“Voglio una vita spericolata… Voglio una vita esagerata… ”  E la vita di Gabriele D’Annunzio è  davvero così  …    Non come quella  del piccolo eroe di  Vasco Rossi che al massimo arrivava a bere  whisky al “Roxy Bar” per poi tornare a perdersi chissà dove … Invece lui il Vate, il Patriota, il Guerriero,  della sua vita ha ne ha fatto  un’avventura e uno spettacolo permanenti, esibiti  dall’inizio alla fine… E senza perdersi mai… Sembrava solo un precocissimo ragazzo di lettere quando  a 16 anni pubblica una raccolta di poesie dal romantico titolo “Primo Vere” che  però, già nel titolo, a leggerlo bene,  è un  edonistico  omaggio alla sua gioventù… Seguiterà poi tutta la vita a celebrare se stesso  fra un’opera letteraria e una spericolata avventura  di mare, di terra, di cielo… Senza parlare di quell’eccentrico modo di vivere fatto di lusso sfrenato e incontenibile desiderio di possedere … “Io sono un animale di lusso e il superfluo m’è necessario come il respiro”  amava dire  con quel suo sorriso  appena ironico  tutto rivolto a épater le bourgeois … E difatti se c’era qualcosa che D’annunzio detestava e che forse sinceramente lo immalinconiva era la vita del travet, di quel borghese piccolo piccolo che passava  il tempo coltivando il suo orticello, il suo privato , il suo riserbo…  Tutte “virtù civiche” impossibili per Gabriele… Quando  c’è il lancio della seconda edizione di “Primo Vere”   si inventa la   storia che l’autore è morto cadendo da cavallo… La commozione è tanta  e le vendite del libro vanno alle stelle…

La voglia sconfinata di imporsi lo porta a Roma  appena finisce il liceo … Si iscrive alla facoltà di Lettere e filosofia, ma non  prenderà mai la laurea.. A Roma ha troppo da fare  ed è impossibile non notarlo … Francesco Paolo Michetti, il grande pittore abruzzese e il suo gruppo del Cenacolo  lo introducono negli ambienti  più esclusivi della Capitale… sono tutti in adorazione del vento di novità artistica e intellettuale  che questo gruppo di  provinciali sta portando nella smorta capitale addormentata…  D’Annunzio è felice e realizzato, è l’animatore dei migliori salotti e le spregiudicate nobildonne sono ai suoi piedi…  Ma il risveglio è brusco… Pena l’ostracismo deve affrontare un urgente  matrimonio riparatore  con  la duchessa Maria Hardouin di Gallese e un affrettato  impiego presso un giornale… di cui seguiterà a lamentarsi perché  toglie tempo ai suoi interessi letterali. Gli era costato caro tradire il suo primo vero amore “Lalla” a cui aveva dedicato  le belle poesie d’amore  di “Canto Novo”… “Ma ancora ancor mi tentan le spire volubili tue…”

Naturalmente il matrimonio va a rotoli in breve tempo nonostante la nascita dei figli, ma è a Roma che D’Annunzio  ha la sua consacrazione come letterato…  ”Il Piacere” viene pubblicato nel 1890 e così ne scriverà Benedetto Croce   pur parlando di ” malati di nervi”  a proposito dei nuovi autori, lui Fogazzaro e Pascoli     “Risuonò nella letteratura italiana una nota, fino ad allora estranea, sensualistica, ferina, decadente “…   Ci doveva essere un’evidente stanchezza verso i grandi temi sociali o la narrazione della povertà contadina  o della prima industria… Quello di D’annunzio è un mondo poetico  di sentimenti individuali… tutto psicologia e  introspezione,  in cui  si celebra  il mito del bello e dei valori estetici  che dall’arte devono  arrivare alla vita ..  Unico modo per dare dignità e senso  a un’esistenza altrimenti povera di contenuti e di emozioni… Così D’Annunzio descrive  il suo protagonista Andrea Sperelli che abita nel barocco Palazzo Zuccari, vicino a Piazza di Spagna: “ Egli era per così dire tutto impregnato d’arte … Dal padre appunto ebbe il culto delle cose d’arte, il culto spassionato della bellezza, il paradossale disprezzo de’ pregiudizi, l’avidità del piacere. Fin dal principio egli fu prodigo di sé… Ma l’espansione di quella forza era  la distruzione di un’altra forza, della forza morale che il padre stesso non aveva ritegno a reprimere … Il padre gli aveva dato, tra le altre, questa massima fondamentale: bisogna fare la propria vita come un’opera d’arte. Bisogna che la vita d’un uomo d’intelletto sia opera di lui. La superiorità vera è tutta qui. “

Roma ha il suo cantore che gli fa acquistare un posto di tutto rispetto nel mondo internazionale… Non a caso D’annunzio verrà sempre più strettamente unito  all’estetica decadente di Oscar Wilde … Ma Roma non  fruirà per molto del suo vate…  Dopo una lunga relazione con la sofisticata Barbara Leoni, D’annunzio approda a Napoli  perso  dietro il suo ultimo amore… La nobildonna Maria Gravina… Sarà il periodo peggiore di tutta la vita  immerso nella miseria, con la figlia Renata appena nata, denunciato per adulterio dal marito di Maria e condannato a 5 mesi di  carcere… Lo salverà un ‘amnistia e poi il rifugio presso il  fedele amico Michetti a Francavilla sul Mare…   Ma sono anche gli anni in cui si accosta a Nietsche… e forse il sentirsi un “Superuomo l’avrà salvato dalla disperazione… E intanto scrive, scrive  Giovanni Episcopo, L’innocente,   Il trionfo della morte …  tutte tematiche truci in cui  si abbandona  a una specie di   razzismo aristocratico e biologico con tutta la sua insofferenza per l’uomo qualunque…

