Feliz 2009!

























HERE Surrounding the island There's sea. But what sea? It's always overflowing. Says yes, Then no, Then no again, And no, Says yes In blue In sea spray Raging, Says no And no again. It can't be still. It stammers My name is sea.

It slaps the rocks And when they aren't convinced, Strokes them And soaks them And smothers them with kisses. With seven green tongues Of seven green dogs Or seven green tigers Or seven green seas, Beating its chest, Stammering its name,


Oh Sea, This is your name. Oh comrade ocean, Don't waste time Or water Getting so upset Help us instead. We are meager fishermen, Men from the shore Who are hungry and cold And you're our foe. Don't beat so hard, Don't shout so loud, Open your green coffers, Place gifts of silver in our hands. Give us this day our daily fish.

[ nota à beira do suicídio ]

entre o perú e o bacalhau há dois dedos mágicos de conversa. abstracta. o destino é sempre o intestino.

[ boas festas] [doces...]

ela disse que sim, que tinha lido kafka e que percebia o que a cadeira tinha sussurrado. juras? juro, disse ela, passando a mão pela manga do casaco de perfume. és capaz de admitir que o silêncio volta à terra? disso não tenho a certeza, disse ela, mas constou-me que sim.

agora põe-te a andar. não gosto que me vejam nua.

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From April of 2006 through September of 2008 I spent many Saturday afternoons at 5th & Main Streets in downtown Los Angeles. Two years ago drug dealing crews operated on this corner: it was rough by day and dangerous at night. Today, more police walk the streets, the downtown is undergoing renewal, and new shops, galleries and cafes are opening. But in the early afternoons during this time, I would set up in the shade and ask passersby if they would stand for a portrait. Most declined my request because they were in a hurry, did not wish to be photographed, or were suspicious of my intentions. To the few who did cooperate, I gave simple directions: stand here, look into the lens, please be serious. Getting a successful portrait -- one that is both personally revealing and suggestive of something larger -- is extremely difficult in the minute or two my subjects allow me on the street. Always I am striving to capture a "longer period of time" in their faces. But whether I succeed with the portraits or not, I love interacting with my subjects, and I am continually amazed at how some of them can reveal things very private, even painfully so, during our brief encounters. I thank them for what they have given here, and I hope in the film you will see (or feel) what we all share in common.

My guitarist friend, Danny Combs (dannycombs.com), wrote original music for this show. After seeing my street portraits, and also spending time teaching poor children in Nashville, Tennesee how to play guitar, he was inspired to write "Waiting For Paradise," a beautifully haunting original score for guitar and cello. I hope you enjoy the photographs and his music .


-- Dick Sanders, December 2008.

more...

(pequeno passeio pelo lado distraído do infinito)

o vácuo recortou na boca a razão de ser absoluto o ponto onde o olhar aflige o cansaço. ali onde a sombra se liberta do gesto nunca a ilusão valerá tanto.

sou um grelo.

grelo que grela é verde e dá flor
amarela.
sou um grelo desgraçado. passa para cá um bocado.

um grelo triste e abandonado.
um grelo desgrelado. esfarrapado. malfadado.

um grelo desesperado.

sou um grelo de nabo.

Dário Fetuchini, in Colesterol Total

isto é uma coisa tão séria, o que é que eu vou escrever? escreve isso! boa! não, não, escreve outra coisa. não, tem que ser isto. faz-me um favor: não me reproduzas.
'tá bem.