Claude Cahun, Untitled [Don’t kiss me I am in training], 1927
Claude Cahun, Self Portrait, 1928
Man Ray, La Marquise Casati, 1922
Enjoying a lovely work day in the Peabody Library
L’oeil à l’état sauvage: l’atelier André Breton, un film de Fabrice Maze pour Centre Pompidou
Herbert Bayer, Things to Come, 1938
THE MUNICH MANNEQUINS
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sacks.
Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody’s about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice."
Almost forgot about this…what a shame.
Just gonna leave this right here…