Wednesday, March 23, 2011

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Is it advisable to deceive the people?

is the problem that we face as an exercise in "political history of ethical thought, in the area blog moral philosophy. This is my reflection:
might add to what, for whom, for what purpose ... it would be desirable to fool the people ...

On the first account I do not think "tatemae" of the Japanese has been partly to blame for a lack of control to the government and the security of their plants. In fact, nuclear Japan is the "safer" (Quotation marks and recomillas) in the world, prepared to withstand earthquakes of high intensity such as occurred in Fukushima on 11 March. What could not overcome was the central event of "blackout" generated by the subsequent tsunami. The plant was in technical stop in anticipation of the earthquake and therefore needed some auxiliary engines that provide power to ensure core cooling, the tsunami made all three engines and the nucleus was without refrigeration. The catastrophe was served. Six cores running on empty and without control. The question here is how far security when it comes to nuclear power plants? I guess this is the question that leads people becoming Greenpeace Japan in recent years. Indeed, a educadísima people, like here, but who are not married to anyone at the time of placing limits on the exploitation of natural resources and misuse of the environment in which we must necessarily live or, as now themselves and unfortunately, survive.

I would not be deceived by the government if he were living in a situation like living in the cities that are within a radius of 250 km around Fukushima, this includes the capital and all the people living inside. I would like to have reliable data that allowed me to make my own decisions, what I'm exposed to what my children are exposed only to breathe, drink only water, only eat. Not only because the certainty that you have lost your home, your city, your friends, family, is also certain that you are exposed to lose the future in their lives. I want to have data on it. I want to decide myself how to deal with and put to work my ability and will to survive. Or not.

Secondly there is the possibility, true and many times unavoidable, lies as a means necessary, I understand, not further spoil things sometimes white lies, fibs, "jokes" as the children say using a term as "politically correct" as false in itself. Without doubt, falsehood, as advocated by Oscar Wilde in that charming little book "The Decay of Lying" as a "tale of beautiful untrue things, can help at some point to avoid an unwanted specific situation, but always ephemeral, temporary and now add, very personal, never as a tool for public use. "Lying is the very short legs," said my grandmother, lying as "formula" of survival does not seem possible to go very far in our creation of honest people.

Finally, I think the lack of transparency, the veiled lies, half truths, have made people lose confidence in the possibilities of politics and, especially, in the work they do politicians. Thinking that "the people", to use the same term used in the header does not have sufficient maturity to evaluate different critical situations in which we are fully immersed and that are derived from five inter-related crises are inevitably linked , we talk about environmental crisis, economic, energy, social, political ... it is still a serious lack of confidence, politicians, and an excuse to continue feeding "white lies" policy, which will allow the elections to survive but not build the future.

must look ahead and assume once and for all the depth and strength of these crises, with responsibility, honesty, courage and confidence in our capacity of citizens. Politicians also should assume their citizenship skills. I do not consider the capabilities of the people in setting priorities in decision-making is a very irresponsible. I think so, that politicians should take their citizenship before the politicians, as prior to a yet to win credibility. Strive for "citizen" policy, if I may use the word, to recover the policy for the noblest of its tasks, the management of the polis, the public square than they have in common, collective. Now more than ever, air, water, food, education and culture, in equity, transparency.

In any case, I agree to revise this post after the May 22 and discuss the feelings he has conveyed the campaign in this regard. I think I spoke as a student until the penultimate paragraph, I think then triggered my candidatez, I beg understanding.

Friday, March 18, 2011

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"Warning" Collage 2011



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"Estrellita mia" collage 2011

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

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Marta ... I


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Wednesday, March 2, 2011

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ME FUI (WHY? Pas d'idée)

I went there

http://latortugabicefala.blogspot.com/

(WHY? Pas d'idée)

Greetings to all who believed in this site and now may wish to reach other. Trust and deception, memory and oblivion, are among the few things that remain. Not everything is good. Not everything hurts. But there is a part of meditation that can only run from the pain and sorrow.

proof of love is not what I call the invisible divine lector.Ni trial. Link Yourself, yes, with your pink tentacles. If you want. I am not asking you desire open the bowels. Link Yourself on the crest whisper and smile. Light and precarious. If you want to. The other site, the double-headed again (r), does not know his strength. Suspicion that the energy is given by the other. Come Blow me ear. If you want. Become a voice.

http://latortugabicefala.blogspot.com/

Sunday, February 27, 2011

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" The Second Birth of Venus "2011 collage

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

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Sunday, February 20, 2011

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HIROSHIMA, MON AMOUR (1). Forget-me-you forget, forget-we IMPOSSIBLE



HIROSHIMA MON AMOUR (Alain Resnais - Marguerite Duras, 1959


I met you.


