“We kiss goodbye, since I can’t shake her hand. From the bus platform, I see her again. She stands motionless, transfixed. She watches, she seems to be dreaming in my direction. Tomorrow she will see her friend again. She does not envy my freedom.” No images? Click here <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-e-skudiky-mcujltt-p/> BIENNALE DI SENIGALLIA <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-r/> Lapsus: Irregular Reflections. Visions Beyond the Window The Biennale program announced: “Saturday, June 21st, 9:00 PM: Buffet at Lapsus Space (Giardini della Rocca, ex-Elettrauto) – Exhibition: The Window of the Invention, Irregular Reflections.” Lapsus is a creative workshop for people with various disabilities—what in Italy is also called Art Therapy. For two months, Andrea, who leads the workshop, worked with the artists on the theme of Niépce’s window, as well as on clouds seen through the window and the ideas that can come to us as we look out. Oliviero Goffi, from Mondolfo, organized the installation of a vintage wooden window, similar to those in Niépce’s house at Saint-Loup-de-Varennes.
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-y/> <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-j/> <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-t/> The artists were proud to describe their works to the evening’s visitors. The Lapsus team had also organized a buffet and were joined by a young mathematics student from the University of Bologna, « Barbopiano », who brought his piano.
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-i/> Andrea was determined to include something rare—a photograph or a painting—and together we chose a curious, naïve work from 1901: a painting inspired by the picnic scenes of Manet and Cézanne, especially their Déjeuner sur l’herbe, created by Désirée Hellé, a remarkable artist who, despite being unable to move her fingers, found her own way to paint.
The main source on Désirée Hellé is a remarkable text by Violette Leduc, published in Les Temps Modernes, No. 80, June 1952, pp. 2288–2293. It is available online (access Violette Leduc’s French text here <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-d/>). Here is a translation of three large extracts:
« Last month, Romi exhibited the works of Désirée Hellé in his gallery—a place that is also a shop for curious objects where nothing is for sale, where eccentrics and seekers of the picturesque gather. Romi, the talent scout who rediscovered 1900, who launched the Saint-Yves, who made its stars, was hosting a few friends on the evening of the opening: The watcher of sophora seeds in the tiny square on rue de Seine; The Liebig card collector; The retired colonel who collects World War I memorials; The buyer of shell frames; The collector of little symbolist magazines where the poems of Verlaine, Laforgue, Mallarmé were first published; The ex-convict who, from Place Vendôme to Quai Malaquais, plays hoop with a stolen tire; The former notary, a fan of women with long hair on postcards; The beggar student who took lessons with the master of the house, passed an exam, was accepted, and will soon teach other beggar students; The stubborn one who has been preparing a thesis on Nadar’s techniques and inventions for fifteen years. Romi faced countless difficulties before gathering all of Désirée Hellé’s works in his gallery. He found the first painting at a junk dealer’s. The signature was legible, but the date—1894—made him wonder. Was the artist still alive, and if so, how to find more paintings? He confided in Inspector Delarue, author of a book on the art of tattooing. The inspector, a lover of naïve painting, handled his files with such virtuosity that he succeeded. Désirée Hellé was alive, living somewhere between Nation and Bastille. »
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-h/> Oil on hardboard (primitive masonite), 38×46 cm, signed, dated, lower left angle, inscription with place « Vaux de Cernay près Dampierre », pencil, verso
« Désirée Hellé waits for me in her prim armchair, near bed number three. No wrinkles, no white hair. Her hair is the color of twine—untouched for sixty-seven years. Désirée Hellé is eighty-two. She sits upright, rises from her chair with ease, welcomes me graciously, then tosses her hands—colored by inertia, gloved in khaki mittens, each thumb secured by a loop of yarn—onto the sheet, onto the coverlet, smoothing out the creases. She asks me to adjust the position of the little wine jug hanging from a bedrail. “What I find the most beautiful are the frames,” she tells me when I mention the exhibition Romi has organized for her. She smiles at the nurses passing by, lends her neighbor on the right, using my hands, the magazines I brought her, and asks me to whisper because her neighbor on the left is sleeping in an identical chair, dozing with the newspaper L’Aurore on her lap. We talk about her paintings. She remembers… She left school in 1884, in her fourteenth year, helping her mother in the workshop, which would occasionally come alive with the nervous clatter of the sewing machine. Mother and daughter sewed together, loving