Soleil Saint-Cyr

I mean I think I am about to embody, at last, the exact shapes my brain holds. What a long toil to reach this beginning.

What I hate is when you see a “good” image.

What do you define as a good image?

GUADAGNINO Like you see the designer instead of seeing the characters. Sometimes when I talk to my production designer and they show me something, I say, “That’s something that belongs to ‘cinema,’; we shouldn’t do that. We should do something that belongs to the reality... See more

It is, in large part, our familiarity with the photographers and videographers that places their output in a different category than the 20th-century war images on which our inherited discourse is based. Even if skillful, these are not works of art; they are distress signals. There is no hand-wringing about the politics of representation. The victi... See more

“We never talked about men or clothes,” Simone wrote in her memoir, decades later. “It was always Marx, Lenin and revolution—real girls’ talk.”

George B. Kaiser, the driving force behind the acquisition, is far from the cult of rabid Dylandom. In an interview in his spacious office at the Kaiser-Francis Oil Company here, Mr. Kaiser, 73, made clear that he is less of an aficionado of Dylan than an appreciator of his place in American history. “I was taken by Joan Baez in college,” he said, ... See more

The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all.

No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead.

Léa Seydoux joins Josh O’Connor in Luca Guadagnino’s ‘SEPARATE ROOMS.’ (https://deadline.com/2024/04/separate-rooms-lea-seydoux-joins-luca-guadagino-movie-1235875334/... See more

Those casual fans wonder why he can’t be more like the Stones, unfailing jukeboxes of their earlier selves. They want to squint and see the young Dylan, with his Pre-Raphaelite hair and his Brando sneer. They want, at least for an hour and a half, a magic act: a man in his eighties who is a man in his youth.