‘Hammerstein oder der Eigensinn’ is a brilliant and fascinating new book by Hans Magnus Enzensberger… It is kind of a documentary about General Kurt von Hammerstein who opposed Hitler and stepped down as a general when Hitler assumed power… The book provides an erudite insight into a fascinating character… The book is also interesting from a stylistic point of view, meandering between factual research and fictitious posthumous interviews (“Totengespräche”)… Well worth a second read…
I went to see the new Wong Kar Wai movie last night… a fabulous movie! Despite what the critics said, there is a very lyrical narrative with awesome dialogues and witty lines… essentially a woman’s (and man’s) quest for love… nothing less… It is also littered with metaphors and very allusive.
However, most of all, this movie is a photographic feast. Wong Kar Wai builds on the visual language of his previous films like “In the Mood for Love”, “Happy Together”, and above all “2046”. His main stylistic elements are shots through window panes, wide open lenses with selective focus and trademark blurred ‘stuff’ in the foreground with the main ‘action’ happening in the background… well, you cannot describe this... oh, and don't forget the striking colours... you have to see it… After all, these are visual elements…
The movie also has a great soundtrack with songs from Cat Power and, of course, Norah Jones who is also the main actress… next to a really sexy Rachel Weisz… and a more down to earth Natalie Portman.
The fear of becoming old is born of the recognition that one is not living now the life that one wishes. It is equivalent to a sense of abusing the present...
Ich kehre wieder. Die nahe glocke Mit ihren am längsten hallenden schlägen Entlässt den alten tag. Müde sink ich zurück doch ohne schlaf – Träumend allein.
Und ich sehe mich wieder als knaben Der die strafe nicht kennt Für wilde gelüste Der hässliche falten nicht kennt Und augen von finsterem glanz .. Mit dem unberührten samt Kindlicher wangen noch!
Knabe über das alter hinaus Seltsam bewahrt In frische und jugend Durch der kerzen dampf Und des weihrauchs duft! Und so wollt ich finden Die weise Lasterreiche Mit zerstörenden künsten:
Wollte mit offenen armen In mein unheil rennen Wie ein rasender lieben Mich ganz verderben Und bald des todes sein. (Stefan George)
Wise words from a trash novel from 1955: “…I am confused but not about that. Anyone who sees clearly sees chaos everywhere. Art is a way of temporarily setting order to confusion. Temporary and incomplete; that’s why we never run out of new art. Anyone who comes to the tools of art without that sense of confusion is an invader…” (Joe Haldeman (1955): Worlds, p107.)
(A camphor tree which is more than 300 years old, on the estate of the Vergelegen vineyard near Helderberg, Western Cape; many illustrious people have had their picture taken in front of this tree, even Nelson Mandela stood here once in front of this tree, …this tree must have an extensive memory…)
I came across this story recently of what must be a story about the ultimate documentalist (it is in Max Frisch’s book ‘Montauk’): …a French noble on the way to the guillotine ask for pen and paper to note down a few thoughts in order not to forget his thoughts… it is a note not directed to anyone else but solely for himself: ‘pro memoria’.
You can imagine that for someone who is interested in photography as memory, this short anecdote resonated quite a bit…
Once there was a small boy, although in fact he was not that small at all. He grew bigger and taller more quickly than his peers. While gentle and of good nature in his temper, he was at the same time sluggish, lacking in ambition to fulfil his true potential. Often during the afternoons, the kids would go down to the river and play in the water, learning over time – with the help of the local basket maker – how to swim. Not so our boy. He was tall enough to get down on his knees in the water, his head still emerging from the surface and while moving his arms in even strokes, pretending he was in fact swimming like all the other kids.
Years would go by and the kids would grow into adults, assuming various professions in the local village. Then one day, after it had been raining incessantly for days, the big flood came, overwhelming most of the village and housings. Most villagers escaped swimming to higher ground. Sadly, not so our erstwhile boy. No longer able to pretend to be capable to swim, he drowned in the floods.
