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Piergiorgio Branzi children

Piergiorgio Branzi. Italy, 1928

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Silhouettes increasingly similar to the smoke and tears, by Julio Cortazar

(...)

But enforced disappearance shall not limit or much less a mechanism of repression aimed at eliminating those deemed enemies. In Argentina, to name the country where this technique of death and fear has surpassed all imaginable limits, disappearances Not only have occurred in the level of adults but have been extended to children, often abducted while her parents or close relatives, and on which he has not known anything. Children ranging from newborns to those already entered the school. Children whose abduction was no justification and not the sadism of the kidnappers or almost inconceivable refinement of his technique of intimidation. These children, what could be considered as subversive by the military qualified young people and adults missing? These children, "were enemies of what they call home, filled with saliva dirty a word that means so much to the American people? What happened to these children, but died in a huge majority? If there are survivors, what they can know today what were once against the traffic, sales, adoptions and displacement of those who have been victims?

If the disappearance of an adult sow terror and pain in the hearts of his neighbors and friends, what about parents and grandparents in Argentina are looking for photographs in hand, the little that they were torn between beatings, shootings and insults? I think back to Dante, I return to tell me that in his unholy hell there is not a single child, but that of the Argentine military responsible for the disappearances is full of small shadows, silhouettes ever more like smoke and tears. "

fragment of the text read by Julio Cortazar in November 1983 at the United Nations, New York, before the Independent Commission on International Humanitarian Issues. Included in Argentina : years of cultural fences . Buenos Aires, Muchnik, 1984. The photo I thank those who uploaded it to Facebook last days.

Julio Cortazar. Belgium v \u200b\u200bArgentina. 1914-1984

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Alicia, by His Blackwell

Its Blackwell. Great Britain. 1975.

From Alice series, 2006 and 2007. His blog.

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The orchard of peaches, Akira Kurosawa



Akira Kurosawa, Japón.1910-1998.
From film "Dreams."

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"I am a child and I speak as a child" by Ingmar Bergman

I am a child. I said once: my creative life comes from my childhood. And emotionally I am a kid. The reason why people like what I do or did is because I am a child and I speak as a child.

When someone write my life, then it may look, in fact, all my creativity is decidedly childish, based on my childhood.

Within a second I can travel to my childhood, magical places, as I have used in Fanny and Alexander. I think everything I've done, and has some value, has its roots in my childhood. Or in the dialectic, a dialogue with my children. I have never taken away from my childhood but I have conducted an ongoing dialogue with her ( fragment and nterview with Jörn Donner).

Most of our education was based on concepts such as sin, confession, punishment, forgiveness and mercy, specific factors in the relationship between parents and children, and with God. So the punishment was something quite natural, something that never questioned. Some were quick and easy as slapping and spanking in the ass, but could also take very sophisticated ways, perfected over generations. If Ernst Ingmar pis was done, what was happening too frequently and easily, had to carry the day a red skirt that reached to his knees. This was considered harmless and laughable.

The "crimes" were punished more serious first with the isolation, no one spoke or answered. After shaking palette brought rugs and self had to say how many lashes he believed deserved. Once the quota, grabbed a pillow green, very filling, they lowered their pants and underwear, laid them face down on a pillow, someone Firmly holding the neck of the robber and gave spanking.

said: 'Understand that I do this because I love you. Kiss my hand and ask for forgiveness. " One was that Serta humiliated to the core.


sorpredió I always that my mother, who was so powerful in all situations, never intervened in these ritual punishments ( He writes in his memoirs).

A Sometimes at night, when I'm on the border between sleep and wakefulness, I can go through a door to my childhood and everything is as it was then, with the lights, smells, sounds, and people .. . I remember the silent street where my grandmother lived, the aggressiveness of the adult world, the terror of the unknown and fear of tensions between my father and my mother ( snippet of the interview with The New York Times) .

Photo: "Fanny and Alexander" film I. Bergman. The small Ingmar with his brother and grandmother.

