Stage set up

"Dear Philip,

You asked me to share with you some of my little secrets, how I create the stage set up for my neo-Arcadian photographs...

I think about the stage set up as a painter. Every detail has its own importance. Foreground or background, various objects and props should contribute to build up the imaginary world where I want my Taormina boys to be displayed...

First, I am thinking about the floor: my old zebra skin suggests a world of luxury and sensuality, an exotic horizon, where Africa meets Sicily.

Then, I choose some of my favorite singing birds, sometimes some cicadas, and I put them into a small wicker cage. They will create the musical background of my photograph, a drone or a melody that will help the boys to focus and to relax...

Details matter so much... I love to use some of the Greek vases Taormina's peasants sometimes find in a forgotten tumb... A lekythos has such a perfect shape, it was devoted to the dead, and somehow, I think a lekythos is relevant in my photographic art, since I try to dig into cultural memory while making my models immortal...

Taormina's potters still remember the skill of their ancestors and a modern eartheware jar evokes a remote Antiquity where water, vine and oil where kept in such a way...

My house, Piazza San Domenico, and the surrounding buildings are timeless and suggest what the urban landscape of antique Tauromenium could be...

Then, I speak gently to my models, and I try to suggest a mood, a story, a legend. I want them to forget my camera, and to be the intemporal young men that adorned so many Greek temples... Pasqualino is my favorite model, he loves so much to play the part of a Theocritus shepherd, he loves so much to be loved and to inspire tenderness and desire... Who could fight against his gaze, again his grace ?   

Pietro has such a natural grace, who could ever guess that a Taormina's young fisherman remembers so well the grace and curves, the sensuality and boldness, the pride and tenderness of ancient Greek ephebes, who inspired so many dreams of beauty, so many desires and memories...

I am a perfectionist, and every detail matters for me... I spend so much times finding the right light, the perfect stage set up... Sometimes, I miss something... Sometimes a flower may hide another one... Actually, I love this visual lapsus... My Taormina boys do not belong to Arcadia, they live here and now, they love and they are loved, they are not concepts, they are real guys, and the most ethereal desire should not make us forget that there is no soul without a body, and that boys could be loved by men for who they are, sensual worlds to dream about and to caress with the eyes, lovable boys to be loved for their soul as well as for their body...

Each of my photographs is a love story... A love story between my Taormina models, between them and me... A love story between my photograph and the viewer...

Each of my photographs is the archive of a moment that vanished, of light and shade, of a birds song, of a splendid beauty...

In my craziest dreams, dear Philip, I hope my photographs will survive me and that in the future, someone will understand them and love them as well as you do...

With my warmest regards,

Wilhelm"

(Private collection)

Von Gloeden's letter to Philip, around 1902, Von Gloeden Archive, Call number ca 1902/00/04.

Boy or girl... ? Desire and imagination

A boy or a girl ? A boy with a whig and with a girlish veil and dress ?
Yes, most likely, a boy...

I love so much this photograph... I love the sweet face, I love the dreaming eyes, we will never know what he was looking at...

I love the intemporal poetry of this photograph, the beauty of this face is shining for ever, these eyes will haunt me for ever...

Wilhelm von Gloeden's camera caught for ever the fugitive time of a dream, of a memory, of a thought...

This boy of Taormina is looking at eternity...

I don't know your name... Perhaps in Taormina someone still remember it...?

Were you a friend of Pasqualino ?

You make me dream and I would love so much, so much to tell you, so many things...

I know you would listen to me, you would understand me and even smile, and again, you would turn your gaze towards this so remote horizon, back to an immemorial past or to a future beyond your imagination...

Yes, in 2011, there is still someone who is moved by your beauty, by your youth, by the mystery, the riddle of your gaze, so focussed, so deep, so silent...

You are now a part of my small collection of von Gloeden's masterworks... I choose only photographs that inspire me, photographs that are a music for my eyes, for my heart, for my thought...

Perhaps I am wrong, but I think I already crossed your path, a while ago, I was already seduced by your beauty, by your mystery, by your ambiguity. Boy or girl ? Pure beauty ignores borders... Any collection is ruled by its inner logic, by the gaze and the sensitivity of the collector...

Are you the same boy as this one, I posted on my blog on January 29, in 2010 ???

Yes, I think so...

I love this photograph, and, may I tell it frankly, I love you too, so much...

The Old Story

Von Gloeden, Portrait of a Young Boy, c. 1899.

"You loved me, sweet, and I loved you,

Each of us deemed the other true —

What was it fell between us two ?

