Friday, November 9, 2012


Inside this new love, die
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running from silence.

The speechless full moon
comes out now.

Monday, October 8, 2012

Tantric paintings - visual metaphysics

"They are things of beauty, "a joy forever," and thus very much capable, we may believe, to become supports of cosmic visions. They would also have been, when most abstract, the starting point of aniconic meditations. Some include a dot, a bindu, which, in Tantric metaphysics and cosmology, is the symbol of the undifferentiated absolute, both holding within itself the whole cosmos and transcending it: to concentrate on this focal point is to "see the world in a grain of sand" and to transcend it, to open, that is, one's soul both to the plenitude and the absolute pure void -shunya- of the supreme deity, invisibly present in such abstract symbols, to be reached and experienced through and by transcending them."
André Padoux


without the slightest sound
In the spirit

Franck André Jamme

Artists anonymous from Rajasthan, India

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Book Presentation

For summery and purchase:

Monday, July 23, 2012

Extracts from - Seed to Seed, The Secret Life of Plants - Nicholas Harberd

"And a question forms in my mind. An unexpected question. Is the whole of the cell alive, or is only a part of it?
This is a question I haven't previously considered. A simple question of such obvious importance that I can't imagine why I've never thought of it before. What is alive and what is not? Where is the boundary between life and absence of it?"
+  +  +
"And now a further image arises in my mind. Of a petal detaching from a rose. The petal falls to the ground. Descends, twirls through air to earth. Then begins to decay. Crimson fades into brown. The petal shrivels and twists. Dark veins, a sepia background. The process of disintegration. The cells breaking down into molecules from which they're constructed. Those molecules leaching into the water of the soil. Further disordering of the molecules into their constituent atoms and ions.
Finally the petal disappears. And although it seems as if it had never existed, those once-incorporated ions, atoms, and molecules are now distributed in the earth and air. Then we move on a few years. To a time when a few of these same atoms have once again become part of a living thing. Of a grass stem picked by a child so she can suck in its sweetness. Atoms, once of the petal, then returned to earth, then of the grass, are now of the child. "

Tuesday, May 15, 2012


I have not carried my camera around in the last months, I do not feel like documenting, or commenting or saying.... I dont post, I dont write. This is all a very good sign! I'll come back...but for now I am just getting some fresh air!

Sunday, March 11, 2012

the smell of communism

While in Croatia with Sunci, strolling in Hvar, at the sight of this flower Sunci exclaimed "That is the smell of communism" As it was planted all over the country during the communist time, then in Russia I spotted the same flower and asked a Russian friend about it, who gave me the same answer, yes in fact during communist times this flower could be found all over.

All the weight of the word "communism" becomes irrelevant, it shaped lives and countries, yet is does not cease to be man's construction. At the core of human beings, where only existence can be sensed, and our sensorial perception before being rationalized and going directly to the unconscious becomes our connection with the world and reality, such a complex idea in an instant is condensed to smell. Suddenly there is simplicity, just a smell, a flower, a memory.
This reduction also shows a side of existence, regardless of the situation, we are living and our senses awake. As long as we are alive we are sensing the world, never silent, never neutral.  

Barra de la Cruz, Oaxaca

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Extracts from - The Walking Man - by J.M.G Le Clezio

One can waste the better part of a lifetime in walking without actually being a walking man. That's obvious. And on the other hand one may have walked very little, really one may never have cared for walking, never been good at walkig, and yet be unquestionably a walking manSuch is the law of all deep-seated life, according to which beings and objects exist only in terms of a pattern peculiar to themselves, an achievement for which they are granted no handicap, no limit and no appeal. 
* * *
Paoli strolled like this along a succession of streets, some of them shady, others sunny. A mysterious force had entered into him, had distended his muscles and sinews, and was propelling him forward, over the resonant concrete. It was rather as though his body were inhabited by a perfect mechanism, where nothing was left to chance, where each movement followed naturally upon the one before, simply owing to the play of the driving-rods pivoting on their axes, of valves commanded by complex, decisive systems of gears, wth smooth wheels and cogwheels, ball-bearings steel pins and an infinity of screws. In his brain, nothing was clear. No idea could manage to take shape, not the tiniest thought. It was an expanse of fog, prevailing from end to end of his skull, from which nothing emerged except the rock, the tense cry of determination. A sort of tightrope, stretched to breaking-point, extending straight ahead of him, as far as the horizon and even beyond, along which he was walking without understanding.