Moondog, born Louis Thomas Hardin (May 26, 1916 – September 8, 1999), was a blind American composer, musician, poet and inventor of several musical instruments. Moving to New York as a young man, Moondog made a deliberate decision to make his home on the streets there, where he spent approximately twenty of the thirty years he lived in the city. Most days he could be found in his chosen part of town wearing clothes he had created based on his own interpretation of the Norse god Thor. Thanks to his unconventional outfits and lifestyle, he was known for much of his life as “The Viking of 6th Avenue”.
Another article on French/American clichés. I am not sure yet to agree with the author.
I also learned, when I asked about this phenomenon on Twitter, that everyone — everyone — has a theory [about the roots of the American Francophobia]. The armchair theories tend to fall into two categories: the “thankless French” argument that Americans resent France for being insufficiently deferential or grateful for U.S. assistance in Vietnam and both world wars, and the “American inferiority” theory that we are intimidated by France’s superior politics, culture, and health care.
Both of those popular answers are really about how Americans views themselves; the former says we are better than the world gives us credit for, the latter says we’re not as great as we think. Either theory could be applied to American attitudes toward any wealthy country — it doesn’t even have to be European. But neither really tells us about the particular U.S. attitudes toward France. Maybe that’s the most revealing thing. France and America are possibly the only two countries in the world that truly believe it’s all about us, that assume our own greatness, either as something to be respected or perfected. That kind of attitude doesn’t really accept peers; there can’t be two pinnacles of Western social development. It’s one of the many traits we share and one of the many things keeping us apart.
About clichés. Why I like without-subtitles Korean movies.
French culture remains unmatched. Our films include rollicking farces, searing documentaries, and quietly explosive investigations of family life. In these films, to avoid vulgarity, nothing happens, and none of the actors’ faces ever move. French filmmaking has recently reached a peak with the almost entirely silent Oscar-winning movie “The Artist.” True cinéastes say that the ultimate French film will be a still photograph of a dead mime.
Lucy McKenzie and Paulina Olowska. Untitled from Nova Popularna. 2003
Print/Out, MoMA in March
un souvenir, flou, des couvertures des partitions, études de piano, compositeurs en cyrillique, des couches d’annotations affadies, quelque demi-siècle de voyage d’Odessa jusqu’à Bordeaux, dans des vieux cartons, dans des greniers, cafés, matins.
March. The double-Macbeth experience.
Glamis hath murdered sleep, and there Cawdor
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more!
Sleep No More. Impossible to find a review I like enough about it. A personal experience. Unique.
Verdi, MET. Much better than expected. Music is truly good. Orchestra was wonderful. Sometimes, modern mise-en-scene actually works.
with a sharp knife
cut deeply into the middle finger
of your left hand
eat the pain
Marina Abramović. Untitled from Spirit Cooking. 1996
Print/Out, MoMA in March