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I thought I saw, I had not seen. It is often true of those cult films that eventually we "own" as we have never had any dealings with them, except by a few scenes, always the same, when it aired on television for a moment question of them (here, the first visit of Madame Anais Séverine, the madam of the brothel).

rare pleasure, therefore, for me, both for the theme that surprised and sometimes shocked at its release in 1967, this quest for pleasure is said ambiguous, where the fantasies of the heroine are superimposed on the story that by mischievous winks Bunuel (the reconstitution of the Angelus of Millet, for example). Intense pleasure as provided by the distribution of young Catherine Deneuve, Michel Piccoli, in the role of disorder idle it sticks to the skin, Genevieve Page, madam mother at once tender and brutal, Macha Meril, Georges Marchal, Francisco Rabal, Francoise Fabian. No less!

And Pierre Clementi, the ugly lover, pierced his sock and his long leather coat, with its silhouette of a young person who wants to go for a drive. I always had a thing for this actor, since The Conformist Bernardo Bertolucci and The Cannibals Liliana Cavani .

Ah! as I feel good in this world!

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The Watchtower

I had never read novels of Ana Maria Matute. I'm Italian, so it is Catalan. The Watchtower fascinated me as a little books have done so far. Pound strong and dark, the days when the gods, good and evil, black jumper and white horsemen of the steppes along the great river, engaged in battles in the eyes of a child hallucinated and ugly, who discovers gradually introducing him at a baron to chivalry (that of the first time, where courtly love had not yet taken its toll), it participates in this brutal history of the world before men.

The watchman was dead, although I can not, however, specify when and if he disappeared forever from the dungeon of my father, the night when I shared my hunting with him; or when he watched the horizon, his body bent over the battlements, or perhaps much later, once all these things accomplished. (...) There, near the Grand River, three birch trees waved gently in a land also forgotten that the image of a young man recently invested knight and a squire who was pouring a drink into the cup of his lord.
grass-prairie grasslands and all the world-swaying like a sea caught when she intends to flee. (...)
upland woods came the white knights and black knights. Walls of the castle Mohl went to meet them white and black riders. Then I saw The Lord of enemies, so arrogant, so brave lad and if a last cry of violence arose in my mind. I am proud of his fury, I admired his courage, his cruelty and sent me the image of my childhood, lying in the meadow, eyes troubled pleasure to dream of war and blood. But the black sword stood with my own hands and broke forever the pride, cruelty, courage and honor. "Evil is dead," I said.
(Ed. Phoebus Libretto. Trad Michelle Levi-Provencal)

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Annie Girardot

I learned, like everyone else, the news of the death of Annie Girardot. I was in my car to go to my mother. I did really thought that tonight, while watching television. Her disappearance touched me very much, first because it was a great actress popular, everyone agrees, but also because it has always been, for me, a woman alive, passionate, giving smiles and bites. Thank you, ma'am.
I could not help but think that little by little, my mother glides on the same slope. Excuse me while mixing.

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In response to Karagar

Lu today on a blog that I frequent for a long time: The eyeglass melancholy . Extract Primer * Jean Sulivan

SOLITUDE "I am grateful that loves to help me feel comfortable in solitude. This is ambiguous. Thanks to the presence / absence of careful who loves me that solitude is precious to me. "
gap and the alliance, P. 17. *
Gallimard, 2010 (Edition established and presented by Charles Austin).

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A memory that came back this morning upon waking. Why at this time? I know damn nothing. We were in Alsace with my students, Hohwald for a European week. We went nine consecutive years. The last time the managers have wanted to celebrate our loyalty by offering us a bottle once the children go to bed: "You never know, we can not meet again next year." There never was a tenth year.

This time, I slept in the room at the back of the building, which I reserve as soon as I could because, instead of giving space on asphalt below, where the bus was parked, she opened the countryside and the surrounding woods. One morning, woke up early, I enjoyed the silence that reigned around me still to smoke a cigarette in the corridor outside the fire escape. It was still fresh, and although June is well under way, remnants of mist floating, vanishing around the house. The contours of the hill opposite were themselves embedded in cotton.