each other without looking up, heads bowed. Her father worked at the customs office. Days, weeks, months passed. Suddenly, her mother became upset: Désirée was handling her work poorly. Her thumb refused to bend. The pharmacist sold them potions and tonics; Désirée started drinking Colombian wine… One evening, at the start of dinner, her soup spoon slipped from her hand, splashing the blouse she and her mother had sewn together. Her father wiped his jacket sleeve. A young girl’s hand had died on the white tablecloth. There followed visits and long waits in Paris hospitals. Charcot and Babinski took an interest in her case. “The nerves, the nerves,” they repeated at the Salpêtrière. The paralysis crept up to her elbow, and in twelve months, it robbed her of her hands and forearms… Désirée returned to the workshop, sewing with her teeth. In winter, she rose at five in the morning and, with her atrophied hands—still flickering with treacherous tremors—she polished the floor, made the pans shine, scrubbed the mirrors. Her hands were rags on a waxed cloth, on a tuft of steel wool, on a chamois for the windows. She used her shoulders to rub and polish in circles, but couldn’t pick up a single straw. She kept busy, she read. She hoped. She hoped for ten years. Mother and daughter would go out together, shop at the Aligre market, buy thyme, herbs, bay leaves from a woman from Martinique. Désirée remembers: she used to draw identical laurel branches when she was in certificate class. She remembers the artist who set up his easel in the corridor of the Salpêtrière. She asked her father for drawing supplies. He brought her graph paper from the customs office. She had to take the pencil, hold it, keep hold of it. It was slow, it was hard, but the fifteen-year-old girl did not give up. »
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-k/> « When I tell her I’m leaving, she asks if I want to help her get dressed. It’s cold, very cold, but Désirée Hellé wants to come with me. When I put her hat on and tilt it too far forward, she laughs. I tie a shabby beige cord around her neck. We set off. The solitary woman sitting on the windowsill next to the Locke Room staircase recognizes me and watches us. Today she has seen both a visitor and the visited. In the courtyard, we pass a woman with her face painted red and black, wearing gloves and a rabbit-fur cap. She sizes us up and shouts:— Are you leaving us? Are you going away for good?“She’s mad,” Désirée Hellé tells me, “but you should answer her.”— I’m not leaving. I’m just walking with a friend.It’s true, I am her friend! I stretch, open the pockets of her black coat, take her hands—hands I’m no longer afraid of—and warm them in each pocket. I give her my arm, high up near her armpit where there is a nest, where there is life. Désirée Hellé insists on coming outside with me, and we pace back and forth together, waiting for the bus. We kiss goodbye, since I can’t shake her hand. From the bus platform, I see her again. She stands motionless, transfixed. She watches, she seems to be dreaming in my direction. Tomorrow she will see her friend again. She does not envy my freedom.” (Violette Leduc)
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-u/> Focus studio is below the Rocca Roveresca walls
Let’s conclude with two special card dedicated to Nicephore’s window, created for the Misteri della Fotografia series ! JNN-4. Saint-Loup-de-Varennes, May 1816 First encouraging result with a tiny camera, called a « souricière, » made from a tiny ring box. The image taken from the window, measuring just 6 cm², is a negative on sensitized paper. But the unstable silver salts eventually blacken, and the image disappears. Heliochromy published as a postcard, mixed media on a digital base: collage, engraving, gouache retouching, and manual interventions. It is part of the first series, The Mysteries of Photography, dedicated to the life of Joseph Nicéphore Niépce.
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-o/> JNN-4. Saint-Loup-de-Varennes, maggio 1816 Primo risultato incoraggiante con una piccolissima camera, detta “souricière”, ricavata da una minuscola scatola per anelli. L’immagine presa dalla finestra, di appena 6 cm², è un negativo su carta sensibilizzata. Ma i sali d’argento, instabili, finiscono per annerirsi, e l’immagine scompare.
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-y/> <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-j/> <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-t/> The artists were proud to describe their works to the evening’s visitors. The Lapsus team had also organized a buffet and were joined by a young mathematics student from the University of Bologna, « Barbopiano », who brought his piano.
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-i/> Andrea was determined to include something rare—a photograph or a painting—and together we chose a curious, naïve work from 1901: a painting inspired by the picnic scenes of Manet and Cézanne, especially their Déjeuner sur l’herbe, created by Désirée Hellé, a remarkable artist who, despite being unable to move her fingers, found her own way to paint.
