Digging photos (Hennings-Los Rodríguez-Lung Leg-Trudie-Fotologs)
Siurlai, wrote this text on a live presentation of the performer, Emmy Hennings, the woman you see in the picture above. Greil Marcus, author of Lipstick Traces , the book I am quoting, says that in later thousands of journalists try to navigate the same morphemes, digging graves adjectives to reach an expression so raw and true terror that can generate a staging. For someone may seem foreign contemporary terror Siurlai, after all, it's just a woman singing and it is unusual that in the last century people would come to see some paint strokes in exhibitions. We could say that the men had not faced so much like us (our parents, our grandparents) for the late twentieth century, and to some extent may have some truth in this hypothesis. In the book itself is said "In 1912 there were still two years for war like the rest of Europe, Siurlai had to learn the meaning of a phrase like "jumping over the corpses." is, and at this point could be said to have lost our innocence. Not only historical-war level, on an artistic level, there were many others who went beyond the limits of the bearable, as they could be the staging of Throbbing Gristle, the extremism of the Viennese shareholders, or shows scatological GG Allin (I enumerated, not something one really think those people). However, there is something that her height was lost, and there are few words that can be added against terror that led to an almost anonymous journalist, of which only an excerpt of the journal Die Aktion . And one looks and looks, but ends up giving the full picture, that picture of Emmy Hennings looking slightly to the side, heavy eyelids, thick neck and all corners and holes sunk rosto a shadow that seems to advance slowly like honey. It's three in the morning and I realize I'm not rereading the book, as I had proposed. Yet the start of reading, the pencil he was to highlight key phrases, it was all a trap set by the picture, against which I have been without saying a word, for nearly twenty minutes. All I could say Siurlay's there, immortalized on page 170 of a poorly translated book of Anagram.
From the very moment that I noticed the veneer, I decided to investigate everything about women. However, information from it (at least online) is elusive, much as it indicates that face, who flees from something not to fear, but the real pleasure of being prey. What little you can get it is through the biographies of Hugo Ball, her husband, renowned for being one of the key figures of Dada Zurich (by many considered the only Dada existed). It was one of the first members of the circle of Cabaret Voltaire, was a singer, poet and used to recite their works well as German. The history of Dada is not a story of truth, but rather versions, and yet from many varied sources, all confirm the same situation: One day, Hugo Ball recited poems in the Cabaret Voltaire. Janco his companion had prepared a disguise, a kind of hypertrophied miter on his head wearing a coat that seemed to swallow his body, claws out of cardboard, in short, a suit as absurd as you can see here . The thing is, Hugo Ball was reciting the poems, when suddenly came over him that terrifying feeling of sublime, see himself telling his poems phonetic found saying Anlong bung, bung blago , and have no idea why he's doing that, why he was even standing in front of that audience. The experience was devastatingly violent for him, and hardly could he manage to finish the poem. He and Hennings followed by a time doing performance-ACTS, galleries, here and there, but it did not last long. From the time of that presentation Hugo Ball knew it was the beginning of the end, and certainly not long after he left the movement, ending in a church, a destination that respected and accompanied his wife (for a Dadaist, an ending as unimaginable as a leader picketing by tap dancing on Dancing with the Stars - oops, I forgot he had already spent -. The great thing about such an outcome is certainly illustrates the eternal karma of Dadaism: how far to try to get to the real absurdity is similar to the flight of Icarus. Ball saw the absurdity in all its splendor ígnico, I came to play, but after that could never be the same, taking refuge from him in the highest sense-generating power plant: The Church. Certainly, it is as if death is the little deaths all of that movement. Everything
knows from there on Emmy Hennings is somewhat diffuse, only ended up being the post-mortem diffusion her husband died early, getting to keep him alive through his works. However, no matter how Greil Marcus or bloggers like me write about it, all that is and could be concentrated in the portrait, a picture is worth a thousand Anlong bung, bungs blago.
I could never explain for sure my fascination with certain images. Some anonymous people have haunted me since childhood, when I saw pictures of my great-grandparents, trying to rebuild their images from their stories, and often amazed at the results (so much so that much of my childhood I believed that my grandfather was an English hunter appearing in a box who was in the corridor of the house of my grandmother). However, the first real memory of my obsession with anonymous people back to a video that most of you know:
was seven years old Sin Documentos Los Rodríguez was all the rage, and appeared on many programs TV that was pre-MTV-channel for a child whose primary concern was to fill the album in my pocket Dinosaur was something almost as unknown as the list of noble gases. So in a recording of Christmas with the Stars "this program where they spend the most music videos squeezed unbearably year, "I saw a video that I thought Galician Calamaro, singing with the rest of his band in some mountains. But that was not important. What had haunted me was a woman who appeared in the clip. Almost no narrative clip is very important, all suggests a sort of forbidden love set in a rural environment (which is so unattractive description). However, each time it appeared the woman seen from the perspective of a horse, every time he saw her with that tight shirt, prominent cheekbones and down the middle, my heart fluttered like a bird about to occur against a window, something in me was transformed, was a new and terrifying feeling as stepping on something soft at the bottom of a stream. There was a specific scene you could see her chewing gum, and for me it was something wildly seductive, something I could not see open, barely able to even keep her eyes. I locked myself in my room, ffw, rew, and again saw him chewing gum. From that experience has been several deaths and reincarnations of Calamaro, MTV, internet, other bands, Claudia Cardinale, pornography and women of flesh and blood, and even coldly think I've seen women more beautiful than that, to see the video in youtube feel the same strange and beautiful shame that the first time. Given
this first approach rather sexual, my interest on certain partially anonymous people behind the photo was extended to many levels and with a curiosity that had to do as a kind of archeology of characters that most mortals will suck a egg. It was painfully poetic that Aris Kind, a nobody XVII century, eventually had to die to reach immortality. I refer specifically to this work of Rembrandt, which left a man stamped on the collective imagination, but most of us knew not his name.