Ingmar Bergman, Sweden. 1919-2007

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The white dress by Paul Makovsky

Isis Milanese invited my daughter Elena to a photo shoot with her dress white. It is a dress of Isis journeyed children and the next photographing women: "What we intend to show are the different forms and qualities of several women of different ages using the same dress, "he writes, and" Object of sensuality. The dress functions as a frame and body for support. "

I do not know what to say about these photos. Or rather, all I can say the pictures say it best, and perhaps prefer to keep quiet, mature.

But something happens to me: they are not portraits, however, I always see this face. As if there were photographically way to approach a person outside of the face (and photographic approach "Love" should be added.)

quote one paragraph and the end of The desert and the seed of Jorge Baron Biza : "The face is to receive the others get whatever is on the face, eye, ear, mouth and down the cheek, which receives the blows. The face is so that men can get to know each other. Therefore it is sacred ... because it is the Other. People should make your face the cradle of love. Just face the truth when there is a will to want; if you love your neighbor's face turns into a steak, something scary. "

The analysis of Russian icons Jesuit priest Alfredo Sáenz, as in the exegesis of the painting angelic Fra Angelico of Hans Sendlmayr , the faces of the paintings, stylized and childlike, they are there to welcome and take him looking elsewhere, take it with a new face: look at those pictures is also subject to the influence of the eyes of a child or doctrine. Soviet filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein , not unaware of the iconographic heritage of Kiev, wrote that a close (ie, making the face in a film) should be an emotional short film .

Isis not always picture his face but there are beautiful shots of the face of Helena, but Helena in the white dress. But what Isis Photography, after all, is the face on the dress.

The white dress is not only covering my daughter, but what he taught me. As a detachment of the portrait, which is form and theory, these images are also what has to question the face and mask, how much of Elena I get there and how much and traveling a road that is alien to me?

Paul Makovsky. Uruguay, 1963. blog entry Apostrophe.

Milanese I system. Argentina.

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Something happened, by Ana Lafferranderie

"I just came to see the garden died dondealguien

because of something that happened or did not come dealguien "

Pizarnik

P MALL and barefoot on the branch,

prevented against I do not see.

So I'm in the picture, there still:

an owl at the nearby hill.

I keep alertness.

...

The garden is an orphan.

To leave a trail around the house

to night

still far from the door

where voices are serious.

We seek shelter from the vine

ceiling light blue grape.

...

At night I can smell the fear of my mother.

forth between the green I see dark water,

through the garden

reaches the entrance to the kitchen

and grows

up cover the table, the almanac.

still down the hall in a torrent

leaves home drowned itself

and garden without end, as the only land.

...

Sitting on the wall under the house

games and I guess I look at flowers:

something approaches.

A car slowly coming towards us always

as the snake that killed at Mt.

...

is a pause, the biggest

back to the porch.

The grapes were placed in the source.

rest my head on the lap of my mother.

I close my eyes, I learn to relax.

...

Glycine is real at this time uncertain.

She is in the open, as I

when I see the garden behind a veil

crossed the small door to see my father

I follow the sound of the soles on gravel roads

until the air steals my footsteps

still leaves me in a cold steam

waiting for signals.

Lafferranderie Ana, Uruguay, 1969.

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Joe Hisaishi. Japan, 1950.
Music composed for the film Kikujiro, Takeshi Kitano.

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The girl, Rafael Pérez Estrada

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"There was a generation of children brought up to chairmen of the Republic" by Manuel Puig Tricycles

was born in a village on the plain where life was very hard, very hard to say almost Far-west. The prestige of force. Machismo was not questioned at all. The authority had the highest reputation possible. Practiced a Catholicism of convenience. Those were the coordinates. The weakness, tenderness, had no prestige. A world that I rejected. In this village there was a way to escape reality: the movies.

