The Flickr Antoninartaud Image Generatr

DSC_3226-AN

Gentlemen d'autrefois et d'aujourd'hui

The Smiths

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CD :

The Smiths
Bigmouth Strikes Again
Rough Trade
RT 192

Cover Star . Renée Falconetti

Postcard :

Antonin Artaud
La Passion De Jeanne D'Arc
Carl Theodor Dreyer
1927

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GMA

569_033
Marseille, avenue de Haïfa,
Musee d'art contemporain de la Ville de Marseille [MAC]
Antonin Artaud, Portrait de Mania Oïfer, mai 1947 - Crayon sur papier

Antonin Artaud

⚫️

Book :

Oskar Schlemmer . László Moholy-Nagy . Farkas Molnár
Die Bühne Im Bauhaus
Bauhausbücher 4
München
1925

CD :

Bauhaus
In The Flat Field
4AD
CAD 13

Photography . Duane Michals . 'Homage To Puvis De Chavannes' . 1949

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GMA

Antonin Artaud : Les tarahumaras
Collection Idées / Gallimard, n° 3212
Gallimard Éditeur - Paris, 1974
Couverture: illustration de Michel Gayout

Artwork by Jean Dubuffet

Jean Dubuffet: Brutal Beauty
(May - August 2021)

An exhibition celebrating French artist Jean Dubuffet (1901-1985), one of the most singular and provocative voices in postwar modern art.
Brutal Beauty champions Dubuffet’s rebellious philosophy. Railing against conventional ideas of beauty, he tried to capture the poetry of everyday life in a gritty, more authentic way. This is the first major survey of his work in the UK for 50 years, showcasing four decades of his career, from early portraits and fantastical statues, to butterfly assemblages and giant colourful canvases. Dubuffet endlessly experimented and was clear on his purpose:
‘Art should always make you laugh a little and fear a little. Anything but bore’.
Alongside his own work, the exhibition features works from his collection of Art Brut (a phrase he coined, which translates as ‘raw art’). Acquired throughout his life, these works, and the artists that created them, profoundly impacted his approach to the making and meaning of art.
[Barbican Centre]

Taken in the Barbican Centre

Antonin Artaud (1947)

Artwork by Jean Dubuffet

Jean Dubuffet: Brutal Beauty
(May - August 2021)

An exhibition celebrating French artist Jean Dubuffet (1901-1985), one of the most singular and provocative voices in postwar modern art.
Brutal Beauty champions Dubuffet’s rebellious philosophy. Railing against conventional ideas of beauty, he tried to capture the poetry of everyday life in a gritty, more authentic way. This is the first major survey of his work in the UK for 50 years, showcasing four decades of his career, from early portraits and fantastical statues, to butterfly assemblages and giant colourful canvases. Dubuffet endlessly experimented and was clear on his purpose:
‘Art should always make you laugh a little and fear a little. Anything but bore’.
Alongside his own work, the exhibition features works from his collection of Art Brut (a phrase he coined, which translates as ‘raw art’). Acquired throughout his life, these works, and the artists that created them, profoundly impacted his approach to the making and meaning of art.
[Barbican Centre]

Taken in the Barbican Centre

Towards the beginning disasters were accommodated
Among the few futurologists head's, it was fused up in boxes,
Connections seemed to be all dead
When the Sun went down.
The painted words remained unset.
A huge library of photographic archives emerged in Houses;
Bystanders, named streets, sheltering wrong-doers,
Journeymen, out-of-town Guernsey knitters
Lonely Roads, Dowsers reminisce with fragments recollected
left on garden walls to be blessed by royal warrant inspected
or poo bagged for unidentifiable future generations
already attired in their ancestors nakedness
Everything migrated towards an external street life,
It was like الرياض in the late Bronze Age
with many more insects and late night blue skies
One morning remaining dust clouds, Low Flying, dark and unlit.
Something big happened via state aggression
no one Never Surrendered but mortar crumbled,
Into Horsehair, Ashes, Soot and loam.
Resistant Bricks overlooked reformation
Mingling, hidden behind the hoardings
Boulders placed in a repulsive row: mass power,
at best honed determination, eighth generation Old
Beer tins gathered, purple buddleia flowered,
Are these my people or those I'll never know.
(Graffitti left uncovered such a long, long time ago).

Pan dreaming signal to streamers glean metal
Water of tides, filament hidden misericord
A Robins sad drivel divides me,
topography subsides, tainted with pride
Invisibly glazed you will be amassed by black water
deep cut above the oriented firmament
ignorance resists fear until pain descends
Every child everywhere be soothed in the end.

They left a page of images hieroglyphic visages
goddess's of perimeters saturnine-unlimited
Telling warns and Worn old tellings
noble savage storms foretelling
From all corners comes the law from above and through the door
Deity is Night and Night is Day today
twilight of the Gnomes emerging from hades
Aesops new wine of old bottles and battle scarred phases
lay lying in the cave waiting to lift his steady gazes
buried byres between nothing and slight
In the dark our successors bite

The sealing Skies awoke in winter
looked both ways and through a maze
began to enter. Unlike air, earth or water
Alembic Sighs provoke more laughter
quell the sorrows, sprain the tears
syphon greed, grow back all hairs
Alembic-Sighs induce such sleep
that you will dream upon the streets
stroll across the wintery downs
protected by a lack of frown
then at dawn when all's encased
to the maze you will be chaste
tendrils and diaphanous aromas
Buds Untimely, florets and delicate airs
vaporised, seized reduced to scars
exist alone among the stars.

Mr Polkest has been described as a Nagap by an fictitious suckling. he has ruined several VW Golfs.

At The Mount I was determined to drive the flat packed installation over the causeway on my Golf, almost thwacked the sump so took the amphibious bus back to Marghas

I bid the gods
do your level best
do not die here in the west
come back and save me
come back and see me
in the form of Choughs
they feed me
I bid the gods
I split the odds
and tread the sod
yet nothing yielded
Rain soaked trainers
won't make me famous
animal regards animus-ly
pelts of mud among the weald
pigs dissolving in heavy rain
roots of ruin, stalks of pain.
Moors and carns a field of stone
the spirit of R S Thomas' atoned.

The men eye-straight, they curl perspectives
They grow blued Oak and pronounce invectives
They say yous as if your two, one asleep and me, thats two again thats twice its echoed under here rippled thrice and forth,
Clearly more than four but five seems handy
seriously six is very stern but bland. Too much worry
Read a Book, have a gander, study hard and learn to wander
Sell your soul to the highest bidder and then move on
across burnt bridge you'll meet yourself and want to switch.

"Ni mon cri ni ma fièvre ne sont de moi ... j'ai choisi le domaine de la douleur et de de l'ombre"
Fragment d'un journal en enfer / Antonin Artaud

MC1984 PAINTING