I remember you.

Who are you?

You kill me.

You make me do good.

How I'd suspected that this city was made to the size of love?

How I'd suspected that you were made to fit my body well?

I like you. What event. I like you.

How slow suddenly.

How sweet.

You can not know.

You kill me.

You make me do good.

You kill me.

You make me feel good.

I have time.

I beg you.

Devour me.

Distorts me up the ugliness.

Why not you?

Why not you in this city and this night like any other point of being mistaken?

I beg you ...
reiterar. Que vergüenza, bicefalita that you tan pronto Emociones Aún cuando el Puñal asoma en tu muslo. Por qué No Piensa En forgive or kill, in godliness rip with the slap ("Violence does not help" - you say). Again the old poem and the same images, the rhythm almost idiot emotions. The dream and the illusion of the body: Comment je me serais fait doutée your Étais à la même taille de mon corps? The illusion of the soul. The same song and it mocks the wounded city (Hiroshima, Nevers). Torn city, city rapa soul blade, dissolved into memory oblivion. Love, death, kill, deform the beauty in the passion to ugliness. Polish travel. I already said. Why repeat. Why be stupid again?. The same wheel, same old Miss sensitivity, the same accompaniment to ejaculation. Justified in 1959, feel and suffer. Nazi soldier and shaved love the taste of your blood. Same thing. What simple simple ... what my soul. There was born in 1959. Nevers. La ville de Nevers, on the right bank of the Loire River. Hiroshima and deformed children. The bell deaf Hiroshima.
I want to visit Nevers. Travel to be a foreigner (almost an idiot in the community)
I want to walk the streets to see the death of the soldier alemán.Ser the soldier in the river dock.
say that violence solves nothing.
I visit Nevers, Hiroshima road. Cities
that mock the futility of violence.
Love consumes us to the ugliness.
deformation
the laideur jusqu'à moi.

Again, again impossible.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

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PYRAMID

man is an animal which is necessary only superfluous
(Ortega: Meditation technique)

catalog superfluous needs :


Talk,
love, love, love,
look, look, look, look, look,
write, write, write, write, write, write,
order, order, order, order, order, order, order, order,



do not know if one can speak of hierarchy.

The God amoeba amoeba and part time the backbone of the pyramid.


Or perhaps if you prefer:
Amar, talk, look, write, order

Order, chat, love, write, watch

Looking, talking, order, love, writing, etc.


Loving as a precondition for talks?

Do I want to order in the home?. The organization of words in the sentence and emotions in love. Standardization.

Or imposing look, the injured eye for things before of all its tenderness and horror?

What few know the tortoise and the ghost that inhabits it. Write

, watch, order, love, talk.

I do not know. Jack Says

Marrameow sprouted all verbs of the same word. Unsaid. A willingness to fable.

The secret written in lowercase through the streets.

Monday, February 14, 2011

What Color Shoes With Navy/

Young

Agustí Centelles

Today I will be as bitter old man. Reserve soldier watching the parade of guys who say the search for underground trenches.
spit my old snuff - protocancerígeno calamitous lump - in the ways of the underground. Dare

.

" At least I have had the guts to do " - he tells me.

(He hits the thigh powerfully - in the visionary mode metaphor and blindness of the skin that hides the little bleeding. For him equivalent to taking bold to assault the subway car. The value is the name adrenaline shock weakened. Since childhood I hated the hell have ).

Daring and reckless.

not enough value, my dear Aristotle, the force released from insanity shoring up wisdom and prudence. Today we are far from good life and we demand (for more excitement) a quick shot of sex, violence, a flash of what it is, way of life techno-amoeba makes us a new image and likeness of God

sick, morbid, in your own viagra megaexcitado: relocation dismissal, speculative froth that fills us with prostate deconstructive rigor and unconscious: a any on the other side who dies so that I romp with "Velino" ---- or, as its double cockney, posh gang members from suburb throwing his own sperm packaged in aerosol colorín diverse and predictable way that blind windows and fill the streets of monotony

not fit those customs that define a lifestyle philosophy. There is live on the edge of insanity. We are required to at least be a little extravagant, lunatics, aliens, weirdos, individuality Bichin homogeneous. Today the danger that saves us previously obscure the reason for not noticing their parts, their vulgarity estrous female who claims to love or buying orchids chavalote for chorba with dangerous dog in the hip and marijuana on the lungs ... precisely the Valentine's Day.

