Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Natal na Bodega.

Essa é uma vista do porto de Bodega Bay, pequenina vila de pescadores, a 31 milhas de Petaluma, na costa norte da California.
Tornou-se bastante conhecida a partir de 1963 quando Alfred Hitchcock usou-a como cenário para um de seus filmes mais famosos: Os Pássaros (The Birds).
Muito fog e um sol bastante tímido no inverno, mas ainda assim um lugar aprazível para se passar o Natal com boa gente amiga.
Feliz Natal à todos, e que a paz venha realmente à reinar entre os povos.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Little Too Late I Know, but...

It's a little too late to say anything about Thanksgiven Day, but I just found this article at one of many NYTimes blogs,
and this art work that illustrates the article is so beautiful, that I couldn't help, but to share it with you people.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

The Drama of Eros (Cupid) and Psyque

Envious and jealous of the beauty of a mortal woman named Psyche, Venus asks her son Cupid to use his golden arrows to cause Psyche to fall in love with the vilest creature on earth. Cupid agrees but then falls in love with Psyche on his own, when he leans over from a distance to kiss her, he causes one of his own arrows to fall forward piercing him.
O Drama de Eros e Psyque.
Invejosa e enciumada da beleza de uma mortal chamada Psyche, Vênus pede a seu filho Cupido para usar suas flechas douradas para causar à Psyche cair de amôres pela mais vil criatura da terra. Cupido concorda, mas então êle próprio cai de amôres por Psyche, e quando se curva para beijá-la, causa que uma de suas próprias flechas douradas perfure seu corpo..

Friday, December 19, 2008

Araquém Alcântara - Nature's Brazilian Photographer

Araquém Alcântara
Mar de Dentro / (The Inner Sea)
In early 2007, Araquém Alcântara publishes two new books about two different rainforest biomes in Brazil:

• A Grande Floresta / (The Great Forest) about the Amazon and

• Mar De Dentro / (The Inner Sea) about the Atlantic Rainforest.

"Mar De Dentro" is the name given to the Estuarine Lagoon Complex that stretches along the coastline from northern Paraná to southern São Paulo. This region represents the largest continuous remnants of Atlantic Rainforest in Brazil and is part of the so - called Southeast Reserves, a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1999. The book was realized with the help of SPVS, an environmental NGO in the state of Paraná.

No começo dos anos 70, nas quebradas do mundaréu lá de Santos tinhamos uma turma muito boa. Turma essa que passava horas a fio, madrugada a dentro, sentada em volta da praça da Independência, como que discutindo o destino da humanidade. Araquém era um de nós. Que grande honra!

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Walt Whitman 1819-92 The greatest of all American poets.

Walt Whitman

1819-92, American poet, born in West Wills, N.Y. Considered by many to be the greatest of all American poets, Walt Whitman celebrated the freedom and dignity of the individual and sang the praises of democracy and the brotherhood of men. His Leaves of Grass, unconventional in both content and technique, is probably the most influential volume of poems in the history of American literature.---continues at Columbia Encyclopedia, Sixth Edition. Copyright c 2002 Columbia University Press.

A Woman Waits for Me

A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture
of the right man were lacking.

Sex contains all, bodies, souls,
Meanings, proofs, purities,delicacies, results, promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, and maternal mystery,
the seminal milk,
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves,
beauties, delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of the
These are contain'd in sex as parts of itself and
justifications of itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows
the deliciousness of his sex,
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who stays for me, and with those
women that are warm-blooded and sufficient for me,
I see that they understand me and do not deny me,
I see that they are worth of me, I will be the robust husband of those women.

They are not jot less than I am,
They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run,
strike, retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right - they are calm, clear,
well-possess'd of themselves.

I draw you close to me, you women,
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own
sake, but for other's sakes,
Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.

It's I, you women, I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these
States, I press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually, I listen to no entreaties,
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long
accumulated within me.

Trough you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and
The drops I distill upon you shall grow fierce and athletic
girls, new artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my
I shall to expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and

you interpenetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them,
as I count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
immortality, I plant so lovingly now.

