Sunday, July 19, 2009

World's Best Female Genital Tattoos






for lack of great ideas I will go away on vacation. Happy holidays everyone!

A cordial greeting,

Bruno


Tuesday, July 7, 2009

3 Years Of Sobriety Poem

A Midsummer thought. Almost. Artists




Dear friends, we have only one face. It should not be lost. I mean, to those involved in policy by himself, which is often better, much better to lose the elections and not fretting too much, in fact, I will tell you, in some cases are even convinced that we must strongly hope that with this unit.
I mean, if you are not in a position, a When you attain the election victory, to give appropriate responses to requests that come from our community (and that is very easy to predict), it is better that there is no victory. Unless, as often happens, has lost his way, the true end, the very rationale of the policy, which happens very often now, everywhere now, on each side, unfortunately, when it mixes craftily replaces the policy or the mere exercise of power, when the duty in service to our entire community - big or small does the same - are to replace (outside of the right size) personal ambition and his own interest which has its own reason to exist when it is legitimate, but instead becomes a serious fault when it is - again - excessive and unlawful.
But there is another fault, which is also serious because the lust for power masquerading as policy, CODEST guilty in the scam is real and lies in the inability of the electorate, the inadequacy, nell'inettitudine who wins respect the tasks that the victory gives him and imposes on him. And who of us would entrust the helm of the ship to a sailor incapable and inexperienced? And that, we would try? Of course not! He could only put in half declared fit, but what harm would it to us and to the ship? Even Phaeton, irresponsible and arrogant, Apollo persuaded to entrust the reins of the wagon, but what harm was it?! You should then do as Phaeton, especially if the wagon is neither we nor our father, but it is related interests and expectations of many. But unfortunately we spilled the ancient Latin phrase, and where they "gave" it to anyone at all, "res nullius" in fact, is rooted the insane costume that considers "property" of all of the fungi (to paraphrase the words of the macaroni of Boccaccio, the more you seize more has ).
Now someone among those following this blog will wonder who he is and where I want to getting at with this rebuke. Are assured, is not for them. Only an invitation to some friend, to a careful and sober reflection exactly one month from the European elections, for which, at the outset, I was not allowed to say something ( I have nothing to say, June 26). But as I shall conceal Manzoni not only the name of the characters I have in mind, but also that of the place. Suffice it that it is a city "always" been managed (badly, even worse, perhaps sometimes even by guillotine - if the local sans-culottes with friends they're not blind, deaf and dumb -) ... administration, said, the so-called left, with the blind - even the (Deaf and dumb) - the complicity of a DC, in time for the more "companion snacks. But - you ask - the center right now in that city, is it? Politically, of course! What accounts for the many honest and good citizens, zealous for many voters who yearn for change after decades? Sure hope! And certainly militate standest many good and honest people, which, believe me, I have temporarily entrusted to each, even without a receipt, but, but ... but there are, however, also "dwarf" (with all due respect), dancers , morons of all sizes, slanderers, gossips, idlers, ruffians, doppiogiochisti, inetti, incapaci, trappoloni, truffatorelli, strolaghi e ladri di galline! E presuntuosi, tanto sciocchi quanto immodesti. Ebbene? Penserà qualcuno. Sentitelo! Ecco l’anima candida!. E non ci sono, codesti, pari pari anche dall’altra parte? E che cosa pretendi, una foresta di alberi perfetti, tutti sani, dritti e riccamente fronzuti?
Per carità! Non fraintendiamo. Per casa mia vorrei il meglio, ma sono pure disposto ad accontentarmi. E allora vorrei solo che chi si propone fosse poi in grado di mantenere le promesse! Dato che le strade sono poche e strette, ed anche cambiando strada s’incontra sempre qualcuno. Rammentate cosa scrivevo all’inizio: di facce ne abbiamo una sola!
Già, si dirà, il solito vecchio, il solito brontolone, il solito rompi coglioni a cui non sta mai bene nulla! Forse. La questione è che per decenni ho chiamato nel deserto (o me lo sono immaginato), ho suggerito e raccomandato di studiare, di prepararsi perché la Politica, non come io la intendo, ma com’è e dev’essere, è cosa assai seria, richiede preparazione, rigore, rinunzie ed abnegazione, ed oggi, nell’ammucchiata che mi appare davanti, vedo per gran parte cialtroneria ed approssimazione; ho visto scegliere i candidati come vidi scegliere in caserma: il meccanico ed il barbiere furono mandati in cucina, il ristoratore di Cesenatico a fare il parrucchiere. Così la scelta dei candidati del Pdl: anzi, peggio, dato che nessuno è stato riformato in questa e mi immagino in altre città. Che tristezza! E non mi si dica, per carità, “mal comune mezzo gaudio!”
Sì, se non si era capito, sono decisamente incazzato. In primo luogo coi vari direttori d’orchestra, nazionali e locali; a cominciare dal signor Fini, e poi, non di meno, giù giù con tutta la schiera di luogotenenti, colonnelli, portaborse, controfigure e leccaculo, locali e nazionali che non hanno saputo opporgli un rifiuto, girargli spalle, fargli il gestaccio dell’ombrello o qualcos’altro altrettanto significativo. Sono incazzato, anzi di più, per tutti quelli che come me MSI have played for before and after convintamene in An, for all those who died, who risked their lives for all those who have spent their lives for an idea of \u200b\u200bnation, dreaming of peace and the good of the community , for all those who for their political activism have been ostracized, for those who have not found or have lost their jobs, for those who wanted Italy to make a real difference, make it honest, the better, for those who have risked all and suffered that since they wanted to one day be able to come to terms with their ideas, winning in the governance of our national community, our local communities, for all those like me who have always thinking about politics with the dignity of a capital letter.
Oh how many times I am stopped to admire the tomb of Machiavelli in Santa Croce. First pass the plaque of Gentile, then crying on the ark of Italy Vittorio Alfieri, but then again there, a few yards, I paused and cast his eyes over the top, where a graceful marble showed how the policy thinking and the word of Nicholas were worth far more weight in gold.
No! One had ingaglioffire. Ingaglioffire And that's all.