La sua vera salvezza  però non sarà né un uomo né un superuomo ma un’attrice sensibile e e con una  grande  fama… Eleonora Duse  lo accoglie in Toscana in una villa vicina alla sua e gli pagherà le rette del collegio per la figlia Renata… Lui  completamente esaltato dal nuovo  amore  si infiammerà per  il teatro e ripagherà la  la Divina Eleonora “dalle bianche braccia”  con qualche tragedia  non eccezionale e un romanzo  ”Il Fuoco” in cui non si farà il minimo scrupolo di raccontare anche nei dettagli più erotici ed intimi   la sua storia passionale con la Duse . Sono anche gli anni però in cui scrive  alcune delle liriche più belle … Quelle “Laudi del cielo, del mare, della terra e degli eroi ” che non completerà mai … In cui   trovano spazio i suoi miti rivisitati…. dalla Grecia classica, al culto degli eroi, al sogno di una grande Italia imperialista e   ai versi  in cui l’amore si fonde  con lo spirito panico della natura …. “La pioggia nel Pineto” in cui i due amanti si  perdono  nel bosco  come in uno sconosciuto  mondo antico e intatto è l’ultimo omaggio a Eleonora  - Ermione, la compagna che lo segue nel mistero  e nella musica della natura…

La sua nuova rovina finanziaria  inizierà  proprio abbandonando la Duse … Non c’era più nessuno che lo sostenesse nelle folli spese che aveva affrontato per arredare la sua villa “La Capponcina”,  in cui  il Vate  -  Superuomo doveva vivere ”la vita del signore rinascimentale”.  Fra Teatro e liriche aveva guadagnato somme enormi, ma  niente  per   coprire le sue spese… Il superuomo per sfuggire i creditori, scappò letteralmente in Francia e ci rimase  cinque anni, mentre la Capponcina e tutti i suoi tesori estetico – decadenti finivano all’asta.

In fondo lo salvò la Guerra… Quando scoppiò il conflitto,  divenne uno fra i più sfrenati interventisti… Con le sue parole infiammò gli italiani per la riconquista delle terre irredente, quelle che non erano bastate tre guerre Risorgimentali per accoglierle nella nuova Italia…  Lui aveva già 52 anni ma la guerra e l’avventura che vedeva in essa lo galvanizzò e lo fece ritornare quasi un adolescente.. Era già qualche anno che inneggiava , auspicava , si batteva per  una nazione dominata dalla volontà di potenza,  sentendosi umiliato  dall’«Italietta meschina e pacifista».

E così allo scoppio della guerra-  e non aspettava  altro –  in  quelle”radiose giornate di maggio”,  si arruolò volontario nei Lancieri di Novara,   partecipando  impaziente a tutto quello che la guerra gli poteva offrire.  Era un ottimo pilota e si sfrenò letteralmente nelle incursioni aeree su Trento  e sul fronte carsico.  Lo fermò  per un po’ di tempo una brutta ferita  su una tempia e poiché il Superuomo non aveva molto  tempo per curarsi finì per perdere  la vista  di un occhio…  La sua esaltazione patriottica era sincera  ma di gran lunga più  esaltante fu  per il Superuomo   la passione  per il  rischio   e il senso dell’avventura  e così torno a combattere …  Non gli mancava certo la fantasia e alcune delle sue imprese vanno ammirate e ricordate per l’audacia e l’originalità degli interventi… Famoso il  volo dimostrativo  su Vienna… 11 aerei partiti e 8 arrivati, percorsero  1000 chilometri per andare a lanciare su Vienna circa 300.000 manifesti di propaganda di guerra… L’ultimo  aereo era un biposto pilotato dal Capitano Natale Palli…. Nell’abitacolo con D’Annunzio c’era anche  un ragazzino di 9 anni figlio di un amico del Vate …Ancora più spettacolare fu l’incursione nella baia di Buccari dove tre Mas  arrivarono indisturbati sino in fondo alla baia  dove schierata c’ era una buona parte della flotta austriaca, lanciando  siluri e colpendo tre  navi per poi ritornarsene via sani e salvi… I danni furono limitati ,ma il morale delle truppe iraliane salì alle stelle…

L’avventura più esaltante il Vate Comandante la sperimentò  alla fine della  Guerra con l’impresa di Fiume… Visto che in base ai Trattati di pace  la città non sarebbe tornata all’Italia, D’annunzio alla testa di un gruppo di 2500 ribelli la occupò militarmente instaurandovi una propria Repubblica   e una Costituzione molto avanzata in cui erano riconosciuti   diritti per i lavoratori,   pensioni di invalidità,   suffragio universale     depenalizzazione  dei reati diomosessualità,  nudismo  e uso di droga…    Fu costretto a sgombrare   un anno dopo sotto l’assalto dell’esercito regolare che non voleva compromettere i buoni rapporti di pace con le altre potenze… Ci pensò pochi anni dopo il fascismo con un colpo di mano a riportare Fiume all’Italia..

Dalle sue imprese di guerra ricavò un titolo nobiliare dal nome vagamente  da operetta “Principe di Montenevoso” cosa di cui il Superuomo tutto preso di sé non si accorse… Per il resto al  di là di tutto quanto ci si sarebbe potuto aspettare, si ritirò in volontario esilio in una villa di Gardone Riviera…  che lui chiamò “Il Vittoriale degli Italiani ” Osannato e richiesto a gran voce da Mussolini e  fascismo,   rifiutò  incarichi pubblici come pure di frequentare a fondo  gli uomini  ”nuovi” anche  se non ruppe i rapporti formali .. Non era tanto questione  di ideologia … La rozzezza e  la volgarità del Regime erano per la sua anima raffinata  troppo difficili da sopportare.