The main source on Désirée Hellé is a remarkable text by Violette Leduc, published in Les Temps Modernes, No. 80, June 1952, pp. 2288–2293. It is available online (access Violette Leduc’s French text here <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-d/>). Here is a translation of three large extracts:
« Last month, Romi exhibited the works of Désirée Hellé in his gallery—a place that is also a shop for curious objects where nothing is for sale, where eccentrics and seekers of the picturesque gather. Romi, the talent scout who rediscovered 1900, who launched the Saint-Yves, who made its stars, was hosting a few friends on the evening of the opening: The watcher of sophora seeds in the tiny square on rue de Seine; The Liebig card collector; The retired colonel who collects World War I memorials; The buyer of shell frames; The collector of little symbolist magazines where the poems of Verlaine, Laforgue, Mallarmé were first published; The ex-convict who, from Place Vendôme to Quai Malaquais, plays hoop with a stolen tire; The former notary, a fan of women with long hair on postcards; The beggar student who took lessons with the master of the house, passed an exam, was accepted, and will soon teach other beggar students; The stubborn one who has been preparing a thesis on Nadar’s techniques and inventions for fifteen years. Romi faced countless difficulties before gathering all of Désirée Hellé’s works in his gallery. He found the first painting at a junk dealer’s. The signature was legible, but the date—1894—made him wonder. Was the artist still alive, and if so, how to find more paintings? He confided in Inspector Delarue, author of a book on the art of tattooing. The inspector, a lover of naïve painting, handled his files with such virtuosity that he succeeded. Désirée Hellé was alive, living somewhere between Nation and Bastille. »
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-h/> Oil on hardboard (primitive masonite), 38×46 cm, signed, dated, lower left angle, inscription with place « Vaux de Cernay près Dampierre », pencil, verso
« Désirée Hellé waits for me in her prim armchair, near bed number three. No wrinkles, no white hair. Her hair is the color of twine—untouched for sixty-seven years. Désirée Hellé is eighty-two. She sits upright, rises from her chair with ease, welcomes me graciously, then tosses her hands—colored by inertia, gloved in khaki mittens, each thumb secured by a loop of yarn—onto the sheet, onto the coverlet, smoothing out the creases. She asks me to adjust the position of the little wine jug hanging from a bedrail. “What I find the most beautiful are the frames,” she tells me when I mention the exhibition Romi has organized for her. She smiles at the nurses passing by, lends her neighbor on the right, using my hands, the magazines I brought her, and asks me to whisper because her neighbor on the left is sleeping in an identical chair, dozing with the newspaper L’Aurore on her lap. We talk about her paintings. She remembers… She left school in 1884, in her fourteenth year, helping her mother in the workshop, which would occasionally come alive with the nervous clatter of the sewing machine. Mother and daughter sewed together, loving each other without looking up, heads bowed. Her father worked at the customs office. Days, weeks, months passed. Suddenly, her mother became upset: Désirée was handling her work poorly. Her thumb refused to bend. The pharmacist sold them potions and tonics; Désirée started drinking Colombian wine… One evening, at the start of dinner, her soup spoon slipped from her hand, splashing the blouse she and her mother had sewn together. Her father wiped his jacket sleeve. A young girl’s hand had died on the white tablecloth. There followed visits and long waits in Paris hospitals. Charcot and Babinski took an interest in her case. “The nerves, the nerves,” they repeated at the Salpêtrière. The paralysis crept up to her elbow, and in twelve months, it robbed her of her hands and forearms… Désirée returned to the workshop, sewing with her teeth. In winter, she rose at five in the morning and, with her atrophied hands—still flickering with treacherous tremors—she polished the floor, made the pans shine, scrubbed the mirrors. Her hands were rags on a waxed cloth, on a tuft of steel wool, on a chamois for the windows. She used her shoulders to rub and polish in circles, but couldn’t pick up a single straw. She kept busy, she read. She hoped. She hoped for ten years. Mother and daughter would go out together, shop at the Aligre market, buy thyme, herbs, bay leaves from a woman from Martinique. Désirée remembers: she used to draw identical laurel branches when she was in certificate class. She remembers the artist who set up his easel in the corridor of the Salpêtrière. She asked her father for drawing supplies. He brought her graph paper from the customs office. She had to take the pencil, hold it, keep hold of it. It was slow, it was hard, but the fifteen-year-old girl did not give up. »
