Saturday, 17 October 2015

The Science of Snow | The Jazz Man

The wintry beauty of the music on “The Science of Snow” is enhanced by the atmospheric black and white images by the Canadian photographer Gaena da Sylva from Quebec who collaborates with Beresford under the generic name the52nd (as in parallel). See

Nice review for the Beresford Hammond ‘Science of Snow’ CD by Ian Mann, The Jazz Man. Here...

Saturday, 19 September 2015

Confessions of the Green Armchair | New images

Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by                                    Thou art a dreaming thing,
singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording                                  A fever of thyself.
of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a                                    
John Keats


Monday, 7 September 2015

A Thing of Beauty

A Thing Of Beauty is an online store that offers stylish affordable second hand clothes. Gaëna da Sylva, fine art photographer and film maker, is the founder of this store, where she wants to gather the pleasure of owning beautiful things in a poetic fashionable way.

As an artist and creative soul, I have always loved to dress in a playful manner. I remember when I was a little girl, how I entered my Mother's wardrobe as if it was a fairy castle. She owned a wine red satin night gown and slippers with little feathers in the same shade. I would put those on, being way too big and walk around like a queen. She also had a trunk where she would keep old clothes from her youth. There were fur collars and shawls and so many treasures. I would put some on and then we would watch wonderful musicals and old avant-garde films together, and I was dreaming of stories, inventing places and worlds. She let me express all those dream worlds I had deep inside and it is a way, alongside photography, that I go through life's less easy moments.

Decorating our body with clothes that make us feel dear, lovable, hugged in the arms of beauty is a richness and a precious liberty we have. Let's enjoy and fill our inner poetry with spirit, reusing to recreate the clothes that once were loved. And... Be good to our Earth.


Gaëna ✿⊱╮

A Thing of Beauty are the first words of Endymion, a beautiful poem by John Keats.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness

John Keats (31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821) was an English Romantic poet. He was one of the main figures of the second generation of Romantic poets. His poetry is characterised by sensual imagery, most notably in the series of odes. Today his poems and letters are some of the most popular and most analysed in English literature.

Friday, 28 August 2015

Lost in the turning of diurnal tides

Trois photos en ce matin paisible où s'est levé dans la brume le spectacle du jour.

Night falls away and fades along the breeze,
Lost in the turning of diurnal tides,
The morning, like a pallid virgin, glides
In cool seclusion 'mid the spectral trees;

And I, more early risen than the bees
Whose tardy wooing the laburnum chides,
Am ravished by an undersong that bides
The lapsing of the leafy harmonies.

I lift my lips to meet the kiss of Morn,
Breathing the breath of Day's sweet maiden-time.
And feel within my spirit, loverwise,
The deep, divine elation sometimes born
Of strains of music or a far-off chime
Or love-light lambent...

Francis Howard Williams

Satie by the lake...

Saturday, 8 August 2015

Un vendredi à l'Ile d'Orléans

Quoi de plus suave que la brise estivale ?
Quoi de plus charmeur que le subtil ronronnement
Qui se pose une seconde sur une fleur épanouie,
Et bourdonne gaiement de bocage en bocage ?
Quoi de plus paisible d'une rose musquée fleurissant
Dans une île verdoyante complètement ignorée des hommes ?

John Keats

Saturday, 1 August 2015

Fellini le chaton...

C'est l'esprit familier du lieu,
Il juge, il présider il inspire
Toutes choses dans son empire ;
Peut-être est-il fée, - est-il Dieu ?

Guy de Maupassant : Sur les chats. Voir un texte publié dans Gil Blas du 9 février 1886, puis dans le recueil La petite Roque.

Maupassant a fondé avec Alexandre Dumas une ligue pour la défense des félins.

Friday, 31 July 2015

I watch and dote upon the silver lakes

At dawn near the lake this morning...

Back to the road, and I crossed again 
Over the miles of the saltbush plain -- 
The shining plain that is said to be 
The dried-up bed of an inland sea.

Andrew Barton Paterson, In the Droving Days

Where the air so dry and so clear and bright 
Refracts the sun with a wondrous light, 
And out in the dim horizon makes 
The deep blue gleam of the phantom lakes.

Andrew Barton Paterson, In the Droving Days

...the crystal heavens darken,
I watch and dote upon the silver lakes
Pictur'd in western cloudiness...

John Keats, Endymion: Book I

Saturday, 25 July 2015

Les esprits des fleurs

Voyez-vous de l'or de ces urnes
S'échapper ces esprits des fleurs,
Tout trempés de parfums nocturnes,
Tout vêtus de fraîches couleurs ?

