“Art is technique: a means by which to materialize the invisible realm of the mind. As such, my art is an emblematic rendering of part of my mind in visible form—or perhaps we might say, samplings from my consciousness.”
Hiroshi Sugimoto, Mediterranean Sea, Cassis, 1989 [excerpt from here; +]
F. Dostoyevsky: C. and P., pages 57/58 (Penguin Popular Classics) [+]
Vittorio Santoro, Pencil on paper (partially burned), 2007
Even books, word-things that should be judged by their content, fascinate me as objects. I confess I have many books in my library that I have never read nor had the intention of reading. I want them because their sheer presence represents a yearning, a mood, a love, and yes, an act of self-preservation. When my eyes scan my library, the typefaces of the titles, the textures of the covers, and their imagined weight give me a moment very like the pleasure of reading.
Based on a diary entry by the Russian poet Daniil Kharms
[more info. on a free .PDF here]
o.T. (Today I wrote Nothing / Daniil Kharms), Natalie Czech (2009) [+]
Colita, Sereno, Barrio Chino, 1969
Bertrand Fleuret — via & more — site
[you can download the whole .pdf file]
“I am alone. Walking at random. Wandering, as if at random,...
Peter Upward.
August Strindberg.
From The Lodger, Alfred Hitchcock, 1927.