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The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1923–1927

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RIP Robert Wilson

Einstein on the Beach By Philip Glass and Robert Wilson, 1976 Photo Egon Von Furstenberg

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Bruno Munari, (1968, 1972), Design e comunicazione visiva, «Economica Laterza» 14, Laterza, Roma-Bari, (1993-)2008, p. 323

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— how’d i ever let you get away?

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Abul Mogard | Like A Bird | Quiet Pieces

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Abul Mogard | Live at the Athen Conservatoire

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Imi Knoebel: W Knoebel – Projektion 4/1-11, 5/1-11, Design by Wim Crouwel, Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, 1972 [Other Library. Studio Bruno Tonini, Gussago (BS). Saint-Martin Bookshop, Bruxelles-Brussel. Art: © Imi Knoebel]

Exhibition: March 17 – April 16, 1972

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Keith Arnatt. A Specification for an ‘Art Condition’, 1970

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I am asking them, as I am continually asking myself, to imagine a heart that feels a connection to the hearts of others, even others you do not know. I would like to think that this is what nudges me forward, more than some mythological concept of “hope.” In the silence of a room after the reading of a poem, when the only sounds are small gasps and sniffles, I can say to myself that we are all carrying a unique ache, or a unique memory, or a unique desire that the poem ignited. And I would like to know about it. I would like to know what few inches of the wretched world can be made into an adequate space for you to mourn, or to make a plate of food, or to dance in your living room, or to bury something you’ve finally decided to put down.

Hanif Abdurraqib, In Defense of Despair

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“Wait for the dust of reading to settle; for the conflict and the questioning to die down; walk, talk, pull the dead petals from a rose, or fall asleep. Then suddenly without our willing it, for it is thus that Nature undertakes these transitions, the book will return, but differently.”

—

Virginia Woolf, “How Should One Read a Book?”

I noticed the link no longer worked, so I’ve updated it here and in the original post. I also thought it would be useful to provide the full quote:

“The first process, to receive impressions with the utmost understanding, is only half the process of reading; it must be completed, if we are to get the whole pleasure from a book, by another. We must pass judgment upon these multitudinous impressions; we must make of these fleeting shapes one that is hard and lasting. But not directly. Wait for the dust of reading to settle; for the conflict and the questioning to die down; walk, talk, pull the dead petals from a rose, or fall asleep. Then suddenly without our willing it, for it is thus that Nature undertakes these transitions, the book will return, but differently. It will float to the top of the mind as a whole. And the book as a whole is different from the book received currently in separate phrases. Details now fit themselves into their places. We see the shape from start to finish; it is a barn, a pigsty, or a cathedral. Now then we can compare book with book as we compare building with building.”

(via ecrituria)

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American poet W.D. Snodgrass

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He had heard of a few people who lived in rooms above warehouses and shops in the city itself, in the central business district. If he could have found such a room he would have moved there at once. He wanted a room without windows if possible and with a door that he could enter and leave through unseen by any other human being. He saw the central city as a blank space from which the true patterns of the suburbs would be visible; he compared it to the centre of some spiral galaxy; he wanted to hide there and begin a new study of his landscape. He imagined himself as crouching at night on the floor in front of his pages—white pages in a dark room in a city white with lights in the darkness of the universe—having given up desk and chair because they brought his eyes to a height that might have shown him some unwanted sight from outside.

– Gerald Murnane, from “Landscape with Freckled Woman,” Landscape with Landscape (Norstrilia Press, 1985)

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Hanne Darboven, Bilddokumentation, (offset printing on paper), 1978 [Centre Pompidou, Paris. © Estate of Hanne Darboven / Adagp, Paris / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn. Photo: Janeth Rodriguez-Garcia/Centre Pompidou]

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Hanne Darboven, Bilddokumentation, (offset printing on paper), 1978 [Centre Pompidou, Paris. © Estate of Hanne Darboven / Adagp, Paris / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn. Photo: Janeth Rodriguez-Garcia/Centre Pompidou]

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Hanne Darboven, Bilddokumentation, (offset printing on paper), 1978 [Centre Pompidou, Paris. © Estate of Hanne Darboven / Adagp, Paris / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn. Photo: Janeth Rodriguez-Garcia/Centre Pompidou]

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Neue monumente Deutschland, (invitation card), Galerie René Block, Berlin, July 19 – August 16, 1969 [Unoriginal Sins, Eals Farm, Eals, Brampton]

Feat.: Michael Buthe, Hanne Darboven, Rainer Giese, Wolf Kahlen, Fritz Klingbeil, W. Knoebel, Palermo and Charlotte Posenenske

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“Guibert writes about the difference between photography and writing, and I think he absolutely puts his finger on what that difference is. When you take a photograph (and I’m paraphrasing Guibert here) you end up with an image, but all of the emotion that was present when you were taking it is kind of transmuted into something else. It’s become an object, and it could be a very beautiful object and a successful photograph, but in a lot of ways it eclipses the original feeling. He says it will have become foreign to him. Whereas if he writes it (the scene, the desire, the failure), he actually retains the emotional trace. He says that writing is melancholic, and that’s why it can preserve the feeling, the loss, in a way the image can’t.”

— Moyra Davey