A Gardone Riviera ormai libero dai debiti e dalle ristrettezze economiche potè dare spazio e realizzazione  ai suoi sogni più   pazzi. Arrivò al top   del   suo stile di vita e   trasformò lla villa in una sorta di museo eclettico degli oggetti più strani e dell’arredamento più fantasioso…  Nel parco  aveva costituito il “quartiere degli artigiani ” un gruppo di specialisti che  creava i suoi mobili e i suoi oggetti, in aggiunta a quelli che si faceva venire da tutto il mondo… A volte di gran gusto  altre di un Kitch da far paura … Aveva 300 paia di scarpe negli armadi e decine e decine  di  eccentriche vestaglie  con cui riceveva  le sue belle e giovani amanti… In fondo fu felice.. Aveva raggiunto il lusso e il superfluo di cui la sua anima estetica non aveva mai potuto fare a meno…

Mangiava poco, ogni tanto a scopo curativo digiunava tre giorni alla volta, ma era attaccatissimo soprattutto alla cucina della sua terra d’Abruzzo … Una terra di pastori  che per lui appartenevano ancora  al mondo greco e una lingua che lui si rifiutava  di chiamare dialetto e definiva latina… Del formaggio della sua terra diceva “…è tutto nel nostro cacio pecorino…   È il cacio nerastro, rugoso, durissimo: quello che può rotolare su la strada maestra a guisa di ruzzola in gioco ” e ogni tanto si faceva  preparare  ”I maccheroni alla chitarra”…   Quelli che si preparano su un telaio rettangolare di legno di faggio, in cui sui lati lunghi  sono tesi dei sottili fili metallici, che ricordano appunto le corde  della chitarra…  La sfoglia di pasta  si stende sopra e poi pressata dal mattarello  cade sul piano inferiore  divisa in maccheroni  di taglio  quadrato   … Ci sono diversi modi di preparare il condimento sia   a base di carne  che vegetariano come quella che abbiamo scelto noi…

MACCHERONI ALLA CHITARRA

INGREDIENTI  per 4 persone:  farina di semola di grano duro  400 grammi, 4 uova, sale q.b.,  pomodori pelati 400 grammi, 2   spicchi d’aglio,  4 cucchiai di pecorino abruzzese,  1 peperoncino essicato di media grandezza, un mazzetto di prezzemolo, olio extra vergine di oliva.

PREPARAZIONE: Disponete la farina a fontana , al centro   rompete 4 uova  e aggiungete un pizzico abbondante di  sale . Impastate a lungo per circa mezz’ora e dopo  fate riposare l’impasto almeno per due ore , in frigo,avvolto nella pellicola trasparente. Scaduto il tempo tirate una  o più sfoglie di dimensioni inferiori, di  spessore non inferiore ai 5 mm e ponetele sulla chitarra leggermente infarinate da ambo le parti.  Passate il mattarello con forza su tutta la superficie della  sfoglia in modo da  tagliarla in un colpo solo formando i maccheroni che si andranno a deporre  sul  fondo dell’attrezzo. Ripetete l’operazione se avete preparato più sfoglie e mettetele  aperte su un panno   fino al momento dell’utilizzo.

Per realizzare il sugo, affettate finemente dopo averli sbucciati  i due  spicchi  di aglio e metteteli a dorare nell’olio facendo attenzione che non si brucino. Se dovesse succedere è preferibile buttare il tutto e ricominciare perché  rovinerebbero   con il loro amaro la delicatezza del sugo. Una volta dorato l’aglio aggiungete il pomodoro, il sale e il peperoncino e fate sobbollire il sugo per 20 – 25 minuti.  Qualche minuto prima  di togliere dal fuoco aggiungete  una parte del prezzemolo. Una volta cotta la pasta in acqua bollente e salata, scolatela molto al dente, conditela col il sugo,spolverizzatela di pecorino e  il resto del prezzemolo tritato.

“When liberty comes with hands dabbled in blood

it is hard to shake hands with her”

-Oscar Wilde

My office is in chaos – again. After finishing my course thesis on the parallels between Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man and Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground last month, I spent a Saturday clearing the disarray of books, critical essays, notepads and Post-its with my jotted thoughts and references, my highlighted and dog-eared MLA Handbook and dictionary, half-empty water bottles, bags of kale chips and chocolate covered almonds, and uncapped pens and highlighters scattered on the desk and floor of my den. For weeks this project had consumed me as I worked to create an organized, meaningful, well-written essay from a jumble of notes and fragmented ideas by the midnight deadline.

Three weeks later the clutter is back, as I now work to meet the deadlines for several guest blog spots, a newspaper column, and my MFA thesis. I’m familiar with the muddle of my surroundings and in my mind and am oddly calmed by it. Scribbles on scraps of paper, napkins, envelopes, receipts, sticky notes, and index cards are once again ubiquitous, tacked to my bulletin board and adhered to my computer monitors, reminding me to add a transition, description, or a bit of dialogue to some work-in-progress. Books, writing magazines, and drafts of my columns, stories, essays, and novel chapters, defaced with nearly illegible edits and suggestions (mine and others’), litter the floor in shambolic piles that seem incongruous with my reputed compulsion toward extreme tidiness. It appears this is how I create. Even without the looming deadlines, disorder is part of my process.

While writing my Bakhtinian analysis of The Picture of Dorian Gray a few years ago, I learned that the crude journals in which Mikhail Bakhtin had written one of his most influential manuscripts were lost for nearly seventy years, buried in a lumber room where rats and seeping water had severely damaged much of them. About what could be discerned, Michael Holquist [Professor of Comparative Literature Emeritus at Yale University] says this: “In the faded scrawl we can see the race between the occurrence of ideas and their feverish transcription. This volume provides a chance to see Bakhtin in all the heat and urgency of thought as it wrestles with itself. In Toward a Philosophy of the Act we catch Bakhtin in the act – the act of creation.”

