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"The Shape of Content", Ben Shahn
stock - pink roses
latine
"Art has roots in real life. Art may affirm its life-giving soil or repudiate it wholly. It may mock as bitterly as did Goya (...). Art may luxuriate in life positively and affirmatively with Renoir, or Matisse, or Rubens, or Vermeer. It may turn to the nebulous horizons of sense-experience with the Post-Impressionists, the Cubists, the various orders of Abstractionist, but in any case, it is life itself as it chances to exist that furnishes the stimulus for art.

That is not to say any special branch or section of life. Any living situation in which an artist finds material pertinent to his own temper is a proper situation for art. It would not have made sense for Paul Klee to have followed the boxing circuit (...). Yet each of these artists found in such casual aspects of reality a form of life, a means to create an oeuvre, to build a language of himself, his peculiar wit and skill and taste and comprehension of things.

While I concede that almost every situation has its potential artists, that someone will find matter for imagery almost anywhere, I am generally mistrustful of contrived situations, that is, situations peculiarly set up to favor the blossoming of art. I feel that they may vitiate the sense of independence which is present to some degree in all art."

*

"Art should be well-subsidized, yes. But the purchase of a completed painting or sculpture, the comissioning of a mural -or perhaps the publication of a poem or a novel or the production of a play- all these forms of recognition are the rewards of mature work. They are not to be confused with the setting up of something not unlike a nursery school in which the artist may be spared any conflict (...)

*

Art arises from something stronger than stimulation or even inspiration. (...) It is through such conflicts that his values become sharpened; perhaps it is only through such conflicts that he comes to know himself at all. It is only within the context of real life that an artist (or anyone) is forced to make such choices. And it is only against a background of hard reality that choices count, that they affect a life, and carry with them that degree of belief and dedication and (...) spiritual energy that is a primary force in art.

*

the merely intuitive kinds of knowing, the esnsing of things which escape classification, the self-identification with great moods and movements in life and art and letters may be lost or obliterated by academic routine. They are not taught but rather absorbed through a way of life (...). Fir it is just that inexact knowing that is implicit in the arts.

*

(...) one of those stories which, told in detail, without any emotionalism being present in the writing itself, manages to produce a far greater emotional impact than would a highly coloured account.

*
(a woman who is escaping someone's house during the fire) whose face I saw, dead-white in all the reflected color.

*

Only the individual can imagine, invent or create. The whole audience of art is an audience of individuals. (...) In the work of art he finds his uniqueness affirmed.

*

"I know there must be an ingredient of complete belief in any work of art - belief in what one is doing.

*

(Hablando del Surrealismo y como esta corriente quiere crear arte desde el inconsciente) But the great failure of all such art, at least in my own view, lies in the fact that man's most able self is his conscious self - his intending self. (Because) the values of man, if he has any at all, reside in his intentions, in the degree to which he has moved away from the brute, in his intellect at its peak and in his humanity at its peak.

*

(explaining something) ... which, in my own view - and what other view has an artist? - ....

*

(Form in art) is the visible shape of all man's growth; it is the living picture of his tribe at its most primitive, and of his civilization at its most sophisticated state.

*

Rilke:
For the sake of a few lines one must see many cities, men and things. One must know the animals, one must feel how the birds fly and know the gesture with which the small flowers open in the morning. One must be able to think back to roads in unknown regions, to unexpected meetings and to partings which one had long seen coming; to days of childhood that are still unexplained, to parents that one had to hurts when they brought some joy and one did not grasp it (it was a joy for someone else); to childhood illness that so strangely began with a number of profound and grave transformations, to days in rooms withdrawn and quiet and to mornings by the sea, to the sea itself, to seas, to nights of travel that rushed along on high and flew with all the stars - and it is not yet enough if one may things all of this. One must have memories of many nights of love, none of which was like the others, of the screams of women in labor, and of light, white, sleeping women in childbed, one must have sat beside the dead in the room with the open window and the fitful noises. And still it is not enough to have memories. One must be able to forget them when they are many, and one must have the great patience to wait until they come again. For it is not yet the memories themselves. Not until they have turned to blood within us, to glance, to gesture, nameless and no longer to be distinguished from ourselves- not until then can it happen that in a most rare hour the first word of a verse arises in their midst and goes forth from them.

(From the Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, Rilke).

*

To abstract is to draw out the essence of a matte.

*

(Form in art) stem out of the human wish to formulate ideas, to recreate them into entities, so that meanings will not depart fitfully as they do from the mind, so that thinking and belief and attitues may endure as actual things.

*

However glorious the history of art, the history of artists is quite another matter. And in any well-ordered household the very thought that one of the young may turn out to be an artist can be a cause for general alarm. It may be a point of great pride to have a Van Gogh on the living room wall, but the prospect of having Van Gogh himself in the living room would put a good many devoted art lovers to rout.

*

Nonconformity is not only a desirable thing, it is a factual thing. One need only remark that all art is based upon noncomformity. (...) But it seems to be less obvious somehow that to create anything at all in any field, and especially anything of outstanding worth, requires noncomformity, or a want of satisfaction with things as they are. The creative person -the nonconformist- may be in profound disagreement with the present way of things, or he may simply wish to add his views, to render a personal account of matters.

*

The artist occupies a unique position vis-à-vis the society in which he lives. However dependent upon it he may be for his livelihood, he is still somewhat removed from its immediate struggles for social status or for economic supremacy. He has no really vested interest in the status quo.

