…”one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me — the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art. (…) We also write to heighten our own awareness of life, we write to lure and enchant and console others, we write to serenade our lovers. (…) We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth, we write to expand our world, when we feel strangled, constricted, lonely. We write as the birds sing. As the primitive dance their rituals. If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don’t write. Because our culture has no use for any of that. When I don’t write I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire, my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave. I call it breathing.”
(Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5: 1947-1955)
“Always continue walking a lot and loving nature, for that’s the real way to learn to understand art better and better. Painters understand nature and love it, and teach us to see.”
(Vicent van Gogh, Letters to Theo)
“And therein lies the whole of man’s plight. Human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition.”
(Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being)
“Like a declaration of love: the consciousness of our dependence on each other. A confession. An unconscious act that none the less reflects the true meaning of life – love and sacrifice.”
– 8 years have past by, since I post for the first time, and it has been a blissful experience that I have shared with many of you, loyal viewers. I would like to say – Thank you so much, all of you, for still being there, for your support and for all the kind words you left here! (…smiling…) –
“Back in the room I located some tubes of Nescafe and a small electric pot. I made my own coffee, wrapped myself in a blanket. Opened the sliding doors and sat on the little patio facing the sea. There was a low wall partially obstructing the view, but I had my coffee, could hear the waves and was reasonably content.”
(Patti Smith, Year of the monkey)
“on a dust-covered road I search for your lips.
I bend over and look under each moss-wrapped stone.
coiled into spirals snails sleep in moist shade.
I wake them and ask where is he? they stretch out their drowsyhorns peek from their shells squint at the sun.
and vanish saying nothing. I ask the stone smooth
its rough surface with my warm hungry hand. it’s silent.
I ask the sun. it bends its head to the west and I go after the sun westward to find you.”
(Halina Poswiatowska, on a dust-covered road I search for your lips)
“We, the drowned
Hold our hollow hearted ground
‘Til we swallow ourselves down
We, the ashes
We spend our days like matches
And burned our ships as black as
The end, the end…”
(Lisa Hannigan, We, the drowned)
“Tell me, tell me, smiling child,
Tell me, what is the present hour?
‘A green and flowery spray
Where a young bird sits gathering its power
To mount and fly away.’…”
(Emily Jane Brontë, Past, Present, Future)
Inspired by poetry, art, life, imperfections, music, nature, dreams and antiques.
Believes that things should not be in small drawers inside large closets.
As we live our lives forwards, but understand them backwards (as Kierkegaard says).