An 1890 typescript of Dorian Gray with Wilde’s corrections and emendations reflects a similar, seemingly haphazard approach to the process. Words and even entire sections are crossed out or rewritten, and handwritten insertions run between the typed lines and up the margins. Nearly indecipherable notes and corrections to himself and to his typist fill the white space of each page of what we know is not even an early draft of the narrative.

A characteristically organized person, the chaos of my own comparatively tiny writing life vexes me. Over the years, I’ve created paper and computer files and designated bins to contain my various projects, but, once immersed in the work, the system seems to fall apart. And no matter how many journals I purchase, the ideas and insights continue to be recorded on the nearest scrap.

The act of creation, it would seem, is simply messy.

Michelle Arch, Guest Blogger for TreeHouse

Michelle Arch is a guest blogger for TreeHouse and currently completing her Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at Chapman University. She holds a Master of Arts in English from Chapman University, a Master’s degree in Business Administration and a Bachelor’s degree in Theatre and English from California State University, Fullerton. Arch is a member of the Association of Writers & Writing Programs, American Christian Fiction Writers, the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, the Modern Language Association, and the Sigma Tau Delta International English Honor Society.

Her current projects include a portfolio of short stories, poems, and critical essays, many of which explore themes of identity and self-definition and the study of mimetic imagery, and a novel. Arch has presented her work at the 2010 and 2011 Sigma Tau Delta International Conventions in St. Louis and Pittsburgh, the Sigma Tau Delta 2011 Regional Conference in Orange, California, the 2012 John Fowles Literary Forum, and the 2012 Big Orange Book Festival. Her work has also been published on the ACFW website and in the Orange County Register’s Ladera Post.

An excerpt from her novel, Time of Death, won First Prize in the Fiction Writing Contest sponsored by The Editorial Department, Second Prize in the WestBow Press Writing Contest, and Third Prize in the Beverly Bush Smith Aspiring Writer Award competition at the 2012 Orange County Christian Writers Conference in Newport Beach. To visit her website and blog, Archetype, go to http://www.michellearch.wordpress.com/.

Be yourself, everyone else is already taken

Oscar Wilde

For june was chosen
The picture of Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde

BookLook_The picture of Dorian Gray

BookLook_The picture of Dorian Gray

The Picture of Dorian Gray is the only published novel by Oscar Wilde, appearing as the lead story in Lippincott’s Monthly Magazine on 20 June 1890, printed as the July 1890 issue of this magazine. The magazine’s editors feared the story was indecent as submitted, so they censored roughly 500 words, without Wilde’s knowledge, before publication. But even with that, the story was still greeted with outrage by British reviewers, some of whom suggested that Wilde should be prosecuted on moral grounds, leading Wilde to defend the novel aggressively in letters to the British press. Wilde later revised the story for book publication, making substantial alterations, deleting controversial passages, adding new chapters and including an aphoristic Preface which has since become famous in its own right. The amended version was published by Ward, Lock and Company in April 1891. Some scholars believe that Wilde would today have wanted us to read the version he originally submitted to Lippincott’s.

The novel tells of a young man named Dorian Gray, the subject of a painting by artist Basil Hallward. Basil is impressed by Dorian’s beauty and becomes infatuated with him, believing his beauty is responsible for a new mode in his art. Dorian meets Lord Henry Wotton, a friend of Basil’s, and becomes enthralled by Lord Henry’s world view. Espousing a new hedonism, Lord Henry suggests the only things worth pursuing in life are beauty and fulfilment of the senses. Realizing that one day his beauty will fade, Dorian (whimsically) expresses a desire to sell his soul to ensure the portrait Basil has painted would age rather than he. Dorian’s wish is fulfilled, and when he subsequently pursues a life of debauchery, the portrait serves as a reminder of the effect each act has upon his soul, with each sin displayed as a disfigurement of his form, or through a sign of aging.

The Picture of Dorian Gray is considered a work of classic Gothic fiction with a strong Faustian theme.
(Wikipedia)

Hygeia, Gustav Klimt, 1907.

“You didn’t even need to tell me the story,” he told me. “I could have told it to you.” I stared out the window stoically, my iPhone glowing on my left cheek. I felt nothing. I felt everything. I felt everything so much that I felt nothing.

Excerpts from “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde
and
“The Sorrow of Love” by W.B. Yeats

The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves

Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel. One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in form! They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as the viol or of the lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?

The full round moon and the star-laden sky,

It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style.

And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,

There were poisons so subtle that to know their properties one had to sicken of them. There were maladies so strange that one had to pass through them if one sought to understand their nature. And, yet, what a great reward one received! How wonderful the whole world became to one! To note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect – to observe where they met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord – there was a delight in that! What matter what the cost was? One could never pay too high a price for any sensation.

Has hid away earth’s old and weary cry.

His own nature had revolted against the excess of anguish that had sought to maim and mar the perfection of its calm. With subtle and finely wrought temperaments it is always so. Their strong passions must either bruise or bend. They either slay the man, or themselves die. Shallow sorrows and shallow loves live on. The loves and sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plentitude.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,

Life suddenly became fiery-coloured to him. It seemed to him that he had been walking in fire. Why had he not known it?

And with you came the whole of the world’s tears,

Out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way.

And all the sorrows of her labouring ships,

I am so glad that you have never done anything, never carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything outside of yourself! Life has been your art. You have set yourself to music. Your days are your sonnets.

And all the burden of her myriad years.

