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Categories
From Waterlily Fire by Muriel Rukeyser
“Whatever can come to a city can come to this city.
Under the tall compulsion
of the past
I see the city
change like a man changing
I love this man
with my lifelong body of love
I know you
among your changes
wherever I go
Hearing the sounds of building
the syllables of wrecking
A young girl watching
the man throwing red hot rivets
Coals in a bucket of change
How can you love a city that will not stay?”
— from the epic poem Waterlily Fire, by Muriel Rukeyser
Solnit on Landscape
“Every love has its landscape. Thus place, which is always spoken of as though it only counts when you’re present, possesses you in its absence, takes on another life as a sense of place, a summoning in the imagination with all the atmospheric effect and association of a powerful emotion. The places inside matter as much as the ones outside. It is as though in the way places stay with you and that you long for them they become deities”
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Category Art, Photography, Poetry, Thought
Tags Landscape, Literature, Love, Photography, Poetry, Rebecca Solnit
One off: Vanessa Winship.
Untitled portrait, by Vanessa Winship, from Georgia work-in-progress.
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Category Art, Photography
Tags Art, August Sander, Diane Arbus, Documentary photography, Georgia, History, Magical Realism, Mike Disfarmer, Photography, Politics, Portraiture, Vanessa Winship
From Farewell, by Agha Shahid Ali
My memory is again in the way of your history.
Army convoys all night like desert caravans:
In the smoking oil of dimmed headlights, time dissolved — all
winter — its crushed fennel.
We can’t ask them: Are you done with the world?
In the lake the arms of temples and mosques are locked in each other’s
reflections.
Have you soaked saffron to pour on them when they are found like this
centuries later in this country
I have stitched to your shadow?
In this country we step out with doors in our arms
Children run out with windows in their arms.
You drag it behind you in lit corridors.
if the switch is pulled you will be torn from everything.
— from the poem “Farewell” in The Country Without A Post Office, by Agha Shahid Ali.
Berger on poetry
“Poems, even when narrative, do not resemble stories. All stories are about battles, of one kind or another, which end in victory or defeat. Everything moves towards the end, when the outcome will be known.
Poems, regardless of any outcome, cross the battlefields, tending the wounded, listening to the wild monologues of the triumphant or the fearful. They bring a kind of peace. Not by anaesthesia or easy reassurance, but by recognition and the promise that what has been experienced cannot disappear as if it had never been. Yet the promise is not of a monument. (Who, still on a battlefield, wants monuments?) The promise is that language has acknowledged, has given shelter, to the experience which demanded, which cried out.”
— John Berger, “Once in a Poem” in And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos
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Category Art, Poetry, Thought
Tags John Berger, Language, Literature, Poetry, The Document, Thought
Berger on Art
“Art is neither value-free nor an independent source of values; to one extent or another, it always reflects the needs, politics, intellectual and aesthetic priorities, and tastes of the artist, the institutions that support and disseminate his or her work, and the social and cultural universe of which both are a part”
— Maurice Berger, in the Introduction to The Crisis of Criticism
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Category Art, Criticism, Politics, Thought
Tags Art, Criticism, Culture, Institutional critique, Maurice Berger, Politics, The Museum
Piper on Political Art
“Motivated by self-censorship, and by the strategic understanding that making explicitly political art lessens the chances and the magnitude of professional success, this kind of implicitly political art is an expression of imprisonment within the bounds of political conflict, rather than an escape from it. These artists make a reasoned decision that voluntarily cramping their own scope of self-expression and confining their investigations within free-market capitalist conventions is well worth the trade-off in professional success. They thereby sacrifice freedom of expression for the material rewards of institutional legitimacy. They knowingly subordinate the self-expressive function of their work to its function as a currency of market exchange; and — like artists and writers in the former eastern European countries under Communism — exchange clarity for ‘subtlety’, forthrightness for ‘understatement’, and political protest for ‘irony’.”
— Adrian Piper, “Political Art and the Paradigm of Innovation” in The Life and Death of Images: Ethics and Aesthetics.
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Category Art, Criticism, Politics, Thought
Tags Adrian Piper, Art, Censorship, Consensus, Criticism, Institutional critique, Politics, Self-censorship, The Free Market
One off: Shelby Lee Adams.
