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
08.03
09.03
10.03
11.03
12.03
01.04
02.04
03.04
04.04
05.04
06.04
07.04
08.04
10.04
11.04
12.04
01.05
02.05
03.05
04.05
05.05
06.05
07.05
08.05
09.05
10.05
11.05
01.06
02.06
04.06
05.06
06.06
07.06
10.06
11.06
12.06
01.07
02.07
03.07
04.07
05.07
06.07
07.07
08.07
09.07
10.07
11.07
12.07
01.08
05.08


26.2.07

:: crossed eyed mary ::

now it's not just the pencil._not merely a pen._not only crayons and coloured pencils._now it's water colours, oiled pigments, tempera, acrylic, blood, sweat and tears, so to speak._i've been spending more and more time locking myself up in this enjoyable prison of in-my-head-images i cannot yet translate into two dimensional blots and blurs._i want to draw a portrait, i have it so clearly pictured in my mind, i know exactly where i want the colours to be, to mesh, to fade away._ i can almost taste it, if i'm allowed to say such a thing about an image._but i lack a lot of experience and talent to actually get to making it._that, and a certain bashfulness i cannot begin to describe here._i think to myself that if everything that crosses the strange frontier built in between being imagined and being made into an image is to be seen, then it might as well be seen by that pair of eyes it was originally intended to -or at least hoped to- be viewed by._ but i'm not sure about how much i really want such a pair of eyes to set themselves upon something specifically made for them._and that's why, maybe, i won't get to making this image into a real object anytime soon._if it's not for them, it's not worth making._there's yet another problem._ most of the times in which i think about an image, specifically in a portrait of some sort, what comes up behind my eyes is something more like a feeling than an actual image._i don't know how to explain it properly._ it's as though i could feel my own face and body as those from the one being portrayed, somehow like transforming into someone else._if i can't feel how a certain gesture feels like -imagining perhaps that there's a strict correspondence between how it feels and how it actually looks-, there's no way i can draw it._it seems, then, that there are a lot of steps i had not accounted for._maybe i'm just too used to thinking that everything that comes out of these little chubby hands is to be in some way a self portrait...

coming in through my ears:: Wolken ziehen vorbei2raumwohnung