The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Tulp is precisely Thus, the body being open Aris coldly by a doctor, as if the only approach toward showing a slight recognition outside his whole being, to even what the skin usually does not see. Klind Aris was a petty thief, and at the time of scientific feverish bodies were required to perform autopsies, something still was not very well regarded, even in some places, illegal. That could be a foreseeable end to the great number of convicts (routine autopsies were unthinkable for people slightly respectable), but it sure did not know that guy in two hundred years appear in any book that included the seventeenth century. Unsung heroes, dissected durante siglos ante millones de personas.
Sonic Youth se asemeja en alguna de sus tapas a los Smiths por su capacidad de rescatar personajes e inmortalizarlos. Mientras que Morrisey y co. suelen recurrir en casi todas sus álbumes a imágenes de películas, como el soldado de Meat is Murder –proveniente del excelente documental llamado In the year of the pig -, o su primer disco homónimo, con una imagen del pecho de Joe D’Alessandro , el cual curiosamente es propietario del jean marca-bulto de la famosa tapa de Sticky fingers , de los Rolling Stones (es curioso, pero es como si diferentes bandas y artistas try to rebuild his body pieces). The characters behind the covers is a real issue, for example, ask who is the fat that lies on the character like Tom Waits Rain Dogs , who is the woman who leaves the crypt psychedelic Hot Rats (Miss Christine, a leader groupie GTO), and eternal so that would more posts to speak. But back to Sonic Youth, Goo cover , drawn by Pettibone on the photo taken of Maureen Hindley and David Smith, witnesses the murder of the Moor, and speaks for itself (I have it included among my favorite covers of all times), yet hardly anything as much as the face of that girl kneeling in Evol. That girl is hatred carved by a chisel chisel rather than a red-hot nail. I maintain that if that face had spearheaded the drive to any band of the first wave of punk, by his capacity for synthesis of all the hatred festering, such as 21st Century Schizoid Man is made flesh, possibly angst would be as famous as Johnny Rotten or precission Fender bass being destroyed on the ground by Paul Simonon. Much they appeal to subjectivism, it is understandable why a portrait and not another becomes the flag of a generation, why Che Guevara's face is pasted on the wall of students Architecture in Oslo, and why Bob Marley's face is in one of every five items sold at the fair. There is something in the photo itself, an expression, something so powerful and ineffable as a chord that makes you shit standing, a verse that uses common words but that seems to say something that had never before been uttered. And indeed, one of those faces is that of Lung Leg, the girl who appears not only in the cover, but also Death Valley 69 ' and many films by Richard Kern. So my curiosity was, if not obsession, that I began to lose to one, several videos of the films of Richard Kern (which can get together on the DVD compilation Hardcore videos) , with the sole purpose of knowing a bit more of it. Lung Leg was the Giulietta Messina of New York, appearing in several films of the genre Cinema of Transgression. Of the films themselves, there is little to rescue, only films with the sole purpose of generating shock, a kind of salad explotation, porn and horror film class Z, in the most graphic possible. I even see a movie that only one chick was undergoing surgery to sew the lips of the vagina, leading to closed like a corset, so you can imagine where to comes hand. And after seeing some of the movies, certainly compared to Lung Leg with Messina is only arbitrary, because the performances are really bad.
But there is something of mine that draws attention and can not be specified, a fury that overwhelms his face that reaches places where most of our facial muscles can not reach an intrinsic rage as if in their eyes will find some of the fuel that makes the world keep turning. Lung Leg of these animals seem violent and obscene that we can not stop being afraid, even though we are seeing them separated by a fence of zoo. I asked why he continued doing actress, but disappeared from the face of the earth, not even know if still alive. As the story of Dadaism, what happened with Lung Leg is more a question of versions of truth.