I would like so much to say on this space,
how grateful I am to my long time friend Beth Savietto,
for introducing the incomparable poetry of Walt Whitman to me.

Paulo Moretti Villardo

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Sergio Alexandre

Sergio, is an long time friend from Santos - Brazil.
He's an architect, painter, and composer.
Visite his site to learn about the complete content of his work.

Sérgio, amigo lá de Santos, é arquiteto, pintor, e compositor.
Visite o site do Sérgio para conhecer o completo conteúdo de sua obra.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Two Iconic Images from V.F.

Angelina Jolie

Kate Winslet - Deneuvely

What Tina Wants

Vanity Fair January 2009 issue
text by Maureen Dowd
Photographed by Annie Leibovitz

Tina Fey has rules. They've guided the 38-year-old writer-comedian through marriage, motherhood, and a career that went into hyperdrive this fall, when her Sarah Palin impression convulsed the nation, boosting the ratings of both Saturday Night Live and her own NBC show, 30 Rock.

Backstage at S.N.L., where "Palin" met Palin, and at the home Fey shares with her husband and daughter, Maureen Dowd reports on how a tweezer, cream rinse, a diet, and a Teutonic will transformed a mousy brain into a brainy glamour-puss.
For more on Tina Fey visit:

Tina Fey segue regras.
Regras que guiam esta escritora e comediante de 38 anos de idade, através do casamento, maternidade, e uma carreira que entrou em rítmo aceleradíssimo neste outono. Ocasião em que a sua personificação, da então candidata à vice-presidência, Sarah Palin, arrebatou a nação, elevando os índices de audiência, de ambos, Saturday Night Live e seu próprio show, 30 Rock, na rêde NBC de televisão.

Nos bastidores da S.N.L., aonde "Palin" encontrou Palin, e na casa que Fey divide com seu marido e filha, Maureen Dowd reporta como, com uma pinça, cremes de limpeza de pele, uma dieta, e uma vontade Teutônica transformaram uma cérebro de camundongo em uma cerebral e charmosa gata.
Para ler mais sôbre Tina Fey, visite:

2008 Top Ten Fiction Books

1. 2666 by Roberto Bolaño

It's baffling, maddening, difficult, violent, obscene, over-indulgent, under-edited and way too long, but 2666 — a number that appears nowhere in the actual book — is also the best novel of the year. The two central plots of 2666 are, very loosely speaking, the life story of an enigmatic German novelist called Archimboldi, and a murder mystery about the killings of hundreds of women in and around a seedy Mexican town called Santa Teresa. But only two of the book's five sections (2666 is a bit like Dante's hell, in five easy circles) deal with those stories directly. Packed with red herrings and digressions and leads that lead nowhere, 2666 is a work of anger and anarchy that laughs bitterly at the idea of tidy resolutions. It's like a Borges story that exploded. But beneath the chaos is a fanatical order, the desperate artistry of a genius scribbling as his life ran out — Bolaño died of liver disease . by Lev Grossman

2. Lush Life by Richard Price

Book critics talk a lot about "crime novels" that "transcend" their "genre." Lush Life doesn't transcend anything, it simply is a great novel of social observation. This is what Dickens would be doing if he were still in business. Price's playground is the Lower East Side of Manhattan, a tiny area that hyperdevelopment has made, if anything, overly lush and full of life, crowded as it is with rich white hipster bars, tenements full of wannabe artists, poor black projects, and immigrant businesses of all kinds, all packed together into too-close quarters. One night a drunk white aspiring actor (i.e., a bartender) gets shot to death by two black teenagers. The witnesses are unreliable at best. The cops — cops are to Price what saints were to Michelangelo — who work the case do so cynically, sardonically, bitterly and with fanatical tenacity, all while uttering the best dialogue being written anywhere by anybody. by Lev Grossman