What idiot does not remove it stupid. And so day after day ..... The important thing is to close all access to a high output and demanding. G

chemical olpe a drive full of anger that is entangled in a spiral of inhaled glue. A lot of anger so blind and so false, as cheap plastic acquired wholesale china shop Lavapies. Hatred is not enough - leading to outrage - but it requires plenty of packaging, paint. Unrecognized soul but in the marking of a single sign, a name, signature, a notch repeated ad nauseam, causing vomiting of the soul, the vomit of the culture that goes haywire and repeats and repeats and repeats as an ad, as a campaign message, the whore or the multiplication table in the thousand chains series, interchangeable faces Berlusconi and Mubarak. Repeat only a gesture. This is anger. That is the anger. Mangle the subway car is the only access to reality.

- Being respected is my goal - he tells me.





I soldier who portrays Agustí. I do not take in the strange angle that shows me in the picture anywhere. But soon we'll fight scene and I will become the sweat that fuses the skin and tissue, choking breath, dryness in the throat and the certainty that between the tip of my bayonet and my heart is accurately measured armed with rifles mortal enemy blade. To thread might know each other but I will be the entering, the bayonet of another fall just short of my warrior.

I sweat, daring soldier. That is the audacity of that brutal clashes against death.

" At least I have had the guts to do " - I said as if it were soldier with his bayonet. I slapped his thigh and I knew why, from my childhood, I hated "having balls". A sinister anticipation.

pray for the demise of male .

Thursday, February 10, 2011

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bayonet or spray With no loving in Our Souls and In Our coats no money / You can not say we're satisfied (Angie: Rolling Stones)

Harry Earles (Hans) and Olga Blacanova (Cleopatra)
in Freaks (Freaks, 1932)

"The truth does not see the point, telling people your relationship with unknown type "
Comment - sic - the video on You Tube Angie Rolling Stones


No know

We should heed
commentator
Heed all commentators because they are what is in times of drought diluviante preceding millennium. Simultaneously make them if everyone in the madness of lateral thinking and forget the absolute difference linearity as crazy monkey dream

Damn heterodoxy time

God is an amoeba

****

We should not tell strangers that there a guy we love because you lose the sense (and socializing)

We should not lose the sense in saying

We should not speak of a type

We should not talk to strangers

****

A love song makes sense if there is no love in our souls and no money in his pocket to produce it - is clear from Angie "rolling stone
I am willing to leave the crucible of his smile into a pirates camp ----- This is a love song (in brief summary)
****

A love song is
gesture technology

A love song is artifactual fiction


E l disinterest in contemplation of the art object is extended heuristically to create and break any identification of the subject and his work, methodically breaking explicit desire stupid inside. No interior. We opaque. Are an interface for navigating wrecks historicist. The artist selected blind-itself felt lumps of dying.

Some say that only write love songs.

Las canciones de amor simulan artesanía en la era posindustrial


Tuesday, February 8, 2011

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Anabel Lee vs Laura Palmer (melancholy reason for angels colorless)


Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee; Twin Peaks 1990)

And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
(EA Poe: Anabel Lee )

I was an angel. I mean that as a child lived ethereal skin of all things. There was an angel for being a child, but despite being so. Breathing the same air as Anabel Lee and ran my finger at her back. Noticed my hands the exact point of geography which stresses accumulated all the world and with light pressure, the force of a child, he made up in my magic the flight of many birds and some insects. It flew Of course, not necessarily fall in the idiom (at least so soon) to be an angel or by being a child, but we had wings of soft nervous excitement. The game, the pulse-pulse-neck and hip vertigo of the organic, opened a museum of ethnography in speculating with his bones and his skull made jokes leather cover and other photoelectric effect.


kissed her with his nose to breathe.

I was there at some point the canvas and bit existential encaustic brush with soft tenderness of the things that look ever since. Perhaps the mistake was thinking of naming tenderness. Hatred awoke bodies and murderers in the night the storm was touch and made it appear to Killer Bob in the face of clochard or neurotic father. All for wanting to say on his back the those flying insects. This did not know then and now, if I'm honest, I'd say either, because my mind is clouded with melancholy and is not worth the old intuition. I do not foresee the danger and, much less salvation. I am doomed.

