Posts Tagged: Love

#happyvalentinesday

On 14 February 2017 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Not anyone who says, "I'm going to be
careful and smart in the matters of love,"
who says, "I'm going to choose slowly,"
but only those lovers who didn't choose at all
but were, as it were, chosen
by something invisible
and powerful and uncontrollable
and beautiful and possibly even
unsuitable--
only those know what I'm talking about
in this talking about love.

Mary Oliver

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Da neigt sich die Stunde und rührt mich an

On 28 December 2016 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Da neigt sich die Stunde und rührt mich an

Da neigt sich die Stunde und rührt mich an
mit klarem, metallenem Schlag:
mir zittern die Sinne. Ich fühle: ich kann -
und ich fasse den plastischen Tag.

Nichts war noch vollendet, eh ich es erschaut,
ein jedes Werden stand still.
Meine Blicke sind reif, und wie eine Braut
kommt jedem das Ding, das er will.

Nichts ist mir zu klein, und ich lieb es trotzdem
und mal es auf Goldgrund und groß
und halte es hoch, und ich weiß nicht wem
löst es die Seele los...

Rainer Maria Rilke, 20.9.1899,
Berlin-Schmargendorf

The hour is striking

The hour is striking so close above me,
so clear and sharp,
that all my senses ring with it.
I feel it now: there’s a power in me
to grasp and give shape to my world.

I know that nothing has ever been real
without my beholding it.
All my becoming has needed me.
My looking ripens things
and they come toward me, to meet and be met
...

–Rilke’s Book of Hours
(translated by Johanna Macy & Anita Barrows)

Another translation this time by Fulicasenia

Then bends down the hour and strikes me...

Then bends down the hour and strikes me
With a clear, metallic blow:
My senses tremble: I feel: I can--
And I grasp the ductile day.

Nothing was yet completed, before I glimpsed it;
Every becoming stood still.
My gaze is ripe, and like a bride
There comes to each one that which he will.

Nothing is too small for me and I love it nonetheless
And paint it on a golden ground and large,
And hold it high, and I don't know for whom
It will set the spirit free...

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Jardin intérieur

On 30 November 2016 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

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A song and its music set to photographs

On 21 October 2016 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Ragged Light Of The Evening
Malcolm Guite

I could make a bonfire of our vanity
Wouldn’t smoke out your memory
Something’s alight at the heart of that fire
You walk towards me through the ghosts of desire.

Hidden hearts still call to each other
But when you fall there's no return
If I ever learn to call you my lover
I do believe my tongue would burn.

You changed like an angel on the edge of my sight
The gift of your love was just a trick of the light
I still feel your touch in the shimmering rain
I'd rather be buried than feel that again.

Yes I brought you everything I believed in
Only to find the god withdrawn
I let you love me in the ragged light of the evening
But I loved you in the whisky light of dawn.

We walked together to the very edge
We kicked aside the last minute bridge
For all the years we've both fallen through
I still tremble on that brink with you.

Hidden hearts still call out to each other
But when you fall there's no return
If I ever learn to call you my lover
I do believe my tongue would burn.

You can tone down the colours, you can fade it to grey
You can move to the border where time fades away
Bury the feelings, scrub out the stain
In the blink of an eye it’s vivid again.

I brought you everything I believed in
Only to find the god withdrawn
I let you love me in the ragged light of the evening
And leave me in the whisky light of dawn.

From the album "The Green Man and other songs"
Copyright © Malcolm Guite 2007
Cambridge Riffs Records
www.cambridgeriffs.co.uk/records

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Father’s Day

On 19 June 2016 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

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Dieu vous garde et vous bénisse

On 1 June 2016 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized
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Papa

On 8 May 2016 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

Aujourd’hui, c’est le quatre-vingt quinzième anniversaire de la naissance de mon père, Pierre Krebs. Quand le 8 mai est un dimanche, c’est la Sainte Jeanne d’Arc et le 8 mai 1921 était un dimanche, comme aujourd’hui. Mon père était content d’être née le jour qui commémorait Jeanne d’Arc.

Le jour de son 24eme anniversaire l’armistice en Europe était signée, il était un très jeune officier de la Légion d’Honneur.

A la fin de sa vie, il n’aimait plus beaucoup les anniversaires, mais aujourd’hui on aurait pu lui faire plaisir en lui rappelant que c’était encore une fois la Sainte Jeanne d’Arc.

A mon père…

2016 M Krebs 019

mon père Pierre et sa sœur Elisabeth

Papa-1932

Mon père dessiné par sa sœur Françoise

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Still Love

On 23 March 2016 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

IMG_9557sgsmASLAM

NadeemAslam

Nadeem Aslam (born in 1966 in Gujranwala, Pakistan) is a prize-winning British Pakistani novelist.

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Through a Glass

On 24 December 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

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Exhibition 2015 – Reflections

On 1 November 2015 by Margot Krebs Neale - Uncategorized

I approached the theme of the exhibition in three different ways:
A reflection on passing from Life to Death as both my parents died this summer
A question : Was the naming of the planets a reflection of man’s observation of himself, or does each man/woman reflect all the planets?
Looking for reflections of light and objects, I also found a reflection of a dream I had had ten years previously.

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Reflection on passing from Life to Death

Both my parents died this summer. My mother, unconscious in the last days of her life, seemed to draw from her own source but she also seemed anxious. To my eye, her hands shaped a question mark.
My father, also unconscious, held the hand we gave him with surprising force. There was a strong sense of communication, of receiving and passing on.

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Vigil as dusk is reflecting on the table

Reflecting the Planets?

Is there a set of qualities that can be described very powerfully with the name of one planet?
Could I make ten self-portraits, one to reflect each of the planets?

Click on the cover to see a preview (the photos are a little distorted)

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Too desirable Madam? or HRO IN(2015)

More than ten years ago, I had a dream in which my family was robbing a bank, looking for a treasure in underground passages; it felt half-heroic, half-dishonest. A man stood up and died. Then a young woman and I had to hide in a flat and as we were trying to enter unnoticed a small crowd was looking at a yellow sports car. As I was describing this dream in the following days, I was asked what that yellow sports car could represent. More than one idea came to mind. After this dream whenever I saw a yellow sports car I was reminded of the dream and thought of a more showy, more visible part of me, and why not?
In May 2015, I had to collect my passport from South Kensington and saw this car in a showroom window. As I was trying to photograph it without my reflection the woman on the photograph said goodbye to the man and turned; she must have seen me and this was her reaction.
It is only when I was working on printing it that my friend Peter commented on the number plate. The name of the showroom is
H.R. Owen but of course it could be heroin or heroine.

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