Wind was the first thing I heard in the morning, along with a door opening and closing as someone got up first and went out to use the outhouse. Sounds reached into my awareness through the fog of sleep. Then: the lighter button of the propane heater pressed, a metallic clang sounding at least twice until it caught. I heard the kettle being lit and muted footsteps on plywood. Someone was brewing coffee. The old, damp smell of socks and mold faded into the earthy scent of coffee.
“There is a purpose in everything. In order to achieve it, one must detach oneself from an awareness of self.” The importance of this humility lay in the fact that without it one cannot perceive things as they are in themselves; egotism tries to refashion things according its own distorted perceptions. “I am no longer of this world,” wrote the young Brancusi. “I am far from myself, I am no longer a part of my own person. I am within the essence of things themselves.”
London’s 0171 understand that communication can be tricky. Who among us has not, at some point, not replied to a text or an email? Exactly. “1000 Words” gets at the deeper meanings behind this through the medium of a Glass Candy-esque piece of seductive electronic pop, complete with a stream of conscious vocal delivery.
JUST IN FRONT of the Centre Pompidou, in the Place Beaubourg, there lies a small building in which a fascinating permanent exhibition is held. This exhibition is of the works of Romanian-born sculptor, painter and photographer Constantin Brâncuși (February 19, 1876 – March 16, 1957).