At the corner of a wrong turn on my face - perhaps to make her First Communion and chew their hosts - I lost sight of the immensity of his skin and visited schools first and then deserted. In this kingdom by the sea exterminated the aliento.Ella lost his footsteps on the shore of the ocean.

say the envy of heaven screwed up everything.

So I went to heaven. Was uninhabited. I never knew, indeed, if someone returned in the evening after work and school or whatever to do angels and archangels in the days of work. Nor do I have much patience for granted. Disguised even watched the first communion table set with no guests, the only remaining semblance of grace I found up there. In the course had soup and it was nice to contemplate the texture and color of the broth, noodles and chopped vegetables (red, orange, green). In heaven there was no one but lived in the color. However, I was a gentleman of touch and, therefore, put away the drift of the light in prisms. I liked in tears taste - touch on my tongue - their potential spooky rainbow. Maybe it was a mistake to let the light spectrum in the range of contempt (every time I regret most of my scorn.) I had to wait many years to teach me to see colors .... experience aroused nostalgia for that touch my age, time of Anabel Lee. I learned, yes, but the paramagnetic contrast hit me full in the face.

came down from heaven and had become Laura Palmer.

I was no longer an angel.

I have not learned not to be.

Monday, February 7, 2011

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2011 opening of "Variations Electric"

2011













The debut of "Tenders" acoustic show.



Photos: Marcelo Desanzo

Sunday, February 6, 2011

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.... and now pointed at your skull

And cry, cry until you find a reason.
I'm the last primate become a sniper.

And now pointed at your skull,

because the pulse does not fail me, I have the tiebreaker
,
sent and unarmed,
my love was not enough.

And cry, cry out to you.

Because time waits for us and give us reason
.
(Najwa Nimri: The last ape)


Or rather ....

harden my skull with chemical letters that no knife can blaze a trail that promises light leakage of its sunsets

close my eyes so they can not find the flash of my enthusiasms
patches pirate they will suspect that the vacuum and clothes or embalm my eyes (which some felt sweet and sad)

send cover my head with
agricultural plastics and instead of my face will be the horse of nitrate
chile
taponaré my ears with wax or with my own saliva coagulated blood
bee will not hear my goal and gladly pay the price: I will not hear my soul


will be the forgotten face of which no one finds a photo

my skin color
exiled all my pallor, my embarrassment will become - if they want - in archetypes that are not meat

the magic of light
marginaré refuse to portray me every metaphor that speaks of the charm or enclose shadows into something like an aura

display will turn my tongue into sausages and steaks will chew me


and in the shadow of the evening call to all my dead
to ask them to muddle with their jargon

grammar written in lower case as punishment
as a painter, I draw as the void left by your hands to be dropped on the table

hate humanity with the silence
be the last primate in your collection of still lifes

Saturday, February 5, 2011

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What is public art? Landscape that build

Public art is not about oneself but of others. Not about personal taste, but the needs of others. It is not about the angst of the artist, but the happiness and welfare of others. There is the myth of the artist, but his sense of civic duty. Not intended to make people feel dwarfed and insignificant, but to glorify it. It is not about the gap between culture and the public, but seeks to be public art and the artist is once again a citizen .
Siah Armajani, "Manifesto. Public art in the context of American democracy "in AA.VV., Siah Armajani , National Museum exhibition catalog Centro de Arte Reina Sofia Madrid, 1999.
from blog to blog: What is public art? ARS operandi for

Monday, January 31, 2011

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NON SO DOVE

Edvard Munch. Forest (1903)


"I have not been any. One has died and another was killed. Just live it was necessary to kill"
"Varykino is it not a lost place the forest, where nothing ever happens? "
( Doctor Zhivago, Boris Pasternak ).

- I -

Suppose that in a fairly rigorous perception of love or friendship (let the difference between them for another day), it is the friend we refusing to pass the necessary words the bad shot or witness our presence and esteem. Say, therefore, that if called to the house of a friend found her dead fire and tells us not expecting us, friendship is by definition shattered and fragmented into a thousand crystals (not that reflect colors but the cutting). Friendship was a bad dream and our claim ridiculous. I do not think we are very strict if we require the concept of friendship that test: in the darkness to clear a space around the fire to homes and company for the night.