3. American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld

The title character of Sittenfeld's novel is Alice Blackwell, a Midwestern girl whose bio — raised in a small-town, degree in library science, married to the ne'er-do-well son of a powerful political family — mirrors that of a certain soon-to-be-former First Lady. But you don't need to be interested in the Bushes or in politics to reap this novel's rewards. In her best-selling debut Prep, Sittenfeld established herself as an empathetic observer of the adolescent mind; here she applies the same skill over decades, building Alice's character with such clarity and finesse that you come to understand — as you can in novels — why this woman makes every decision she makes. If the elusive truths of the Bush Administration turn out to be stranger than fiction, we'll at least know that the fiction inspired by the Bushes can be first-rate.

by Radhika Jones

4. Anathem by Neal Stephenson

There is only one kind of novelist left who takes seriously the idea that complicated intellectual ideas can be the basis for an enthralling narrative. That is the science fiction novelist. In order to write Anathem Stephenson created an entire planet from scratch, a world in which mathematicians live in monastic cloisters, sealed off from the chaos of the secular world, except in times of dire, disastrous need. With this setting at his disposal Stephenson stages a visceral and even moving thriller driven by philosophical and quantum-physical theories about alternate universes. It's a scheme that makes considerable demands on the reader, and returns even greater rewards.

by Lev Grossman

5. Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri

Lahiri's first story collection, Interpreter of Maladies, won the Pulitzer and earned her a devoted audience. It also set the bar sky-high for any stories that might follow. Somehow, with her second collection, Unaccustomed Earth, she clears it. Lahiri is on familiar ground here — writing in finely tuned, hypnotically even sentences about Bengali families finding their way in America — but she stretches out, literally, into longer, more complex narratives. The title story and the masterful "Hell-Heaven" establish themes of quietly splintering families and thwarted passion; from there the collection builds in intensity to the triptych "Hema and Kaushik," whose final installment brings together two star-crossed lovers, then cruelly tears them apart.

by RadhiKa Jones

6. Personnal Days by Ed Park

It's a quirk of modern fiction that a lot of the people who read it work in offices, but very few of the people in it do. As Joshua Ferris's Then We Came to the End did last year, Personal Days takes a step toward correcting the imbalance. Set within the confines of a nameless, failing white-collar business, it chronicles the company's increasingly intense, intricate office culture, which gets more and more ingrown and self-referential and radioactive with each layoff. "It's possible we can't stand each other," says the novel's first-person-plural narrator, "but at this point we're helpless in the company of outsiders." This is a book that gets frighteningly truer month after month.

by Lev Grossman

7. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society by Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

Shaffer died earlier this year, leaving this book to be finished by her niece. The result of their joint efforts is a con job: it comes at you like a quirky, fluffy piece of chick lit about a lonely thirtysomething writer named Juliet in postwar London. But once you're in the door Guernsey reveals itself to be an entirely different animal, a story about war and peace and love and death that's much smarter than it has any right to be. Through a chain of used books and charming letters, Juliet ends up visiting the war-shattered Channel island of Guernsey, where the gutsy, eccentric inhabitants are trying to reconstruct their lives in spite of all the missing pieces. Guernsey proves that love stories don't have to be fantasies; they can be tart and wise and real.

by Lev Grossman

8. When Will There Be Good News?

by Kate Atkinson

Uncategorizable, unputdownable, Atkinson's books are like Agatha Christie mysteries that have burst at the seams — they're taut and intricate but also messy and funny and full of life. As a little girl Joanna Hunter watched her mother and sister (and dog) be stabbed to death by a stranger. Thirty years later, just as the killer is being released from prison, Joanna disappears. It would be incorrect to say that Atkinson's two sleuths, Jackson and Louise, spring to the rescue — more like they're roped into the rescue by chance and their own cynical, world-weary good-heartedness. And it's on chance and luck as much as anything that the final mystery turns.

by Lev Grossman

9. The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

Bod's family were killed when he was only a toddler. To escape the murderer he fled into a graveyard populated by an odd assortment of ghosts and other supernatural entities, who take it upon themselves to raise and educate the little boy. Over the course of the novel we hear the stories of their lives, deaths and afterlives, and Bod's childhood becomes a gothic, inverted Jungle Book: the ghosts teach him things only the dead know, and he grows up loving things most children are taught to fear. Gaiman's prose is all charm and arch, gallows humor, but his whimsies are never as harmless as they first appear, and there's much more to The Graveyard Book than your average young adult novel.

