THE DADA BARONESS

THE DADA BARONESS

In all my boundless ignorance, I did not know the Dadaist Baroness until BurnazziFeltrinaArchitetti told me about her regarding what I had written on Chester Bennington‘s tattooed ring, pointing out that her wedding ring instead was a bolt picked up from the road.

Art “to wear”, body art to the point of making the concept of transformation three-dimensional which is also realized in the continuous and constant evolution of Elsa Hildegard Plotz, then Elsa Endell and finally Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven.

Impossible to conceive of seeing her with a trivial mug. She distorts the use of the most common objects, adorning them.

Therefore spoons enrich a headdress as much as a bird cage the neck. Trying to describe her, I would like to bypass the famous phrase that recurs in the various references concerning her, pronounced by the one who appropriated the idea for the Fountain work.

I would rather quote the words of Djuna Barnes, according to Michelle Feda‘s analysis

in the Village. One may encounter many things, many people. One may even meet the Baroness leap lightly from one of those new white taxis with seventy black and purple anklets clanking bout her secular feet, a foreign postage stamp— cancelled—perched upon her cheek; a wing of purple and gold caught roguishly up with strands from a cable once used to moor importations from far Cathay; red trousers—and catch the subtle, dusty perfume blown back from her—an ancient human notebook on which has been written all the follies of a past generation.

Words that well illustrate corporality.
Words that offer all-round aspects: colors, sounds, scents.
The follies of a past generation” in open contrast with the present of an artist who is already a future, even for Dadaism.

But as often happens for such controversial and unconventional characters, life is a rollercoaster ride even steeper than usual, both for the climb that touches the golden world, and for the sudden descent that sees difficult moments. inexorably chase each other.

The village is where the friendship between Elsa and Djuna was born: Greenwich Village. A friendship that never ends even in the face of adversities that cancel the rise: it is Djuna who helps Elsa in various ways until her death in Paris, “her last joke”.

But their intense exchange of letters remains.

“NOW THE SOUND OF #BEIRUT IS SWEEPING GLASS, THE PIECES OF SHATTERED LIVES.”

“NOW THE SOUND OF #BEIRUT IS SWEEPING GLASS, THE PIECES OF SHATTERED LIVES.”

Now the sound of #Beirut is sweeping glass, the pieces of shattered lives. It is and always is the people here who clean up the destruction of the establishment – and rebuild.

Rusted Radishes wordstruck me almost like the images that flow under our dismayed eyes.

Pieces of shattered life.
Terrible.

And after the bewilderment stunned one wonders WHY.
Impossible to understand it now.

The news chases each other, it all seems so absurd, incredible.
So I tried to read as directly as possible.
Looking for and hoping to find an entry.

Beirut Today writes:
The highly-flammable chemical compound had reportedly been unloaded from a ship impounded at the port in 2013, and then unsafely stored in a warehouse there for six years, according to statements from both the prime minister and presidency.
Lebanon’s Supreme Defence Council said those responsible would face “maximum punishment.” The Lebanese Cabinet also tasked the army with placing all officials who oversaw storage and guarding at Beirut Port since 2014 under house arrest pending the end of the investigation.
The port is a major commercial route that has provided Lebanon, a country that relies heavily on imports, with a lifeline of nearly all needed goods. With its largest port and essential importing facility devastated by the blast, analysts are concerned how Lebanon can maintain the flow of much-needed food, and medical supplies.”

Instead of finding some sort of meaning, it is all the more absurd.

But above all I found Lama‘s voice
“Every official, parliamentarian, judge, minister, general manager, director, and piece of … who knew about the threat of the container that ended up blowing up and killing dozens, injuring thousands, and destroying our city is probably putting on their suit and readying themselves for another day of lies and deceit.
You’ve robbed the country blind. You’ve undermined each and every one of its facilities. You’ve drained every account, facility, fund, project, institution, and corner of this country.
Your resignations mean nothing. We demand justice and accountability.
We demand justice for every life lost, for every citizen injured, for everyone who lost their home and their business and their land due to your gross negligence and your criminal behavior.”

I have no other words.
Collecting shatters is also dangerous at the moment, given the toxicity of the air.
Yet I leave you this video.

RED THREAD. IN LOOP

RED THREAD. IN LOOP

These summer days for two completely different reasons brought me a red thread.

The first is musical: Fil Rouge to be precise.
Fil Rouge is the song of Curcuma, but it is also the important step in a journey made of pure passion, commitment, perseverance and skill.
Fil Rouge is re-starting, reuniting, it is part of a big dream and it is a great result.

Personally, I found myself immediately adopting the no matter if “NON IMPORTA SE”… that Dennis and Samuel sing, and I find it perfect.
In general, taking inspiration from the passage written by Samuel, I believe that we all need various NO MATTER IF to repeat ourselves with emphasis and cheerfulness.

The second red thread instead is not in the sunlight.
The second red thread, on the other hand, is DARK.
It is “underground”, occult, and leads to completely different reflections.

Claudia spoke to me about this series: for me a guarantee. During the time I have learned that if she likes something, I will certainly like it too.

What we know is a drop, what we don’t know is an ocean.
Isaac Newton

At the end of each episode, I was left with a quantity of questions, or alternatively with topics of discussion that only multiplied, so that at the final conclusion my son gave me a definitive explanation which I will obviously omit in order not to spoil.

I would like to make a reflection in a broad sense: it is often said, and absolutely not wrongly, that the lever that moves everything is money.
So it’s nice when instead you find yourself considering a FORCE that starting from a metaphysical engine and a four-dimensional vision is reconverted and can move with equal determination proving to be the generator of events: love.

Love for the family.
However ramshackle, improbable, unstable and imperfect it may be, still Family.

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