Celeste Dupuy Spencer

What a nice found!

Celeste depictions of interiors are so vivid, it’s like you are in the room with her, it’s like she invited you to share an afternoon with her. And she makes you feel at home.  

She definitely reminds me of David Hockney, but instead of depicting the allure of the American upper class, she shows you the the galore of the working class.

Hartmut Rosa and Ugo Rondinone

Hartmut Rosa says we have to run in order to stay still. He speaks about a “frantic and static” condition for which we are on a downward escalator and we have to run upward in order to maintain our position.

The solution is the resonance, a form of relationship with a human, an idea or a thing: when we relate to something that moves us we start moving ourselves, and with that we change. We feel the resonance when, between consonance (agreement) and discordance (disagreement), we feel in contact with the world. 

Ugo Rondinone is a Swiss artist, his installation “Seven Magic Mountains” consists of 7 totems made of stones, painted in bright colors. It left me without breath when I saw it for the first time this morning, in a post by Saatchi Gallery, and my surprise was even bigger when I saw it again, this afternoon, as a the image along this article-interview to the German sociologist and philosopher. 

After reading the article I consulted an anthology about philosophy that I keep in my library and I read about Pascal and the impossibility, for mankind, to stay alone in one room. 

Well I was alone in my living room, laying on the couch, when I read all this, and I was having a very good time. 

It inspired me to share some thoughts with my friend A., who I tryed to call in vain yesterday. Writing an email was better, I had the time to organize my thoughts and I enjoy writing a lot lately. 

Today I was cleaning the cellar, I realized that I have less shit than I thought, but a lot more diaries than I imagined. You could not pay me enough to read more than two pages of them all, I recall the writing of them as a torture of boringness that I was inflicting to myself. I am a nostalgic by nature and perpetuating a ritual that I had started in 1982 seemed reassuring. I was able to stop the sacrifice when I finally realized that there was nothing worthy in the contest of my days, it just made my everyday life look like a pathetic sad repetition. 

Cesare Tacchi

I am reading about this retrospective of this Italian artist, invited in 1967 to be part in the exhibit that defined Arte Povera, by Germano Celant.
Beside his paintings for which he uses upholstery I was impressed by his performance "Cancellazione d'artista", during which, in 1968, he painted a glass he was staying behind of.

This work was followed, 4 years later, by "Painting", during which he actually rubbed off the paint from the glass he was staying behind of.

It reminded me of the installation I saw in December at the Amsterdam Airport, it's actually a clock. Maarten Baas recorded himself as a working man painting the time minute by minute.

Fernando Bandini

La Lettura, ovviamente, mio pane per l'anima e la mente, rifugio di nostalgia e tramite presente tra passato e futuro.
La Lettura, of course, nourishment for my soul and my mind, paper of my nostalgia, past and future within cellulose.
Poetry fascinates me so much that when I approach a poem I get so anxious that it turns into an exam and my vision gets blurred, my mind doesn't respond and my soul gets frustrated.
Luckily each La Lettura comes with a page spent for one poet and one of his poems.
Turning the page and finding the Poem Section gives me the same pleasure of seeing an old friend. In the middle of the page, within the columns of the article, the poem is written within a brownish rectangle with cardinal red arabesques going around the text, and a black and white photo of the poet at the bottom of the rectangle. This very classic visual has the power to take me into the slow pace of poetry.
With dedication and time I have been able to control my fears and, moreover when I find a poet that resonates in me, I am able to relax and enjoy the read.
I try here to translate this poem by Fernando Bandini, it's something I have never done before but I think that I will be able to come out with something with this poem. Well, I guess I won't be able to avoid the Italian literal translation...

Amnesia
Day by day names fade away
off my speech and off my memory
usual words like chair bottle.
Oh, the panting runs to possess them
back! Fumbling castaway
in a word that loses more and more
its aeons, I stutter
like Moses at the burning bush.

And with tense tremble I speak
house butterfly apple
to dispel the dark night
that one strides into;
but then house plummets, butterfly
vaporizes into burgundy,
apple is taken from me devoured by the worm
inhabiting my brain.

How will I move, poet without
the beloved names juice of things,
within a looted universe holes?

from: La Mantide e la città, A. Mondadori, 1979

Wow, that was intense!

Eileen Myles

Eileen Myles has a super cool website.
I found her (them) at the Bike Shed in London while Patrick was trying new trousers on. I was having my soy cappuccino on the couch and under the table there were some magazines. She was featured in the Review issue of the Guardian. What caught my attention was the stated fact that she is the basis of a poet-character in Transparent.
Well, I was in London and, like for the past 6 months, I wasn't taking any photo. Overwhelmed by the anxiety of showing off I prefer to stay in the shadow and hide (from social media). What I realized in these days is that I miss to keep some kind of record for myself (and Patrick).
Looking this morning at Eileen Myles website was a strong reminder in that direction.
Sandrine, Betty and Giacomo. Modigliani, the Tate, the swings and the rain. Wine, bad mexican food and a splash of dirty water from the puddle into my mouth. Walking from Islington to Piccadilly to Covent Garden: Sir John Soane's Museum is closed but we find the park of our first date, when we wondered about each other sexuality. Huber, jeans and plastic plates, don't forget the wine and... Giacomo! Betty and Francesco and Taiwanese dinner, how good to be around a table with Patrick and my friends and Giacomo too. The drive back and Giacomo that stays on the cab.
On Sunday we spot Giacomo from Sir John Soane's living room window, he is in the park where I first dated Patrick, smoking a cigarette and waving hello under his hoodie. I wish I had taken his picture.
We eat poached eggs and say goodbye.