Stained glass: restoration of a Tiffany artwork

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

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the first day of the rest of one’s life

Introducing this piece of Brazilian psychedelia performed by the Mutantes, just a curiosity picked on this big old Web: practically NONE of the band’s members was the author of the song shown on the video below, but a 16-yr-old boy (his age then, in that year of 1968), Paulo Girãowhose official website can be found here – which had bumped into the recording studio one fine day, initially expecting Caetano Veloso to record it. Since Mr. Veloso was unavailable by that time, away in a tour, the band offered themselves to record the piece instead. The rest is History, in which a song had also changed the whole life of a young songwriter, now also a producer and teacher, having freshly released a book on his lifetime of experiences gathered in the 60’s/70’s Brazilian musical (and political, as well) scenario.

UPDATE: a translation attempt for the lyrics’ original Portuguese version follows – just for testing out my translation skills (comments are welcome) =)

[ORIGINAL VERSION]

Glória ao Rei dos Confins do Além
(Paulo Girão)

Meia-noite e dez
Bateu nos Confins do Além,
Na cidade que parou
Pra saudar o Rei,
Que da guerra retornava
(Contra o mundo ele lutava!)
Para preservar os Confins do Além.

“Vamos para a rua
Vamos ver o Rei passar
E o nosso Soberano homenagear.”

Acordaram os que dormiam,
Levantaram os que viviam
Nas alcovas, sós,
Em profundo amor.
Todos se reuniram
nas calçadas, nos telhados,
na avenida, enfim.
Eis que chega o Rei,
Atenção para o sinal, e em coro, assim:

“Glória! Glória!
Ao Rei e Senhor, que tanto nos quer bem!
Glória! Glória!
Ao Supremo Chefe dos Confins do Além!”

“Abaixo João!
Mais abaixo com José!
Viva o nosso Dom Maior, o Eterno Rei!
Viva o Sol! Viva a Verdade!
Viva eu! Viva a cidade!
E vivamos nós pra saudar o Rei.
Abaixo Maria!
Mais abaixo com Sofia!
Viva o nosso Dom Maior, o Eterno Rei!
Viva a Lua e a claridade!
Viva a eletricidade!
E vivamos nós pra saudar o Rei.”

Se vocês soubessem
toda a falsidade que havia ali…
Povo de coitados!
Mas, pra Majestade ouvir, cantavam assim:

“Glória! Glória!
Ao Rei e Senhor, que tanto nos quer bem!
Glória! Glória!
Ao Supremo Chefe dos Confins do Além!”

[ENGLISH VERSION]

Glory to The King of the Confines of Beyond
(Paulo Girão)

Midnight and ten
Had struck in the Confines of Beyond,
In the city that stopped
To greet the King,
from the war returned
(Against the World he’d fought!)
to safeguard the Confines of Beyond.

“Let us go to the streets
Let us go to see the King go by
And to honor our Sovereign.”

Agreed the sleeping, raised the living
from the alcoves, alone
In deep love.
Everyone gathered in the sidewalks,
On the roof tops, in the avenue.
Here comes the King
Attention to the sign, in an unison like this:

“Glory! Glory!
To the King and Lord that deeply wishes us well!
Glory! Glory!
To the Supreme Chief of the Confines of Beyond!”

“Down with John!
Lower with Joseph!
Long live our Greater Knight, the Eternal King!
Hooray to the Sun! Hooray to the Truth!
Hooray to myself! Hooray to the city!
And may us live to greet the King.
Down with Mary!
Lower with Sophie!
Long live our Greater Knight, the Eternal King!
Hooray to the Moon and brightness!
Hooray to Electricity!
And may us live to greet the King.”

If one just could know
all the falsehood that there was…
Poor people of wretches!
Yet, for His Majesty to listen, they all sang:

“Glory! Glory!
To the King and Lord that deeply wishes us well!
Glory! Glory!
To the Supreme Chief of the Confines of Beyond!”

old (modern) fable

WARREN RED CLOUD: Once upon a time, a woman was picking up firewood. She came upon a poisonous snake frozen in the snow. She took the snake home and nursed it back to health. One day the snake bit her on the cheek. As she lay dying, she asked the snake, “Why have you done this to me?” And the snake answered, “Look, bitch, you knew I was a snake.”

[Extracted from Quentin Tarantino’s ‘Natural-born Killers’]

Em bom tupiniquim: QUEM MANDA CRIAR COBRAS?

[scanned] drawing on paper july 2015//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js

melancholy child

Vídeo estranhamente comovente: uma das últimas sessões de fotos de Marilyn Monroe, feita em junho de seu último ano de vida. Um ar distante e melancólico domina as tomadas. Mesmo quando sorridente, até o sorriso é triste – e o olhar parece não acompanhá-lo, por mais que tente.

Strangely poignant video: one of Marilyn Monroe’s last photo sessions, taken in june of her last year of life. A distant and melancholic mood dominates shoots. Even when smiling, the smile is sad – and the gaze does not seem to follow, no matter attempting to it.

Os Artistas Fora da Mídia | The Artist Out of The Media

OBS.: o texto a seguir está devidamente creditado; portanto, não se trata de um daqueles abomináveis apócrifos, com que tanto  enchem a caixa de correio – e o nosso saco, também.

