#ARTxLIT

[existential-celestial]

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ARTxLIT: Nikos Kazantzakis x Vincent Van Gogh —

“I said to the almond tree, ‘Sister, speak to me of God.’ And the almond tree blossomed.”

Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco — Almond Blossom by Vincent Van Gogh (February 1890 - 1890) (at Saint-Rémy-de-Provence)

[soumyajayanti]

5 Artists Reimagine '1984' for 2017

With 1984's popularity, the debate about whether our current world is more like Orwell's dystopia or the one described in Aldous Huxley's Brave New World has resurfaced as well. Both books warn of the dangers their authors perceived was on the horizon, but the living legacy of 1984 is its mark on language, so Creators asked artists to illustrate the terms and concepts from the book that they see reflected in today's society. 

Read more and explore more dystopian art here. 

Via Vice/Creators

[existential-celestial]

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ARTxLIT: Hozier x Gustave Coubert —

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I’ll crawl home to her

Hozier, from “Work Song”

original edit; L'Homme blessé (The Wounded Man) by Gustave Courbet (1844–1854) and its X-Ray image by C2RMF — using X-ray fluorescence, L'Homme blessé was found to be reworked twice. restorers discovered that a woman once lay on the artist’s shoulder, but then ten years later–perhaps, after the relationship had ended–the private contentedness between the artist and his lover had been replaced by a sword and a bloodstain from a wound on his chest. (at Musée d'Orsay)

[existential-celestial]

https://www.instagram.com/p/B2b4fsehnLd/

ARTxLIT: Geofferey Hill x Dante Gabriel Rossetti

"Undesirable you may have been, untouchable you were not. Not forgotten or passed over at the proper time. […] September fattens on vines. Roses flake from the wall. The smoke of harmless fires drifts to my eyes. This is plenty. This is more than enough."

Geoffrey Hill, from “September Song,” in New and Collected Poems, 1952-1992 — The Day Dream or Monna Primavera, Dante Gabriel Rossetti (Oil painting. 1880)

[existential-celestial]

https://www.instagram.com/p/CB4a_qrhjnk/

ARTxLIT: j. p. berame X Francesco Hayez —

in June, a night that clings to my marrows —wet, quiet . bone silence & soft wanings—an ache that splits the being: part-heart part-head . collapse inside the atria of my own chest: i vibrate in the blood & dreams of me, oozing past layers of ontologies . turn a page of tender unweavings: my heart, a garden my heart, my own Gethsemane . enfold all in the humidity of thoughts & prayers; heavy atmosphere— . go lightly, therefore & breathe water.

j. p. berame , “June,” in this year: POEMS 2017 — Mary Magdalene as a Hermit by Francesco Hayez (1833)

[existential-celestial]

https://www.instagram.com/p/B11fC0hB8tg/

ARTxLIT:  Louis XIV x Hyacinthe Rigaud

“Why do you weep? Did you think I was immortal?”


these were the last words of Louis XIV, the Sun King of France, who died on this day, 1st of September in the year 1715

-


Portrait of Louis XIV by Hyacinthe Rigaud

[existential-celestial]

https://www.instagram.com/p/B_SSRRFhEb6/

ARTxLIT:  Heiner Müller x  John Everett Millais —

I am Ophelia. She who the river could not hold. […] I set fire to my prison. I throw my clothes into the fire. I dig the clock which was my heart out of my breast. I go onto the street, clothed in my blood. 

 Heiner Müller, Hamletmachine. —  Ophelia by John Everett Millais (1852)

[existential-celestial]