“Sloans on the Porch, Sloan’s Fork, 1988″ © Shelby Lee Adams.
“These Appalachian families are down and out, but stubbornly proud — and not to be pitied for the togetherness that keeps them away from economic circulation. (With a long history of exploitation by Northern profiteers, they had reason to be wary.) Adams probably knows more of their warmth and laos of their bad-tempered instincts, than he can show. While they pose for their portraits, maybe grateful for his attention, he studies their ways, a process very different from serving their values. What counts for him, in the end, is their virulence, out of which he fashions quite beateous pictures.”
— Max Kozloff, “Insiders and their Cultures: Portraits of Difference, 1970 – 2000” in The Theatre of the Face: Portrait Photography since 1900.
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Category Art, Criticism, Photography
Tags Art, Criticism, Documentary photography, Max Kozloff, Photography, Portraiture, Vanessa Winship
One off: Ryszard Kapuściński.
Photograph 3
Whoever scrutinizes this photo of father and son, taken in 1926, will understand a lot. The father is forty-eight and the son seven. The contrast between them is striking in every respect: The huge, powerful Shah-father stands sulkily, peremptorily, hands on his hips, and beside him the small pale boy, frail, nervous, obediently standing at attention, barely reaches his father’s waist. They are wearing the same uniforms and caps, the same shoes and belts, and the same number of buttons: fourteen. The father, who wants his son — so essentially unlike him — to resemble him in as many details as possible, thought up this identity of apparel. The son senses this intention, and, though he is by nature weak and hesitant, he will try at all costs to resemble his despotic, ruthless father. From that moment two natures begin to develop and coexist in the boy: the inborn one and the parental one that, because of his ambitions, he starts to acquire. Finally he falls so totally under his father’s domination that when he becomes Shah many years later, he automatically (but also, often, consciously) repeats Daddy’s behavior and even, toward the end of his reign, invokes his father’s authority. But at this moment the father is assuming power with all his inborn energy and drive. He has an acute sense of mission and knows what he is after — in his own brutal words, he wants to put the ignorant mob to work and build a strong modern state before which all will beshit themselves in fear. His are the Prussian’s iron hand, the slavedriver’s simple methods. Ancient, slumbering, loafing Iran (on the Shah’s orders, Persia will hereafter be called Iran) trembles to its foundations. He begins by creating an imposing army. A hundred and fifty thousand men get uniforms and guns. The army is the apple of the Shah’s eye, his great passion. The army must always have money. It must have everything. The army will make the nation modern, disciplined, obedient. Everyone: Attention! The Shah issues an order forbidding Iranian dress. Everyone, wear European suits! Everyone, don European hats! The Shah bans chadors. In the streets, police tear them off terrified women. The faithful protest in the mosques of Meshed. He sends in the artillery to level the mosques and massacre the rebels. He orders that the nomadic tribes be settled permanently. The nomads protest. He orders their wells poisoned, threatening them with death by thirst and starvation. The nomads keep protesting, so he sends out punitive expeditions that turn vast regions into uninhabited land. A lot of blood flows. He forbids the photographing of that symbolically backward beast, the camel. Continue reading
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Category Art, Politics, Thought
Tags History, Iran, Journalism, Literary Journalism, Photography, Ryszard Kapuściński, The Shah of Iran, The Shah of Shahs
One off: Irina Rozovsky.
Untitled, from One to Nothing by Irina Rozovsky.
“All nationalisms are at heart deeply concerned with names: with the most immaterial and original human invention. Those who dismiss names as a detail have never been displaced; but the peoples on the peripheries are always being displaced. This is why they insist upon their identity being recognized, insist upon their continuity — their links with their dead and the unborn.
If the ‘return’ to religion is in part a protest against the heartlessness of the materialist systems, the resurgence of a nationalism is in part a protest against the anonymity of those systems, their reduction of everything and everybody to statistics and ephemerality.”
— John Berger, “The Soul and The Operator”, in Keeping A Rendezvous, from Selected Essays
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Category Art, Photography, Politics, Thought
Tags Abstraction, Documentary photography, History, Identity, Irina Rozovsky, John Berger, Nationalism, One to Nothing, Photography, Politics, Portraiture, The Name, Zionims


