Duane Michals, the prose portrait author

imagesDuane Michals, 18.2.1932, Single of the Day.

 

 

 

“I have a new concept. I call it the “prose portrait.” A prose portrait doesn’t necessarily show you what someone looks like; it’s not a line-for-line reproduction of a face. A prose portrait tells you what the nature of the person is about. When I photographed Magritte, the portrait was made in the nature of Magritte. When I photographed Warhol, the portrait was in the character, the mystery—if there is one—of Warhol. You can’t capture someone, per se. How could you? The subject probably doesn’t even know who he (or she) is. So, for me, a prose portrait is about a person, rather than of a person.”

duane-michaels-meryl

Singh, dall’India per amore

image Dayanita Singh, New Delhi -1961 -, Single of the Day

 

 

 

 

“Photography is not about reality, photography is all fiction. Let’s play with the fiction”.

“That’s what’s so great about photography, the way it can be disseminate in so many different ways”.

singh_museum_chance_2013_3-web

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Museum of chance

Patti Smith, settant’anni di un mito

36c1a287510b97a90ed710af6de5057c-2Patti Smith, 30.12.1946,
Single of the Day

 

 

 

Happy Birthday, Ms. Patti!

And happy New Year!

What a friend you are…!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways,
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard,
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’,
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’,
I saw

 

 

 

 

 

Only three things to live

mary-oliver Mary Oliver, sept.10.1935, Single of the Day

 

 

 

 

Black water woods

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pilars of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its name is, is nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able

to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.”