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NU EU

nou nascut svankmajer style---poate apare si la mine, Mr.Peanut's baby, tribute to Julia Varley


idee de setting teatru de papusi, probabil pt alt show, aici nu prea ma inspira, dar mi-a atras atentia


oarecum conceptualizarea NU EU pe invers, la mine e DOAR gura

ce se poate baga in gura si imi provoaca sila?

sobolani
viermi
pene
pasari
spini
paianjeni
foarfeci
pietre pe care le scuip apoi
dintii pe care ii scuip

si lista continua

NU EU

de Samuel Beckett
cu Claudia Ardelean
scenografia Luiza Enescu
un spectacol de Mihai Lucaciu


premiera: 10 mai 2007, Teatrul de Papusi PUCK, Cluj Napoca


vor veni poze, idei, ilustratii cu care lucrez

Salome - references

Oscar Wilde's play
Salome premiered in Paris in 1896, under the French name Salomé. Because British law forbade the depiction of Biblical characters on stage, Wilde wrote the play originally in French, and then produced an English translation (titled Salome). Wilde's French was close to native but he showed it to at least two French writers. One refused any corrections: "to correct the idiom would be to destroy the unique harmonies of the Wildean French." In the English version Alfred Bruce Douglas (Bosie) is indicated as translator.

Painting
This Biblical story has been a favourite of painters: a chance to orientalize with greedy Western eyes semi-nude and evil women, to express exotic scenery good to be colonized under the moral auspices of depicting a Biblical subject.

In chronological order (to see each work, follow the link):

Herod's Feast, Daurade Monastery, c 1100, Musée des Augustins, Toulouse.
Death of John the Baptist, Gilabertus, Saint-Etienne Cathedral, 1120-1140, Musee des Augustins, Toulouse
Feast of Herod, Giotto di Bondone, 1320
Entombment of the Baptist, Andrea Pisano, 1330
St. John the Evangelist and Stories from His Life, Giovanni del Biondo, 1360-70


Feast of Herod, Aretino Spinello, 1385, Museum of Fine Arts Budapest


The Banquet of Herod, Lorenzo Monaco, c. 1400


The Beheading of St. John the Baptist, Masaccio, 1426
Herod's Banquet, Donatello, 1427
Banquet of Herod, Masolino da Panicale, 1435


Herod's Banquet, Fra Filippo Lippi, 1452-65



The Head of John the Baptist Brought to Herod, Giovanni di Paolo, 1454, National Gallery, London



The Feast of Herod and the Beheading of Saint John the Baptist, Benozzo Gozzoli, 1461-62, National Gallery of Art


Head of the Baptist, Giovanni Bellini, 1464-68


The Beheading of St. John the Baptist, Lieven van Lathem, 1469, The J. Paul Getty Museum
Herod's Feast, Heydon, Norfolk, c. 1470, wall painting in an English parish church
St. John Altarpiece, Hans Memling, 1474-79
Beheading of John the Baptist, Andrea del Verrocchio, 1477-80


Salome with the Head of John the Baptist, Cornelis Engelbrechtsz, c. 1490, J. Paul Getty Museum

The Head of St. John the Baptist, with Mourning Angels and Putti, Jan Mostaert, early 16th century, National Gallery, London
St. John Altarpiece (left wing), Quentin Massys, 1507-08
The Beheading of St. John, Albrecht Dürer, 1510, Christian Theological Seminary, Indianapolis
The Daughter of Herodias, Sebastiano del Piombo, 1510, National Gallery, London
Salome, Tilman Riemenschneider, 1500-1510
Salome, Casare da Sesta, 1510-20, National Gallery, London
Salome, Giampietrino, c. 1510-30, National Gallery, London
The Head of St. John the Baptist Brought to Herod, Albrecht Dürer, 1511
Salome with the head of St John the Baptist, Tiziano Vecellio (Titian), c. 1530, Galleria Doria Pamphilj, Rome
Head of John the Baptist, Hans Baldung Grien, 1516, National Gallery of Art
Salome with the Head of John the Baptist, Jacob Cornelisz van Oostsanen, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam
Herodias, Bernardino Luini, 1527-31