A single room which was each day a different movie, I was with mom at least four times a week. I gradually changed the terms: what was reality became a Z-movie in which I had gotten by mistake. The films were really, coming from the Hollywood blockbusters. It was such a choice, unconscious. This, after 5 years. I went to the movies, and accommodated my life because the truth was what happened in the movies, not what happened in a western town that was the "Republic." I lived in town and was supposed to Buenos Aires Metro. Leaving the town I was going to enter the world you saw in the cinema where the sensitivity triumphed embodied in, for example, Norma Shearer. In the films are rewarded all that was sensitive ... Was time to go to Buenos Aires when he finished primary school, because that town had no high school. I went to Buenos Aires expecting to find that world of film. Not find it.

From the interview of Saul Sosnowski

My personal relations with objects, toys and entertainment gadgets, clothes and costumes ... and even treasures to carry and store, imposed devotional medals or commemorative rings were always valued above all for employment opportunities in the representation in the constant exercise of imitating models and approach to adults or people associated with me them. Things dual membership, these temporary gifts that make children because they do not know where to get and that sooner or later return to the usual circuit of adults were especially me significant. (...)

In elementary school I discovered the first outbreaks of violence that never stopped hating. This systematic humiliation of all that was weak or sensitive, that united in a single word groups, grades, schools whole, against the overweight or stunted, the ponies or sensitive, always terrified me. Somehow, that image is identified to me with an entire generation to which I could never forgive his inability to understand what you do not like him.

.

Manuel Puig, Argentina. From the book "Manuel Puig and the Spider Woman" by Suzanne Jill Levine. Seix Barral, 2002.


There was a whole generation of children brought up to presidents. I think it was a phenomenon that came from the recent immigration. Suddenly, these children were European peasants doctors, and if the son had been a doctor's grandson had become president. Were given by leaps and bounds, and had an ambition, there were no limits. Was not to satisfaction, but to meet a kind of geometric progression. Note that, during World War II, Argentina was for us the most desirable in the world. We were privileged, we had peace, we progress ... And there was no limit to ambition. Our parents watched their children waiting did not know why, because he could not stop the momentum. If my grandfather was a grocer and my mother had been chemistry, I then had to be what!


In an interview with Rosa Montero.





Excerpt from depth interviews, English Television.


Manuel Puig. Argentina. 1932-1990.

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At dawn the children mounted their tricycles,

and never returned.

Leopoldo María Panero

"So Carnaby Street was founded." Madrid (1999)

Each

child

did silences

with rubber dolls

and tricycles

sang each

Artist

secret

A lejandra Correa, The Scream, 2002

Emilio, brother of the poet Olga Orozco, in his tricycle.

family picture, circa 1958

Pablo Picasso family

Child Tricycle, 1963

The poet Ana Lafferranderie Piriapolis, 1974.

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Two poems by Natalia Litvinova

Time

I have a theFallas child back
points his finger my belly

yesterday's music sounds at home
dawn today when the body comes

I have a child on her back and said


gets old and is my son I
daughter between us lyrics time

there is no language that contains

each word

is skin snow

a girl with a branch

write on

the snow melts

the girl also

Natalia Litvinova, Belarus, 1986. His blog

Image: Mariana Palova. Mexico, 1990. His blog

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Life without armor, Alan Sillitoe

Fragment, Chapter 1

U na dardetalles autobiography is required to more people than the author, although that is, to mention the two responsible quefueron he was born. In connection with my father, never mind what age pudedecidir stopped for much of his life. Hesobrepasado now quite the age of his death, more than thirty years ago, and todavíarecuerdo that sometimes seemed to have the mind of a boy of ten years in a elcuerpo beast. Was macrocephalic and short legs and the fact is that, given millions of years and a typewriter, never could have producidoun shakespireano sonnet. On the other hand, I could not.

L to most of the time had lahabilidad to hide their stupidity, which in some dark abyss of menteera conscious. Experience helped him in the world, was also self-centered esaamabilidad are said to possess the animals, realizing deque if she affection of those around him he should show algoparecido for it.