Ce ne sont pas de vains fantômes
Créés par un art décevant,
Pour donner un corps aux arômes
Que nos gazons livrent au vent.

Non : chaque atome de matière
Par un esprit est habité ;
Tout sent, et la nature entière
N'est que douleur et volupté !

Chaque rayon d'humide flamme
Qui jaillit de vos yeux si doux ;
Chaque soupir qui de mon âme
S'élance et palpite vers vous ;

Chaque parole réprimée
Qui meurt sur mes lèvres de feu,
N'osant même à la fleur aimée
D'un nom chéri livrer l'aveu ;

Ces songes que la nuit fait naître
Comme pour nous venger du jour,
Tout prend un corps, une âme, un être,
Visibles, mais au seul amour !

Cet ange flottant des prairies,
Pâle et penché comme ses lis,
C'est une de mes rêveries
Restée aux fleurs que je cueillis.

Et sur ses ailes renversées
Celui qui jouit d'expirer,
Ce n'est qu'une de mes pensées
Que vos lèvres vont respirer.

Alphonse de Lamartine, Les esprits des fleurs

Monday, 20 July 2015

Song For The Rain

Hidden, oh hidden
in the high fog
the house we live in,
beneath the magnetic rock,
rain-, rainbow-ridden,
where blood-black
bromelias, lichens,
owls, and the lint
of the waterfalls cling,
familiar, unbidden.

In a dim age
of water
the brook sings loud
from a rib cage
of giant fern; vapor
climbs up the thick growth
effortlessly, turns back,
holding them both,
house and rock,
in a private cloud.

Elizabeth Bishop, Song For The Rainy Season

Sunday, 19 July 2015

From the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings

I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

William Butler Yeats, The Lake Isle Of Innisfree

I say My Innisfree...

Friday, 17 July 2015

Still Another Day

“The days aren't discarded or collected, they are bees
that burned with sweetness or maddened
the sting: the struggle continues,
the journeys go and come between honey and pain.
No, the net of years doesn't unweave: there is no net.
They don't fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river.
Sleep doesn't divide life into halves,
or action, or silence, or honor:
life is like a stone, a single motion,
a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves,
an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metal
that climbs or descends burning in your bones.” 

― Pablo Neruda, Still Another Day

Friday, 3 July 2015

Saint Lawrence River | Fleuve Saint-Laurent

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Langston Hughes

Sunday, 7 June 2015

Un pot de porcelaine orné de dragons bleus et de bizarres fleurs

Parfois un enfant trouve une petite graine
Et tout d'abord, charmé de ses vives couleurs,
Pour la planter il prend un pot de porcelaine
Orné de dragons bleus et de bizarres fleurs.

Il s'en va. La racine en couleuvres s'allonge,
Sort de terre, fleurit et devient arbrisseau ;
Chaque jour, plus avant, son pied chevelu plonge,
Tant qu'il fasse éclater le ventre du vaisseau.

L'enfant revient ; surpris, il voit la plante grasse
Sur les débris du pot brandir ses verts poignards ;
Il la veut arracher, mais la tige est tenace ;
Il s'obstine, et ses doigts s'ensanglantent aux dards.

Ainsi germa l'amour dans mon âme surprise ;
Je croyais ne semer qu'une fleur de printemps :
C'est un grand aloès dont la racine brise
Le pot de porcelaine aux dessins éclatants.

Théophile Gauthier, Le pot de fleurs

Tuesday, 2 June 2015

Sous une averse de lumière

Sous une averse de lumière (Le muguet, Maurice Carême)

Dans l'essaim nébuleux des constellations,
Ô toi qui naquis la première,
Ô nourrice des fleurs et des fruits, ô Lumière,
Blanche mère des visions,

Anatole France, à la lumière

Saturday, 30 May 2015

Bright little day stars

Bright little day stars
Scattered all over the earth...

Martha Lavinia Hoffman, To the Flowers

Gathering the flowers for The black herbarium.

Thursday, 28 May 2015

To announce the coming of light

At dawn I unite with the breeze
To announce the coming of light;
At eventide I join the birds
In bidding the light farewell.

The plains are decorated with
My beautiful colors, and the air
Is scented with my fragrance.

As I embrace Slumber the eyes of
Night watch over me, and as I
Awaken I stare at the sun, which is
The only eye of the day.

I drink dew for wine, and hearken to
The voices of the birds, and dance
To the rhythmic swaying of the grass.

