Art – Hammershøi, the painter of silence

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“Dust motes dancing in sunbeam” by Vilhelm Hammershøi (Denmark, 1864-1916), 1900.

Hammershøi — the painter who painted silence.
How does one paint silence?
Will stillness do?
Intemporality?
How do you perceive it through art?
A representation without a story?
A rush of memories and thoughts?
Or rather their quieting?

Kenza.

Art via the National Gallery of Denmark, Copenhagen.

Silence and wonder

There is a profound silence in a Bach Cantata. That silence can also be heard in the paintings of Caravaggio. A flower blooms in silence.

Yes, silence, because it is from silence, that deep internal silence, that inspiration rises and where creation is fully displayed.

And yet, only once you have learned to listen, really listen, and look, really look, can you hear that silence.

The only way you can learn is if your entire being becomes silence. For that you must nourish yourself with silence, breathe it, integrate it; hence allowing your ego to wither, finally unloading the heavy burden of self-centeredness.

You will then be open to that supreme spiritual experience that is wonder —and do not be surprised if it comes to you from the most humble of places.

Kenza.

Note: I only mentioned Bach and Caravaggio, for the sake of brevity. It applies to any work of art in any form, but with criteria, that moves you (and not just your hips!).

Art – Cycladic figure

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Marble head of a figure from the Cycladic culture dated 2’700-2’500 BC.

In all probability, it is the head of a woman given that most figures of this kind were of women. Little is known of the Cycladic culture that strived during the Bronze Age in the Aegean Sea, nor of the meaning of the statues. It seems there are as many experts who say they were related to a cult, as they are who say they were not.

For us, almost 5’000 years after they were made, they are stunning for their simplicity and quiet elegance.

One may understand perhaps where contemporary sculptors such as Constantin Brâncusi, Jean Arp and even Henry Moore, may have gotten some inspiration for their clean lines and sculptures free of frills.

Figure in marble, H: 23.5 cm – via the Met, NY.

A day in Paris

“Mama, what do we do today?”

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We walk. We look at the clouds. Watch leaves falling like books in the air. Old manuscripts. The smell of ink. Dust and sun in our eyes.

The sky immense and blue. “Let’s take a piece and put it in our pockets,” I say, “you know for later when we are far away.”

We watch milk twirl in your first ever decaf cappuccino! On the side, a round crêpe like a full moon, folded to match the clouds.

The metro filled with ants, all heads down. We dance a few steps on the platform as we wait for the train. An old man looks at us, and smiles. Just like the one who plays the violin at the entrance. We listen to his notes.

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Run through empty arches. A man stands by a window, reading a book. Perhaps from the pages we saw flying earlier in the park.

Walk behind pigeons imitating them, back side waddling. Play. Stop. And play some more. And laugh.

Dance along small streets. You are always dancing.

And talk. Talk about a book and Japan and chocolate at the window, starting every sentence with “can I tell you something?” Buildings measured against Tsunami waves, a graffiti on the wall, the lady with a dog at the light, the day you rode your bike for the first time. Intarissable…

Imagination free, the instant takes flight always further and yet always present.

And I answer when I can. My thoughts are too real, too material so I discard them. I decide to join in your blabber and then I see the light and the dust. My eyes now guide me instead of my heavy thoughts. I jump from colours to sensations, just like you!

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Art in gallery windows and the gentle smile of ladies in Chanel. More art. Beautiful art. Time stops as we stroll gently through the empty museum. Now you are glad we woke up so early.

Outside the boulangerie, we spot a small bulldog wondering what he is doing in a dog’s body. Another one closer to the fountain, watches pigeons fly wishing he could join them. Or may be not. It may just be our interpretation.

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A giant advertisement for an anti-winkle cream that promises youth as though the heart could heal so easily, returns me to absurdity. And then I let it go.

And the man looking at the void. A homeless from a far way land who then looks up at you and gives you a generous smile, “I have nothing,” he seems to tell you, “only a smile.” And you answer in kind, and you both smile and hope seems to rise even if ephemeral. “What a nice man,” you tell me as you skip down the boulevard.

And then you stop and come back to me. “I wish the entire world was soft and clean.” And I wish that as well. So I kiss you as we stand in the middle of the pavement. Smiles from others. A soft and clean world, even if for an instant. And I wish for it to expands.

IMG_E1725Éclair au chocolat, the best ever! Everything for you is the best ever at that very moment. I admit though, the ones from La Maison du Chocolat are the best ever!

“This is the best day of my life,” you say as the day ends. Of course it is! You always say that. We should all be saying that.