sábado, 28 de fevereiro de 2015
Peder Mørk Mønsted, A Shepherdess Resting (1912)
"Todo o estado de alma é uma paisagem. Isto é, todo o estado de alma é não só representável por uma paisagem, mas verdadeiramente uma paisagem. Há em nós um espaço interior onde a matéria da nossa vida física se agita. (…) E - mesmo que se não queira admitir que todo o estado de alma é uma paisagem - pode ao menos admitir-se que todo o estado de alma se pode representar por uma paisagem. (…)"
Fernando Pessoa, in "Cancioneiro", via Emília Matos e Silva.
sexta-feira, 27 de fevereiro de 2015
Samuel van Hoogstraten, A Peepshow with Views of the Interior of a Dutch House (c.1655-1660, via Old Paint)
«A sua essencial, permanente ambiguidade. A pintura não fixa instantes porque não pode; insinua pensamentos, sentimentos, momentos metafísicos, e nisso reside, quanto a mim, a sua natureza ambígua e ilusionista que faz com que nunca estejamos certos de qual é realmente o seu conteúdo, mal-grado a eventual fidelidade às aparências.»
Nikias Skapinakis (2010), citado por Leonor de Oliveira, Nikias Skapinakis, col. «Pintores Portugueses», Quidnovi, 2010, pp. 53-54.
quinta-feira, 26 de fevereiro de 2015
quarta-feira, 25 de fevereiro de 2015
terça-feira, 24 de fevereiro de 2015
segunda-feira, 23 de fevereiro de 2015
domingo, 22 de fevereiro de 2015
sábado, 21 de fevereiro de 2015
Paul Gauguin, Working the land (1873, Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge)
“We abuse land because we see it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.”
sexta-feira, 20 de fevereiro de 2015
Capela de São João Baptista
Capela de São João Baptista (pavimento)
Altar da Anunciação
Capela do Santíssimo Sacramento
Capela de Santo António
«(...) quando um objecto artificial simula uma permanência perene e comunica uma sensação de que aquele sítio intacto não poderia prescindir daquele objecto preciso, significa que a Arquitectura conseguiu o estatuto de “Natureza”, de coisa natural. Mas só o reconhecemos quando o colectivo adere, defende a permanência e proíbe a sua destruição; a isso chama-se Património.»-
Souto de Moura (2004), citado por Marta Prista, Discursos sobre o Passado: Investimentos Patrimoniais nas Pousadas de Portugal, p. 97.
Sobre a Igreja ver:
quinta-feira, 19 de fevereiro de 2015
Maria Keil, Mesa dos Frutos, 1955
«O design não é uma invenção dos nossos dias. A sua génese prende-se na história da própria invenção. Implícito em todas as formas materiais de expressão humana, diz sobretudo respeito aos objectos, à coisa fabricada.»
M. Adília Moutinho de Alarcão, «Função / Design / Objecto», catálogo da Exposição de Design Português de 1973.
quarta-feira, 18 de fevereiro de 2015
Cruz de Carvalho, Cadeira Mesa MX1, 1969, Mobiliário Interforma (Estúdio Mário Novais, Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian)
«(...) O domínio da arte é com effeito muito mais vasto; abrange tudo quanto nos cerca, todos os objectos de uso quotidiano, os móveis das nossas casas, os fatos que nos vestem, as louças, as pratas, tudo em uma palavra quanto serve para a vida. Em tudo pode haver bello não só no sentido limitado da ornamentação e decoração, não só no sentido menos restricto da harmonia e da proporção, mas sobre tudo no sentido mais lato do objecto e o seu uso.»
Marquês de Sousa Holstein (1876), citado por Frederico George, catálogo da 1.ª exposição de Design Português, 1971, p. 11.
terça-feira, 17 de fevereiro de 2015
Carnaval na eira, Páscoa à lareira.
Namoro de Carnaval, não chega ao Natal.
Não há Entrudo sem Lua Nova, nem Páscoa sem Lua Cheia.
Esta vida são dois dias, e o Carnaval são três.
Entrudo borralheiro, Páscoa soalheira.
segunda-feira, 16 de fevereiro de 2015
Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Flemish Proverbs (1559 - via Gandalf's Gallery)
“Ethical behavior is doing the right thing when no one else is watching - even when doing the wrong thing is legal.”
sábado, 14 de fevereiro de 2015
(via Pinterest - link)
«Lockhart’s idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth. Harry hadn’t had much sleep because of a late-running Quidditch practice the night before, and he hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. He thought, for a moment, that he’d walked through the wrong doors.The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry went over to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was sitting looking sickened, and Hermione seemed to have been overcome with giggles.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off his bacon.
Ron pointed to the teachers’ table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence (...).
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted. “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and it doesn’t end here!”
Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.
“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”»
J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (1998).
sexta-feira, 13 de fevereiro de 2015
Emília Matos e Silva, Inês de Castro
-«It's observable. Powerful. It has to mean something. (…) Love is the one thing that we're capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space. Maybe we should trust that, even if we can't understand it. (…)»
quinta-feira, 12 de fevereiro de 2015
Rene Lalique, "The Kiss" brooch (c 1900 - 1902, via Jesse Waugh)
“There is a room in the Department of Mysteries (...) that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. (...)”
J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2003)
quarta-feira, 11 de fevereiro de 2015
«He was shifting some sharp, flat pieces of ice to and fro, trying to fit them into every possible pattern, for he wanted to make something with them. It was like the Chinese puzzle game that we play at home, juggling little flat pieces of wood about into special designs. Kay was cleverly arranging his pieces in the game of ice-cold reason. To him the patterns were highly remarkable and of the utmost importance, for the chip of glass in his eye made him see them that way. He arranged his pieces to spell out many words; but he could never find the way to make the one word he was so eager to form. The word was "Eternity." The Snow Queen had said to him, "If you can puzzle that out you shall be your own master, and I'll give you the whole world and a new pair of skates." But he could not puzzle it out.