I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath;
I am the memory of a moment of happiness;
I am the last gift of the living to the dead;
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.

But I look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see my shadow.
This is wisdom which man must learn.

Khalil Gibran, Song of the Flower XXIII

Wednesday, 6 May 2015

Honolulu Film Awards | Francesca | Award

"Francesca" wins Gold Kahuna Award at Honolulu Film Awards in Hawaii

I am the daughter of the elements

I am a kind word uttered and repeated
By the voice of Nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements
With whom Winter conceived;
To whom Spring gave birth; I was
Reared in the lap of Summer and I
Slept in the bed of Autumn.

Khalil Gibran, Song of the Flower XXIII

Friday, 1 May 2015

Mexico Int'l Film Festival | Francesca | Award

"Francesca" wins Golden Palm Award at Mexico International Film Festival

Song on May Morning

Now the bright morning-star, Day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!
Woods and groves are of thy dressing;
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

John Milton

Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Earth Day

Bless you, earth:

or hill,

you are only as good
as the good young men
in each place.


Monday, 20 April 2015


La photographie est un art de la lenteur. L’instantané ne fait que de jolis souvenirs préfabriqués.

Sunday, 19 April 2015

Confession Cent-Dix-Huit

C’est parce que le monde est plein de mort et d’épouvante que je cherche sans cesse à consoler mon cœur et à cueillir les belles fleurs qui poussent au milieu de l’enfer. Je jouis de la volupté et j’oublie l’horreur pour une heure. Elle n’en est pas moins là.

Hermann Hesse, Narcisse et Goldmund

Francesca | Festivals


Screened at the Tupelo film festival

Sunday, 5 April 2015

Une fleur volera

Je rajoute une fleur sous le frimas du mois
Au cœur de ce bourgeon et de cette promesse
De doux pétales frais comme des ailes humides

Une fleur volera
Quand le temps dépliera son printemps...

Pour attendre l'aurore, Gaëna da Sylva

Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Gather the wild flowers

Gather the wild flowers, Spring's purest pleasure,
Beautiful harvest for little brown hands,
Singing and laughing o'er each new-found treasure
Let your glad voices float over all lands.

Martha Lavinia Hoffman, Gather the Wild Flowers

Sunday, 22 March 2015

Francesca in Spain

“Francesca” is a poetic account of moments in the life of American photographer Francesca Woodman, who committed suicide by jumping out of an East Village, New York City apartment window in 1981 at age 22.

Filmed in the wilderness of Quebec, Canada, the film reveals Francesca in solitude “in her patterned, dishabille of flowered flea market dresses”, whose prints are analogous to the plants in the surrounding landscape.

"Francesca" was directed by art photographer and filmmaker, Gaëna da Sylva. da Sylva’s abstract poetic short films combine the magic of movement and static photography often using a multi-layered approach. In this art film, da Sylva portrays Woodman with shadowy imagery, suffusing the lyrics, “ghostly images appear like gossamer blurred apparitions” of singer-songwriter and musician Bill Madden.

Sunday, 15 March 2015

Francesca Festivals in France

Well «Francesca» will be in France:  the film is nominated at the Festival Parachute Light Zero Act II 2015 | Francesca, Digital Video, Les Nautes | 1-5 Quai des Céléstins | Paris | France | March 21 - 22, 2015

and the St. Tropez International Film Festival | Francesca, Short Film, Cote d'Azur | South of France | France | May 11 - 16, 2015.

Friday, 13 March 2015

All freshly steep’d in morning dews

Again rejoicing Nature sees
Her robe assume its vernal hues,
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze
All freshly steep’d in morning dews.

Robert Burns, Composed in Spring

Thursday, 12 February 2015

"Desiderata" (Latin: "desired things")

La pose

“To the complaint, 'There are no people in these photographs,' I respond, There are always two people: the photographer and the viewer.”
― Ansel Adams

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Le ciel de ma mémoire Deux

Le temps efface tout il n’éteint pas les yeux
Qu’ils soient d’opale ou d’étoile ou d’eau claire
Beaux comme dans le ciel ou chez un lapidaire
Ils brûleront pour nous d’un feu triste ou joyeux.

Marcel Proust, Je contemple souvent le ciel de ma mémoire

Série Le ciel de ma mémoire, voyages dans le temps.

Tuesday, 27 January 2015

Chai latté, Nest and Care

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)”
― E.E. Cummings

Thursday, 1 January 2015

Happy New Year