Salome, Lucas Cranach the Elder, c. 1530, Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest


Beheading of John the Baptist, Vincenzo Danti, 1569-70

Salome with the Head of the Baptist, Caravaggio, 1605


The Beheading of the Baptist, Caravaggio, 1605


Salome, Giovanni Battista Caracciolo, 1615-20

The Feast of Herod, Franz Francken II, c. 1620, State Hermitage Museum
Herodias with the Head of St. John the Baptist, Francesco del Cairo, c. 1625-30
The Beheading of John the Baptist, Matthaeus Merrian the Elder, 1625-30


Decapitation of St. John, Unknown British, 17th century, Tate Gallery


Salome Dancing before Herod, Jacob Hogers, c. 1630-55, Rijksmuseum


Salome Presented with the Head of St. John the Baptist, Leonaert Bramer, 1630s
The Beheading of St. John the Baptist, Massimo Stanzione, c. 1634


Salome with the Head of John the Baptist, Guido Reni, 1639-40


The Beheading of John the Baptist, Rembrandt, 1640, The Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco
The Beheading of John the Baptist, Rombout van Troyen, 1650s, State Hermitage Museum


St John Reproaching Herod, Mattia Preti, 1662-66


St John the Baptist Before Herod, Mattia Preti, 1665


John the Baptist Beheaded, Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld, 1851-60, World Mission Collection


The Daughter of Herodias Receiving the Head of John the Baptist, Gustave Doré, 1865


Head of St. John the Baptist, Jean-Baptiste Chatigny, 1869, The J. Paul Getty Museum
The Beheading of John the Baptist, Pierre-Cécile Puvis de Chavannes, c. 1869 National Gallery, London
Salome, Henri Regnault, 1870, Metropolitan Museum of Art


Gustave Moreau:
Salome Dancing before Herod, 1874-76

The Apparition, 1874-76



Salome, 1876


James Tissot, 1886-96:
The Daughter of Herodias Dancing


The Head of John the Baptist on a Platter


Salome, Franz von Stuck, 1906

SALOME

....and the bible says:

And when a convenient day was come, that Herod on his birthday made a supper to his lords, high captains, and chief estates of Galilee; And when the daughter of the said Herodias came in, and danced, and pleased Herod and them that sat with him, the king said unto the damsel, Ask of me whatsoever thou wilt, and I will give it thee. And he sware unto her, Whatsoever thou shalt ask of me, I will give it thee, unto the half of my kingdom. And she went forth, and said unto her mother, What shall I ask? And she said, The head of John the Baptist.

And she came in straightway with haste unto the king, and asked, saying, I will that thou give me by and by in a charger the head of John the Baptist. And the king was exceeding sorry; yet for his oath's sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her. And immediately the king sent an executioner, and commanded his head to be brought: and he went and beheaded him in the prison, and brought his head in a charger, and gave it to the damsel: and the damsel gave it to her mother. And when his disciples heard of it, they came and took up his corpse, and laid it in a tomb. (Mark 6:21-29)

SALOME

Embodying Salome

a personal cut

oscar wilde

Salome: A Tragedy in One Act

[She is like a woman rising from a tomb. She is like a dead woman. One might fancy she was looking for dead things. She has a strange look. She is like a little princess who wears a yellow veil, and whose feet are of silver. She is like a princess who has little white doves for feet. One might fancy she was dancing.]

[She is like a woman who is dead. She moves very slowly.]

[Noise What an uproar! Who are those wild beasts howling?]

[How pale the Princess is! Never have I seen her so pale. She is like the shadow of a white rose in a mirror of silver. You must not look at her. You look too much at her.]

[The Princess has hidden her face behind her fan! Her little white hands are fluttering like doves that fly to their dove-cots. They are like white butterflies. They are just like white butterflies. Why do you look at her? You must not look at her . . . . Something terrible may happen.]