Your mouth a crimson flower to me,

Your eyes an  unsung melody

Woven to which I fain would be.

Each unto each we were complete,

No sound unto my ears was sweet

As the soft echo of your feet.

Was it because we loved too well,

We tired and broke the fervid spell ?

Wearied of heaven, longed for hell?

I know not, and I do not fret,

Because I hear that you forget

Even that we have ever met.

Yes, I remember without pain,

Ou joy in sunshine and in rain,

And only sigh to love again."

Standley Addleshaw (aka. Alan Stanley)

in: Michael Matthew Kailor (ed.)

Lad's Love. An Anthology of Uranian Poetry and Prose

Volume 1, Kansas City, Valancourt Books, 2010, p. 9.

Dreaming about...

"You are so beautiful, the both of you, Taormina's lads,

You are pure youth and beauty, you are a caress for my eyes,

You are a song, a dream, a sorrow and a memory,

You are so close, so far away, 

Here and now, such a  long time ago and so far away...

How could I reach you, through the mirror of photography

You are on one side of the photograph,

I am on the other side,

Never, never we will meet... I will look at you for ever... 

I would love so much, so much to love you,

Actually I do, I would love so much to be loved by you...

Or just to be looked at, where I am, who I am, on the other side of the photograph...

So much sun, so much light, I love the curves, the shapes, the teen grace,

I love what is shown as much as what is hidden, 

I love you, Taormina's shepherds, I love the both of you...

I would love so much to hear your voice and your laughs,

I would love so much to feel you, so close, so close,

I just love you through a photograph, on the other side of the mirror...

It was such a warm day, such a summer day, at the peak of a wave,

At the peak of the hot wave... in the Taormina's wilderness...

I would love so much to caress the curves, the curves of the hot wave,

The curves of your bodies, so hot young sheperds from Taormina...

Perhaps we will meet, somewhere, elsewhere...

Perhaps we will meet if I can go through  this photograph,

If I can reach you, on the other side of this print,

If I can reach you, in Taormina's wilderness...

My Pasqualino, what is the name of your friend, so tender, so graceful ?

I love the curves, the grace of your friend, while he looks at you...

I would love to be a Joshua tree, to be a cicada, or just a rock,

A rock in Taormina's wilderness,

I would love to be a sun's beam, to be the breathe of the wind,

And to caress the both of you, so close, so far away,

From somewhere else, from the other side of the photograph"

Anonymous poem, Von Gloeden Archive, Call number ca 1900/anon/17.

Partenza vers la beauté !

Comme l'a remarqué l'un des lecteurs perspicaces de mon blog, la photographie de von Gloeden que j'ai postée sous le titre "Orfeo" (et qui fait partie de ma collection personnelle) a été choisie par Achille Essebac pour la couverture de son beau livre "Partenza... vers la beauté !", racontant son voyage en Italie. Ce livre mythique est à présent dans ma bibliothèque, grâce à la générosité de mon amie Nicole.

As one of the clever readers of my blog stressed it, the von Gloeden photograph I posted in my previous message, "Orfeo" (part of my private collection), was chosen by Achille Essebac for the cover of his beautiful book "Partenza... towards beauty !", an account of his journey across Italy. This mythical book is now in my library, thanks to the generosity of my friend Nicole.

Orféo

Von Gloeden, ca 1900 (private collection)

"Teach me to kiss the Dorian flute,

The Dorian pipe to blow;

I with my own breath would salute

Great Pan before I go;

And may the genius of the place

Adopt me in the shepherd race!"

So, perched on Monte Venere,

I prayed a little goat-skin boy

To leave his herd and sit by me,

And teach me all the shepherd's joy.

"What is your name?" to him I said:

"Orfèo," blithe reply he made. 

I took the flute, I took the pipe;

No reed would to my breath respond,

He laughed to see me blow, and wipe

My lips, the pretty vagabond;

Still nature's child, though notes I snatch,

Was victor in that singing match.

But I was paid when, as behooved,

I threw into his shaggy lap

The gifts by ancient time approved,

My London scarf and Naples cap;

And, as of old, the happy boy

Leaped high, and clapped his hands for joy".

George Edward Woodberry

Youth, beauty, flowers and love.

Von Gloeden, Young man with a crown of flowers (ca. 1900)

"Dear Pancrazio,

Thank you so much for your letter and for the news from Taormina. I feel so sad, so sorry about the raids of fascist police. How did they dare ? You told me they destroyed so many photographic plates... No print will ever be possible from them... Fascists are killing dreams, desires, imagination and just humanity...