Well, this consideration of the friendship shown to us clearly insufficient if we consider that the denial of a friend does not have to destroy the friendship. A sacred history I refer: Peter denied Jesus three times and punched his face in shame just for desserts of the ultimate betrayal. And yet, no longer the chosen, the representative of God on earth or stone that stands the geology of the community.

Love and friendship does not fit in our attempts to understand, either in image or word. The reality is a vibration or oscillation feature that makes all conceptualization can be questioned ("not exactly true) or denied (" No is that it is not that "). Uncertainty art and writing ....

This allows us to conclude that:

  • poetics of silence or blank canvas is lodged in the origin our attempts art itself: the words and images are overwhelmed by the vibration of things (our inability or lack of creative ability is certainly as bad excuse, such as denial of a friendship by a misunderstanding).

  • the use of writing as a therapeutic element is doomed to failure because the word can not handle the complexity of emotions and turns all that on " clown expression. "Put another way: the writer should forget cure and focus on the search for an artistic device, a fiction in which show the primacy of form unsatisfied.

"... Art is always at the service of beauty and beauty is happiness to master the form. The way the budget is organic existence. All that is alive should be, to exist, shape, and so the art, even tragic art is the story of happiness, a happiness so tragic and tears filled my head was tired and Dorida " (Doctro Zhivago, B. Pasternak)
-II -

In the death of Yuri Andreyevich Zhivago returns to the stage - becoming silent engine of his funeral - the beloved (or friend in the fatality) Larisa Feodorovna, Yuri separate for more than a decade and lived somewhere across the world. Lara's appearance certainly providential meaning loaded ... Or this is a clumsy deus ex machina ? Where does the literary and poetic license to force providential coincidences and meetings? Someone really important in our life in this casually our funeral to arrange flowers and kiss the forehead rigid (slack the way) is incredible for a fairly healthy intellect.

only divine providence or poetic fiction can Show us this fact without provoking laughter. Or rather, that Providence is not poetic or cancel the laughter of these incidents. It happens that stop the teasing into a state of significance that builds a theological or aesthetic idea:

"By an aesthetic idea I mean that representation of the imagination that gives much thought, without, obstantem, you may be right ; any particular thought, that is, no concept "(I. Kant. Critique of Judgement)

As friendship denied that, however, remains strong beyond their definition, art (or religion, as we are with Zhivago) is always the edge of laughter in these impossibilities poetry taking place at the edge of our belief and the facts become significant . be significant: the sobering in ... nothing concrete. A step further by forcing the story would make all the engine is broken - because it violates the " primacy of form."

"Pasternak Bankruptcy with that as unlikely and providential fact, the presence of Lara at the funeral of Yuri? I think not. What unites Lara and Yuri Zhivago is the friendship that get caught in its definition and, tying them both to a strange fatality, ritual requires the presence Zhivago Lara's right when he dies. Ritualism save chance. It is true that to reach this providential coincidence Zhivago should die without heroism, on the street and surrounded by the absurdity of the modern world (a streetcar that had horns). The required to pay this tax century of humiliation. But Larisa has its place in the funeral of the man who is left to die not stop believing - when everything is wrong because - precisely because of the primacy of form and harmony in the world.

"Never in the moments of happiness freer and forgotten, had left the top and exciting: the satisfaction with the harmony of the world, the feeling of being in relationship with him, to participate in beauty the whole show, of the universe.
lived their participation. And so the domination of man over nature worship and idolatry of man never drew them. The principles of false worship transformed social policy, they seemed a very miserable thing and no one understood them "( Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago)
causes we not laugh belief Zhivago and Lara, they have just fallen all the scum that left the armored train in history? Is not it ridiculous that the poet makes the woman appear at the end point? Is not it stupid that love and friendship are extended beyond their breaks, on the other side of the three denials of San Pedro, beyond all that writing may agree to refer to and mean? In the suspense of laughter ... our hope dwells poetically.



we would say - with Lara and Zhivago - winning the friendship and love History.




