even*cleveland: yves klein

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Showing posts with label yves klein. Show all posts

this weekend

Looking up.

plant drawings
other equivalents
what was will be again
shaved ice

On Monday: in search of the sun. Happy weekend.

Still from Yves Klein's La Revolution Bleue, via Claudette at ROLU.

Labels: hands, new york, sky, yves klein

bodies

I personally would never attempt to smear paint over my own body and become a living brush; on the contrary, I would rather put on my tuxedo and wear white gloves. I would never even think of dirtying my hand with paint. Detached and distant, the work of art must complete itself before my eyes and under my command.

Yves Klein, quoted in N. Rosenthal, 1962: A Retrospective, exh. cat., Houston, 1982, p. 124.

Labels: art, colorful things, yves klein

IKB

Ryan Barone:

International Klein Blue (Google Monochromes) is a series of eleven monochromatic works created by conducting web searches for International Klein Blue, a color developed and patented in the 1950s by French artist Yves Klein. Created "as a means of evoking the immateriality and boundlessness of his own particular utopian vision of the world", IKB falls outside of the color gamut of modern computers, rendering each digital reproduction inaccurate.

More here.

Labels: art, ryan barone, yves klein

saut dans le vide

To paint space, I owe it to myself to go there, to that very space… without illusions or tricks, nor with a plane or a parachute or a rocket ship: [the painter of space] must go there by his own means, with an independent individual force, in a word, he must be capable of levitation.

Yves Klein

Photograph of a performance by Yves Klein at Rue Gentil-Bernard, Fontenay-aux-Roses, October 1960, by Harry Shunk. Le Saut dans le Vide (Leap into the Void).

Labels: art, photography, pretty words, yves klein

Older Posts Home

What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose-knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace anything, solemn, slight or beautiful, that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art. The main requisite, I think, on reading my old volumes, is not to play the part of a censor, but to write as the mood comes or of anything whatever; since I was curious to find how I went for things put in haphazard, and found the significance to lie where I never saw it at the time.

V. Woolf

Don't be amazed if you see my eyes always wandering. In fact, this is my way of reading, and it is only in this way that reading proves fruitful for me. If a book truly interests me, I cannot follow it for more than a few lines before my mind, having seized on a thought that the text suggests to it, or a feeling, or a question, or an image, goes off on a tangent and springs from thought to thought, from image to image, in an itinerary of reasonings and fantasies that I feel the need to pursue to the end, moving away from the book until I have lost sight of it. The stimulus of reading is indispensable to me, and of meaty reading, even if, of every book, I manage to read no more than a few pages. But those few pages already enclose for me whole universes, which I can never exhaust.

Italo Calvino

Why didn't she try collecting something? It didn't matter what. She would find it gave an interest to life, and there was no end to the little curiosities one could easily pick up.

Henry James