[The Princess is getting up! She is leaving the table! She looks very troubled. Ah, she is coming this way. Yes, she is coming towards us. How pale she is!]

[She is like a dove that has strayed . . . . She is like a narcissus trembling in the wind . . . . She is like a silver flower.]

SALOME

I will not stay. I cannot stay. Why does the Tetrarch look at me all the while with his mole's eyes under his shaking eyelids? It is strange that the husband of my mother looks at me like that. I know not what it means. Of a truth I know it too well.

How sweet is the air here! I can breathe here! Within there are Jews from Jerusalem who are tearing each other in pieces over their foolish ceremonies, and barbarians who drink and drink and spill their wine on the pavement, and Greeks from Smyrna with painted eyes and painted cheeks, and frizzed hair curled in columns, and Egyptians silent and subtle, with long nails of jade and russet cloaks, and Romans brutal and coarse, with their uncouth jargon. Ah! how I loathe the Romans! They are rough and common, and they give themselves the airs of noble lords.

How good to see the moon! She is like a little piece of money, a little silver flower. She is cold and chaste. I am sure she is a virgin. She has the beauty of a virgin. Yes, she is a virgin. She has never defiled herself. She has never abandoned herself to men, like the other goddesses.

Who was that who cried out?

Ah, the prophet!

[The night is fair in the garden.]

He says terrible things about my mother, does he not? Yes; he says terrible things about her.

I will not return.

What a strange voice! I would speak with him.

I desire to speak with him.

I will speak with him.

How black it is, down there! It must be terrible to be in so black a hole! It is like a tomb.

I would but look at him, this strange prophet. Men have talked so much of him. Often I have heard the Tetrarch talk of him. I think he is afraid of him, the Tetrarch. Art thou, even thou, also afraid of him?

[look at thee through the muslin veils, smile]

[She has a strange aspect! She is like a little princess, whose eyes are eyes of amber. Through the clouds of muslin she is smiling like a little princess.]

Yes: it is of my mother that he is speaking.

Ah, but he is terrible, he is terrible!

It is his eyes above all that are terrible. They are like black holes burned by torches in a tapestry of Tyre. They are like the black caverns where the dragons live, the black caverns of Egypt in which the dragons make their lairs. They are like black lakes troubled by fantastic moons . . . .

How wasted he is! He is like a thin ivory statue. He is like an image of silver. I am sure he is chaste, as the moon is. He is like a moonbeam, like a shaft of silver. His flesh must be very cold, cold as ivory . . . . I would look closer at him.

I must look at him closer.

I am Salome, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judæa.

Speak again, Iokanaan. Thy voice is as music to mine ear.

Speak again! Speak again, Iokanaan, and tell me what I must do.

Who is he, the Son of Man? Is he as beautiful as thou art, Iokanaan?

Iokanaan!

I am amorous of thy body, Iokanaan! Thy body is white, like the lilies of a field that the

mower hath never mowed. Thy body is white like the snows that lie on the mountains of Judæa, and come down into the valleys. The roses in the garden of the Queen of Arabia are not so white as thy body. Neither the roses of the garden of the Queen of Arabia, the garden of spices of the Queen of Arabia, nor the feet of the dawn when they light on the leaves, nor the breast of the moon when she lies on the breast of the sea . . . . There is nothing in the world so white as thy body. Suffer me to touch thy body.

Thy body is hideous. It is like the body of a leper. It is like a plastered wall, where vipers have crawled; like a plastered wall where the scorpions have made their nest. It is like a whited sepulchre, full of loathsome things. It is horrible, thy body is horrible. It is of thy hair that I am enamoured, Iokanaan. Thy hair is like clusters of grapes, like the clusters of black grapes that hang from the vine-trees of Edom in the land of the Edomites. Thy hair is like the cedars of Lebanon, like the great cedars of Lebanon that give their shade to the lions and to the robbers who would hide them by day. The long black nights, when the moon hides her face, when the stars are afraid, are not so black as thy hair. The silence that dwells in the forest is not so black. There is nothing in the world that is so black as thy hair . . . . Suffer me to touch thy hair.

