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i am an eXperiment. a Syncopated word & image coLLage imported from Our minD sEnse-thoUght collective stream. a trial 2 eXpress the aRhythmia & the off beat that lies in-betwEEn the bond made of: imAge narrative & senSation. an aEsthetic act and aim of WondeR in the search for a CRaCK. as for if anything eXists at all it exisTs i n - b e T w e e n.
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    I am a deeply religious nonbeliever.

    This is somewhat new kind of religion. I have never imputed to Nature a purpose or a goal, or anything that could be understood as anthropomorphic. What I see in Nature is a magnificent structure that we can comprehend only very imperfectly, and that must fill a thinking person with a feeling of humility.


    My position concerning God is that of an agnostic. I am convinced that a vivid consciousness of the primary importance of moral principles for the betterment and ennoblement of life does not need the idea of a law-giver. Especially a law-giver who works on the basis of reward and punishment.


    To assume the existence of an un-perceivable being… does not facilitate understanding the orderliness we find in the perceivable world. I don`t try to imagine a personal God. It suffices to stand in awe at the structure of the world, insofar as it allows our inadequate senses to appreciate it.












    text : Albert Einstein
    images : Butoh Master Kazuo Ohno.

    Kazuo Ohno and Tatsumi Hijikata, are considered the origin of Butoh (originally called by Hijikata: Ankoku Butoh, the "Dance of Utter Darkness"). Butoh was evolving in the turmoil of Japan's postwar landscape. It can be described as a form of Japanese dance theatre that encompasses a diverse range of activities, techniques and motivations for dance, performance, and movement - that is aiming to reach beyond the local identity of the practitioner, unto an embodied-conscious-state which is open and inter-connected to all Life.
    Wed, Feb 10, 2010  Permanent link
    Categories: quote collage
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    Whoever embraces a woman is Adam. The woman is Eve.
    Everything happens for the first time.
    I saw something white in the sky. They tell me it is the moon, but
    what can I do with a word and a mythology.
    Trees frighten me a little. They are so beautiful.
    The calm animals come closer so that I may tell them their names.
    The books in the library have no letters. They spring forth when I open
    them.
    Leafing through the atlas I project the shape of Sumatra.
    Whoever lights a match in the dark is inventing fire.
    Inside the mirror an Other waits in ambush.
    Whoever looks at the ocean sees England.
    Whoever utters a line of Liliencron has entered into battle.
    I have dreamed Carthage and the legions that destroyed Carthage.
    I have dreamed the sword and the scale.
    Praised be the love wherein there is no possessor and no possessed, but
    both surrender.
    Praised be the nightmare, which reveals to us that we have the power to
    create hell.
    Whoever goes down to a river goes down to the Ganges.
    Whoever looks at an hourglass sees the dissolution of an empire.
    Whoever plays with a dagger foretells the death of Caesar.
    Whoever dreams is every human being.
    In the desert I saw the young Sphinx, which has just been sculpted.
    There is nothing else so ancient under the sun.
    Everything happens for the first time, but in a way that is eternal.
    Whoever reads my words is inventing them.




















    text : Jorge Luis Borges, Happiness, from La cifra “The Limit” (1981)
    translation by Stephen Kessler.

    photos : Eleanor Antin, "100 Boots", 1971-1973
    more about this work on KADIST
    Mon, Nov 18, 2019  Permanent link

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    I do not know what I may appear to the world,
    but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore
    and diverting myself in now and then
    finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary,
    whilst the great ocean of knowledge lay
    all
    undiscovered before me.





















    text : Issac Newton

    image: Yayoi Kusama

    Fri, Nov 15, 2019  Permanent link

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    The only real voyage of discovery

    consists

    not

    in seeking new landscapes

    but

    in having new eyes.













    text : Marcel Proust
    last image: Andy Warhol, Philip Fagan and Gerard Malanga at the Factory, New York (1964)
    other images: "Ten Foot Flowers", Andy Warhol in Berardo Collection Museum of Modern Art, photographs by Syncopath, Lisbon (2016)

    Mon, Sep 23, 2019  Permanent link

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    All our final decisions are made in a

    state

    of

    mind

    that is not going to last.




















    text :
    Marcel Proust, from "In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower"
    photography : Biel Capllonch
    Mon, Sep 9, 2019  Permanent link

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    Beyond a certain point there is no return.

    This point

    has

    to be

    reached.

















    text : Frantz Kafka, from The Zürau Aphorisms (a collection of 109 aphorisms of Franz Kafka, written from September 1917 to April 1918 and published by his friend Max Brod in 1931, after his death.)

    photography : Biel Capllonch
    Mon, Sep 9, 2019  Permanent link

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    The Church says the Earth is flat, but I know that it is round.

    For

    I have seen the shadow on the Moon,

    and I have more faith in a shadow than in the Church.

















    text : Ferdinand Magellan (1480-1521)
    photography : Syncopath, Back Stairs, Martin Gropius Bau, Berlin, 2018


    Fri, Sep 6, 2019  Permanent link

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    * By art alone we are able to get outside ourselves, to know what another sees of this universe which for him is not ours, the landscapes of which would remain as unknown to us as those of the moon. Thanks to art, instead of seeing one world, our own, we see it multiplied and as many original artists as there are, so many worlds are at our disposal, differing more widely from each other than those which roll round the infinite and which, whether their name be Rembrandt or Ver Meer, send us their unique rays
    many centuries after
    the hearth from which they emanate is extinguished.



    * Par l’art seulement, nous pouvons sortir de nous, savoir ce que voit un autre de cet univers qui n’est pas le même que le nôtre et dont les paysages nous seraient restés aussi inconnus que ceux qu’il peut y avoir dans la lune. Grâce à l’art, au lieu de voir un seul monde, le nôtre, nous le voyons se multiplier, et autant qu’il y a d’artistes originaux, autant nous avons de mondes à notre disposition, plus différents les uns des autres que ceux qui roulent dans l’infini
    et qui, bien des siècles après qu’est éteint le foyer
    dont il émanait,
    qu’il s’appelât Rembrandt ou Vermeer,
    nous envoient encore leur rayon spécial.


















    text from : Marcel Proust, À la recherche du Temps Perdu (In Search of Lost Time), 1913
    images : Joan Miró, La Esperanza del Condenado a Muerte (The Hope of a Condemned Man), 1974
    photos by Syncopath, Joan Miró Foundation, Barcelona, 2019
    * last photograph from online image.
    Fri, Sep 6, 2019  Permanent link

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    .... I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.


    .... And yet Gregor’s sister was playing so beautifully. Her face leaned sideways, intently and sadly her eyes followed the notes of music. Gregor crawled a little farther forward and lowered his head
    to the ground so that it might be possible for his eyes to meet hers.
    Was he an animal, that music could move him so?
    He felt as if the way to the unknown nourishment he so longed for were coming to light.













    text from : Frantz Kafka, Metamophosis, 1915
    photography : Biel Capllon, Die Metamorphosen, 2011

    Fri, Sep 6, 2019  Permanent link

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    * As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself
    transformed
    in his bed
    into a gigantic insect.




    * Als Gregor Samsa eines Morgens aus unruhigen Träumen erwachte,
    fand er sich in seinem Bett
    zu einem ungeheuren Ungeziefer verwandelt.





    .










    text from : Frantz Kafka, Metamophosis, 1915
    photography : Biel Capllon, Die Metamorphosen, 2011

    Wed, Sep 4, 2019  Permanent link

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