O timbre era uma coisa muito pomposa

E um dia percebi. Ele mostrou-me uma carta que o Redol, que estava a morrer em Santa Maria quando eu era estagiário, lhe escreveu. Uma carta em papel timbrado de um hotel. O timbre era uma coisa muito pomposa. E o Redol despede-se. Zé, nunca mais te vou ver, fui muito teu amigo, e tal... P.S.: Já viste papel de carta com mais mania? O Zé disse: 'Foi a única vez em que chorei como uma criança.'

Há uma entrevista pelo Ricardo Araújo Pereira ao Lobo Antunes que escreve na Visão desta semana.

Kyle Poff

Faz de tudo e tudo (com a exclusão daqueles devaneios tipográficos, mas deve ser arte) é brilhante.

The magic occurs in the finish

Jeremy Lipking, via Picked By Six.

My dear X,

Picture all experts as if they were mammals. Never be a spectator of unfairness or stupidity. Seek out argument and disputation for their own sake; the grave will supply plenty of time for silence.

Letters to a young contrarian, Christopher Hitchens.

Ginger, would you grab some ice?

“Come closer,” Mr. Leder instructed Ms. Nola, as the two tried different angles. “Tilt. Head this way.” With the exception of Mr. Leder’s 2-year-old son, Jack, who would occasionally stumble into the frame, the house was surprisingly quiet for a photo shoot, especially a pornographic one. There were no photo assistants, no special lighting, no bunny suit in sight. Mr. Leder continued snapping Ms. Nola — raising her head, facing the sun, lifting a leg — until his camera suddenly stopped clicking. He looked at his 1965 Canon Pellix and spotted the problem. “I’ve got to get some film,” he said.

Film?

Mr. Leder is no ordinary pornographer.


Passeando pelo portfólio do Jonathan Leder, questiono-me se ele estará mais preocupado em excitar ou em alimentar algum debate sobre os limites da pornografia. Parece-me procurar um lugar mais cândido do que Clayton James Cubitt, o que de qualquer forma só o torna mais provocador.

Vanished

Crystal Castles (Lies / Last Gang, 2008).

Era só isto.

Por falar em utopias

Inaugural night of the city. The National Congress Building by Oscar Niemeyer.

René Burri (Magnum), 21 de Abril de 1960.

Take You On A Cruise

Interpol, Antics (Matador, 2004).

The pretence is not what restricts me
It's the circles inside

I just like to stay silent

I grew up in a city, Dusseldorf, that was 80% obliterated, flattened. The river was there, but the bridges were gone. The buildings were rubble and chimneys, most of the streets were empty and you had these streetcars driving from nowhere to nothing. As a boy, of course, you think that this is the way that the world looks because you don’t know any better. Then it begins to dawn on you through magazines and newspapers and newsreels at the movies and the movies themselves–there is another world out there with peace and beauty and tranquility. There are different horizons out there and of course I was attracted to that Promised Land. Everything I associated with pleasure in this dire country was America.

Paris, Texas. Win Wenders, 1984.

via Kitsune Noir