Nu ma pot abtine. Pentru a suta mia oara. Ma uit la imagini cu gradini, apartamente si case prin poze, de prin alte parti ale lumii, imi mai aduc aminte si ce am vazut in rarele, foarte rarele, ocazii live, pe urma ma uit cu un ochi bleojdit la toate "frumusetile" autohtone si ma ia cu un foarte mare oftat.
Copiile noastre palide (caci de mult am parasit autenticul, hai sa luam ca un prag exemplificator folosirea folclorului pentru propaganda in comunism, care l-a distorsionat si aranjat "frumos" cu rigla in sabloane; nu-i bai ca si in perioada regala exista o imagine romantata a aceluiasi folclor in virtutea careia diverse dame se pozau in costum popular si cu marama in cap) sunt un fel de tenisi chinezesti. Se strica repede, arata jalnic si put de departe.
Nu neg ca mai gasesti cate o distractie autentica pe langa aranjamente si evenimente de prim plan stil "tenisu' chinezesc", insa ea are frumusetea buruienilor: creste si traieste de capul ei pana nu o smulge vreun propagandist bine intentionat. Apare ad hoc, graieste in soapta si in general exista doar daca nu te astepti deloc la ea.
Hainele cele noi ale imparatului fac cariera la noi, noroc ca viata s-a retras undeva in subteran si e ocupata sa spuna NU ... prefera sa ramana cu izmenele cele vechi ale taranului. Din pacate, de voie-de nevoie, si taranul isi mai cumpara tenisi, al de mai exista, caci multi sunt niste strutocamile de nu mai stiu nici ei ce or fi si ce nu.
Ca si concluzie, daca arata jalnic, pute vag si acum vreo doua trei generatii oamenii nu s-ar fi apropiat de asa ceva... nu merge. Tone de brosuri care ne spala pe creier cu meritele unor astfel de trebusoare nu acopera jalea si tanjeala dupa ce ar trebui sa fie.
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
Friday, 21 September 2012
Autumn again...
Stating the obvious. Raising with a vague toothache, vague yet present, and with two days of rain would be a bit more interesting. But this is not a grumpy entry, I have my favorite set of books with me, totally unexpected, almost all of them... and I am working my way through their pages, rediscovering the same feelings of content while reading that I had about ten or fifteen years ago.
The newer books - appreciated and all that - forget to bring any comfort to the simpler, untwisted minds. They bring intellectual affirmations, knowledge of all things that were and, arrogantly enough, are to be, and so many times they just share the depths of some troubled minds'... take it or leave it.
The old fashioned more comforting books are the orphans of today's critique. Very well, I don't really give a flying you-know-what on the critics and their modern choices.
Let it be autumn with a bowl of perfumed grapes, a nice old comfy book and whatever weather this autumn chooses to wear...
The newer books - appreciated and all that - forget to bring any comfort to the simpler, untwisted minds. They bring intellectual affirmations, knowledge of all things that were and, arrogantly enough, are to be, and so many times they just share the depths of some troubled minds'... take it or leave it.
The old fashioned more comforting books are the orphans of today's critique. Very well, I don't really give a flying you-know-what on the critics and their modern choices.
Let it be autumn with a bowl of perfumed grapes, a nice old comfy book and whatever weather this autumn chooses to wear...
Monday, 3 September 2012
Really, now...
Really, now... this is the after-taste that comes to my mind reading the last post, the one in Romanian, the one about not feeling that special sensation of "right man in the right place", the one about the weird perception of some things as being phony.
Wrong or right, these previous thoughts sprung from a real reaction to something. Uh-oh, the righteous indignation... very old fashioned and frowned upon nowadays.
I still stand by my views. It is though useful and truthful to add that probably in an open conversation with an opposite thinker I would avoid exposing them, as I fear I would make a poor job as a defender of some ideas that have their own life and have the right to a more clever defender/exposer.
A book that answered my inner opinions was The Tree by John Fowles. It cheered me up after trying in vain to read and appreciate various modern writers and "free thinkers". After declaring myself obviously stupid for not being able to force such readings into my own time, and preferring to do nothing at all, I read in one breath this entire book and it felt like a breeze of fresh air.