Well, my dear friend, that you deceive yourself in the art of dodging sows, piglets and older pigs encrusted, but also jumps you in mush foul imagining MISUSE called one day to the rank of piper magician
Better ... nobody around, believe me. Better laburnum smell the scent of damp and heavy underbrush. Believe me!
or at least stop. Stop. Think. It built a large horse.

Stepic
San Bruno Martino, July 7, 2009, San Claudio




PS reproduce works by George Grosz, or Georg Ehrenfried Groß (Berlin, July 26, 1893 - Berlin, July 6, 1959)

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Chets For Poptropica H

Italian: Arrigo Del Rigo



I do not know if for reasons di spazio o per incomprensibile malafede, nella pagina biografica dedicata ad Arrigo Del Rigo, in http://www.pratoshop.com/perso_rigo.shtml , si scrive che « Rievocandone succintamente la vicenda, Ardengo Soffici scriveva nel Frontespizio (Dicembre 1939) queste righe: “Il 26 febbraio del ’32 Del Rigo morì in un’aura di tragedia e di mistero. Così modesto e candido com’era, egli non fu forse sorretto nel momento fatale, dalla coscienza del proprio valore. La sua morte prematura privò i parenti di un figlio bene amato, gli amici di un compagno indimenticabile, l’arte italiana di una luminosa speranza”.» Orbene, certo che Soffici non avrà inteso scrivere an essay, and hence he devotes an entire small page of the magazine to this beautiful young promise, cut short too early. It does little, the soft, to place this young man (a young hopeful promise and I stress) among the Italian artists, was acknowledged as a beautiful oblivion given him more than Italy and Prato (the city of Del Rigo), ideally democratic convintamene and anti-fascist. But I will not point
embroiled in a controversy that does not interest me, as with those who are blind to the facts or in bad faith there is no reason to hold.

remember though, that some thirty years ago I decided to take care of the staff, writing about him or dedicating an article (perhaps) an integer number of arcimodesta a publication that was published at that time. So I asked, the sculptor Quinto Martini (but I had also asked Gino Brogi Peter Bugiani and Giulio Pierucci), when reminded of the staff: - Of course, that I remember! - Incalza immediately, and began to tell. - Do me a favor - I said at the end. - All these things, write them!
And so a couple of months after we met in the foundry and gave me "his memory", which was entrusted to three typewritten pages which, tornatemi his hands these days, I give public willingly.
course, to read what I wrote Quinto Martini accorgo che senz’altro avrà integrato le lacune della memoria con la sua fervida fantasia d’artista, ma tant’è! Senz’altro si tratta di quanto il Martini amava rammentare del suo coetaneo più sfortunato.




