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Saturday, 19 June 2010



File:Ernst Ludwig Kirchner Tinzenhorn.jpg

In the deep sky the sun burns. Still, heat is life. To speak is to be warm, to be alive. Yet to do one's best to make something clear where nothing was is not enough for mother Earth, you can see her side of the story.

We talk beside the lake. The heart pumps but also cuts itself into pieces out of fear or love. And still there is brightness. Where does light in the red end of the spectrum go when it streams out through the veins into the blue darkness above the emotionally profuse foliage?

File:Kirchner Böhmischer Waldsee, 1911.jpg

Paintings by Ernst Ludwig Kirchner (1880-1938)

Tinzerhorn, 1919/20 (Kirchner Museum Davos)
Bohemian Lake, 1911


Curtis Roberts said...

This takes me somewhere I haven’t been for a long time, but remember perfectly (always in dreams), which is (unusually for me) “in the breath thrall of the living for now.”

human being said...

it goes into a poet's words
or a painter's colors
or a singer's notes
or perhaps
it just travels
along with an eagle
in the deep of the sky...

TC said...

I've often wondered if everyone dreams in colours, and which ones.

See the snippet from Walter Benjamin (a 1926 essay on children's books) which I've quoted below the top post in this set (Canyon):

"...pure colour is the instrument of fantasy, the land of dreams for a child lost in games."