I was leaning on the railing, still pleased that moment stolen. breathing the fresh air as a delicacy which I was the only one to enjoy and that's where I saw him a few yards away, standing on its hind legs, trying to eat the tops of high grasses. It was a beautiful hare, bold and big, plump and beautiful to perfection in its vertical position. He had not seen me and the breeze blowing toward me, I could not perceive the odor or smoke from my cigarette. He also enjoyed probably the way the beauty of solitude morning.

I watched it long, strong and fragile at times, oblivious to my presence that would have scared off if he had seen. Can we say that a rabbit is moving? I think since that day. Table of serenity and life. It was just him and me. By now I had the sensation of being indiscreet, but could not tear myself away from this show. I seldom felt so close to nature, to forget to pull on my cigarette Only careful not to move, not to break the harmony of what was beyond me. He continued to nibble, sometimes resting the legs on the ground to recover immediately after sufficient rest. 'I am gone. I just wanted to keep that image, with no leakage which would probably soon.

Moments later, after lunch, children were playing there, pushing their hilarious screams of young fools release. The hare had regained his protective thicket.

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Grasses in the mist And a little music, anyone? (4) Nothing but me

Alfred Deller, Bach Mass in B minor, Agnus Dei

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I always all these moments nothing but me in the evening after a meal with friends at home or at home, such nights when I'm not besotted by the work and where I know I can hang out in the morning in bed. Moments stolen from the hustle and stress, which can not think of anything other than what we saw in the moment, where there is no rush, when everything suddenly becomes lighter, as if time had lost its consistency.

Read, watch TV, come to this screen with no other desire than to be good. No phone calls mostly. No other noise tire slippage on the wet road, in a building where sleeping alone, I sleep. Or prepare a dish for the next day, stopping at the entrance of a repeat parts of the apartment and tell me that I like to think of development remains to be done, assume the location of a table , a trinket, dreaming that it will be soon and that allows you to dream because you have not already.

And when sleep wins, do not resist slipping into the sheets and go to sleep without having to set the alarm to trust your body will know when it will be well rested, hopefully, when we open shutters in the morning as the sun enters the kitchen, giving it a soul, always silent, start slowly and another day.

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Rejected

Here is a prospect that pleases me much: after studying with the sixth The River at the back of Jean-Claude Mourlevat, I find a good novel, I must, during the holidays, I "pay "Reading the Lion Joseph Kessel for fifth. I have never until now been able to overcome this book. Similarly, I could not resist the television adaptation in which the heroine, Patricia, was, I think he interpreted by the daughter of Delon.

Why this deep aversion, I who enjoys reading, for some books? Eugenie Grandet and Sentimental Education suffered the same fate, while I like Balzac and Flaubert. I do not know. Poor timing? Style does not suit me? History daunting? Still, today, must I spend! The last time I made a superhuman effort to use one of these "rejected" it was the Old Man and the Sea , Hemingway. Inconclusive result: I finished it but I have not changed my opinion.

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Africa

Misiones African Museum of Lyon is a museum very interesting and unfortunately quite unknown to the local population. Collecting objects collected by the Missionary Fathers from the first half of the nineteenth century, mostly in countries of West Africa (Côte d'Ivoire, Ghana, Togo, Benin), he organized its three floors by theme: life daily in the first, second life social and religious life in the third.

We did our annual visit this afternoon with my students in fifth. Each is charged with special attention to an object (jar, collar, door box, tray divination, ceremonial seat, drum anthropomorphic mask beggar Mask and justice) to then in college, the present by putting himself in the shoes of a museum guide. Excellent oral exercises, areas that we have rarely the opportunity to address the current education is still mainly focused on writing.


I was fortunate to come across a group of students interested and attentive, asking questions relevant to a young guide particularly the fact that it presented. I was also able to take many photos, including those of some items already photographed during previous visits but still fascinate me. One drawback: the windows are often located in front of windows that interfere with their reflections on the glass of the showcase.

. This little genius fighter is probably, in my opinion the most beautiful part of the museum, unfortunately relegated to a corner where it is not development and near a window. When the hunter went out hunting, he came to make a libation to his personal genius that he was satisfied, he indicated the direction to follow to find game. Wood, the statuette is coated with a thin tissue at the origin which, after the libations that have been raised above, definitely has stiffened. The cap is also totally worn by the caresses lavished her owner. She comes from Côte d'Ivoire. What fascinates me in this object very rare because very personal, and therefore not available, and often burned at the death of the hunter, the head-child of genius, a humanity and a shocking and finesse, Unfortunately, we do not perceive in this photo, the other side of being bad because of glare.