Ultimo incontro con
Arrigo Del Rigo





È passato più di mezzo secolo dalla tragica scomparsa dell’amico, e molti ricordi si sono sfocati perdendo il loro contorno reale. Ma, fra i tanti incontri con lui, uno è rimasto ben chiaro in my mind, and it is 1'ultimo of 1932, shortly before its demise.
not remember the exact day but it was the early hours of a cold, gray afternoon. Blew a gentle fade away sharp, typical of the city
[Prato] from many chimneys. It was at Piazza delle Carceri, he came from Via Pugliese, with his hands in his coat pocket and the well-worn dark hat on his head. We said goodbye, smiled as usual, exchanged a few words looking at the church [Santa Maria delle Carceri of Giuliano da Sangallo
] and after a while 'I took the bike and, as a boy, he repeatedly circled the empty square and windy. When he stopped me and made it, stamping their feet on the ground said: "Moviamoci, it's cold." Crossing Piazza San Francesco, Via Rinaldeschi went in to say hello Zola's friend Taylor. His shop was a meeting place for us young anti-fascists, taken from art, literature, where he also talked about politics, who was in prison, and especially Russian literature. I left the bike leaning against the wall near the sports shop, and went, as so often, a quiet stroll through the city, speaking of friends, our labor and material difficulties in order to devote more things to serenade the art.
We had the same age, and the military for over two years & it was behind us. When I greeted him to return to my country, mi disse risoluto: "Ti accompagno per un pezzo di strada. Sono uscito di casa perché avevo bisogno di prendere aria... Mi sentivo in prigione."
Allungò il braccio destro e guardando le nuvole, tracciò nell'aria un mezzo cerchio. Camminava sul marciapiede, parlava e fischiettava, dondolandosi leggermente com'era sua abitudine. Prima di uscire dalla Porta Santa Trinità, mettendo la mano sul manubrio disse, senza guardarmi: "Anche se fa buio, vedo che ci hai il fanale a carburo." Appena fuori Porta, si tirò su il bavero del cappotto marrone, si abbottonò bene, infilò i pollici nelle tasche, e, accostandosi alla mia bicicletta, cominciò ad animarsi parlando della sua pittura e dei suoi problemi personali: man's problems rather than the painter. (I was surprised, because I had not thought so introverted.) It was a time, the ones where you feel sluggish all around, and the aspirations of the twenty years you'll see less and less feasible. He spoke of his innermost feelings with abandon, revealing its nature as a big child, shyness and uncontrolled reactions that often features the most authentic artists. Speaking of his reading, you realize that was an excuse to tell him, someone to confide his fears, doubts most intimate, all his conditioned life in the riots that feeling, to feel his torment and that in turn different faced with identical situations: almost trying to clarify himself certain moods and feelings of his own youthful fullness.
Despite all this, I thought that his great love for art, and a little humor to life were the lifeline for the troubled and restless nature. We greeted the dark.
I squeezed her hand, smiling, saying: "So when you come to Prato, play the bell." I immediately turned away. Walk towards the city. As I lit the lantern, I saw him get lost in the lights of the many bicycles that workers came from the factories. Even if, along the way, I reflected on some of his secrets, I was far from thinking that the cold night would be our last meeting and reminded of his lighter, which would close so soon after his tragically. young lives.

Quinto Martini (1986)


Portrait of a Young, 1930


Puppet Theatre, 1931

Still Life, 1930

La Rissa, 1932

Portrait, 1926



By Bruno Stepic
San Martino, July 4, 2009, San Procopio

P.S. Quinto Marini nasce a Seano, Firenze (oggi Prato), il 31 ottobre 1908 e muore nel suo paese il 9 novenbre 1990.
Checché possa aver scritto e detto successivamente, negli anni del suo presunto antifascismo se ne stava attaccato stretto stretto a Soffici, del quale "giustamente" beveva ogni cosa come oro colato... ma collaborava anche, nei modi grafici suggeriti da Soffici, con gradevoli xilografie al fascistissimo "Selvaggio" di Mino Maccari.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Big White Bump Inside Nose

A Tuscan artist


Il mulino, 1928






Today, 104 years from birth, to dedicate an entire page to Peter Bugiani, one of the most original and important artists of the twentieth century Tuscany, and beyond. Unfortunately, the reproductions of some of his paintings very beautiful, I suggest that visitors to the blog, are of poor quality.
Fu, Bugiani, a true poet of color, which, in a magical season (1924 to 1930 approximately), said "vibrate" as strong inspiration that came from the works of the fourteenth century. Later stays consistently high quality of his painting, characterized by an intense vision of the poetic nature and a strong personal emphasis, which Veno, but significantly, the language character Soft to tell adopted by the Tuscan landscape.
propose here a few lines of Gian Lorenzo Mellini, who presented the work to the exhibition " Modern Art in Italy, 1915-1935 ", Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 1967. Mellini
writes: Peter
Bugiani begins with a style distinctly archeologizzante (tip of pencil drawings in a veiled tempera, 1924, with evocations of Andrea and Fra Bartolmeo Ca-tin), which clearly identifies by Achille Lega, pink, which shares a taste for the representation of the ru-cultural landscape of Tuscany and its arcane measures, such as the Soft, which had to be taken following the liquid pictorial, e infine dal movimento di «Strapaese» e del «Novecento», colle cui frange ebbe poi a collegarsi. Se­guendo codesta personale sorgiva ricerca, dietro lo stimolo soprattutto let­terario della pittura metafisica, nel senso della scelta del silenzio e della concentrazione, Bugiani dipinge intorno al 1928 una serie di immagini si­lenti di Paese, bloccati in ore antelucane come intagli di pietre dure, di una intensità alta e segreta, quasi montaliana, che lo pongono tra gli esponenti significativi della pittura in Toscana.







Natività, 1928




Sera, 1928



Sunday Afternoon, 1928




Sera farmyard, 1929





Sunset on the River, 1929



Stepic
Bruno San Martino, July 2, 2009, S. Urban