Thy hair is horrible. It is covered with mire and dust. It is like a crown of thorns placed on thy head. It is like a knot of serpents coiled round thy neck. I love not thy hair . . . . It is thy mouth that I desire, Iokanaan. Thy mouth is like a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory. It is like a pomegranate cut in twain with a knife of ivory. The pomegranate flowers that blossom in the gardens of Tyre, and are redder than roses, are not so red. The red blasts of trumpets that herald the approach of kings, and make afraid the enemy, are not so red. Thy mouth is redder than the feet of those who tread the wine in the wine-press. It is redder than the feet of the doves who inhabit the temples and are fed by the priests. It is redder than the feet of him who cometh from a forest where he hath slain a lion, and seen gilded tigers. Thy mouth is like a branch of coral that fishers have found in the twilight of the sea, the coral that they keep for the kings! . . . It is like the vermilion that the Moahites find in the mines of Moab, the vermilion that the kings take from them. It is like the bow of the King of the Persians, that is painted with vermilion, and is tipped with coral. There is nothing in the world so red as thy mouth . . . . Suffer me to kiss thy mouth.

I will kiss thy mouth, Iokanaan. I will kiss thy mouth.

[she has a strange look to-night. She is like a mad woman, a mad woman who is seeking everywhere for lovers. She is naked too. She is quite naked. Does she not reel like a drunken woman? She is like a mad woman, is she not?]

[Dance, Salome.]

I have no desire to dance.

[perfumes and the seven veils, take off the sandals of Salome.]

[look at the moon! She has become red. She has become red as blood.]

[Salome dances the dance of the seven veils.]

[Rising.]

The head of Iokanaan.

It is for mine own pleasure that I ask the head of Iokanaan in a silver charger.

[The head of a man that is cut from his body]

[you are ridiculous with your peacocks.]

Ah! thou art not listening to me. Be calm. As for me, am I not calm? I am altogether calm. Listen. I have jewels hidden in this place -- jewels that thy mother even has never seen; jewels that are marvellous to look at. I have a collar of pearls, set in four rows. They are like unto moons chained with rays of silver. They are even as half a hundred moons caught in a golden net. On the ivory breast of a queen they have rested. Thou shalt be as fair as a queen when thou wearest them. I have amethysts of two kinds; one that is black like wine, and one that is red like wine that one has coloured with water. I have topazes yellow as are the eyes of tigers, and topazes that are pink as the eyes of a wood-pigeon, and green topazes that are as the eyes of cats. I have opals that burn always, with a flame that is cold as ice, opals that make sad men's minds, and are afraid of the shadows. I have onyxes like the eyeballs of a dead woman. I have moonstones that change when the moon changes, and are wan when they see the sun. I have sapphires big like eggs, and as blue as blue flowers. The sea wanders within them, and the moon comes never to trouble the blue of their waves. I have chrysolites and beryls, and chrysoprases and rubies; I have sardonyx and hyacinth stones, and stones of chalcedony, and I will give them all unto thee, all, and other things will I add to them. The King of the Indies has but even now sent me four fans fashioned from the feathers of parrots, and the King of Numidia a garment of ostrich feathers. I have a crystal, into which it is not lawful for a woman to look, nor may young men behold it until they have been beaten with rods. In a coffer of nacre I have three wondrous turquoises. He who wears them on his forehead can imagine things which are not, and he who carries them in his hand can turn the fruitful woman into a woman that is barren. These are great treasures. They are treasures above all price. But this is not all. In an ebony coffer I have two cups of amber that are like apples of pure gold. If an enemy pour poison into these cups they become like apples of silver. In a coffer incrusted with amber I have sandals incrusted with glass. I have mantles that have been brought from the land of the Serer, and bracelets decked about with carbuncles and with jade that come from the city of Euphrates . . . . What desirest thou more than this, Salome? Tell me the thing that thou desirest, and I will give it thee. All that thou askest I will give thee, save one thing only. I will give thee all that is mine, save only the life of one man. I will give thee the mantle of the high priest. I will give thee the veil of the sanctuary.