Is there still a space for imagination, for longing, for desire ? Are we still allowed to dream about beauty and youth ? Is it still possible to dream about a photograph ? It is still possible to have a private, an intimate space where one could love who he/she wants?

Dear Pancrazio, the photographs of von Gloeden are an horizon, a landscape, an eldorado, a paradise... Looking at them made me happy... I know I cannot go beyond the photograph, I cannot go through the photographic print: the cute lade is somewhere else, out of reach.

These photographs are so perfect, so elaborated, so relevant. The stage set up, the pose of the model, his face expression, the props, everything is so  beautiful...

What Fascist police does not understand is that such pictures are not pornography, they are just an hymn to the beauty of lads, they are a visual translation of so many Greek and Roman texts we studied in our schools, gymnasia and universities....

The model's nudity is not my main focus... I feel seduced by the whole stage set-up, by flowers and plants, by the model's face, by the curves of his body, by  the way he is standing in front of the camera...

I have a small collection of Von Goeden's photographs. Most of them are vintage prints, I have a few later prints..

I felt in love with a few of von Gloeden's boys. I talk to them when I look at their photographs, sometimes I ever write poems for them.. They make me dream, they make me happy, they answer in such a perfect way to my dreams, to my desires...

Beyond their sepia backgound, dear Pancrazio, these photographs are such an inspiration, such a world to dive in...

My dear Pancrazio, of course I felt in love with the  photograph you sent me.. Comments are useless, silence is required.

So many thanks from the depth of my heart

All the best

Philip

Von Gloeden Archive, 13 May 1935 (1935/05/13)

Une archéologie du désir / Archaeology of desire

Ce sont des objets sans âge, venus de la nuit des temps, des tréfonds de la mémoire. C'est la plus primitive des technologies, celle des métaux que l'on fait fondre, que l'on moule, avec lesquels on façonne des coffres massifs, des sarcophages intimes où va s'imprimer le souvenir d'un amant, d'un amour. 

Ce sont des objets de l'âge du plomb fondu, aux racines du coeur et de la mémoire, ce sont les reliquaires du désir qui se referment sur l'empreinte d'un amant, d'un amour, évanescente et immortelle comme une fresque de Pompéi, comme une photographie de von Gloeden...

These are ageless artefacts, inherited from the most remote past, from the very depth of memory. It is the most primitive of human technologies, melting metals, molding them, sculpting chests (or safes ?), intimate sarcophagi where the memory of a lover, the memory of love will be printed.

These are artefacts from the age of melted lead, at the roots of the heart and memory, these are reliquaries of desire one can close upon the print of a lover, of a lover, fragile and ever-lesting as a Pompei frescoe, as a von Gloeden photograph...

Ouvrir, refermer. Se souvenir, oublier. Regretter, espérer. Aimer encore, aimer toujours. Trouver les mots, écouter le silence. Les reliquaires amoureux de Gaston Marie Martin invitent à une archéologie du désir, si profond, si loin, dans la mémoire d'un autre, dans une vie antérieure.

Ouvrir les boites, déplier les diptyques ou les triptyques, c'est entrer dans l'intimité d'un coeur, c'est partager une mémoire.

Opening, closing down. Remembering, forgetting. Being sorry, hoping. Being still in love, loving forever. Finding the right words, listening to silence. The loving reliquaries of Gaston Marie Martin are an invitation towards an archaeology of desire, so deep, so far away, within the memory of someone else, in a previous life.

Opening the boxes, unfolding diptychs or triptychs, it is like entering a human heart, it is sharing a memory.

Que de rêves, que de souvenirs, que de regards, que de caresses, que de mots d'amour s'envolent lorsqu'on ouvre le coffre, le coffre de plomb qui enferme les amours d'un autre temps, d'une autre vie...

So many dreams and memories, so many gazes, caresses and loving words are flying away when I open the chest, the lead chest locking up the loves of another life, of another time...

Qui es-tu, toi que j'ai tant aimé et dont je ne sais plus le nom... ? Les fils ténus du rêve, du désir me permettent de passer de l'autre côté du miroir et de te dire, encore et toujours, des mots d'amour doux comme nos caresses, ailleurs et dans une autre vie, il y a si longtemps, avant que le métal durcisse, avant que la photographie s'estompe...

Who are you, you I loved so much and whose name I forgot... ? The so fragile threads of dream and desire allow me to to go across the mirror and to tell you, again and for ever, loving words sweet as our caresses, in another place, in another time, such a long time ago, before lead hardened, before the photograph faded away....


