drifted into the british museum after my seminar and hadn’t realised the parthenon friezes rooms were finally open again, so came to see my old friends before settling down in the cafe to do some reading. I feel as strongly as anyone that these should be back in athens, where they belong and where their intricacy and their magnitude would be so much more important and so much better respected. I find this museum very uncomfortable and in many ways I would like it to become obsolete. that being said, I’m still a classicist at heart, and I feel an immense sense of comfort in the presence of the ancient world, so while it is still here - and while it’s round the corner - I won’t deny myself that
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Doru Covrig, “Hands” with Yohji Yamamoto S/S 2009.
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Sadahito Mori - Heart-shaped Radish, 1990
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When we un-packed it, the Paris curator was embarrassed to discover lipstick marks on its cheek: someone in the Louvre had played at being Pygmalion—or Hadrian—and kissed it. And who could blame them?
Up on a pedestal, center stage, the effect of its beauty was jaw-dropping.
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T. S. Eliot — The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
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the meaning of life is summed up in the story elmer bendiner tells about how when he was a pilot the second world war, his plane was hit with a barrage of anti-aircraft fire from the nazi forces but the crew survived. and how everyone was saying it was a miracle until they investigated the shells that got in the fuselage and found there was no explosive charges in any of them. in one they found a note scribbled in czech, written by the person who had been forced to manufacture the shells, and it just said ‘this is all we can do for you now’.
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