/ new work approaching

self portrait brooklyn ny september 2011

/ stills from autumn sonata, ingmar bergman 1978

'the illimitable, silent, never-resting thing called time, rolling, rushing on, swift, silent, like an all-embracing ocean-tide, on which we and all the universe swim like exhalations, like apparitions which are, and then are not... '

/ thomas carlyle, scottish satirical writer, essayist, historian & teacher during the victorian era

/ still from saraband, 2003 ingmar bergman

i finished watching this film last night, unsure of how i felt about it most of the way through. towards the end i felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. i wept.. extremely touching film about life, aging, love and death. this was also bergmans last film before he passed.

/ some phone photographs from my 23rd birthday yesterday!! thanks to my family & friends for making it beautiful, i feel very blessed xx

'the endless cycle of idea and action,
endless invention, endless experiment,
brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
knowledge of speech, but not of silence;

knowledge of words, and ignorance of the word.
all our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
all our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
but nearness to death no nearer to .
where is the life we have lost in living?
where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
the cycles of heaven in twenty centuries

bring us farther from god and nearer to the dust.'

/ excerpt from the introduction to 'the rock' by ts eliot, 1934

/ jp bevins, philadelphia pa 02 october 2011

'Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:--
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?'

/ excerpt from 'the love song of j. alfred prufrock', by ts eliot 1919

my god my god, so moving. read the whole piece online HERE