by Lev Grossman

10. The Widows of Eastwick

by John Updike

When last we saw our suburban sorceresses — Jane, Sukie and Alexandra — they had married their men, dissolved their coven and dispersed. But now they are old and widowed, and it's time they returned to Eastwick to reckon with their past sins and see what's left of the powers they once wielded. Granted, the witches were always less feminist heroines than they were male fantasies of what feminist heroines would be like if they were sexy and sassy and boy-crazy. Still, Updike chronicles the slow decline of their aging bodies with his usual eldritch precision, and even an unexpected tenderness. With death staring them down, and their precious sex appeal waning, the witches must decide whether to call it quits or gamble on old age bringing a new kind of enchantment.

by Lev Grossman

extracted from

Dear Science by TV on the Radio

This Brooklyn band spent most of its first three albums emptying out the tool shed in pursuit of weird things to make noise with. This time they haul out all their usual unusual props — out-of-time drums, jazz horn squawks, power tools — but in the service of great tunes. With its Beach Boys '"ba-ba-bas" and killer lo-fi guitar, "Halfway Home" is all propulsion and energy, the best album opener of the year. "Family Tree" is a rock ballad sung with great tenderness by Tunde Adebimpe while "Red Dress" is the smartest thing about race this year not written by Barack Obama. Hopefully the merging of their cerebral side with melodies you can actually hum will finally get TVotR an audience outside their borough.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

The Beauty and the Beasts. - A Bela e as Feras.

As you guys probably have realized by now, I'm ridding a Dulce Lee's wave. A cult photographer.
I've posted quite a few works, by this magnificent artist, since I discovered her art less than a month ago here on the Internet.

The collage bellow of some of her 70's Formula One work phase, nicely edited by the way, shows some of those terrific pictures, I've been talking about.

Como vocês já devem ter percebido, ultimamente eu estou surfando a onda Dulce Lee. Uma fotógrafa "cult".
Eu já publiquei aqui vários dos trabalhos dessa magnífica artista, desde que a descobri, há menos de um mês atrás, aqui na Internet.

A colagem acima de alguns dos seus trabalhos, da fase Formula 1 nos anos 70, caprichosamente editada por sinal, mostra algumas das incríveis fotos sôbre as quais tenho comentado últimamente.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Half & Half

Amazing craftsmanship!
It's a work of art!
The front end of a 57 Chevy Bel Air +
the rear end of a 58 Chevy Impala +
the windshield of a current model Chevy Corvette =
A Dream Car.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Dulce Lee - Fantástica na fotografia feita com filme de 35mm.

Esta é uma fotografia do Nelson Piquet, pilotando um formula super vê em meados dos anos 70 pela equipe Gledson, feita pela Dulce Lee.
O tratamento fotocromático e de composição que ela aplica a este trabalho é de tal intensidade, usando as tradicionais técnicas de fotografia com filme, que mesmo o mais experimentado "Photoshopista" de hoje em dia teria tremendas dificuldades em chegar ao menos perto. Inigualável capacidade técnica-criativa.
O efeito quase que de mistério dado à entrada da curva em "S" da qual não se vê o início, mas percebe-se a saída, como que conduzindo magicamente para algum lugar na distância. Perfeita composição entre cor, sombra, luz e profundidade de campo.
Emocionante. Grande DLee.

Françoise Hardy cantando "Comment Te Dire Adieu" do Serge Gainsbourg.

Hoje tive um bate-papo incrível aqui na net; com dois amigos virtuais, que em breve espero tornem-se reais.
Dlee e Oliver.
Ela, grande fotógrafa que é, a encontrei através deste blog. Êle, através dela.
Conversamos sôbre algumas coisas que temos em comum, como o gôsto pela fotografia e a arte e a música , por exemplo. Disse à êles sôbre como considero-me uma pessoa de gosto bastante eclético, no que se refere à música; afinal não só de Beatles and Stones constituia-se aquela juventude.
Sendo um adolescente no final dos anos 60, e começo dos anos 70, como não poderia estar ligado em Brigitte Bardot, Jane Birkin e Françoise Hardy, à quem neste caso presto homenagem agora.
Version française de "It hurts to say goodbye" (Paroles/Musique:- Jack Gold/Arnold Goland)
1968 (Paroles françaises:- Serge Gainsbourg)

sous aucun prétexte, je ne veux
avoir de réflexes, malheureux...
il faut que tu m'expliques, un peu plus mieux
comment te dire adieu...