A often hit my mother and untemprano memory is of her bent over the bucket so that blood desu tajeada head did not fall on the carpet. The way of atonement for him eraser kind of a somewhat sentimental, but when such gestures desconcertabapeligrosamente caused rejection. My mother decided that since this was the only way to give respite, the best eraaceptarlos because it could not bring another burst of violence. Ellasabía also take advantage of the sudden calm of his existence desu soften the pain and so under the circumstances, she honored the maximum diceque once you made your bed you lie in it.


The slow passing of edaddebería have taught my father to know and thus control their peoresinstintos. Unable to do something similar, it remained a threat to losque nearby. Soon learned to think before speaking, especially Singingpower feared, which included nearly all the world, an unusual state APARTICULAR child. My father was the ultimate authority of the fist and boot, tempered-if that is the word for a nail that was another way deinmoderación, giving me an abiding disrespect for laautoridad.

E n those early days, the bad humorocupaba more time my father that his genuine need for amendment, and ischemia sister and I lived in continual apprehension to someone who sentíamosa times, there should be been tied to a string. Momentosde answered his kindness with relief rather than affection, but there was no RELIABILITY haven in any of our parents. My mother wanted to improve the unpredictable wrath of my father and suffered twice because he could not because eraincapaz even protect itself. I remember hearing her screaming their protest when my father beat me, a rare occurrence, since prontoaprendí to stay out of the way: "No, no, not in your head!". I also experienced pangs of grief because my mother had me conocidoy had given birth, but my mind quickly adapted to algoparecido a courtier in the cage of an orangutan .

D ince the beginning my emocionesestaban divided by hate my father and grief for my mother but occasionally fell into account that my father should be as it was because I could not read niescribir. It deeply embarrassed when their children heard our madregritar in anguish that he was ignorant elnombre unable even to decipher a road sign or a bus. The world must have seemed bewildering entoncescomo a jungle, and I write about it because it was the first fuerzaamenazadora I found after leaving the womb, although their presence fuesentida probably when he was still there .

A rest of the alteracionesheredadas perhaps he was returning what they had done fromthe birth, indicating that he had no mental flexibility paracontrolarse as a civilized person. The fact that I do not have happened, laterarrival, these disadvantages to those who surrounded me, was because I inadvertently identified with the suffering of my mother and not the anger that I could always backfire.

illitoe S (...) is an old English name, he gave a lot of work to those specialists in nomenclaturasfamiliares Victorian, a writer suggests that there may be originated in Iceland, and another says that comes from North Yorkshire. Whatever the truth, seríacorrecto say that my father had one of the oldest English traits. Inmy birth certificate he is described as "technical pawn." Since this was also the stage my first job, I might have taken something from him after detodo, although what has been just that is something I never was able dedecidir.

C hen the old Sillitoe, eltapicero, died in 1925 left the rent of several enWolverhampton tenement houses to be divided among his eight children, none of loscuales knew he had property. The eldest son, Frederick Wallace, undiseñador automatically lace, a few years earlier had rented a van and loaded it disfigure all the furniture in quality of their home, even nopager, and had gone to live in London, where he remained for twenty years . ChangingEngineOil name and not let his family know your address, which made nopudiera be tracked by the creditors or to receive herencia.Su found it went to the other, thus reducing the story of my father from the truth that hazañacon what is gained in the first leg is lost in the back .

S emejantes inesperadashicieron gains little good, though with about a hundred pounds my padresmantuvieron their lives afloat for several months. When todosalvo had spent forty pounds, my father got a job painting informal elexterior a factory on an elevated platform. The bills were prolijamentedoblados fabric in a wallet in the pocket of his waistcoat, and when collapsed laplataforma he lay wounded on the ground, covered depintura. On waking in the hospital, his first thought was for the money, but some angelic nurse what had escaped in a light box lamesita, a kindness he never forgot.

Alan Sillitoe, United Kingdom, 1928-2010.
Image: Cover of "The Runner" by Alan Sillitoe.
this entry thank Luis Barbieri.

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Children

Henri Cartier-Bresson, France, 1908-2004.