ASHER — Landscapes elsewhere
Out of Stock
This release is no longer available in our current inventory. If you are interested in this title and would like to enquire about a possible repress or reorder, we would be very glad to hear from you.
Get in TouchMore Info
"Outside in the slow night by the light of the moon, the wind slowly shakes things which, swaying, cast shadows. Perhaps it's merely hanging laundry from a higher floor, but the shadows in themselves don't know the clothes, and they impalpably flutter in hushed harmony with all things. [...]
And without seeing, without thinking, my eyes now closed on my non-existent slumber, I wonder what words can truly describe moonlight. The ancients would say that it is silvery or white. But this supposed whiteness actually consists of many colors. Were I to get out of bed and look past the cold panes, I know I'd see that in the lofty air the moonlight is of a grayish white, blued by a subdued yellow: that over the various, unequally dark rooftops in bathes the submissive buildings with a black white and floods the red brown of the highest clay tiles with a colorless color. At the end of the street - a placid abyss where the naked stones are unevenly rounded - there's no color besides a blue which perhaps comes from the grey of the stones. The horizon is almost a dark blue, different from the black blue in the deepest sky. On the window where it reflects, the moonlight is a black yellow."
( from the book of disquietude by Fernando Pessoa )
label-website: www.con-v.org
And without seeing, without thinking, my eyes now closed on my non-existent slumber, I wonder what words can truly describe moonlight. The ancients would say that it is silvery or white. But this supposed whiteness actually consists of many colors. Were I to get out of bed and look past the cold panes, I know I'd see that in the lofty air the moonlight is of a grayish white, blued by a subdued yellow: that over the various, unequally dark rooftops in bathes the submissive buildings with a black white and floods the red brown of the highest clay tiles with a colorless color. At the end of the street - a placid abyss where the naked stones are unevenly rounded - there's no color besides a blue which perhaps comes from the grey of the stones. The horizon is almost a dark blue, different from the black blue in the deepest sky. On the window where it reflects, the moonlight is a black yellow."
( from the book of disquietude by Fernando Pessoa )
label-website: www.con-v.org