Derrière le visible simple, l'invisible compliqué

[27-28.07.2019 - Athens, Greece]

Views of Αθήνα, part 1.

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[14.04.2019 - Marseille, France]
Crossroads, crosstairs, cross stares.

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[14.04.2019 - Marseille, France]
The face of rue (c )Rude( re).

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[14.04.2019 - Marseille, France]
Recycled shoes.

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[14.04.2019 - Marseille, France]
Unexpected flowers.

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[14.04.2019 - Marseille, France]
The House’s Sigh

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Excerpts & Pictures - Forçat

Journal du Voleur, by Jean Genet / Flowered tree

Le vêtement des forçats est rayé rose et blanc. Si, commandé par mon cœur l’univers où je me complais, je l’élus, ai-je le pouvoir au moins d’y découvrir les nombreux sens que je veux : il existe donc un étroit rapport entre les fleurs et les bagnards. La fragilité, la délicatesse des premiers sont de même nature que la brutale insensibilité des autres. Que j'aie à représenter un forçat - ou un criminel - je le parerai de tant de fleurs que lui-même disparaissant sous elles deviendra une autre, géante, nouvelle.

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Excerpts & Pictures - Comme une entrée en rade

Vol de nuit, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry / The sea before the sun sets

“Je ne vois plus les cadrans : j'allume.”
Il toucha les contacts, mais les lampes rouges de la carlingue versèrent vers les aiguilles une lumière encore si diluée dans cette lumière bleue qu'elle ne les colorait pas. Il passa les doigts devant une ampoule : ses doigts se teintèrent à peine.
“Trop tôt.”
Pourtant la nuit montait, pareille à une fumée sombre, et déjà comblait les vallées. On ne distinguait plus celles-ci des plaines. Déjà pourtant s'éclairaient les villages, et leurs constellations se répondaient. Et lui aussi, du doigt, faisait cligner ses feux de position, répondait aux villages. La terre était tendue d'appels lumineux, chaque maison allumant son étoile, face à l'immense nuit, ainsi qu'on tourne un phare vers la mer. Tout ce qui couvrait une vie humaine déjà scintillait. Fabien admirait que l'entrée dans la nuit se fît cette fois, comme une entrée en rade, lente et belle.

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Excerpts & Pictures - Hap

Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? by Jeanette Winterson / Ladder

Our primary meaning [of the word happiness] now is the feeling of pleasure and contentment; a buzz, a zestiness, the tummy upwards feel of good and right and relaxed and alive… you know…
But earlier meanings build in the hap - in Middle English, that is ‘happ’, in Old English, 'gehapp’ - the chance or fortune, good or bad, that falls to you. Hap is your lot in life, the hand you are given to play.
How you meet your 'hap’ will determine whether or not you can be 'happy’.
What the Americans, in their constitution, call 'the right to the pursuit of happiness’ (please note, not 'the right to happiness’), is the right to swim upstream, salmon-wise.

Pursuing happiness, and I did, and I still do, is not all the same as being happy - which I think is fleeting, dependent on circumstances, and a bit bovine.
If the sun is shining, stand in it - yes, yes, yes. Happy times are great, but happy times pass - they have to - because time passes.
The pursuit of happiness is more elusive; it is life-long, and it is not goal-centred.
What you are pursuing is meaning - a meaningful life. There’s the hap - the fate, the draw that is yours, and it isn’t fixed, but changing the course of the stream, or dealing new cards, whatever metaphor you want to use - that’s going to take a lot of energy. There are times when it will go so wrong that you will barely be alive, and times when you realise that being barely alive, on your own terms, is better than living a bloated half-life on someone else’s terms.
The pursuit isn’t all or nothing - it’s all AND nothing. Like all Quest Stories.

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Excerpts & Pictures - Finding Place

Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? by Jeanette Winterson / Tree in an abandoned building, Boston

When peope say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn’t be read at school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language - and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers - a language powerful enough to say how it is.
It isn’t a hiding place. It’s a finding place.

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

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