Soberness makes a woman a slave of her thoughts by artnoise

L'Absinthe, Edgar Degas,1875-76

L'Absinthe, Edgar Degas,1875-76

 "Every night I come here, in this cafe to wash away all the bastardly ways he's found to describe me as a whore. The reasons are vary and the most important one is that I'm miserably alone. The society out there is something unbearable, even if there is a growth, it seems it's going backwards in me. This bastard here doesn't even cast a glance at me. He's just cold-shouldering. Well, I must be ugly and disgusting, am I?  He must think I'm one of those ladies. Has he spoken with my husband by chance? After all, how could I blame him? The desolation is stuck in my eyes. My presence here is useless.

Don't worry, I'm fine. I'm sitting here hopelessly, helplessly, powerlessly, but I'm fine, really. Perhaps, wearing a hat in a public place, might be inappropriate and I might look in a hurry, ready to quaff and go, but I am not. I will probably stay here all night, having a lot of thoughts of my pathetic, curblike existence. Also my shadow, behind me, seems to ignore my real shape. It's not defined. Perhaps it's reflecting my non-definition, my tired body, my heavy limbs.

I am not an alcoholic, you know, but this nectar is just before my lazy eyes. I'm just staring at it. It may yet be some of use to me, it may help, at some point. The power is clear in this green liquid, although dull and turbid.

Garçon? Fill it up right to the top, s'il vous plaît." 

We are the peeping people, witness of various historical events ... by artnoise

What if, for once, the painting itself, or the people in it, would tell us a story? A story of art, architecture, history, something happened at that time, in the painting. Maybe something in the past within a social-political background that we ignored. Maybe we haven't paid attention to THAT detail or the artist's point of view. The real, genuine, blunted opinion of who was living a social life far from what we are living today, within a background that has influenced the painting itself, people portrayed in it, people outside of it, the whole art world.

It is not only a matter of peeping people.

Les Demoiselles D'Avignon, Pablo Picasso, 1907

Demoiselle no.5 has her say

"...It's not just modeling, you know, it's about freedom. I'm stuck here since 1907 with no pants and a face that I barely recognise as mine. And I'm supposed to stay here in these conditions for ever. When I was figuratively born, in this room, on this canvas, I thought for a second it would have been easy for me: having a look around,  having my says, have something to eat, etcetera. But it wasn't. He gave me four more friends and you know what? I'm the most uncompleted and the ugliest one! No, wait a minute, this one next to me is the ugliest.

I know we are not in Paris anymore. I'm not sure I'm gonna like this new place though. Despite these women around me, I feel alone. I have seen a woman with him. She's very young and pretty. It seems he was inspired by her whilst painting one of us. Not me for sure. I've also seen this subversive poet with him. They must be friends. They are both Don Juan.  I can observe without interferring, i can see the passion, the fights, the violence. I can see and look at the disappointed faces around the studio, not saying a word. I have the beneficial negation of speak.

My legs are hurting a bit. It's the position I suppose. Also my neck is in pain. My body is not very rounded like a woman's should be. Even a woman like me, you know, THAT kind of woman, deserve a harmonic body. We are different. We are angular, hence hostile. That's why on our face there's a hint of disapproval."

Buildings: our future in a dystopian cage by artnoise

We often think how things are structured, right? Looking around us, we notice buildings, rose before our eyes in a couple of months (that actually seems a couple of days) unaware that there is an actual structure behind them, beneath them. Exactly like our culture, our education, our thoughts. We have been build up following a structure. The structured architecture of our lives.

But what are buildings made for? In a conceptual matter of fact, they're made for protecting us, giving us a shelter, a place, a space. Is it too presumptuous to say that buildings are an architectural show-off?  There's nothing behind, no concept, no context, no make-our-lives-better sort of thing. They're just a competition between space - spare space - and appearence. May I disagree on this? Even buildings, like works of art, have a soul, a disgraceful soul sometimes but still a soul.

Buildings are like trees: solid and majestic structures; upright, untouchable, apparently unaware of what's going on around them.  Or are they nothing but cages?

Buildings are the trees of the future. In these days, human being is aiming to build taller and taller, higher and higher to satisfy something we cannot explain. I don't even know what are the reasons of all this constructing. But I am still pretty sure that one time, long time ago, buildings had a soul.