Tuesday, 27 December 2011

Tout Bouge

Everything moves.
Everything develops and progresses.
From one point to another, the line is never straight.
From harbour to harbour, a journey.
Everything moves… as do I!
Joy and sorrow, confrontation too.
A vague point appears, hazy and confused,
A point of convergence,
The temptation of a fixed point,
In the calm of all the passions.
Point of departure and point of destination,
In what has neither beginning nor end.
Naming it, endowing it with life, giving it authority
For a better understanding of what moves
A better understanding of what Movement is.

Jacques Lecoq
Belle Ile en Mer
August 1997

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

Song of Soloman

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.
As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.
I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.
Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.
His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.
The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.
My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice.
My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.
My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.
Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.

Sunday, 13 March 2011

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

Celine and Julie

CĂ©line et Julie vont en Bateau : "aller en bateau" also means to get
caught up in a story that someone is telling you...

A wonderful film by Jacques Rivette, 1974

Lines To A Movement

Show me again the time
When in the Junetide's prime
We flew by meads and mountains northerly! -
Yea, to such freshness, fairness, fulness, fineness, freeness,
Love lures life on.

Show me again the day
When from the sandy bay
We looked together upon the pestered sea! -
Yea, to such surging, swaying, sighing, swelling, shrinking,
Love lures life on.

Show me again the hour
When by the pinnacled tower
We eyed each other and feared futurity! -
Yea, to such bodings, broodings, beatings, blanchings, blessings,
Love lures life on.

Show me again just this:
The moment of that kiss
Away from the prancing folk,
by the strawberry-tree! -
Yea, to such rashness, ratheness, rareness, ripeness, richness,
Love lures life on.

Lines To A Movement In Mozart's E-Flat Symphony
Thomas Hardy

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

The House of Whim

The House of Whim
Collaboration between photogrpaher
Pavla Kopecna and
Laura Hemming-Lowe,
Charlotte Croft and Chloe Stephens
Jan 2009

Sunday, 20 February 2011


Magnolia is an ancient genus. Having evolved before bees appeared, the flowers developed to encourage pollinationn by beetles. As a result, the carpels of Magnolia flowers are tough, to avoid damage by eating and crawling beetles.




His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.

From T.S Eliot's Preludes
Pictures by Chloe


Under Water Games
Kodak Underwater Camera
Pictures by Chloe

Friday, 18 February 2011


Daphne prayed for help to the river god
and was transformed into a laurel: a heavy
numbness seized her limbs, thin bark closed
over her breast, her hair turned into leaves,
her arms into branches, her feet so swift a
moment ago stuck fast in slow-growing roots,
her face was lost in the canopy. Only her
shining beauty was left.