Let's ...quote:)
“Older and less planned quarters of cities and towns are profoundly woodlike, and especially in this matter of the mode of their passage through us, the way they unreel, disorientate, open, close, surprise, please. The stupidest mistake of all the many stupid mistakes of twentieth-century architecture has been to forget this ancient model in the more grandiose town-planning. Geometric, linear cities make geometric, linear people; wood cities make human beings.”
John Fowles
The Tree (New York: Ecco, 1983), 61.
via Kevin Lippert
via Quotenik
“The evolution of human mentality has put us all in vitro now, behind the glass wall of our own ingenuity.”
John Fowles, The Tree via goodreads
and a new one, from another book, nice one:
“Being a poet, divining beauty, is like divining nature—a gift. It does not matter if one does not create. It is enough to have the poetic vision. To see the beauty hidden. As I did tonight, hearing someone whistle in the distance as I stood by an open window. I felt all kinds of moods of streets at night, of walking with loved women, of the dark blue and whiteness, and the strange, magical desertion of streets at night. I felt it all exactly in a moment, such a rush of impressions that they can hardly be seized. Algernon Blackwood: ‘To feel like a poet is not to be a poet.’ True, yet, poetry making is not necessarily the printing of words. It is a philosophical outlook, an epicureanism, a hedonism.”
source: entry dated September 24, 1949, in The Journals: Volume One 1949–1965 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005), 4. via Quotenik
“we shall never full understand nature (or ourselves), and certainly never respect it, until we dissociate the wild from the notion of usability.” (39-40)
via http://tomthompsonnews.blogspot.ro/2012/01/green-chaos-or-wood.html
"No art is truly teachable in its essence. All the knowledge in the world of its techniques can provide in itself no more than imitations or replicas of previous art "
It is very difficult to grasp this book in a description and this is only natural. One either absorbs it or thinks of it as drivel.
But it is honest.
Wrong or right, these previous thoughts sprung from a real reaction to something. Uh-oh, the righteous indignation... very old fashioned and frowned upon nowadays.
I still stand by my views. It is though useful and truthful to add that probably in an open conversation with an opposite thinker I would avoid exposing them, as I fear I would make a poor job as a defender of some ideas that have their own life and have the right to a more clever defender/exposer.
A book that answered my inner opinions was The Tree by John Fowles. It cheered me up after trying in vain to read and appreciate various modern writers and "free thinkers". After declaring myself obviously stupid for not being able to force such readings into my own time, and preferring to do nothing at all, I read in one breath this entire book and it felt like a breeze of fresh air.
Let's ...quote:)
“Older and less planned quarters of cities and towns are profoundly woodlike, and especially in this matter of the mode of their passage through us, the way they unreel, disorientate, open, close, surprise, please. The stupidest mistake of all the many stupid mistakes of twentieth-century architecture has been to forget this ancient model in the more grandiose town-planning. Geometric, linear cities make geometric, linear people; wood cities make human beings.”
John Fowles
The Tree (New York: Ecco, 1983), 61.
via Kevin Lippert
via Quotenik
“The evolution of human mentality has put us all in vitro now, behind the glass wall of our own ingenuity.”
John Fowles, The Tree via goodreads
and a new one, from another book, nice one:
“Being a poet, divining beauty, is like divining nature—a gift. It does not matter if one does not create. It is enough to have the poetic vision. To see the beauty hidden. As I did tonight, hearing someone whistle in the distance as I stood by an open window. I felt all kinds of moods of streets at night, of walking with loved women, of the dark blue and whiteness, and the strange, magical desertion of streets at night. I felt it all exactly in a moment, such a rush of impressions that they can hardly be seized. Algernon Blackwood: ‘To feel like a poet is not to be a poet.’ True, yet, poetry making is not necessarily the printing of words. It is a philosophical outlook, an epicureanism, a hedonism.”
source: entry dated September 24, 1949, in The Journals: Volume One 1949–1965 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005), 4. via Quotenik
“we shall never full understand nature (or ourselves), and certainly never respect it, until we dissociate the wild from the notion of usability.” (39-40)
via http://tomthompsonnews.blogspot.ro/2012/01/green-chaos-or-wood.html
"No art is truly teachable in its essence. All the knowledge in the world of its techniques can provide in itself no more than imitations or replicas of previous art "
It is very difficult to grasp this book in a description and this is only natural. One either absorbs it or thinks of it as drivel.
