Luc Dewaele, dagboek

Over fotografie en leven.

Category: 175 jaar SASK

Real diary (1028)

Life is simple. Forget holidays abroad.

P.s. message to my students: sleep another 15 more times. And then it’s my turn.

Art play

Essentials of art.

Real diary (818)

Life is simple. It’s an attempt to be physically separated from the viewer.

Real diary (796)

Life is simple. Keep the doors open for people and their cabbages. Again.

Real diary (795)

Life is simple. Keep the doors open.

Real diary (781)

Life is simple. Think of yourself as a model, in many ways.

Real diary (767)

Life is simple. Get undoubled.

Real diary (763)

P.s. Life is simple. Don’t make any pictures during holidays. Prepare your Lightroom-lessons.

P.s. really no idea why, but I was thinking of ‘teachers’ who crossed my path in Luca School of Arts, Brussels. They disappeared somehow.

Real diary (750)

Life is simple. Get academic skills.

Real diary (749)

Life is simple. Impari l’italiano.

Real diary (746)

Life is simple. Call the fire department.

Real diary (744)

Life is simple, when it doesn’t rain.

Real diary (735)

Life is simple. Get famous and never avoid women.

Real diary (734)

The lesson today wasn’t quite dull either.

 

Real diary (733)

The lesson wasn’t quite dull.

 

Real diary (730)

Life is simple. One goes to Academy, gets out and that’s it.

Real diary (729)

Life is simple. One goes to Academy, gets prizes and that’s it.

Real diary (712)

Pregnancy and photographers.

 

 

Real diary (711)

The ideal daughter in law.

Real diary (710)

My students, tonight, again making better pictures than I – servant – did.

Real diary (702)

Spoiling my students.

Real diary (700)

My students were lucky bastards again, tonight.

 

Real diary (696)

The teacher tries to demonstrate, again. With simple means and great models.

Real diary (685)

My working class heroes.

Senthe

Sei nata nel fondo oscuro del mare

dalle valve madreperlacee di una conchiglia

ma il fuoco dell’amore ti ha concepito nel silenzio

e ti ha donato i colori della primavera.

Vedo tra i tuoi capelli che s’è impigliata una foglia

del colore rosso dell’autunno

e negli occhi due lacrime di quel mare

profondamente azzurro.

Quando il vento ti spettina m’inebrio

al profumo del tuo sorriso simile a un gelsomino

fiorito tra i petali delle tue labbra.

Il suono della tua voce seduce il mio cuore oscuro

con la dolcezza di stelle tremanti

e le tue parole danzano al ritmo

affascinante delle onde che s’infrangono

nel corallo della tua bocca

Mentre scrivo su questo foglio, il tuo nome

di Primavera illumina la mia mano

con la malinconia di un fiore lontano.

 

Roma, 06/10/2018                                                                                                                                    Marcello Comitini

 

 

Senthe

Geboren geborgen in de onverlichte onderzee

Parelmoeren schelpen klapkieuwden je uit

het onderwaters vuur – vol min en stilte –

brandde jou in lentetinten.

Ik zie een herfstblad gestrikt in je haren,

zo herfstig teruggevoerde kleur in zijn nadagen

en zie, zie in ogen welgeteld twee zoute tranen

ongekleurd nog, meerdieper blauw.

Als dan doorheen jou, omheen jou de wind roert,

verwazig ik, in eigen ziel bedwelmd door jasmijn,

de geurige weerglans van je glimlach,

uitdijend-gebloeide jasmijnmondjes.

Stellige klank van je stem verleidt mijn toegedekte hart,

in de zindertrant van sterren zachtliefelijk.

En woorden alleen van jou, op een bekorende dansmaat,

met een golfslag die danig verstuift – breekt –

schurend op koraal – golfbrekers van je mond.

Tussenin beschrijf ik het onbeschrevene;

ik spel je naam, Lente, met een hand vol licht,

op een vergaand bloemblad vol herfsttroostigheid.

Ver.

Real diary (684)

The teacher tries to demonstrate.