hesitant aranta



depicted

[foto de ºCHiViSº--flickr]

incoming
Nicomachean Ethics//Aristotle
Eudemian Ethics//Aristotle
Poetics//Aristotle
De Anima//Aristotle
Cause, Necessity and Blame//Richard Sorabji
The Fragility of Goodness//Martha C. Nussbaum
Essays on Aristotle's Ethics//Amelie Rorty (editor)
Aristotle's Theory of Action//David Charles
Aristotle on Moral Responsibility//Susan S. Meyer
The Fabric of Character//Nancy Sherman
Choosing Character//Jonathan Jacobs
Aristotle's Psychology//Daniel N. Robinson

Volta//Björk
Medùlla//Björk
Vespertine//Björk
Vespertine Live at the Royal Opera House//Björk

Carbon Monoxide//Marlboro Reds
caffeine in not so large ammounts

a whole lotta love

secondary bibliography

overt influences
straying

[...]
Wie ich mechanisch eine neue Zigarrette drehe und die braunen Stäubchen mit feinem Prickeln auf das weißgelbe Löschpapier der Schreibmappe niedertaumeln, will es mir unwarscheinlich werden, daß ich noch wache. Und wie die feuchtwarme Abendluft, die durch das offene Fenster neben mir hereingeht, die Rauchwölkchen so seltsam formt und aus dem Bereich der grünbeschirmten Lampe ins Mattschwarze trägt, steht es mir fest, daß ich schon träume.
Da wird's natürlich schon ganz arg; denn diese Meinung wirft der Phantasie die Zügel auf den Rücken. Hinter mir knackt heimlich neckend die Stuhllehne, daß es mir jäh wie hastiger Schauder durch alle Nerven fährt. Das stört mich ärgerlich in meinem tiefsinnigen Studium der Bizarren Rauchschriftzeichen, die im mich irren, und über die einen Leitfaden zu ferfassen ich bereits entschlossen war.
Aber nun ist die Ruhe zum Teufel. Tolle Bewegung in allen Sinnen. Fiebrisch, nervös, wahnsinnig. Jeder Laut keift. Und mit all dem verwirrt steigt Vergessenes auf. Einst dem Sehsinn Eingeprägtes, das sich seltsam erneut; mit dem Fühlen dazu von damals. [...] Vision. Proza-Skizze//Thomas Mann.


past utterances
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13.7.05

:: Artistic Anatomy and Great Masters of Modern Art ::

born between months she struggled to find a small space for her piece -and peace- of mind. all those years spent before a blank paper took their toll; what she understood to be a line could not be read nor spoken, not felt nor understood. but a line is a line and forever it will remain as such; it will stand there, imprinted in her white skin curling and straightening in unison with her breathing. she thought it would all be lost once she had found a way to make ends meet, to keep to herself what was meant to herself; that, in the end, the desired balance would make her definitive quality perish. but that need not be so.

i've always thought that drawing is a means of living without thinking, that pure shape and form and texture and light and shadow and absolute darkness are a most encouraging combination of absentminded tools to keep breathing and stop stopping at the mere sight of a contradiction. distancing myself from many people i know, i believe and will probably keep doing so for some time, that in paper not all is possible. a blank piece of paper is not absolute potentiality, every thread of cellulose carries with it a path that will have to be taken by the graphite; in a sense, every sheet carries with it it's own drawing, it's own lines. and so, every time i sit in front of that pure white almost mystic plane, i surrender to the power of it will and strength, that drains whatever residue of mind i may have and submits me to it's eternal flowing and yet static nature. i am the least free while drawing, the least me and yet all there can be of me. how can anyone endure such a struggle between herself and her necessary lack of freedom without perishing in the process? i don't love drawing, perhaps i don't even like it, but oh how i need it. it is as though i was bound to each strand of the paper, to each line of graphite, to each smudge and stain. and because i need it so i will no longer refuse it, i will no longer fight it. i'm as scared as i ever was, i have not the training nor the habit, but i refuse to let go of this.

coming in through my ears::news on television