What an exquisite life you have had! You have drunk deeply of everything. You have crushed the grapes against your palate. Nothing has been hidden from you. And it has all been to you no more than the sound of music. It has not marred you. You are still the same.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,

I used to look at everyone who passed me, and wonder, with a mad curiousity, what sort of lives they led. Some of them fascinated me. Others filled me with terror. There was an exquisite poison in the air.

The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,

Don’t be afraid. There are exquisite things in store for you. This is merely the beginning.

And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,

The joy of a caged bird was in her voice. Her eyes caught the melody, and echoed it in radiance: then closed for a moment, as though to hide their secret. When they opened, the mist of a dream had passed across them.

Are shaken with earth’s old and weary cry.

In “The Canterville Ghost,” an American family moves into Canterville Chase despite warnings that it is haunted.  When Sir Simon, the eponymous family ghost, rightly tries to scare them, the family meets his tortured groans and mysterious bloodstains with suggestions of name-brand tonics and floor cleaners.  Their two twins–hilariously nicknamed Stars and Stripes–torture Sir Simon.   Bewildered and discouraged, he confides in their daughter, resulting in an ending I did not expect for a tale as humorous as this.

I would love to see the 1996 movie adaptation with Patrick Stewart. Come on, y’all. Patrick Stewart chose to act in it; the story must be top-notch. Read it here at the Gutenberg Project.

The depth and shadows that are a part of the human frame.

I can’t tell you how many times I hear the comment “I wish I could paint” or “I wish I were an artist.” My response has always been “anyone can paint” and “anyone can be an artist.” And it’s true, anyone can paint and anyone can be an artist. What…? Yes it’s true. What is art anyway? For that matter what comprises an “artist?”

Over time, I’ve come to realize that art is one’s soul displayed on a canvas, each stroke of the brush relaying a story, each divot of a pencil line shouting out the happiness or pain dwelling inside. Art is the melodic fuel of love to the world. Art is the clear ring of a piano note or vibration of a violin string expressing a life fully lived, or abruptly ended. Art is words written or sung that cry out the satirical twists and pulls of society. The true essence of art is passion. Passion is what fuels us and makes us real. It’s what drives us to get up in the morning and do what we do. As a whole art is a passion, a religion. Abraham Lincoln once said “The highest art is always the most religious, and the greatest artist is always a devout person.” Take your own passion, your inner religion and lay it out, not only for others, but especially for yourself. That is what art is.

To be an artist one must be able to take passion, emotion, pain, happiness, beauty, ugliness, love, hatred and express it in their own individual way. “Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known.” (Oscar Wilde) An artist has the ability to break free from what others say they should be and becomes their own individual. Once you are your own individual you will be able to express yourself in a real way, your way. It doesn’t have to be perfect. In fact it never will be. Do you feel overwhelmed by the daily pressures of life, and wish you could hide inside a box to be pushed under the bed? Do you feel that when you go outside the beautiful colors of nature envelope you and whisk you away to worlds unknown? Well this is who you are, this is you as an individual. Express that. And nothing else. If you do not you are not an artist because you are not displaying who you really are as an individual.

Now before I go too far I do want to say that art is something that must be learned. You wouldn’t expect yourself to be a composer without being able to play an instrument, or be able to write without learning to read first. The same goes for someone who wants to paint. You must learn the base of art before you can expect to be an artist. Now you may be saying to yourself, “Ah ha! So not just anyone can paint.” Not true, and it’s not what I’m saying. An artist is also someone who is willing to learn from others and then take that information and express their own thoughts and feelings in their own way. You had to learn to learn the alphabet before you could read, right? And how simple of a task is it to learn an alphabet? If you put your mind to it and learn the “alphabet” of art then you are capable of being an artist. But that is for another post. Simply put, learn the basics of art and then express yourself in your own way, using those basics as you will.

In conclusion, anyone can be an artist, they just have to open their eyes, mind, and heart. You must allow yourself to see your own individualism and understand your passions. You have to be willing to show the deepest most private and painful parts of your existence and express them in a way for everyone to see. It doesn’t matter how you do that, it just matters that you do. If you are capable of displaying and confessing to the world the most intimate parts of your life then you are capable of being an artist.

to live is the rarest thing in the world. most people exist that is all

Oscar Wilde didn’t have it easy with the critics and censorship when his only novel was first published in 1890. The Picture of Dorian Gray was described as, among the many adjectives, “vulgar”, “unclean” and “poisonous”, to the extent that some passages deemed inappropriate had to be altered, or cut out. (The original uncensored version as Wilde wrote it, by the way, is already available in book stores.)

The story about a narcissistic young man with a portrait that age in his stead almost got the author prosecuted on moral grounds because of too much allusion to homosexuality in its content. It could also be, one might speculate, because Wilde in all his wit and cynicism hit the nail on the head when it comes to depicting the loose morals and ills of Victorian high society.

Of course, by 20^th-century standards and beyond, a homoerotically charged tale of be-careful-what-you-wish-for, hedonism, decadence and paying the devil’s due is about as controversial as a graphic hetero sex scene going uncensored in a religiously conservative country. For that, Dorian Gray had inspired not-so-few film adaptations since the early 1900s, including a number of foreign language efforts.

The question is, which cinematic adaptation really did Wilde’s literary masterpiece justice? Let’s look at four well-known English language adaptations that are supposedly the most faithful to the book.

1945

Directed & Screen play by Albert Lewin
Starring Hurd Hatfield (Dorian Gray); Lowell Gilmore (Basil Hallward); George Sanders (Henry Wotton); Angela Lansbury (Sibyl Vane)

One of the earliest, though not the first, the 1945 version is still considered the best adaptation of Wilde’s novel. Shot in black-and-white, the film features two Technicolor inserts (a special effect in moviemaking at that time) – one of Dorian’s portrait in its original state and another after it was degenerated.

