Jankel's Illustrated World
Of broken eggshells and other seminal phenomena
By: Jankel Jankelbrod

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Monday, 10-May-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark

bluish green world
hip drip
fluid sensuality
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Barbara: "Pierre"

Il pleut,
Il pleut,
Sur les jardins alanguis,
Sur les roses de la nuit,
Il pleut des larmes de pluie,
Il pleut,
Et j'entends le clapotis,
Du bassin qui se remplit,
Oh mon Dieu, que c'est joli,
La pluie,

Quand Pierre rentrera,
Il faut que je lui dise,
Que le toit de la remise,
A fui,
Il faut qu'il rentre du bois,
Car il commence à faire froid,

Oh, Pierre,
Mon Pierre,

Sur la campagne endormie,
Le silence et puis un cri,
Ce n'est rien, un oiseau de la nuit,
Qui fuit,
Que c'est beau cette pénombre,
Le ciel, le feu et l'ombre,
Qui se glisse jusqu'à moi,
Sans bruit,

Une odeur de foin coupé,
Monte de la terre mouillée,
Une auto descend l'allée,
C'est lui,

Oh, Pierre,

Sunday, 9-May-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark
Daft ducks

fierce capercaillie
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Some objects in this rich world, make me speechless. Some, because their beauty pervades me in such a way that no verbalization could ever express this feeling; others, because their overt sillyness and their total lack of utility or artistic skill baffle me.
One evening, strolling through the high street of my little town, I encountered some representatives of the lastmentioned category. And after seeing and photographing this crockery, I heed the deepfelt need, to excuse me by all living ducks for the attempt of the unknown artisans, to portray their jolly beaks and feathers in shining stone.

Saturday, 8-May-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark

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Lichens growing on metal -- conquering their furtile surroundings on the dirty surface -- living there, like in some science fiction world -- a doom scenario -- everything in our wellfunctioning society, everything manmade and used by us, covered by sheets of vegetal crusts -- like the canons and amphora's on sunken shipwrecks, no longer embedded in the system in which they have their function, but still being there. Is this humble mailbox foreboding other times, different circumstances? Or are lichens on our artefacts only some kind of vegetal rust, indicating neglect and a careless lifestyle?

Friday, 7-May-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark
Rainbo disko

bob, till you...
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Enough of springtime green! Let's party, let's disco, let's rainbow.
Let's kiss maybugs, bob till we drop.
Let's get drunk on a fiesta of colours.
Let's get wild -- now is the time, now is the happy hour.
Hey mr deejayman, play another song for may.
And in the bar, curaçao, crème de menthe, pisang ambon, framboise, bénedictine.
Turn turn turn...

(Disclaimer: the partying maybeetle must be of last year, cleaning my table and filing some cd-roms, I found it dead under a pile of papers.)

Thursday, 6-May-2004 00:00 Email | Share | | Bookmark
Crossroad -- roadcross

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Standing at a crossroads, seemingly in the middle of the woods, only one of the roads of the five or even six directions from which the wanderer can chose at this spot has a macadam surface, a relict from times in which people didn't fear the forestpathes, in which they were on their way walking, on horseback, with more or less primitive carts and coaches. We encounter them, these stone pillars, crowned with a short crossbar, inscribed with soome signs, by the mason who tailed the stone, by the passers by, who left their sign in the relative weak sandstone -- beggars they were, signalizing such important information about houses with a kind maid, or those with mean hounds, all in the long forgotten carved symbol language of their trade. Time was not kind to them -- for the greatest part lichens have occupied their no longer needed information.
Lichens that give the stone a very gay aspect, and with these tender greens and greys and yellows, from a certain angle the severe cross looks like a female dancer, a headless venus of milo, without arms and clad in an elegant bodice, without a head, and with long covered legs. But she has style, this stone lady, and if you listen to the wind in the fresh young leaves, you could almost swear she was swaying and dancing lightheartedly on the spot.

I have opened my private gallery with a small exhibition of a few of my pastels
here is the entrance:[url] http://jankel.fotopages.com/?entry=101976[/url]

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