Some Roses and their Phantoms

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Some Roses and their Phantoms. Dorothea Tanning. 1952.

Here some roses from a very different garden sit?, lie?, stand?, gasp, dream?, die? – on white linen. They may serve you tea or coffee. As I saw them take shape on the canvas I was amazed by their solemn colors and their quiet mystery that called for – seemed to demand – some sort of phantoms. So I tried to give them their phantoms and their still-lifeness. Did I succeed? Clearly they are not going to tell me, but the white linen gave me a good feeling as if I had folded it myself, then opened it on the table.

(Dorothea Tanning: Birthday and Beyond, exhibition catalogue, Philadelphia Museum of Art 2000, n.p.)


Night

A poem by Vicente Huidobro

You hear the night glide across the snow

The song fell down from the trees
And through the fog sounded voices

I lit my cigar at a glance

Every time I open my lips
I flood the void with clouds

In the harbor
The masts are full of nests.

And the wind
groans in the birds’ wings

THE WAVES ROCK THE DEAD SHIP

Whistling on the shore I
Look at the star that glows between my fingers

**

(y la versión original aquí)

The Night. Pierre Alechinsky. 1952.

The Night. Pierre Alechinsky. 1952.