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DIANE BURKO: THE PAINTER OF HER GENERATION

SLIDE SHOW POLITICS OF SNOW What determines an artist who makes works of art revered through the ages of time? Success in thei...

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Friday, September 07, 2012

A dress which is more than a dress: Kristen Stewart, Cannes 2012


I hear the question upon your lips: What is it to be a color? Color is the touch of the eye, music to the deaf, a word out of the darkness. Because I’ve listened to souls whispering — like the susurrus of the wind — from book to book and object to object for tens of thousands of years, allow me to say that my touch resembles the touch of angels. Part of me, the serious half, calls out to your vision while the mirthful half soars through the air with your glances. I’m so fortunate to be red! I’m fiery. I’m strong. I know men take notice of me and that I cannot be resisted. I do not conceal myself: For me, delicacy manifests itself neither in weakness nor subtlety, but through determination and will. So, I draw attention to myself. I’m not afraid of other colors, shadows, crowds, or even of loneliness…

 “My dear master, explain red to somebody who has never known red.” — “If we touched it with the tip of a finger, it would feel like something between iron and copper. If we took it into our palm, it would burn. If we tasted it, it would be full-bodied, like salted meat. If we took it between our lips, it would fill our mouths. If we smelled it, it’d have the scent of a horse. If it were a flower, it would smell like a daisy, not a red rose.”

Orhan Pamuk, My Name is Red pg. 186-8