself

“What we lack is a peace treaty with nature.”

“The straight line is something cowardly drawn with a rule, without thought or feeling; it is a line which does not exist in nature…. The straight line is the forbidden fruit.”

Window dictatorship and window rights 

Some people say houses consist of walls. I say houses consist of windows.
When different houses stand next to each other in a street, all having different window types, i.e., window races, for example an Art Nouveau house with Art Nouveau windows next to a modern house with unadorned square windows, followed in turn by a Baroque house with Baroque windows, nobody minds.
But should the three window types of the three houses belong to one house, it is seen as a violation of the racial segregation of windows. Why? Each individual window has its own right to life.
According to the prevailing code, however, if window races are mixed, window apartheid is infringed. Everything is there: racial prejudice, racial discrimination, racial policy, racial ideology, racial barriers, with fateful impact of window apartheid on man. The apartheid of window races must cease. For the repetition of identical windows next to each other and above each other as in a grid system is a characteristic of concentration camps. In the new architecture of satellite towns and in new administration buildings, banks, hospitals and schools, the levelling of windows is unbearable.
Individuals are never identical and defend themselves against these standardising dictates either passively or actively, depending on their constitution. Thus either with alcohol and drug addiction, exodus from the city, cleaning mania, television dependency, inexplicable physical complaints, allergies, depressions and even suicide, or alternatively with aggression, vandalism and crime.
A person in a rented apartment must be able to lean out of his window and scrape off the masonry within arm's reach. And he must be allowed to take a long brush and paint everything outside within arm's reach. So that it will be visible from afar to everyone in the street that someone lives there who is different from the imprisoned, enslaved, standardised man who lives next door. - Hundertwasser, January 1990.

 

There Are No Evils in Nature. There Are Only Evils of Man.
        
 When man thinks he has to correct nature, it is an irreparable mistake every time. A community should not consider it an honour how much spontaneous vegetation it destroys; it should rather be a point of honour for every community to protect as much of its natural landscape as possible.The brook, the river, the swamp, the riverside wetlands as they are, the way God created them, must be sacred and inviolable to us. Correcting a stream only has evil effects, which are expensive in the end: the lowering of water tables, the destruction of forests, the transformation of large areas into steppes, no regeneration of the water, which runs off too fast. The river wetlands can no longer fulfill their sponge-like function: the absorption of excess water and slow feedback in dry spells, like a good piggy bank in times of emergency. The regulated brook becomes a sewer. Fish die, and there are no fish in the brook because they cannot swim through the regulated channel. Floods, with all their devastating consequences, all the more after regulation. Because too much water runs off too quickly, converging in great quantity without any chance of being absorbed by the earth and the vegetation. Only a stream with a high waterline flowing irregularly can produce pure water, regulate the water household and conserve the fish and animal populations to the benefit of man and his agriculture. Now, almost too late, this age-old adage is being recognised and the courses of rivers and streams, which had been straightened in concrete channels, are being destroyed in order to restore the previous irregular state. What irony! So why regulate a stream if you have to deregulate it afterwards? - Hundertwasser, May 1990.

Hundertwasser about Hundertwasser

What does a man need to be happy?

Progress is regression and regression becomes progress.
My painting is, I believe, entirely different because it is vegetative painting. One reason why other people do not want to paint vegetatively and do not want to follow a vegetative mode of life is because it starts much too inconspicuously, because there is no eclat, no kettle-drum beat, but it grows very slowly and inconspicuously, and that does not correspond to our social order, which expects immediate performance involving consumption, waste and speed I would like to show people how to live - and I do this quite instinctively - painting a Paradise that everybody can have, he only needs to grab it.
Paradise is here, only we destroy it. I want to show how simple it actually is to have Paradise on earth. And everything promised to us by religions and dogmas and the various political trends is all questionable. So of course I came into conflict with society, which misunderstands all this. They believe that this is eccentricity, to make publicity only, but they forget that it is a part of myself, that this is my natural form of expression.
Why can an individual not live up to himself as a flower does? Colourfulness, variety and diversity are by all means better than the grey, the average grey. Only he who thinks and lives creatively will survive in the present world and the world beyond. One should live as in war when everything is rationed. Man must be careful. Man must think independently, must economise. Man must not squander blindly. Man must see to it that his circulation functions. The circulation from eating to shitting functions but the circulation from shitting to eating is interrupted. To be happy does not at all depend on being rich. Does not depend on production. It is difficult to say and easy at the same time.
Paintings for me are doors which enable me, whenever I succeeded, to push them open into a world, very near and very far, where we have no access, in which we are present, but which we can perceive as contrary to the factual world. Our parallel world from which we are moving away. Yes, and that is Paradise, it is the place where we are rooted, and which is whithheld from us by some unexplainable force. And here I have succeeded in throwing open windows. It is difficult to explain how I succeeded. Certainly not by force, also not by reflection, and not by intelligence, and not necessarily by intuition, but rather like walking in a dream. The work of an artist is indeed very difficult because it cannot be undertaken by force, dilligence or intelligence. I mean that everything else in life can be done with energy, assiduity and intelligence, but with these things achievements in art are impossible. This goes also for goodness, also a good person is suddenly faced with a barrier and thus he can't go on. It is very strange, isn't it, when a man brings along everything the possesses, assiduity, goodness, endurance, intelligence, everything man can get and yet he cannot approach. What is the reason? I believe, and I am absolutely sure, that's why I think that painting is a religious activity, that then the actual stimulus comes from outside, from something we do not know, an undefinable power, which comes or does not come and which guides your hand. In former days it was asserted to be the Muse, of course a stupid idea, but a kind of inspiration.
So the only thing one can do is to prepare so that the supernatural impulses - or whatever you want to call them - can reach one. That means to be prepared. That means to exclude willpower, intelligence and one's "wanting to do it better" same as ambition.
I would like to be called a magician of vegetation or something similar - a magician filling a painting until it is full of magic - with vegetative magic, with magic vegetation, as if one is filling a glass with water.
Everything is infinitely simple and so infinitely beautiful.

 

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