Production-wise, the movie is stunning. The lavish Victorian setting was brilliantly created and beautifully captured on camera that the movie won an Oscar for cinematography. Besides the setting, unfortunately, the rest of the movie was not as impressive.

For starters, this is not a very true adaptation. There are several plot inventions which were copied by later versions – such as Sybil Vane being a music hall singer instead of a Shakespearean actress, and an additional love interest for Dorian that did not exist in the book. However, the deviations from the novel are not really a big deal compared to the cast’s performance.

The classic cast: (left to right) George Sanders, Angela Landsbury and Hurd Hatfield

Angela Lansbury’s as the naïve and innocent Sybil was outstanding, and the only noteworthy performance in the movie. As the titular character, Hurd Hatfield was undeniably good-looking, but he was painfully inexpressive and practically went through the entire movie with a single expression. It doesn’t help that the movie has a third person voiceover narration which tells the audience everything that goes on in Dorian’s mind, leaving nothing to the imagination. Lowell Gilmore’s Basil is forgettable from lack of screen time. George Sanders was a decent Lord Henry, though his lines-delivery was rushed and too nonchalant at times.

Though intended as a horror movie, there is nothing particularly horrifying at all in this version. The horror element of Dorian Gray is supposed to be the portrait’s gradual degeneration as the main character continues down the path of decadence. Unfortunately, the final decayed state of the portrait looks too much like an abstract impressionist artwork to be scary.

The Verdict: A classic film with nice visuals that is worth watching. But is it really the best film adaptation of the novel? I say not.

1973 (made-for-television)

Directed by Glenn Jordan; screenplay by John Tomerlin
Starring Shane Briant (Dorian Gray); Charles Aidman (Basil Hallward); Nigel Davenport (Henry Wotton); Vanessa Howard (Sibyl Vane)

This version feels like it tried to take after the famous 1945 adaptation rather than staying closer to the source material. Compared to the older film, however, this made-for-TV effort is little more true to the book where the script is concerned. For starters, plenty of memorable lines made it into the dialog, unaltered, and are well-delivered by the actors.

The movie is nicely paced; it did not rush through the key scenes but actually took time to establish the exposition of the story, showing Dorian’s gradual change of character. Even the voiceover narration from Dorian’s point-of-view, mostly paraphrased lines from the book, helped to move the storyline and keep the audience engaged.

In terms of performance, Nigel Davenport totally owned the show as Henry Wotton. Charles Aidman also gave a great performance as Basil, showcasing the painter’s infatuation with his subject, especially in the scene where he first learned of the portrait’s transformation. As Dorian, Shane Briant looked every bit the part, but like Hurd Hatfield, his acting was wooden, making his Dorian appear cold and unsympathetic from the beginning.

For a made-for-television effort, the costumes and small indoor setting is passable. Perhaps what this adaptation did better than the others is the portrait’s transformation. The degradation is showed phase by phase in perfectly rendered detail, starting from the slight change in facial expression to the final grotesque abomination. And good lord, the portrait’s final appearance is nightmare inducing!

The Verdict: A good adaptation that is worth watching, though lacking in some areas.

1976 (made-for-television)

Directed by John Gorrie; screenplay by John Osborne
Starring Peter Firth (Dorian Gray); Jeremy Brett (Basil Hallward); John Gielgud (Henry Wotton); Judi Bowker (Sibyl Vane)

Part of BBC’s Play of the Month anthology series, this version is perhaps the most faithful adaptation to date. No unnecessary plot inventions. The dialog is almost word-for-word from the book, with each line in all key scenes played out to perfection (except for the portrait revelation scene with Basil and Dorian, which seems kind of rushed). Also, unlike other adaptations, this one boldly accentuates the homoerotic aspect that is only hinted or censored in the novel.

It seems unfortunate that, being a made-for-TV production, the film could not escape suffering from a stagey set, static cinematography and being too short at only 100 minutes due to a low budget. Despite that, the production does not look too cheap compared to the 1973 version, thanks to the well-made periodic interior setting and costumes.

Peter Firth is amazing as Dorian.

The film’s pacing is fairly good for the first half, but while most important plot events aren’t skimped, there are some foregone important elements, and the second half of the film seems to rush through several events to quickly wrap things up. For example, Dorian’s descend into debauchery is not shown, but is only mentioned after the screen blacks out and the scene skips to 20 years later where a seemingly older Basil confronts Dorian about his reputation. If you have not read the book, you will have to rely on your powers of observation to catch on to what was happening. Another big drawback here is the portrait is only shown twice and all the transformations are only talked about.

Thankfully, the fine cast makes up for all the film’s shortcomings. The entire cast, from the three main lead to the supporting actors, is superb. Although some of the actors are much older than the supposed age of their characters – notably Lord Henry and James Vane – each carried their role excellently.

Peter Firth may not be the best-looking Dorian, but he is arguably the best actor to have carried the role. He is expressive and dynamic in showing Dorian’s naïve and impressionable, yet narcissistic and unscrupulousness so well that other actors seem pale in comparison. Equally impressive is John Gielgud, who as Lord Henry, really does Wilde’s witty words justice. While Firth and Gielgud are amazing, Jeremy Brett really steals the show as Basil Hallward. His charismatic presence aside, Brett is unmatched in his portrayal of the troubled painter besotted with his subject – a character that is often underplayed in many adaptations. On an unrelated note, though, Brett actually played Dorian in an even lesser known 1961 television production.

How can it be that the portrait painter be so much more handsome than his subject?

The Verdict: The best version to date, handicapped only by a low production budget. The eloquence of original text was wonderfully preserved and played out that would have made Oscar Wilde proud. If there is one version to watch, this is it.

