Posts Tagged ‘ mask ’

The Guerrilla Girls, After 3 Decades, Still Rattling Art World Cages – NYTimes.com

The Guerrilla Girls, After 3 Decades, Still Rattling Art World Cages – NYTimes.com.

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Interfacing the Anthropocene Part III | FOP

Untitled (Human Mask) (2014), Film. (Courtesy the artist; Hauser & Wirth, London; Marian Goodman Gallery, New York; Esther Schipper, Berlin; Anna Lena, Paris, © Pierre Huyghe)

一期一会

that is,

Ichi-go ichi-e, or “each moment is always once-in-a-lifetime”. – Wikipedia

Interfacing the Anthropocene Part III | FOP.

Interfacing the Anthropocene Part I | FOP

from the Rubin Museum  (otafuku “beauty and good fortune,” horned mask for village ceremonies, ko-omote (young woman) Usofuki, “whistler” from Kyogen, and the “trickster” fox/kitsune).

Donald Keene has written that looking at Nō masks is like “seeing a voice.”

Interfacing the Anthropocene Part I | FOP.

Matsui Chiyokichi | Entry No. 1

I

The snow accumulates
Secrets like noh masks
Quietly kept in the heart

II

The snow piles up
Secrets kept
Silent as noh masks

III

Snow accumulates
Secrets noh-mask-silent
Held in the heart

–Yasui Emiko

Matsui Chiyokichi | Entry No. 1.

Orpheus by Muriel Rukeyser

Orpheus

 

When I wrote of the women in their dances and

wildness, it was a mask,

on their mountain, gold-hunting, singing, in orgy,

it was a mask; when I wrote of the god,

fragmented, exiled from himself, his life, the love gone

down with song,

it was myself, split open, unable to speak, in exile from

myself.

 

There is no mountain, there is no god, there is memory

of my torn life, myself split open in sleep, the rescued

child

beside me among the doctors, and a word

of rescue from the great eyes.

 

No more masks! No more mythologies!

 

Now, for the first time, the god lifts his hand,

the fragments join in me with their own music.

 

Muriel Rukeyser

The Barcelona I have never seen, by Anny Ballardini / On Barcelona

Anny Ballardini

The Barcelona I have never seen
How many masks wear we, and undermasks,
Upon our countenance of soul,
Fernando Pessoa, VIII
A wide expanse of walls:
surrounding thoughts
cool in summer / cold in winter
in those damp dark months
of a Barcelona I have never seen
cracked cups, blurred screens mirroring
wet windowpanes
a row of hanging pictures of departed
stiff on sepia paper, plastically distant ancestors
where their soul? Time stolen
in narrow twisting roads
echoing battering hooves
clatter, noisy rumors, disturbing chatter
to crash you into a claustral charm
no, this is not your Barcelona
maybe a distant Lisboa brought to life by Pessoa
with a restaurant, a walk, a glass of Oporto
and lines and skies, and infinite stars
trapped inside an expanse of walls
cool in summer / cold for all
***
***

What a tangled web we weave / NewStatesman

Tangled Web / New Statesman

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