But it is honest.
Sunday, 2 September 2012
Mintea cea de pe urma
E o vorba cu mintea asta. N-o mai zic. Vorba e una, si eu vreau sa spun alta. Un fel de "omul potrivit la timpul potrivit"... adica degeaba ai mintea aia creatoare de tot felul de idei bune prea devreme, ca o irosesti degeaba. La fel, degeaba o ai prea tarziu cand, asa cum usor se poate vedea pe internet, nici nu-ti vine bine o idee, ca poti linistit constata ca deja i-a venit altcuiva.
Desigur, zonarea e o mare ipocrizie. Adicatalea, chiar daca facem ce au facut demult altii prin alte parti (hai sa nu zic facem, sa zic "gandim"), contam ca nu toata lumea stie asta si ca putem usor trece ca fiind primii care... la noi acasa. Campion pe sate - zice Unguru Bulan. Care, by the way, s-a imbatat cu vin corporatist si acuma produce un umor vai de capu' lui. Celebritati de scara blocului, prometei locali, care ajung sa isi creada propriei faime pe masura ce iau amploare.
E si greu de produs ceva autentic. Plagiatul involuntar- ca tot e la moda termenul asta- pandeste din umbra. Great minds think alike... poate e valabil si pentru cele mai putin marete. Si nu exista inca o modalitate de verificare universala a unei idei sa vedem daca a mai avut-o altcineva. De cand cu "rapirea din serai" a cheitelor originalitatii si predarea lor pe mainile minionilor mainstreamului, a gandi inafara "cutiei" nu mai are nici o valoare. De exemplu. Pe taramurile dinafara cutiei bantuie mai multi ganditori poate decat or fi ramas in ea. Ca multi din aia ramasi in ea nu gandesc si basta.
O senzatie de deja vu... si constatarea ei da o alta senzatie de deja vu. Evident si in propria minte cineva se poate invarti in cerc:)
De unde pornisem? De la constatarea in barba ca idei ale prezentului, "originale", le stiu din "odinioara". Unele puse in practica, altele nu. Evident, nu era momentul propice lor. Pana acuma, cei de le-au incercat pe atunci sunt acri ca otetul si satui de esecurile avute. Poate nici nu le mai recunosc, poate nici nu ii mai intereseaza. N-a fost momentul? Cine stie...
Putem sa fim si un pic conspirationisti si sa ziceam si asa: ca sa transformi ideile in fapte, iti trebuie bani. Si ideistii astia autentici nu au prea avut niciodata. De-a lungul istoriei se mai lipeau de cate un binefacator bogat, atras de ideea de a ramane in istorie ca finantator de inventii, muzici, tablouri si scrieri. Acuma istoria nu mai e asa un loc interesant, de cand e supraaglomerata si binefacatori dinastia se inghesuie alaturi de nemernici si fufe... iar bogati binefacatori...hmm. Banii stau pe la niste institutii, intreprinderi si mama lor e banca. Banca (si inteleg prin asta si sponsorul, nu doar institutia odioasa in sine a bancii) refuza finantarea zdrentarosului cu ideea, mai trec vreo 10 ani si iaca ce ne prezinta banca, in asociere cu musai cine trebuie: aceeasi idee.
In timp e satele mor vorbim despre economisirea resurselor - dar acolo se economiseau firesc, fara teorii si explicatii proaspat traduse din alte limbi. Distrugem originalul din poignet si prezentam o copie sofisticata a lui ca pe o descoperire. Uau! Sa ne extaziem. Iata descoperirile timpurilor noastre - lucruri care odinioara existau fara sa le cante nimeni ode. Parca nici chestia asta in sine nu e noua: cand se copia un tablou celebru, de exemplu, important era ca originalul sa nu iasa la suprafata, pentru ca prezenta sa ar fi strigat acuzator "Copie!!". Deci originalul sa piara, apoi sa il idealizam si cosmetizam, iar copiile sa devina de un autentic gretos, pe care insa cei nepoliticosi si necultivati il vor respinge, jignitor, insa adevarat.