OS ARTISTAS FORA DA MÍDIA

Por Artur da Távola (1936-2008 – advogado, escritor, jornalista e professor). Publicado originalmente no Jornal O DIA, do Rio de Janeiro, em 16/07/1998.
Nunca iluda um artista fora da mídia. Ele é um anjo que se tornou triste. E sobretudo jamais o desiluda. É pecado mortal dizer ou pensar: “Coitado, esse acabou e não sabe”. Não seja piedoso por hipocrisia: ele percebe. Tenha paciência com suas queixas e busque compreender-lhe a arte. Há dois tipos de artista fora da mídia: os muito superiores ao que em cada momento domina o mercado, e os muito inferiores. Um acaba injustamente infeliz, o outro acaba chato. Mas o sonho de ambos é simples e santo: existir, disseminar vivências sensíveis, ter o direito de mostrar quem são.
Vítima do implacável teor seletivo do mercado e seus ávidos especialistas, por justos ou injustos critérios, com ou sem qualidade artística, deixa de vender discos, livros e de atrair público.
Vai para o apartheid da fama. O artista fora da mídia é alma no limbo. Aguarda veredito do Destino com o olhar cavo e machucado de certos cães. Expulso da passarela iluminada, ele amarga injustiças e não entende o que acontece e por que resta esquecido. Espremido entre o orgulho de não pedir e a dor da discriminação, divide-se entre os que se conformam, entristecidos, e os que se fazem ressentidos e descobrem argumentos, justos e injustos, contra os que não os chamam para atuar. Jamais prometa a um fora da mídia o que não poderá fazer. Mais vale um não sincero que um sim impossível de ser cumprido.
Jamais o receba com ar de enfado ou palavras de consolação. Tampouco com esmolas afetivas. Ou lhe dê trabalho ou lhe fale franco. Ele é um ser de sofrida solidão e terna dependência de reconhecimento e carinho. Uiva saudades para as luas imaginárias de suas lembranças. É um tipo de excluído que não está nos manuais dos direitos humanos.
Que Deus dê a todo e toda artista fora da mídia paciência e esperança suficientes para prosseguir. Às vezes o reconhecimento chega depois. Até mesmo quando já não importa.
P.S.: esta crônica é dedicada a Gerdal dos Santos, que em seu programa “Onde Canta o Sabiá” aos domingos de manhã na Rádio Nacional dá calor, carinho e guarida a artistas fora da mídia.

ENGLISH VERSION – an attempt made with a little hand of a good friend, an English teacher [translation by Iracema Brochado]

THE ARTIST OUT OF THE MEDIA

by Artur da Távola (1936-2008 – Brazilian writer, essayist, journalist and professor), first published in O DIA, a Brazilian newspaper from Rio de Janeiro city, on July 16th of 1998.
Never deceive an artist out of the media. They’re an angel that has become sad. And above all, never ever disenchant them. It is a mortal sin uttering or thinking: “Poor fellow, they’re finished and still don’t know it”. Don’t be pitiful by falseness: they perceive so. Be patient with their complaints and try to understand their art. There are two kinds of artist out of the media: the ones way above those who sporadically dominate the market and the second-class ones. The former becomes unfairly unhappy, the latter dull. But the dream of both is simple and pure: to exist, to spread sensitive existences, to have the right to show up who they are.
Victim of the merciless selective purposes of the market and its greedy specialists, guided by either fair or unfair criteria, with artistic quality or not, they quit selling records, books and drawing audiences altogether.
They go into the apartheid of Fame. The artist out of the media is a soul in limbo. They await the sentence of Fate with a hollowed and hurt look of certain dogs. Expelled from the illuminated stage, they withstand injustices and don’t understand what goes on and why they remain forgotten. Wedged between the pride of not begging and the pain of discrimination, they end up being divided between those who get conformed, saddened, and those resentful which find arguments, both fair and unfair, against those who don’t invite them to perform. Never ever promise to an out-of-the-media what you can’t do. More it is worth a sincere NO than a YES impossible of being fulfilled.
Never ever greet them with unpleasant looks or consolation words. Nor with handouts of sympathy. Either just offer work or speak to them frankly. They are beings of suffering solitude and gentle dependence on recognition and care. They howl nostalgias to the imaginary moons of their memories. They’re a kind of outcast not currently listed in Human Rights’ handbooks.
May God give every artist out of the media patience and perseverance enough to carry on. Sometimes recognition arrives later. Even when it doesn’t matter anymore.
P.S.: this article is dedicated to Gerdal dos Santos, who in his program “Onde Canta o Sabiá” [Where the Sabiá Bird Sings], Sunday mornings on Rádio Nacional [a Brazilian radio station from Rio de Janeiro], brings warmth, care and shelter to artists out of the media.

DRAWING//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js

early manifestations of the ‘recycling’ attitude

Yesterday, while taking participation in a discussion forum of my post-grad classes, I’d brought to all colleagues the following reflexion: after al, wasn’t RECYCLING a core idea of the early conceptual art manifestations, hence a true pioneerism in this sense? And isn’t the specific case of readymade nothing more than a proposal for the act of ‘recycling’?

The idea occurred by initially analysing pieces from artists such as Duchamp and Smithson.

Then, within the context of recycling, the recent cases of Brazilian artist/designers such as Polish-born sculptor Franz Krajcberg and designer Campana brothers came to mind:

Alongside with this, a shot on a ‘recycling’ workshop given by Italian designer/professor Aldo Cibic at a Venetian Architecture university, on 2007 (video is in Italian only):

art in food (arty food)

Visually speaking, concerning gastronomy and the food plating topic, a neat presentation should make a lot of difference in dishes’ preparing proccess (plus some GREAT music, like in the 1rst video) – whether artistic or even of the humorous kind.

Such, obviously, includes beverages like coffee (in CafeLatte combinations), which presents delicacies like this.

…Yet few can raise such condition to a stylish, witty level like Brazilian artist (settled in France) Juarez Machado – as follows.