Ramos

The agony in the garden (Christ in the Garden of Olives)
Gauguin P., 1889

Oil on Canvas, 92.0cm x 73.0cm

Norton Gallery of Art , Florida USA

Ontem escapei até ao cinema, filme "The prestige", sobre ambição e obsessão, com uma luta entre mágicos de pano de fundo. Um diálogo:

Alfred Borden: You went half way around the world..you spent a fortune.. you did terrible things...really terrible things Robert, and all for nothing.
Robert Angier: For nothing?
Alfred Borden: Yeah
Robert Angier: You never understood, why we did this. The audience knows the truth: the world is simple. It's miserable, solid all the way through. But if you could fool them, even for a second, then you can make them wonder, and then you.. then you got to see something really special.. you really don't know?..it was..it was the look on their faces..

hoje Alguém
- compreendeu as nossas misérias e ofereceu-nos Misericórdia
- passou pela tentação dos nossos pedidos de magia e espectáculo (mentiras para nos distrairmos um segundo) mas, forte no amor do Pai, mostrou-nos a Verdade!

O caminho para a verdade é a experiência

deixar que aconteça
mas
colocar-me a jeito, no meio da confusão de hoje

para ser cristão é preciso ser um génio, para descobrir no meio de todos os homens o Homem.. ser um génio, isto é, ter uma humanidade, uma sede, um desejo do nosso coração que faz reconhecer Quem nos sacia.
para reconhecer Jesus Cristo, é preciso que o homem seja verdadeiramente homem!
D. Julian Carrón

Lisboa 30Março2007

esta Lisboa - II

Chiado, Lisboa | Fevereiro 2006
© Inês C.

perspectiva expressionista

Kristus and the Woman Caught in Adultery (1918)
by Karl Schmidt-Rottluff
woodcut, 49.8 x 39.7 cm

(...) There is overwhelming tension between darkness and light; indeed, the light is only punctualbut intense. Schmidt-Rottluff's Jesus confronts people, overwhelming but not overpowering them.He is the beacon of salvation and transformation, touching people with his holy hand. (...) in

Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery(1917)
by Max Beckmann
Oil on canvas 58 3/4 x 49 7/8 in.

This picture could almost be called "a drama of hands." The variety and expressiveness of these hands and their gestures are incredible. If one could see nothing but Jesus' right hand, one would know that here a poor soul is being received into the mild, deep space of divine protection. Christ's left hand, shaped like an elongated Gothic arch, defends the sinner, pushing back insults and menaces. These gently energetic, almost elegant hands are counterpointed by the passive, soft hands of the adulteress praying in quiet confidence. The mocking, cruelly aggressive forefinger of the clownish scoffer; the rude fists shaking furiously in the air on the left; the lancer's hands bent back by the impact of the crowd's hatred_this is an assembly of characters in the shape of hands. (...) in

filho pródigo

O regresso do filho pródigo

Rembrandt

c. 1662 (210 Kb); Oil on canvas, 262 x 206 cm;

The Hermitage, St. Petersburg

lido

IV

(...)

I never saw sad men who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
We prisoners called the sky,
And at every careless cloud that passed
In happy freedom by.

But their were those amongst us all
Who walked with downcast head,
And knew that, had each got his due,
They should have died instead:
He had but killed a thing that lived
Whilst they had killed the dead.

For he who sins a second time
Wakes a dead soul to pain,
And draws it from its spotted shroud,
And makes it bleed again,
And makes it bleed great gouts of blood
And makes it bleed in vain!

(...)

They think a murderer's heart would taint
Each simple seed they sow.
It is not true! God's kindly earth
Is kindlier than men know,
And the red rose would but blow more red,
The white rose whiter blow.

Out of his mouth a red, red rose!
Out of his heart a white!
For who can say by what strange way,
Christ brings his will to light,
Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore
Bloomed in the great Pope's sight?

But neither milk-white rose nor red
May bloom in prison air;
The shard, the pebble, and the flint,
Are what they give us there:
For flowers have been known to heal
A common man's despair.

So never will wine-red rose or white,
Petal by petal, fall
On that stretch of mud and sand that lies
By the hideous prison-wall,
To tell the men who tramp the yard
That God's Son died for all.

(...)

Oscar Wilde. The Ballad of Reading Gaol.

Quaresma III

Senhor, Palavra Viva
Senhor, Tu me conheces
Não deixes que eu na vida
Te perca, Te deixe