Bine ca mai functioneaza macar asta. Vrei sa vezi daca ce faci "tine", social vorbind? Nu scrie o carte ca sa iti spuna criticii valoarea ei. Citeste din ea unui mucea, unuia fara motive sa te minta si fara slefuire duplicitara la nivelul gandirii si o sa-ti zica el pe-aia dreapta.
Ha, si-am incalecat pe-o sa si v-am trantit supararea mea!
Desigur, zonarea e o mare ipocrizie. Adicatalea, chiar daca facem ce au facut demult altii prin alte parti (hai sa nu zic facem, sa zic "gandim"), contam ca nu toata lumea stie asta si ca putem usor trece ca fiind primii care... la noi acasa. Campion pe sate - zice Unguru Bulan. Care, by the way, s-a imbatat cu vin corporatist si acuma produce un umor vai de capu' lui. Celebritati de scara blocului, prometei locali, care ajung sa isi creada propriei faime pe masura ce iau amploare.
E si greu de produs ceva autentic. Plagiatul involuntar- ca tot e la moda termenul asta- pandeste din umbra. Great minds think alike... poate e valabil si pentru cele mai putin marete. Si nu exista inca o modalitate de verificare universala a unei idei sa vedem daca a mai avut-o altcineva. De cand cu "rapirea din serai" a cheitelor originalitatii si predarea lor pe mainile minionilor mainstreamului, a gandi inafara "cutiei" nu mai are nici o valoare. De exemplu. Pe taramurile dinafara cutiei bantuie mai multi ganditori poate decat or fi ramas in ea. Ca multi din aia ramasi in ea nu gandesc si basta.
O senzatie de deja vu... si constatarea ei da o alta senzatie de deja vu. Evident si in propria minte cineva se poate invarti in cerc:)
De unde pornisem? De la constatarea in barba ca idei ale prezentului, "originale", le stiu din "odinioara". Unele puse in practica, altele nu. Evident, nu era momentul propice lor. Pana acuma, cei de le-au incercat pe atunci sunt acri ca otetul si satui de esecurile avute. Poate nici nu le mai recunosc, poate nici nu ii mai intereseaza. N-a fost momentul? Cine stie...
Putem sa fim si un pic conspirationisti si sa ziceam si asa: ca sa transformi ideile in fapte, iti trebuie bani. Si ideistii astia autentici nu au prea avut niciodata. De-a lungul istoriei se mai lipeau de cate un binefacator bogat, atras de ideea de a ramane in istorie ca finantator de inventii, muzici, tablouri si scrieri. Acuma istoria nu mai e asa un loc interesant, de cand e supraaglomerata si binefacatori dinastia se inghesuie alaturi de nemernici si fufe... iar bogati binefacatori...hmm. Banii stau pe la niste institutii, intreprinderi si mama lor e banca. Banca (si inteleg prin asta si sponsorul, nu doar institutia odioasa in sine a bancii) refuza finantarea zdrentarosului cu ideea, mai trec vreo 10 ani si iaca ce ne prezinta banca, in asociere cu musai cine trebuie: aceeasi idee.
In timp e satele mor vorbim despre economisirea resurselor - dar acolo se economiseau firesc, fara teorii si explicatii proaspat traduse din alte limbi. Distrugem originalul din poignet si prezentam o copie sofisticata a lui ca pe o descoperire. Uau! Sa ne extaziem. Iata descoperirile timpurilor noastre - lucruri care odinioara existau fara sa le cante nimeni ode. Parca nici chestia asta in sine nu e noua: cand se copia un tablou celebru, de exemplu, important era ca originalul sa nu iasa la suprafata, pentru ca prezenta sa ar fi strigat acuzator "Copie!!". Deci originalul sa piara, apoi sa il idealizam si cosmetizam, iar copiile sa devina de un autentic gretos, pe care insa cei nepoliticosi si necultivati il vor respinge, jignitor, insa adevarat.
Bine ca mai functioneaza macar asta. Vrei sa vezi daca ce faci "tine", social vorbind? Nu scrie o carte ca sa iti spuna criticii valoarea ei. Citeste din ea unui mucea, unuia fara motive sa te minta si fara slefuire duplicitara la nivelul gandirii si o sa-ti zica el pe-aia dreapta.
Ha, si-am incalecat pe-o sa si v-am trantit supararea mea!
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