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.


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13.8.05

:: artistic anatomy july 12 ::

i have now enough courage to understand that i am not, by any means, the best at what i do. a while back, such an acknowledgment would have certainly devastated my self-trust, and along with it, my self-esteem. now it doesn't matter quite as much that i cannot draw better or as good as my classmates, it doesn't really make a difference whether or not i'll be known for any skills i might have. for now, it seems only important that i am learning, that my pulse is becoming a little more controlled, that my line will someday be somehow more fluid and elegant and that i now do what i do, simply because i do it.
i had only once drawn a living model; i was stuck copying images derived from my own head, believing that they came from a kind of knowledge of how things were supposed to look like. the truth is that, despite the amount of knowledge that one may have of how things should look like, the way things actually are and how they actually appear before one, is a whole different deal. now, it seems, i must learn how to look, how to see, observe, watch or whatever other verb might be thought of for expressing the act of capturing light through -or with- the eyes and giving it form. i have to learn to see what is seen.
the first class was a little odd. we were introduced to the model and asked to draw her in the pose that she held, caring for details of composition and a general coherence of the drawing. while some have it in them to draw very easily, to translate into lines what their brain has already translated into forms, some of us have to struggle with graphite and whitened cellulose in order to make something necessarily different from the model into a similarity, we find it hard to play demiurges. the teacher, who everyone calls "master" said that we had built our drawings as cheap architects do: we start detail by detail and then move on from one part to the next without caring for connection. the next exercise was then to build a picture starting from the structure, the external structure, the frame of the figure. we took measurements and established proportion, angle and position and proceeded to draw. i found it hard, so very hard to get it right. as i watched what was coming into existence by means of my hands my heart became heavy and i became filled with a sorrow i cannot yet explain. i expected more of myself; but, then again, i now know that not much is to be expected, not quite yet.