After a quiet return to school by subway, I could finally enjoy my first moments of vacation, quietly smoking a cigarette with a colleague that I only cross in ordinary times and happy to note that our close friendship, despite the difficult events that she lives with family and who I see at least, has not faded.

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To you, gentlemen! (14): George Geret

I just learned that he was born in Lyon in 1924, a father (who died when he was 6 years old) bore velvet and a mother of embroidery ornaments church. When he went to Paris, he met Leo Joannon save him from despair and a sudden return to Lyon. He will play in his film The defrocked (1953). Because of his physique, his broken nose particularly remember a fight in a schoolyard, he often confided in supporting roles of gangsters, shady characters or police.

In 1959, he joined the cast of the NPT for a decade. He then played for directors like Bunuel ( Diary of a Chambermaid , 1965), Costa-Gavras ( Sub killers, 1965, and Z , 1968), Alain Cavalier (The Insounmis , 1964), Sidney Hayers ( The Star of South , 1968, where he will play opposite Orson Welles), Berri ( Piston, 1969), and will play in 1972 for television, the convict Jean Valjean in Les Miserables (Marcel Bluwal).

died of cancer in 1996, he was buried in Sain-Paul-de-Vence, a village in Provence where he liked to go to play bocce in the summer, with Montand and Ventura, his friends.

The video is taken from The Metamorphosis woodlice , Pierre Granier-Deferre (1965) where he plays here with Françoise Rosay, the role of a cat burglar named Rouquemoute.

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Smells

One of the last tickets Valerie put me on track of it: I also have a colleague that stinks. There is no other word for it. I've known her for thirty years and have worked extensively with her own material, the same passion for antiquity (it Greek, Roman me instead). We made numerous trips abroad, either with students or with other friends. At that time, although I've never seen wearing a perfume or cologne, it does not feel bad. I do not know when this came up. At first I thought it was a temporary problem (drugs, bad laundry, a small depression). But he had to go to the evidence. lasted and the passenger has not stopped since.

When we go into the staff room, we know it is there or it has recently been there. Everyone rushes to open the windows after his departure. A former colleague, who had left another college and little soft on this kind of business, had called the "Boar of the Ardennes". We had carefully observed during a particularly hot month of June: it had not changed clothes for over a week. I hate to think her underwear in that time they were in the same state as the dress and blouse!

And what aggravates his case is that it can not you talk without getting close to you, you stick. I've always been very sensitive sense of smell, even when I smoked regularly, I do not need to clarify as I was happy! Since I do everything not to find myself at his side during the many meetings we attend to both. But we must hurry and do not arrive too late, because everyone is jostling to get the other places!

We have repeatedly referred to it by the smell of the room, the solutions can bring to this kind of drawbacks: it does not seem to feel concern. I able past, tell him, me directly. But our relations have long been strained, and if I did today, it would probably vexerait.

I do not understand how she does not realize it. I do not know how we can so neglect his personal hygiene. It happened to me once or twice over many years of not hearing my alarm clock and having to go to work without having taken a shower. I was as miserable as the stones and imagined that everyone would have guessed, even if it was not the case. And even if the wash boring, she should think that it bothers those she meets. But obviously, this is not the case.

So what? I have personally decided not to go near it too. She has had to realize it, but apparently did not understand the reason.

I also have another colleague, one male, who splashed each morning of a hyper masculine fragrance for man for himself and probably super disgusting for others. Abominable. But now the problem is solved: he has retired! Good luck to his wife!

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"Medicine" light

Second visit in a week with my GP (my "medicine" since it's a woman?). I find it profoundly incompetent and will change as soon as I get better in the neighborhood. After anti-inflammatory that you twist the stomach after two days and placebo syrup for dry cough, here comes the heavy artillery: antibiotic and steroid, newest syrup, it seems, is stunning, it.

I almost lost my voice this week for the first time since I teach and, especially in the morning, I cough like a madman, dropping me to the lungs, and this last fortnight. At the first visit, she told me that I had not the flu because I was working. To which I replied that she had finally discover an effective and inexpensive for social security. I'm not sure she understood the treachery of my remarks.

