She thought it was an admirable point, although, with mock-exasperation, she moved her attention toward sounds from the road beyond.
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“We would stop the car at night, intimidated by the noises, the jungle's telegraph messages. Here, there, and everywhere, thousands of cicadas transmitted a deafening sound. Enigmatic Mexico spread its green shadows over ancient structures, remote paintings, jewels and monuments, colossal heads, stone animals. All this lay about in the forest, the untold riches of fabulous Mexico.” (from ‘Conjieso que he vivido: Memorias’, Pablo Neruda)
I somewhat recall a tortoise’s weighty hope, that seemed thickly swathed in fleece from a natural source. The patience to clothe itself in this ‘fleece’ was a handsome symbol of light for a hopeful life in a safe environment.
“We are all possessed of artistic taste and ability, and our aesthetic energy is aroused by the wealth of optical and cognitive interactions possible. This culture of matured arts is political, ideological, ethnic and economic in its relationship between subject and viewer.” (page 192)
While showing its openness and acceptability on the level of someone afflicted by some terrible illness, the logic of inscribing into the surface of bluish light is a subject that sounds more and more fantastic.
“Mexico's intellectual life was dominated by painting. Mexican painters covered the city with history and geography, with civil strife, with fierce controversies. Jose Clemente Orozco, lean, one-armed titan, has his place on an elevated peak, a son of Goya in this phantasmagorical country. I talked to him often. The violence that haunted his work seemed alien to his personality.” (from ‘Conjieso que he vivido: Memorias’, Pablo Neruda)
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August 2018
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