[She leans over and listens.]

There is no sound. I hear nothing. Why does he not cry out, this man? Ah! if any man sought to kill me, I would cry out, I would struggle, I would not suffer . . . . Strike, strike, Naaman, strike, I tell you. . . . No, I hear nothing. There is a silence, a terrible silence. Ah! something has fallen upon the ground. I heard something fall. It was the sword of the executioner. He is afraid, this slave. He has dropped his sword. He dares not kill him. He is a coward, this slave! Thou wert the friend of him who is dead, wert thou not? Well, I tell thee, there are not dead men enough.

[on a silver shield the head of lokanaan. Salome seizes it.]

Ah! thou wouldst not suffer me to kiss thy mouth, Iokanaan. Well! I will kiss it now. I will bite it with my teeth as one bites a ripe fruit. Yes, I will kiss thy mouth, Iokanaan. I said it; did I not say it? I said it. Ah! I will kiss it now . . . . But wherefore dost thou not look at me, Iokanaan? Thine eyes that were so terrible, so full of rage and scorn, are shut now. Wherefore are they shut? Open thine eyes! Lift up thine eyelids, Iokanaan! Wherefore dost thou not look at me? Art thou afraid of me, Iokanaan, that thou wilt not look at me? . . . And thy tongue, that was like a red snake darting poison, it moves no more, it speaks no words, Iokanaan, that scarlet viper that spat its venom upon me. It is strange, is it not? How is it that the red viper stirs no longer?. . .Thou wouldst have none of me, Iokanaan. Thou rejectedst me. Thou didst speak evil words against me. Thou didst bear thyself toward me as to a harlot, as to a woman that is a wanton, to me, Salome, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judæa! Well, I still live, but thou art dead, and thy head belongs to me. I can do with it what I will. I can throw it to the dogs and to the birds of the air. That which the dogs leave, the birds of the air shall devour . . . . Ah, Iokanaan, Iokanaan, thou wert the man that I loved alone among men! All other men were hateful to me. But thou wert beautiful! Thy body was a column of ivory set upon feet of silver. It was a garden full of doves and lilies of silver. It was a tower of silver decked with shields of ivory. There was nothing in the world so white as thy body. There was nothing in the world so black as thy hair. In the whole world there was nothing so red as thy mouth. Thy voice was a censer that scattered strange perfumes, and when I looked on thee I heard a strange music. Ah! wherefore didst thou not look at me, Iokanaan? With the cloak of thine hands, and with the cloak of thy blasphemies thou didst hide thy face. Thou didst put upon thine eyes the covering of him who would see his God. Well, thou hast seen thy God, Iokanaan, but me, me, thou didst never see. If thou hadst seen me thou hadst loved me. I saw thee, and I loved thee. Oh, how I loved thee! I love thee yet, Iokanaan. I love only thee . . . . I am athirst for thy beauty; I am hungry for thy body; and neither wine nor apples can appease my desire. What shall I do now, Iokanaan? Neither the floods nor the great waters can quench my passion. I was a princess, and thou didst scorn me. I was a virgin, and thou didst take my virginity from me. I was chaste, and thou didst fill my veins with fire . . . . Ah! ah! wherefore didst thou not look at me? If thou hadst looked at me thou hadst loved me. Well I know that thou wouldst have loved me, and the mystery of Love is greater than the mystery of Death.

[Put out the torches! Hide the moon! Hide the stars! The stars disappear. A great cloud crosses the moon and conceals it completely. The stage becomes quite dark.]

THE VOICE OF SALOME

Ah! I have kissed thy mouth, Iokanaan, I have kissed thy mouth. There was a bitter taste on thy lips. Was it the taste of blood? . . . Nay; but perchance it was the taste of love… They say that love hath a bitter taste. But what matter? what matter? I have kissed thy mouth, Iokanaan, I have kissed thy mouth.

[A ray of moonlight falls on Salome and illumines her.]

Salome