2009

Directed by Oliver Parker; screenplay by Toby Finlay
Starring Ben Barnes (Dorian Gray); Ben Chaplin (Basil Hallward); Colin Firth (Henry Wotton)

It’s impossible not to have high expectations for a sleek, high-budget adaptation of a renowned classic that features a talented cast. What a disappointment it turned out to be when everything looks promising for the first five minutes, and then the whole movie disintegrates into a dreadful mess.

Almost the first half of the book was compressed into 30-minutes that rapidly shows Dorian’s corruption, without allowing the plot and character developments to simmer for a while and make an impression. Many important scenes are glossed over, with focus given to pointless sex scenes and plot inventions that are way far off from the source material. To make matters worse, the bulk of Wilde’s wit are reduced to a few familiar quotes.

The cast would have been perfect, but the lifeless script takes a lot a way from these fine actors. Dorian Gray is a complex and demanding role and Ben Barnes did a fine job showing a wide range of emotions and the characters multiple facades. Unfortunately, his talents were wasted on a lot of awkward sex scenes. You can’t help feeling bad for Barnes that the main selling point of the movie is to exploit the attractive male lead by having him in all sorts of perverse sexual situations.

Colin Firth as Lord Henry is also another great casting choice, but his Lord Henry was reduced to spouting Wildean one-liners on the side instead of being an integral part of the plot. Expectedly, Ben Chaplin as Basil is hardly given enough lines and screen time to have any impact.

What a waste of a fine cast. (left to right) Colin Firth, Ben Barnes and Ben Chaplin

Visually, the movie is a feast for the eyes. There are some parts that ended up looking like video game cut scenes because of low-grade computer graphics, especially the portrait. In an attempt to amplify the horror aspect the story, the portrait transformation was given unnecessary special effects treatment, which somehow works against the intended scare factor.

The Verdict: While not the worst compared to many other adaptations that are not worth mentioning, is a poor and forgettable effort that is worth a one-time watch. By jumbling up the original story sequence and throwing in needless plot additions, the result is an unbelievable, less engaging and anti-climactic movie.

In Conclusion…

All four movies are uneven in production, but seem to excel from good casting and maintaining a great degree of faithfulness to the original story. In all fairness, though, once you have read the source material, it’s impossible to assess a movie adaptation without a lot of personal expectations and bias.

Still, these efforts have to be given credit, because making a movie based on a literary masterpiece is no easy task. The main challenge lies in the difficulty to strike a balance between making a classic interesting and relevant for a modern audience, while retaining the essence and authenticity that made the novel great in the first place.

Detto questo, spero di tornare a breve con qualche recensione.
Oggi, invece, volevo parlarvi dei miei libri preferiti, che siano di letteratura, che siano di poesia o quant’altro, ma mi sembra abbastanza interessante come tema.

Quando vado a casa di qualcuno, o anche solo entro in un ufficio, l’occhio mi cade sempre sulle librerie altrui: dai libri che si leggono, si capiscono non solo i gusti dell’altro, ma anche qualcosa che ad apparenza è nascosto, come se ci fosse una sorta di velo tra la personalità esterna e il proprio intimo.
Non fraintendetemi: questo velo DEVE esserci, però l’alone di mistero che si cela dietro a questo trasparente lenzuolo, fa venire ancora più voglia di conoscere una persona.
Tutto qui.
Preparatevi, perché l’elenco è abbastanza lungo.
Credo inoltre che non possa esistere un solo libro preferito, ma una top.
La seguente è la mia TOP 30.
Di libri che andrebbero letti prima di morire.
Anche se ne citerei ancora altri miliardi.

1. Piccole Donne – Louisa M. Alcott
2. Momo – Michael Ende
3. Il ritratto di Dorian Gray – Oscar Wilde
4. De profundis – Oscar Wilde
5. La casa degli spiriti – Isabel Allende
6. Il piccolo principe – Antoine de Saint-Exupery
7. Un’affollata solitudine – Fernando Pessoa
8. Frankenstein – Mary Shelley
9. Alice nel paese delle meraviglie/Alice nello specchio – Lewis Carroll
10. Harry Potter (saga)
11. The old man and the sea – Ernest Hemingway
12. Il Signore degli anelli – J.R.R. Tolkien
13. Castelli di rabbia – Alessadro Baricco
14. Alice e i giorni della droga – (anonimo – si pensa che sia la protagonista)
15. Il nome della rosa – Umberto Eco
16. Il libro dell’inquietudine – Bernardo Soares (Fernando Pessoa)
17. Il giovane Holden – J.D. Salinger
18. Un amore così raro – Danielle Steel
19. La storia infinita – Michael Ende
20. Le cronache di Narnia – C.S. Lewis
21. Le avventure di Jim Bottone – Michael Ende
22. La fabbrica di cioccolato – Roald Dahl
23. Cuore di tenebra – Joseph Conrad
24. La divina commedia – Dante Alighieri
25. Racconti – Edgar Allan Poe
26. Le mille e una notte – autori vari sconosciuti
27. Frammenti di un discorso amoroso – Roland Barthes
28. La ragazza di Bube – Carlo Cassola
29. Con te senza di te – Osho
30. I padroni della notte – Trevor Hoyle

Alcuni di questi sono stati da me recensiti, altri sono in fase di sviluppo recensione, altri ancora non ho mai pensato di recensirli, ma adesso che mi sono messa a fare un elenco (ed è stata di un difficile inenarrabile), credo che lo farò.
Se siete interessati a qualche recensione in particolare, commentate, che sarò contenta di esaudire le vostre richieste (e sicuramente scriverò con molto più impegno!).

E i vostri libri preferiti quali sono?
Avete anche voi una TOP?
Fatemi sapere!!

SP*

If man had access to the holy grail of information global power would be attained and all the secrets of man would be Uncovered. Globalization would not only be an Idea, for total domination would be the triggered Aim in humanity as man gets twined by this Force he is robbed of sound judgment. I strongly believe that the leading elements in nature drives man to the calling of a Solo and selfish path unveiling his need to find Self and Flesh.