Gaston Marie Martin est un sculpteur et photographe français  d'une grande originalité, qui élabore, d'exposition en exposition, une archéologie du désir, un art de la mémoire.

Gaston Marie Martin is a French sculptor and photograph, a very original artist. Along his many exhibitions, he is creating something like an archaeology of desire, an art of memory.

Vous pouvez visiter son site web ici

You can visit his website here

A blossoming boy

"Dear Wilhelm,

This is the last photograph I purchased, in your villa at Taormina, and its is now within a frame, against a wall in my living room.

As always, your photographic art makes me dream, takes me so far away and so deep within myself. Everything is shown, everything is said, everything is expressed... This photograph is a visual poem about youth, about young male beauty and sensuality, about this secrete and sublime lad's love burning in the heart, in the soul of older men.

Such a photograph is a world to dream about, a love story to  imagine, a endless dialogue to start with a splendid, with a blossoming boy. Flowers of spring, flowers of youth, flowers of a blossoming boy, at the threshold of manhood.

The set-up of your photograph, the balance between what is shown, what is hidden, the grace of the pose, the enigm of the face expression, of the gaze diving deep into an unknown horizon... Everything in your photograph sings to my ears, speaks to my heart, fullfils my secrete dreams, my unsaid hopes.

I love the pose of your model, offered to your mechanical eye, at the same time hiding what he is thinking about, who he is. This photograph leaves such an open space for imagination and poetry...

I could sing forever the feelings, the thoughts, the memories, the longings this photograph, this beautiful lad inspire to me...

Only blind eyes could consider a photograph as a mere surface. For me, it has such a depth, such an horizon... Looking at this photograph, on the wall of my living room, will be for me a way to travel far far away, to the ropes of Mount Etna, to the cliffs of Taormina... I will also travel through time, until classical Antiquity, to Athens, to Alexandria, or to Taorminium...

In the crazy time, the crazy society I am living in, I don't know if it still allowed to fall in love with a model on a photograph, with a photograph... I could embrace just a shade, just a ghost, a photograph is nothing but a paper with a printing of light and shade. This blossoming boy I will never meet, never caress, he is far away, he is absent. At the same time, he is so present, I can touch and reach his essence, his eternal beauty, his youth blossoming for ever...

I will tell him loving words everyday and I know that he will listen to them and understand them, within the frame....

I love him so much and I am so happy we actually met, thanks to one of your photographs, my dear Wilhelm...

Yours, as always

Philip"

Von Gloeden Archive, Letter from Philip to Wilhelm von Gloeden, 23 June 1906 (Call number 1906/23/06/12)

Machines à rêves / Dream Machines

Boîtes à secrets photographiques de Gaston-Marie Martin (créations uniques)

Issu d'une famille d'artistes, Gaston-Marie Martin baigne dans le flot incessant des échanges et des révélations... Porté par cet héritage, il surgit sur la scène contemporaine en bousculant médiums et frontières.

Stupeur devant ces objets : boîtes, reliquaires, instruments de mémoire, fossiles jaillissants d'un imaginaire qui mêle histoire de la peinture, épopée de la photographie.

Célébration d'une fête secrète peuplée de corps masculins. Enchâssés au coeur d'un exceptionnel corpus de boîtes toutes plus précieuses et inattendues, les garçons de G.M. Martin nous étreignent par leur présence fascinante. 

Faune Barberini, lutteurs de Canova, icônes des photographes taorminiens, l'artiste revisite, restitue, réinvente. Les boîtes à secrets photographiques de G.M. Martin  posent de manière personnelle la question du nu dans le champ artistique : statut, support, symbolisme.

En savoir plus: ici 

Boxes with secrete photographs by Gaston-Marie Martin (hand-made and unique objects)

Born in a family of artists, Gaston-Marie Martin grew up among a endless flow of creativity and revelations... With such an heritage, he appears on the contemporary art scene and subverts media conventions as well as borders.

These objects are a source of fascination for the viewer: boxes, reliquaire, memory tools, fossils born from an imagination mixing together the history of painting and the epics of photography.

Here is celebrated a secrete ceremony haunted by male bodies. Hidden within an unbelievable collection of boxes, precious as well as unexpected, G.M. Martin's boys move us through their fascinating presence.

Barberini Faun, Canova's wrestlers, icons of photographers from Taormina... The artist revisits classical references, he recreates, he reinvents. These boxes with secrete photographs by G.M. Martin raise in a very personal way the issue of nudity in art: its status, its medium, its symbolism. 

To know more: here