“I am large, I contain multitudes” Walt Whitman

Loïe Fuller, Le Dans du Lys, ca.1902. Photo: W.Isaiah Taber

“In relation to Loïe Fuller insofar as she spreads round about, with veils attached her person by the action of dance, everything has been said in articles, at times in poems. Exercise as invention, without employ, admits of an artistic rapture and at the same time an industrial accomplishment.

In the terrific bath of fabrics there swoons, radiant, cold, the dancer who illustrates many a giratory theme in which a distant fulsome woof tautens, giant petal and butterfly, unfurling all in a clear-cut and elementary order.

Her fusion with swift nuances shedding their hydroxic fantasmagoria of twilight and of grotto, such rapidities of passions, delight, mourning, ire: to move them, prismatic, with violence or diluted, the dizziness is needed of a soul like an airing of artifice. That a woman may associate the flying off of vestments with dance, potent or vast, to the point of sustaining them, infinitely as her expansion. The Lesson depends on this spiritual effect.”

Text Stéphane Mallarmé, National Observer, 1893 quoted from Art and Utopia, Restricted Action, pp.86

More Last Words

Microwork_Breathe_DS_2012

Microwork_Breathe © Denise Startin

More or less what follows:  Midnight sounds – the Midnight when the dice must be cast. Igitur descends the stairs of the human mind, goes to the depths of things: as the “absolute” that he is. Tombs-ashes (not feeling, nor mind) dead center. He recites the prediction and makes the gesture. Indifference. Hissings on the stairs. “You are wrong”: no emotion. The infinite emerges from chance, which you have denied. You mathematicians expired – I am projected absolute. I was to finish an Infinite. Simply word and gesture. As for what I am telling you, in order to explain my life. Nothing will remain of you – The infinite at last escapes the family, which has suffered from it – old space – no chance. The family was right to deny it – its life – so that it stayed the absolute. This was to take place in the combinations of the Infinite face to face with the Absolute. Necessary – the extracted Idea. Profitable madness. There one of the acts of the universe was just committed. Nothing else, the breath remained, the end of word and gesture united – blow Out the candle of being, by which all has been. Proof. (Think on that)

Extract from Igitur by Stéphane Mallarmé translated by Mary Ann Caws. Text reproduced from http://www.studiocleo.com/librarie/mallarme/prose.html

More Last Words

last word

© Denise Startin

The Secret Language without a Secret

“It is not a noise, although at its approach everything becomes noise around us (and we must remember that we do not know today what such a noise might be.) Rather it is language: it speaks, it doesn’t stop speaking, it is like the void that speaks, a light murmuring, insistent, indifferent, that is probably the same for everyone, that is without secret and yet isolates each person, separates him from others, from the world and from himself, leading him through mocking labyrinths, drawing him always farther away, by a fascinating repulsion, below the ordinary world of daily speech. Continue reading

The Last Word

last word

Death of the Last Writer

“We can dream about the last writer, with whom would disappear, without anyone noticing it, the little mystery of writing. To give a touch of the fantastic to the situation, we can imagine that Rimbaud, even more mythical than the real one, hears that speech fall silent in him, and it dies with him. Finally we can suppose that, throughout the world circle of civilization, this final end would be noted. What would be the result? Apparently a great silence. That is what it is polite to say when some writer disappears: a voice has fallen silent, a way of thinking has disappeared. What a silence then if no-one else spoke in that exalted way that is the language of texts that come accompanied by the rumour of their reputation. Continue reading

Book

Jasper Johns, Book 1957, Encaustic on book and wood

Jasper Johns, Book 1957, Encaustic on book and wood

“The book’s obviousness, its palpable presence, is thus such that we have to say that it exists and is present since without it nothing could ever be present, and yet that it never quite conforms to the conditions of real existence.” Maurice Blanchot

Text reproduced from A Survey of materiality in Literature by James Stuart, for the rest of the article click here

Image reproduced from The disappearance of objects: New York art and the rise of the postmodern city