For doorsare both frame and monumentto our spent time,and too littlehas been saidof our coming through and leaving by them.from Charles Tomlinson(The Door)
The Fact of a Doorframemeans there is something to holdonto with both handswhile slowly thrusting my forehead against the woodand taking it awayone of the oldest motions of sufferingas Makeba singsa courage-song for warriorsmusic is suffering made powerfulI think of the storyof the goose-girl who passed through the high gatewhere the head of her favorite marewas nailed to the archand in a human voiceIf she could see thee now, they mother's heart would breaksaid the headof FaladaNow, again, poetry,violent, arcane, common,hewn of the commonest living substanceinto archway, portal, frameI grasp for you, your bloodstained splinters, yourancient and stubborn poise—as the earth trembles—burning out from the grain1974by Adrienne Rich
Taoistic.. which I admire.. Freud might leave a quite different poem though.. :p
Encore une surprise! Un joli coup d'oeil sur cette porte comme je suis pas très curaient je te demande pas si tu habite ici l' instantané !! ce moment divin qui fait naître la photo avec le détail né pendant le déclic.. Non je ne veux pas de tuer j'aime trop la vie...@2
I was thinking of you when I posted this, M. I grasp for you, your bloodstained splinters, yourancient and stubborn poise—as the earth trembles—burning out from the grainI love this.
Anonymous, multumesc pentru vizita si apreciere.
indeed, Peter :-)
multumesc, Edith. ai fost iarasi la munte, sau ocupata? :-)
Siam :-), oui, trop de curiosite peut parfois tuer la vie, mais elle est aussi la condition premiere pour pouvoir s'ouvrir vers l'autre, non? peut-etre on vit l'emerveillement tout d'abord, et puis la curiosite par rapport a cet emerveillement vient toute de suite apres...
Doors. What do they mean for you. I think of pictures of doors as promises of unexpected visitors, lost friends and lovers from once but long ago. Some think of it in more philosophical terms "There are things known, and things, unkown, and in between are the Doors"; by William Blake popularized by one Jim Morrisson. Some think of doors closing on them; and others see doors opening. Your picture reminds me of a famous song by Tagore about a person who is standing outside the door of his foreign lover (I picture a bengali man and a european, probably English (given the context of the times, but then there were other foreigners here too, in those times, as you would know, being a reader of Eliade). He says (poor translation I'm afraid)"Now having travelled the entire worldI am in new landI'm a guest before your own doorMy foreign lady"
I just got time to read this. I'm laughing with the comments as I had never looked at my old door collection (more than 15) that I use leaning against walls as "art" often collecting, keeping, taking with me doors in my travels, what in Jungian terms that means. I know I have spent a lifetime beating down "doors" of bias and narrow mindedness. And I've had a lot of doors closed to me because of my choice to be an artist or because of my art. Now because of "seeing" from this prose, the door frame as monument...I'm going to chose to believe that in my life I was unconsciosly trying to take away the block that allows us to walk through freely. From A DICTIONARY OF SYMBOLS by J. E. Cirlot..."Door:A feminine symbol which notwithstanding, contains all the implications of the symbolic hole, since it is the door which gives access to the hole; its significance is therefore the antithesis of the wall. There is the same relationship between the temple-door and the altar as between the circumference and the centre: even though in each case the two component elements are the farthest apart, they are nonetheless, in a way, the closest since the one determines the other." Nancy - Museum & Arts
you thought of me, and that day I was thinking of doorways (with which I have a mild obsession) and going through my photos - and then I saw your post - how's that for comings and goings...
oh, m, isn't this wonderful, when such things happen... so many seem to have an obsession for doorways, one of James's poetry books is entitled 'An Hour is the Doorway'. in this case too, time and space are intertwined. or as Bachelard puts it: when we step over a threshold, the person that we were before and the person that we are after are different.
"promises of unexpected visitors, lost friends and lovers from once but long ago" - returning as ghosts, zuma? I don't want to get sad tonight, so I will think only of those 'promises of unexpected visitors' who can also bring something like good news, or joy. can't they? I was so in love with The Doors when I was young. I still love them. 'The End' is for me one of the most beautiful songs ever. This is the endBeautiful friendThis is the endMy only friend, the endOf our elaborate plans, the endOf everything that stands, the endNo safety or surprise, the endIll never look into your eyes...againspeaking of lost friends or lovers...but nonono! the Tagore lines are so beautiful. in fact, that has inspired me for more Tagore tonight, for all my Indian readers :-)
oh Nancy - the first time I read the comment I thought you were speaking of a collection of door pictures, not of doors! this is so fascinating - I have never heard of someone collecting doors. wouldn't you post pictures of them? I guess that the reactions to this post have shown what a powerful archetype (because you spoke of Jung) the door is, an image haunting so many of us. door, threshold, veil are all metaphors of the in-between, aren't they? of transcending into the unknown, a foreign realm in which we meet the other (or ourselves disguised as other). both fascinating and dangerous. Novalis says:'Someone arrived there — who lifted the veil of the goddess, at Sais. — But what did he see? He saw — wonder of wonders — himself.'
not as ghosts, roxana. why would you assume that? real live ones that come back. probably among the happiest events of human condition, sadness is not even an option. and not because of the tidings they bring, roxana - that can await the conclusion of refreshments and nostalgia, and ceremonial showings of hospitality...because all that matters is thatthey are alive (not ghosts, and they came back) but these days the world is small, and no one is further away than our desk; so maybe people are not missed that much...'The End' you say? how could it not be so - you whose works so often contain that same magnificient melancholy? (though I know you will tell me you are different in person...)
also (carrying on from your reply to Nancy), doors also stand for obstacles (or paradoxically opportunities). Omar Khayyam writes:"There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I might not see: Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE There was-and then no more of THEE and ME"
absolutely love this post.
Zuma, I am sorry for the delay in answering your subtle comments which take the door discussion further and further.Zuma, I get your point, but - and not because I want to dwell any longer on the melancholy threshold, be it 'magnificent melancholy" as you put it :-) - but but but: maybe you are right, and they truly come back, and not as ghosts - yet are they the same then? more than often, we look at them as we look at a stranger, and wonder about having been closed to them once.
too little indeed has been said about doors - & too rarely has a grey door been combined with a red rose
I'm glad you liked it, dearest fff :-)