mon coeur de silex vite prend feu
ton coeur de pyrex résiste au feu
je suis bien perplexe, je ne veux
me résoudre aux adieux

je sais bien qu'un ex amour n'a pas de chance... ou si peu
mais pour moi une explication vaudrait mieux...

sous aucun prétexte je ne veux
devant toi surexposer mes yeux
derrière un Kleenex je saurais mieux
comment te dire adieu...
comment te dire adieu...

tu as mis à l'index
nos nuits blanches, nos matins gris-bleu
mais pour moi une explication vaudrait mieux

sous aucun prétexte, je ne veux
devant toi surexposer mes yeux
derrière un Kleenex je saurais mieux
comment te dire adieu...
comment te dire adieu...
comment te dire adieu...

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Grande Prêmio do Brasil de Formula 1 - 2008

Claro, eu tambem sou mais um fanático pela Formula !.
Com um pouco de atraso, publico este post com imagens incrivelmente belas daquele GP. Trabalho de imagens e som de maravilhosa qualidade produzido pelo site oficial da formula 1 .

Friday, November 7, 2008

Dulce Lee

texto extraído do blog do flavio Gomes
Flavio Gomes
17/03/2005 - 09:13

Dulce Lee com seus
Dulce Lee com seus "pincéis": câmeras e lentes
Havia uma fotógrafa nos anos 70 com quem topei de frente procurando já não sei mais o quê na internet, e também não importa, porque o que encontrei foi bem melhor. Uma moça alta, bonita, moderna, além de seu tempo. Credite-se à minha ignorância a falta de informações mais precisas, já que ela, Dulce Lee, é certamente bem mais importante e conhecida do que farão supor estas linhas repletas de impressionismo vago. Dois ou três telefonemas me ajudariam a compor um perfil decente, mas muitas vezes prefiro ficar com a impressão do que com os fatos, e não seria num espaço tão curto que contaria a história desta mulher. Um livro, quem sabe? (Mais um livro que nunca escreverei.)

Dulce, de 1970 a 1976, foi presença feminina quase única na ilha viril e máscula de Interlagos, Fórmula 1 incluída. E lá fora também, porque ela não clicava apenas aqui, circulava pela Europa com a mesma desenvoltura e talento. Amiga de todos os pilotos, foi casada com um deles, Anisio Campos, o maior desenhista de automóveis que o Brasil já teve — e ainda tem, porque Anisio continua firme e forte com seus longos cabelos brancos e despejando no mundo idéias que brotam sem parar de sua mente de artista.

E é isso que é Dulce, uma artista das câmeras e lentes, que emprestou às corridas durante alguns poucos anos um olhar absolutamente particular, de estética refinada a partir de técnicas de revelação e ampliação que, até onde eu sei, não se usam mais nesta era de retratos digitais gravados em "memory sticks". Nada contra a modernidade, mas tudo a favor do que se fazia antes. As fotos de corridas publicadas em seu blog não me deixam mentir. São pinturas.

Dulce amava carros e corridas, e foi uma espécie de fotógrafa oficial da Equipe Hollywood, um ícone das pistas brasileiras de três décadas atrás. Usava "chapéus e colares diferentes" (as aspas são de um texto dela mesma) numa época em que "corridas eram corridas de verdade". Seu trabalho, com carros, flores ou pessoas, é um primor.

Feliz coincidência esta, de achar no emaranhado de www's em que se transformou a vida do jornalista o olhar de Dulce sobre as pistas, na mesma semana em que ganhei o livro de Tom Wolfe com um olhar literário sobre uma corrida de Nascar de 1964. Não se olha mais para nada hoje como antigamente.

Flavio Gomes