P J Lynch (via çizgili masallar)
All of a sudden, little Gerda walked up to the palace through the great gate which was a knife-edged wind. But Gerda said her evening prayer. The wind was lulled to rest, and the little girl came on into the vast, cold, empty hall. Then she saw Kay. She recognized him at once, and ran to throw her arms around him. She held him close and cried, "Kay, dearest little Kay! I've found you at last!"
But he sat still, and stiff, and cold. Gerda shed hot tears, and when they fell upon him they went straight to his heart. They melted the lump of ice and burned away the splinter of glass in it. He looked up at her, and she sang:
"Where roses bloom so sweetly in the vale,
There shall you find the Christ Child, without fail."
Nika Goltz (via Indigo Xix)
Kay burst into tears. He cried so freely that the little piece of glass in his eye was washed right out. "Gerda!" He knew her, and cried out in his happiness, "My sweet little Gerda, where have you been so long? And where have I been?" He looked around him and said, "How cold it is here! How enormous and empty!" He held fast to Gerda, who laughed until happy tears rolled down her cheeks. Their bliss was so heavenly that even the bits of glass danced about them and shared in their happiness. When the pieces grew tired, they dropped into a pattern which made the very word that the Snow Queen had told Kay he must find before he became his own master and received the whole world and a new pair of skates.»
Anastasia Arkhipova (via Myth & Moor)
Hans Christian Andersen, The Snow Queen
terça-feira, 10 de fevereiro de 2015
Mikalojus Ciurlionis, Eternity (1906)
«Think of your life as a story.
Actually, you already do.
FMRI studies show us that following a story A narrative with a beginning, middle, and end Causes our brains to release cortisol and oxytocin.
These chemicals give us the uniquely human ability to connect with someone, even a total stranger, and empathize.
In other words, stories are what we use to find meaning in our lives.
Now, imagine for a moment that we lived without the understanding that our story must eventually end.
What if our lives were as infinite as the universe, if the ticking clock never stopped? What would our story be then? Would we still love? Or care? Would those tiny, fleeting moments that mean everything Mean anything at all?»
segunda-feira, 9 de fevereiro de 2015
Arkady Rylov, Dans la Bleue Etendue (1918)
«We've always defined ourselves by the ability to overcome the impossible. And we count these moments. These moments when we dare to aim higher, to break barriers, to reach for the stars, to make the unknown known. We count these moments as our proudest achievements. But we lost all that. Or perhaps we've just forgotten that we are still pioneers. And we've barely begun. And that our greatest accomplishments cannot be behind us, because our destiny lies above us.»
sábado, 7 de fevereiro de 2015
"Fantasy is the oldest kind of fiction, and though it's forever finding new forms, it doesn't change in essence. Even through the flood of trite trilogies and formula fantasoids of the last twenty years, the real stuff keeps being written, published, and read. Not even capitalism can kill the imagination.
"Fantasy is the language of the inner self. I will claim no more for fantasy than to say I personally find it the appropriate language in which to tell stories to children - and others. But I say that with some confidence, having behind me the authority of a very great poet, who put it much more boldly. 'The great instrument of moral good,' Shelly said, 'is imagination.' "
-Ursula K. Le Guin (via Myth & Moor).
sexta-feira, 6 de fevereiro de 2015
Pablo Picasso, Fillette a la boule (1905, Pushkin Museum of Fine Art, Moscovo)
“may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile”
quinta-feira, 5 de fevereiro de 2015
Alfred Stevens, Senhora a ler
Já há algum tempo, tive este diálogo com a Ana do blogue (In)Cultura que escreveu:
«Agora aprecio melhor o retrato. Há uns anos atrás não ligava muito. Preferia telas de diferentes temas mas não a solidão do retrato.»
George Spencer Watson, Hilda and Maggie (1911)
A ideia ficou-me, porque, apesar de não considerar os retratos solitários (e há retratos de grupo), julgo que ela tem alguma razão.
Contudo, como na altura disse à Ana:
«Nunca pensei no retrato em termos de solidão - a ideia é curiosa para mim, pois sempre vi os retratos como presenças-ausentes. (...)»
De facto, penso que há um diálogo (silencioso) entre o espectador e o retratado, por intermédio do pintor (ou fotógrafo), nomeadamente quando os retratados enfrentam o olhar de quem os observa.
Para concluir, deixo a questão em aberto e gostava de ter outras opiniões.
Francis Luis Mora, Evening News
quarta-feira, 4 de fevereiro de 2015
Paul Klee, Winter Journey (1921, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York)
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
terça-feira, 3 de fevereiro de 2015
Adelino Lyon de Castro, Recanto de aldeia (1945-1952, Museu do Chiado – Museu Nacional de Arte Contemporânea)
«A Cerâmica rodeia-nos desde sempre. Está presente onde quer que estejamos. Quando no berço, momentos após virmos ao mundo já ela nos defende, nos protege das ardências do sol, das inclemências custosas da chuva e do frio. Ela está sobre as nossas cabeças, cobrindo o tecto da nossa habitação. É humilde a sua forma, é modesto o seu nome. Chama-se telha.»
segunda-feira, 2 de fevereiro de 2015
Henri Cartier-Bresson, Children on a Staircase (1968, The Museum of Modern Art, New York)
«When I want to understand what is happening today or try to decide what will happen tomorrow, I look back.»