There are many women in the punk who have a surplus of attractive groupies or mines of the scene of other musical genres do not. Almost Famous being a movie that I never tire of seeing, I must admit that the romantic version that is made of Penny Lane, you can get to convince one (that of women in love music and the musicians not : really moving), but always saw all the groupies of Seventies hard rock environment (wave or Connie Penny Lane Hamzy) as mere climbers who could be from Jim Morrison to Alice Cooper for the simple fact of being musicians. But punkettes have a different aura, possibly belonging to a land where the glamor is limited to a public bathroom hand dryer, and where there was so much money for skiing in the mountains of the market. Thus, there are some who are really adorable punkettes, as the case of Trudy Arguelles, or Dinah Cancer (also used to be music), and others not so but it folded in attitude flowerpower those bitches. Here is a nice page that pays tribute to many women in the punk de Los Angeles (interesting to see that some of them now listen World Music).
However, speaking of pictures that become myths, there is a machine that is taking Warhol omen of unexpected criteria, such that "In the future everyone will Be world-famous for 15 minutes" The Fotolog . Possibly
fotologs are the embodiment of all the potential binary idiot, fat, or simply evil that has the internet to offer. Whenever we talk about how terrible it is the youth today, the lumpenisation any attempt to address the primacy of image over word, the influence of new technology in the modern alienation and stupidity, that's when we began to fear to speak as our old, fotologs appear to prove them right.
But what did the fotologs order to produce these aberrations of the digital, or rather, what have we done to deserve such fotologs? In their bases fotologs blogs and are practically the same, and yet there are fundamental differences in their speeches. Of course, for every rule there are exceptions, and certainly there are blogs written by and for morons (at times resulting in even worse by having more pretentious than the fotologs) and there are quite respectable fotologs dagnasty like that of HPLE , and a few others (I know many do not usually visit those parts). However, the vast majority of fotologs are written by:
a) Bands use the space exclusively to promote itself (which in any way is wrong, but neither have much flight)
b) Teens who become the space in a book absurdity of his own narcissism, with pictures taken daily with Borges texts as "Buenop, ak some fotitits sakando walk with the new kam" or "p Arachania Axer we had rebueno, pq a chechar the Mauro peeled and d ++++!!! !! "
Worse, thinking that only due to the work of a few people with severe mental handicap, comments, or rather, the 'Signatures', vocabulary and content Variæ not much of that tone:
Ex:
divinahh
great pass
q sts
ff besoss
or my favorite:
watxiooooooo a
besazo beware
expose not think I need more.
What this was beside the point is that a week ago, my sister showed me a reply from one of those deplorable characters abound in this community-or rather, pack-virtual. The case of type, photos and history interested me put here to be an actor metonymic metaphor that is human stupidity and new spaces generated by the internet to nourish it. Maxi
Ramonero The character is an everyday guy taking a picture taken in poses more of a catalog than a Barber na-punk fanzine if that really continues to exist - a contagious tremendous wisdom in messages as
not understand naaaaa toy re depressed. The KKK Took My Baby Away (Bue
ta change the subject yesterday and went out there to fart q ta dumped me and the promenade
with a friend and boyfriend or best friend cualkiera des na x haha \u200b\u200bat least I had fun
Bright
.
But stupidity is not something only restricted to the form, it is also completely the staging of their daily lives. The guy had a girlfriend named Agustina which left Montevideo for two weeks. In the post of January 2 writes:
Bue anything that I did inthe beach when we go this weekend Solis q was the best of my life with my baby and I miss divine as you re amoooooooooo aguuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
The guy is in love. The strange. The following posts are more or less the same themes, including self-flagellating brand of adolescence phrases like "I'm lonely, I needed a refuge , against which most people come to his rescue , giving forward, saying that things will get better.
However, after much content not suitable for diabetics, January 10 writes: Hi
good not to say q toy fucked up I'm the worst person in the world let the best person in the world like no Aguuuu forgive me and hopefully I will aperdonar
and you can take bn bn xq Halba
baby I adore you were the best q I spend and do not deserve you
One first thought is that shit, but at least the guy has face to confess ... Nothing less than a Fotolog! At the same time, the morbid can go to Agustina photoblog (which is not Simone de Beauvoir) and see how it goes slowly crumbling into the murky world of inverted spiral. However, things are changing, and for 17 Maxi Ramonero is in love again, love as if for the first time (still includes a picture of his muse.) Agustina not far behind, and 12 and feel that things are reordering, so that the 19 confess to be in love with a tattoo artist he met in Brazil Garopaba That's what I call a good match!
To all this, Maxi Ramonero for 19 given the news that his new girlfriend and disappeared for 25 that we are getting used to being single. In readings
official end of the century had already been talking about the immediacy and speed of daily life, the constant flow of capital and the centrifugal force that seems to cut all social ties, but no one had prepared the life of Maxi Ramonero . Within two weeks changes the tactical plan as three times and all his obsessions, or rather, pelotudeces can be read anywhere around the world (ah, that is also spoken, the fall of the barrier between private and collective world ).
In order to see this type of fotologs, but sometimes necessary to confirm the use of stamping out is an activity somewhat to fart, but still fun, like throwing bombs into the cage Brazilian mandrels to see how they react.
conclusion, it seems strange how I could start with Emmy Hennings and finish with this card, but maybe so, when one makes an archaeologist and dig in some photos, know that you can find buried ruins of a kingdom, or other cases, with a container of detergent.
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