https://www.instagram.com/p/B-8-j0phkSm/

ARTxLIT: Muriel Rukeyser x William-Adolphe Bouguereau

      1 Held between wars my lifetime                  among wars, the big hands of the world of death my lifetime listens to yours. The faces of the sufferers in the street, in dailiness, their lives showing through their bodies a look as of music the revolutionary look that says    I am in the world to change the world my lifetime is to love to endure to suffer the music to set its portrait up as a sheet of the world the most moving the most alive Easter and bone and Faust walking among flowers of the world and the child alive within the living woman, music of man, and death holding my lifetime between great hands the hands of enduring life that suffers the gifts and madness of full life, on earth, in         our time, and through my life, through my eyes, through my arms        and hands may give the face of this music in portrait waiting for the unknown person held in the two hands, you.         2 Woman as gates, saying: "The process is after all like music, like the development of a piece of music. The fugues come back and                                               again and again interweave. A theme may seem to have been put aside, but it keeps returning— the same thing modulated, somewhat changed in form. Usually richer. And it is very good that this is so." A woman pouring her opposites. "After all there are happy things in life too. Why do you show only the dark side?" "I could not answer this. But I know— in the beginning my impulse to know the working life                              had little to do with pity or sympathy.                               I simply felt that the life of the workers was beautiful." She said, "I am groping in the dark." She said, "When the door opens, of sensuality, then you will understand it too. The struggle begins. Never again to be free of it, often you will feel it to be your enemy. Sometimes you will almost suffocate, such joy it brings." Saying of her husband: "My wish is to die after Karl. I know no person who can love as he can, with his whole soul. But often too it has made me so terribly happy." She said: "We rowed over to Carrara at dawn, climbed up to the marble quarries and rowed back at night. The drops of water fell like guttering stars from our oars." She said: "As a matter of fact, I believe                that bisexuality is almost    a necessary factor in artistic production; at any rate, the tinge of masculinity within me helped me                  in my work." She said: "The only technique I can still manage. It's hardly a technique at all, lithography. In it        only the essentials count." A tight-lipped man in a restaurant last night saying to me: "Kollwitz?     She's too black-and-white."         3 Held among wars, watching     all of them     all these people     weavers,     Carmagnole Looking at     all of them     death, the children     patients in waiting-rooms     famine     the street A woman seeing     the violent, inexorable     movement of nakedness     and the confession of No     the confession of great weakness, war,     all streaming to one son killed, Peter;     even the son left living; repeated,     the father, the mother; the grandson     another Peter killed in another war; firestorm;     dark, light, as two hands,     this pole and that pole as the gates. What would happen if one woman told the truth about        her life?     The world would split open         4   Song : The Calling-Up Rumor, stir of ripeness rising within this girl sensual blossoming of meaning, its light and form. The birth-cry summoning out of the male, the father from the warm woman a mother in response. The word of death calls up the fight with stone wrestle with grief with time from the material make an art harder than bronze.         5   Self-Portrait Mouth looking directly at you eyes in their inwardness looking directly at you half light    half darkness woman, strong, German, young artist flows into wide sensual mouth meditating looking right at you eyes shadowed with brave hand looking deep at you flows into wounded brave mouth grieving and hooded eyes alive, German, in her first War flows into strength of the worn face a skein of lines broods, flows into mothers among the war graves bent over death facing the father stubborn upon the field flows into the marks of her knowing— Nie Wieder Krieg repeated in the eyes flows into "Seedcorn must not be ground" and the grooved cheek lips drawn fine the down-drawn grief face of our age flows into Pieta, mother and between her knees life as her son in death pouring from the sky of one more war flows into face almost obliterated hand over the mouth forever hand over one eye now the other great eye closed

Muriel Rukeyser, "Käthe Kollwitz" from The Collected Poems of Muriel Rukeyser

—

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, “Girl with a pomegranate” (1875)

[existential-celestial]

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ARTxLIT: Ilya Kaminsky x  John Everett Millais

---

"Our hearing doesn’t weaken, but something silent in us strengthens."

Ilya Kaminsky, from “Deafness, an Insurgency, Begins” in Deaf Republic

—

John Everett Millais, “Joan of Arc” (1865)

[existential-celestial]

https://www.instagram.com/p/B2JPnl_hsoY/ ARTxLIT: Robin Ekiss x Adriaen Van Utrecht —

“[…] not to carry the bones of August
into September, foiled with redness
and nothing to squander but the buds of spring
dormant in their boughs.”

Robin Ekiss, from “The Bones of August,” from The Mansion of Happiness (University of Georgia Press, 2009) . . . 🎨:  Adriaen van Utrecht, Vanitas Still Life with Flowers and Skull, 1642. Oil on canvas, 67 x 86 cm.

[existential-celestial]

• #February #poem • – to respire with the gentle breathings of February: in the gasping, in the shortness of breath, i walk the boundaries of tender collapsing: – a little flock that trampled the snakes and serpents that made a nest in my head; – an assemblage of hurt intertwined with the cascades of my hair. – i gather my thoughts—these poison blooms—ready for the reaping. – i listen to my own bones praying (the fire of the sky’s truth speaking): – “Behold, you have loved much therefore much you can forgive.” – eyes be opened, dear heart: we are all little children under the soft wings of light. . . . − j. p. berame // no. 030617 . . . 🎨 Dante Gabrielle Rosetti, "La Ghirlandata" (1873)

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[existential-celestial]

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ARTxLIT: William Shakespeare x Frederick Sandys

“Is he not approved in the height a villain that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour - O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.”

— Beatrice; Much ado About Nothing (William Shakespeare)

— Frederick Sandys, “Love's Shadow” (1867)