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-k/> « When I tell her I’m leaving, she asks if I want to help her get dressed. It’s cold, very cold, but Désirée Hellé wants to come with me. When I put her hat on and tilt it too far forward, she laughs. I tie a shabby beige cord around her neck. We set off. The solitary woman sitting on the windowsill next to the Locke Room staircase recognizes me and watches us. Today she has seen both a visitor and the visited. In the courtyard, we pass a woman with her face painted red and black, wearing gloves and a rabbit-fur cap. She sizes us up and shouts:— Are you leaving us? Are you going away for good?“She’s mad,” Désirée Hellé tells me, “but you should answer her.”— I’m not leaving. I’m just walking with a friend.It’s true, I am her friend! I stretch, open the pockets of her black coat, take her hands—hands I’m no longer afraid of—and warm them in each pocket. I give her my arm, high up near her armpit where there is a nest, where there is life. Désirée Hellé insists on coming outside with me, and we pace back and forth together, waiting for the bus. We kiss goodbye, since I can’t shake her hand. From the bus platform, I see her again. She stands motionless, transfixed. She watches, she seems to be dreaming in my direction. Tomorrow she will see her friend again. She does not envy my freedom.” (Violette Leduc)
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-u/> Focus studio is below the Rocca Roveresca walls
Let’s conclude with two special card dedicated to Nicephore’s window, created for the Misteri della Fotografia series ! JNN-4. Saint-Loup-de-Varennes, May 1816 First encouraging result with a tiny camera, called a « souricière, » made from a tiny ring box. The image taken from the window, measuring just 6 cm², is a negative on sensitized paper. But the unstable silver salts eventually blacken, and the image disappears. Heliochromy published as a postcard, mixed media on a digital base: collage, engraving, gouache retouching, and manual interventions. It is part of the first series, The Mysteries of Photography, dedicated to the life of Joseph Nicéphore Niépce.
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-o/> JNN-4. Saint-Loup-de-Varennes, maggio 1816 Primo risultato incoraggiante con una piccolissima camera, detta “souricière”, ricavata da una minuscola scatola per anelli. L’immagine presa dalla finestra, di appena 6 cm², è un negativo su carta sensibilizzata. Ma i sali d’argento, instabili, finiscono per annerirsi, e l’immagine scompare.
JNN-9. Saint-Loup-de-Varennes, July 1827 Niépce looks out of the window at the roof of his farm: the « View from the Gras » is born. He is happy. So are we. For over 25 years, Maison Niépce has preserved the site intact, with numerous authentic documents that allow all lovers of the history of photography not only to project themselves into the era of the invention, but also to conduct their own investigations.
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-b/> JNN-9. Saint-Loup-de-Varennes, luglio 1827 Niépce osserva dalla finestra il tetto della sua fattoria: nasce il “Punto di vista dal Gras”. Ne è felice. Anche noi. La Maison Niépce conserva da oltre 25 anni il luogo intatto, con numerosi documenti autentici che permettono a tutti gli amanti della storia della fotografia non solo di proiettarsi nell’epoca dell’invenzione, ma anche di condurre le proprie indagini. Eliocromie pubblicate come cartolina, procedimento misto su base digitale: collage, incisione, ritocco a gouache e interventi manuali, e fanno parte, una, della prima serie I Misteri della Fotografia, dedicata ai miti ed ai precursori, e la seconda della serie dedicata alla vita di Joseph Nicéphore Niépce Edizioni Atelier 41, via Fratelli Bandiera, Senigallia
La Fotografia è la più bella delle collezioni … Senigallia, città della fotografia, ospitera nuovi spazi dedicato alla ricerca e promozione della fotografia. Atelier 41 si trova 41 via fratelli Bandiera. Senigallia diventerà la Città delle collezioni. Any question : fotografia@atelier41.org <mailto:fotografia@atelier41.org>
<transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-l-skudiky-mcujltt-n/> Share <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-fb-skudiky-mcujltt-z/> Tweet <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-tw-skudiky-mcujltt-v/> Share <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-li-skudiky-mcujltt-e/> Forward <consigneditdisergeplantureux.forwardtomyfriend.com/d-mcujltt-7D15CFF3-skudiky-l-s> ATELIER 41 Via Fratelli Bandiera 41 60019 Senigallia Italy Preferences <consigneditdisergeplantureux.updatemyprofile.com/d-skudiky-7D15CFF3-mcujltt-g> | Unsubscribe <transmission.plantureux.it/t/d-u-skudiky-mcujltt-w/>