Monday, June 18, 2007

Do you think that art and biology have nothing in common?
the eye of a biologist is always capturing colours and silohuettes, his heart touched by them.
art is in every non living and living being aroud us.

well, just have a look at these images;

Gleotrichia colony, cyanobacteria;
reminds me some William Turner's strong complexions;

old culture of Microcystis aerogenosa, cyanobacteria, imaged with autoflorescence; makes me think about some Gustave Klimt's glamours.

Nostoc colony, cyanobacteria. These are the cyanobacteria that I'm interested in the most.
Reminds me some Kandinskij's silohuettes and compositions.

This frozen fossil, called stromatolite and created by an intense and extended metabolic activity of some eucaryotic alga and cyanobacteria, seems like a heart :-)

All these images are coming from,
a very rich and interesting site concerning a modern research-topic.
(I was just preparing myself to the botany exam that I have to pass next wednesday).

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Aus Süddeutsche Zeitung—Samstag/Sonntag 9./10. Juni 2007:

“Sieht man sich selbst von Auβen, denkt man: Ein Witz.”


Thursday, June 07, 2007

Vergiß die menschliche Gefühle;
Dies schwebt da oben
wo die Wolken die Berge berühren;
Ist nicht sichtbar
auch nicht versteckt, sondern subtil spürbar,
wie das Licht in Mondnächte.

Vergiß das Geduld, die Wartezeit ist ungestörte Anschein;
unsere Geschichte wird weitergeschrieben
und getippt und gelesen und geliebt.

In diesem Bewusstsein tanzen aufgeregte
und verrückt gewordene körpern,
lachen die Herzen,
weinen die Augen,
klätschen die Hände
und fliehen den Horizon folgende Füße.

-Some months ago I wrote this poem in german language; Finding it a week ago I just could not figure out, how i could manage to do was dated 24. February 2007 h 16:55-

Monday, June 04, 2007

25. Mai 2007

Florian: "Die Augen zu und durch!!"

Monday, May 28, 2007

Post Previus Mortem

Dedicated to AmikettisSIMO--Simone Tiberti, Rome.

Thanks to you I learnt to listen and pay attention to the Good part of me!

Pablo Picasso, Periodo blu.

Una volta, tempo addietro mi venne raccontato un proverbio o racconto cinese che mi torna e si fa spazio nella mente.

"Tempo addietro l'uomo aveva dita molto lunghe e sottili; non potendo egli dirigerle alla propria bocca per nutrirsi, con esse afferrava il riso e nutriva l'altro, colui che gli era accanto, in cuor suo sapendo che come lui nutriva l'altro, prima o poi da un altro sarebbe stato parimenti nutrito."

Non un mero dare e chiedere.

Dopo millenni, dopo milioni di anni, la morfologia dell'uomo sembra essere cambiata, come le mani, così l'animo. Ora l'uomo usa le proprie corte dita per afferrare, raccogliere e graffiare, solo sè stesso egli nutre, e non aspetta, no, egli chiede, egli non si cura più dell'altro, all'altro non da, all'altro prende. Possibile che abbia dimenticato così facilmente il proprio passato?? Sarebbe bello che coloro i quali ancora hanno impresso nel cuore il ricordo dei tempi che furono, possano sollevare l'animo dei più dalla cecità.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Edvard Munch's cat--scream's period associated with mental instability

kak moje da ne ti gur4i? kak moje da gylta6 i da gylta6 i da synuva6 i da te raniat i da me4tae6 i da te raniat i da ne snae6 kak i kyde da se krie6?? koi re6ava? nikogo. koi izbira? ne ti. i v momenta v koito izbira6--ne si ti. koi 6te te 4ue kogato kre6ti6? nikoi ne moje da razbere kakvo kre6ti6. mamkamu, tolkova li e stranno 4ovek da ima nujda ot liubov? ne slu6ai! ne im obry6tai vnimanie! tova ne e iztina, lyja e! bydi silen, ta silta e samo v sebesi! ti si razli4en i tova ti e silta. ne se otkazvai, momentyt ti 6te doide. razberi vednaga kyde ti e, ne, kyde ne ti e miastoto, taka 6te nameri6 za teb zapazenoto. otkajise i 6te umre nai hubavatati 4ast. karai karai napred, a gledai na zad s usmivka, 6tom minaloto ne ti otkradna du6ata!

Sunday, April 29, 2007

"impersonality of modern love"

Magritte, "The Lovers", 1928

Out of the window perilously spread Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays, On the divan are piled (at night her bed)Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—I too awaited the expected guest. He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare, One of the low on whom assurance sits As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire, The time is now propitious, as he guesses, The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which still are unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference. (And I Tiresias have foresuffered all Enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall And walked among the lowest of the dead.) Bestows one final patronising kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit. . .
She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: "Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over." When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone,She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.

From "the Waste Land", by Thomas Stearns Eliot, 1922