Rita Pavone - Dove non so (subject di Lara) (1967)

Saturday, January 29, 2011

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understand our urban landscapes will always depend on our attention and care depends largely on speed that printed in our daily lives and our work. When we "speed" on the table are other words often appear simplification, homogenization, predictability, trivialization ... The importance of design in urban landscapes has to do with our culture of communication. If we consider that culture is a waiver of speedy solutions and rudimentary might think that our "culture of communication" has a lot to do with our ability to weave and bind worlds, a broad vision that allows us to transcend the solution "clever" to come solutions "beautiful, useful and understandable."

communicative capacity of the urban landscape is strongly related to the ability of the issuer, who designs, and the receiver, who looks, watches, crosses, live ...

The urban landscape is a organic complex. This means that consists of multiple relationships rarely comprehensible at first glance. A performance that aspires to be recognized and valued can not address the space as if it were a blank canvas. Requires a certain amount of responsibility and respect for the place to try and, essentially, to the people who make use of that space. The transformation and enjoy the city's public spaces can be programmed according to tactics more or less contrasting but ultimately will be people who endow with meaning, cultured, everything built, rebuilt, restored and / or rehabilitated in the city.

FUTURE The association has scheduled for next February 2, 2011, in the Faculty of Philosophy and Letters, a panel discussion in which approached from the perspective of geography and urban landscape architecture in the cultural river of Cordoba. A meeting which aims to provide precisely that information and communication by which we advocate.

Column HoyxHoy Córdoba (SER)

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artificial light love is forced to work day ....

At six o'clock in winter (1912), John Sloan

"And yet, come on each other hastily, as if they have nothing in common, nothing to do between them, the only convention that unites them, unspoken, is that each hold the right to march down the street, so that the two streams, marching in opposite directions collide if not " (Engels, quoted by Benjamin, London and significant on site - perhaps trial riddled with errors - in The situation of the working class in England ).

Sloan says that's six in winter, and I must confess that at first I thought he was referring to six in the morning. Then I realized that at six o'clock in winter, it is night. I hump not fall into these simple things tontuna sometimes justify my saying that I am a farm boy but I was raised in a factory for spinning and artificial silk. I see the world going to work at six in the evening unmoved.




I think the train heads to the left. A group matted and gray world soul congested during rush hour while climbing into the wagons. Passers that we face, pushed from the left of the picture, smiling. The kind of pure and bowler hat, accompanied by the smiling lady, do not seem to find transportation and displayed perfectly placed in the traffic urban pm. She loves to feel the closeness of thousands of individuals and feel unique. It is, perhaps, a creature of the night, a night owl of music hall. It annoys me that the man in the bowler hat and his companion are more significant - historical and vitally significant, significant chromatically for that matter - that For example, the hundreds that go on the train to their homes in the suburbs, after a day of work and waiting for the tedium that precedes sleep. Places to shoot in spite of a revolt uncontrolled types illuminated by color for the variety show or the theater, the long night of sex and drugs - sex might mercenary and adulterated drugs, sex and drugs but the end of the day - worth downloading the rifle because if X is bored or bored or perish all the world. YX is neither more or less than me. An ego that tries to board the train to go home.

all an exaggeration, of course. Ethically I will not let my possible or likely - old or young - to become self-centered tedious heartbreaking shot of oil of Sloan. I do not think that the artist has projected bad milk or mockery that darken in the platform and heading home without the possibility of seeing the latest show and enjoy the newest cocktail . Sloan has meant just the color and stroke laughing so interesting the time of the underdog, those who come down the street with expensive proposals, as opposed to those waiting to board the train up his face blurred in the greyness of urban sunset. Has marked the importance of one over another without hatred or contempt aristocratic.

From the left comes the night, turning gently remainder of the day (with that inadvertently dark in the big city, shrouded in the distance the sky and the adventure of artificial light). Of that horizon smiley faces also come to replace workers on the streets. It marks the bidirectionality and breaking sky / ground. The color of the night, soaking the saliva of smoke and desire, cleared the working hours in factories and offices.



The sky occupies much of the box, however, does not define its atmosphere. Is the light of local streets and that sets the pace as the sky entertains, outside all, dying of various shades of blue stranger what was day.

The layout of the table, that almost diagonal that divides the stage between heaven and apathetic urban bustle, prompts me to suggest a change in the arrow of time bidirectionality impaired right-left (those who leave and those who come). It is perfectly imaginable, thanks to the diagonal, deriving the train back to the right and pedestrians walking backwards, to the point where you turn the cigar and hat kind of fantasizes about a night of gambling and light or , men and women returning to the street sidewalk day showing their faces. And that

strange blue sky sinks to the signature lines of John Sloan, back in the top left corner.