Today, she advised me not to talk: easy to apply when a teacher and that we can not get off work for two days remaining before the holidays (end of quarter control synthesis, questioning of a museum visit that I organized disorganization of a team). I will hold until Friday evening. Besides the anger I have against this woman helps me to raise my strength.

PS: smoking does not help matters, of course!

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And some music, anyone? (3) Loneliness

Kathleen Ferrier, London Philharmonic Orchestra, Sir Adrian Boult. Mass in B Minor, BWV 232: Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris.


This voice moves me whenever I hear it.

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teacher's basic

Strange, the reputation that often teachers from outsiders. The former husband of one of my colleagues, a lawyer by profession, told me he was afraid of having to defend a teacher: the worst race of hecklers he said: "You always explain everything to them, he always want to know! ". It seems to me that, while trusting in the art, it is not forbidden seek to understand the ins and outs of their actions. is the same for me rather a proof of intelligence.

Relationships with parents are sometimes (often?) Conflict, and there either, not surprising. I think these ones have parents somewhere, well hidden in them, a kind of jealousy towards those foreigners who spend more time with their children than themselves. They on the other hand a rather erroneous they see their offspring as in the somewhat narrow and conformist family and that they often are unwilling to see it grow. Some, moreover, believe they can impose their personal views on how to do business with people who, however, are sorry that claim, experts.

reactions of the two previous categories do not bother me, for my part, and I was never gêné.Mais discomfort, I felt many times elsewhere. Dealing with customers of my parents, for example, the common people, to whom my father was quite proud to say that I continued my studies in a social environment where it was hardly used at that time. They were both very respectful and admiring and immediately embarrassed in dealing with me. When

I say I am a teacher, which I've never drawn any particular glory, with people away from that environment, I still feel this wall stand, wall mingled respect and fear. as if feeling guilty about not having my culture, as if afraid of being judged and inferior by the way I look at them. Even my grandmother told me she did not send me postcards because she was afraid that I see his spelling mistakes. I saw them, of course, the few times she passed on. I saw them, of course, so what? They seemed to me that most moving and loaded with tenderness. I think

often we as teachers are very much like the women of antiquity, chosen very young in the best Roman society and trained for thirty years in business, the hard job of vestal virgins. Enormous burden that would crush in more than one, which required them irreproachable conduct while giving them an exorbitant power. Respected no doubt, but certainly when it was deeply hated the society that hated them imposed precisely this status.

I do not know if my younger colleagues, those entering the profession today feel the same. Personally, I could never forget the double reaction of reverence and fear almost religious. Maybe they do not perceive this more pull, or otherwise perceive, more brutal. But who, outside of school, "he aware of the profound solitude of teachers? Doctors, perhaps, quite alone, too.

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To you, gentlemen! (13): Jacques Dufilho

Dufilho Jacques (1914-2005) began his career, and masterfully, drama: Molière (The Miser 1962), Audiberti, Anouilh, Pinter, will give him a solid reputation as an actor. His appearances in movies, although many (about 160 movies), often fail to reach such a level, less because of his talent, undeniable that the poor quality of the films in question.

I have two clear memories of him: first his character part in a skit where he plays a maid Victorine, making his way to visit the castle (1957), and especially the film Robin Davis, This Dear Victor (1970), where he meets two other big names in film: Bernard Blier and an Italian actress who I always had a soft spot and I find tremendously beautiful: Alida Valli, the unforgettable Countess Livia Serpieri of Luchino Visconti's Senso , alleging a story by Camillo Boito.

The video is taken from Taxi, trailer and bullfighting of Hunebelle (1958). It must, of course, a great effort to forget the presence of bulky Louis de Funès!

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One Saturday in February, you may have heard the sound of hooves cracked tar in the market at Mont de Marsan ... Second phase of residential development of the exhibition or the team was Esclopeando to complete the filming of the forthcoming video and sound installation in this exhibition.
Patrice Rullier A video, sound Romain Louvet, interviews Natasha Sansoz, to clap and time code Pantxo Desbordes, Karen and Juan shoe.

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Vows 2011 of President of the AIAA




For absent from earlier this year following the wishes of the President of the AIAA Enzo lucantonio.
To listen to the evening before falling asleep!