“Your eyes betray your gaze” letting out your concealed intentions before speech is uttered. Silent statements are the components that have makeup your voiceless prose; you speak in your mind but shout out placidly. I ask this purposefully ” Who is without sin?” Whom amongst us can truly cast the first stone on our Born Sinners?

It is said that” Scandal is gossip made tedious by morality~ Oscar Wilde” those who divulge prematurely the words of the ancients, are the inexperienced for exposing information is yet on its own a complete Subject that should be left untouched by the inexperienced Mind.
strength is nothing but potential compared to the wisdom of the experienced. To forgo the words of the Masters while searching for God leaves the Student lurking in the darkness for he refuses to comprehend Gravity, also he is constantly abased and abashed by the ways of the Sun.

To deny the Existence of External factors and the encoding of Traits only makes Life seem more animated for the moment we wake up from our false and Ideal slumber. We come to terms with realty and start to adopt working principles that help us through the eyes of thenStorm . Time to Say Goodbye to Wishful Thinking!

Man should only associate with success and greatness, no man is celebrated for failure, even Einstein said …”world. But if my theory is proved false, France will emphasize that I am a German and Germany will say that I am a Jew”.
This simply means that although it may seem as though we have the answers: if in the end we are wrong we are faced solely with all the consequences.

It is best to get help along the way for this road we travel has been travelled many times before. You can as the Sun.

“The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close up.” …Chuck Palahniuk

“It is better to take pleasure in a rose than to put its root under a microscope.” …Oscar Wilde.

There comes a time in every editing endeavor when each wall you face is an Everest and each knot Gordian in its complexity. You have taken your work apart, dissected and resected every sentence, paragraph, and chapter. You know your characters inside out and have removed every extraneous pronoun, preposition, and adverb, but still it’s not right.

Typewriter Girl – Zev Hoover

Chances are, while slogging through dense literary underbrush, you have not only lost sight of the forest, but also the trees. This is the boundary beyond which all the rules in the world will do you absolutely no good. In fact, chances are you are in this predicament in part because you’ve become so caught up the rules and craft of writing that you can’t get out of your own way. What started as a labor of love has simply become a labor, and the task ahead so dwarfs your spirit, a big part of you wants to just pack it all in. The only thing that will save you is an immediate dose of Big-Picture perspective.

But how to get that perspective? First, get thee to a writers’ group. For years I was a solitary writer, scribbling away in sordid isolation, the only critical voice in my head my own and that of a friend or two and family who were too kind to be helpful. Then I joined a local writers’ group; for 5 years it was the best thing I could imagine. (Now I am part of a different group and it’s even better, but that’s another story.) A serious writers’ group is a sounding board, a place to bring your work and gain perspective. This works for finished work that might need a little tweaking here and there, but is even more important for that paragraph or chapter you just can’t pull together. Ideally, other writers will come at the work from their own perspectives. Like Google Earth, they can help you see – and reclaim – the forest you have lost.

If that doesn’t work – or no group is available to you – I like to follow a path suggested by the Beatles and just let it be. Stick your manuscript in the desk drawer for a week – or four – and just forget about it. Work on something else, take a trip, go to the circus. Just let your mind wander where it will. Do not, under pain of being stripped of quill and vellum, obsess over your tale. When your mind is clear, your soul refreshed, go back and approach the piece anew. It doesn’t always help but it never hurts.

Ultimately, no matter how you get there, returning to the Big Picture is about returning to the heart of your work, to the magic that inspired you to tell a particular story in the first place. So when you feel beat up by the editing process, just step back and try looking with different eyes. Trust yourself. You’ll find your way home.

She was a mystery box which many gallant lads try to open.  Initially the pursuit did have an element of magnetism but somehow the gallantry wears offs.

Her awkwardness can be traced back to her tormented childhood. She was run-of-the-mill in both her appearance and demeanor. She suffered the pangs of being an average in her early days.  Her past had endowed in her, layers of insecurities which she had failed to tear away.

Today like all the other days she— alone—moseys the cobbled passageways with her signature grumpiness. As she got an early break from her work she decided to do the thing that she loves the most. As she passed, people cast an indifferent look on her and then they move forward.

Accidentally her foot landed on a muddy patch, the dirty water splashes and blotches her dress a bit. People gave half suppressed laugh. Embarrassed she tramped hastily to a quiet place where she always used to sit. She plunged her hand into her pouch and brandished a shining-slim iPhone. She quickly updated her status with a quote,

“Take a deep breathe. It’s just a bad day not a bad life”.

Instantly her status was endowed with dozen of likes and streaming comments. The silent grumpy soul has a bright side to her which—she failed to depict and people failed to discern.

Lesson learnt:

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.  Oscar Wilde

Oh Oscar– how could you eat a muffin angrily?

“There is some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.” ~J.R.R. Tolkien

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” ~Victor Hugo

“Man often becomes what he believes himself to be. If I keep on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing, it is possible that I may end by really becoming incapable of doing it. On the contrary, if I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning.” ~Gandhi

“You’ll never find a rainbow if you’re looking down.” ~Charlie Chaplin

“We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world.” ~Buddha

Tuesday 6-11-13

Clean and Jerk

Work up to a heavy single then drop 25# for a 2×2

+

3 Rounds

20 KB Snatch – Right arm (53/35)

50 Double unders

20 KB Snatch – Left arm

50 Double unders

“I think self-awareness is probably the most important thing towards being a champion.” Billie Jean King

Are There 9.6 Billion Reasons Why We Should Fear Mercury in Fish?

RECIPE OF THE DAY: Roasted Red and Black Radishes