The only vested interest-or one might say, professional concern- which he does have in the present way of things rests in his ability to observe them, to assimilate the multifarious details of reality, to form some intelligent opinion about the society or at least and opinion with his temperament.

(...) He must mantain an attitude at once detached and deeply involved.
(...)

But besides perceiving these things, the artist must also feel them. Therein he differs from the scientists, who may observe dispassionately, collate, draw conclusions, and still remain uninvolved. The artist may not use lines or colors or forms unless he is able to feel their rightness. If a face or a figure or a stretch of grass or a formal passage fails in that sense, then there is no furthery authority for it and no other standard measurement. So he must never fail to be involved in the pleasures and desperations of mankind, for in them lies the very source of feeling upon which the work of art is registered. Feeling, being always specific and never generalized, must have its ouwn vocabulary of things experienced and felt.

It is because of this parallel habits of detachment and of emotional involvement that artists so often become critics of society (...) and why they are so likely to be nonconformists in their personal lives. Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Rembrandt were all noted noncomformists, each one of them expanding freely the set of limits of mind and art and behavior.

*

One of the earliest of such testaments was painted by Ambrogio Lorenzetti in the early 1300s spreads over the three vast walls of the Council Chamber in the Palazzo Pubblico di Siena. Sins of bad government and virtues of the good.

*

Without the nonconformist, any society of whatever degree of perfection must fall into decay.

(...)

But I do not wish to underrate the importance of the conformist himself (=conservative). In art, the conservative is the vigorous custodian of the artistic treasures of civilization, of its established values and its tastes. (...)

It is natural and desirable that there should occur some conflict between these two kinds of people so necessary to each other and yet so opposite in their perspectives.

*

Noncoformity is the basic pre-condition of art, as it is the precondition of good thinking and therefore growth and greatness in a people.

*

I remember a story that my father used to tell of a traveler in thirteenth-century France who met three men wheeling wheelbarrows. He asked in what work they were engaged and he received from them the following three answers: the first said, "I toil from sunup to sundown and all I receive for my pains is a few francs a day." The second said, "I am glad enough to wheel this wheelbarrow for I have been out of work for many months and I have a family to support." The third said, "I am building Chartres Cathedral."

*

How is tehe viewer of art to know what to look at seriously; how shall he evaluate what he sees?

We turn to the critic, to the historian, to the scholar, to the aesthetician, in other words, to the expert, hoping that he will provide us with some basis of appreciation, some true set of values for art.

*

Let us face it honestly: to have no values, no preferences, no enthusiasms would be simply to react to no art and to enjoy none.

*

I too cherish the word freedom. But I want to be free to be painstaking if I want to, to be responsible, to be involved; to be free to exercise whatever intellect I may have, and I consider both discipline and craft indispensable to freedom.

*

Related to these is the ideal of achievement without effort. I myself have never known a painter or known of a painter whose carrer was not distinguished by prodigious labor, by the sacrifices of all advantages and personal welfare to the accomplishing of the work which he had in mind.

*

I feel that each work of art -each serious work- has an innate value. (Perhaps it is this that distinguishes art from other phenomena.) The work of art is the created image and symbol of a specific value; it was made to contain permanently something that was felt and thought and believed. It contains that feeling and nothing else. All other things have been excluded.

*

The values that reside in art are archaic; they are very man's loves and hates and his moments of divine revelation. The apprehension of such values is intuitive, but it is not a built-in intuition, not something with which one is born. Intuition in art is actually the result of a prolonged tuition. The so called "innocent eye" does not exist. The eye at birth cannot percieve at all, and it is only through training that it learns to recognize what is sees. The popular eye is not untrained; it is only wrongly trained- trained by inferior and insincere visual representations.

*
It is in pursuit of truth perhaps that we are able to sacrifice present values and move on to new ones.

*

Read everything that you can find about art except the reviews.

Listen to preachers in small town churchers and in big city churches.

And remember that you are trying to learn to think what you want to think, that you are trying to coordinate the mind and the hand and the eye.

By all means, have opinions.

*

Perceptiveness is the outstanding quality of a cultured man or woman. Perceptiveness is an awareness of things and people, of their qualities. (...) But the capacity to value and to percieve are inseparable from the cultured person.

*

The artist or novelist or poet adds to the factual data the human element of value.

*

Being integrated, in the dictionary sense, means being unified. I think of it as being a little more dynamic -educationally, for instance, being organically interacting. In either sense, integration implies involvement of the whole person, not just selected parts of him; integration, for instance, of kinds of knowledge (history comes to life in the art of any period); integration of knowledge with thinking -and that means holding opinions; and then integration within the whole personality -and that implies holding some unified, philosophical view, an attitude toward life.

*

The artist of the Renaissance had no great problems of style comparable to those which plague the young artist of today. He might simply follow the established manners of painting as most artists did. If his powers were greater or his vision more personal he expanded the existing manners of painting to meet his needs. But the artist today, and particularly the young one, feels challenged to be unique.

*

Require the three basic capacities: first, of perceptiveness (a recognition of values, a certain kind of culture), second, a capacity for the vast accumulation of knowledge, and third, a capacity to integrate all this material into creative acts and images. The future of art assuredly rests in education -not just one kind of education but many kinds.

*

What shall I paint?

"Paint what you are, paint what you believe, paint what you feel." But to go a little deeper, such a question seems to indicate an absence of opinion, or perhaps it indicates a belief that painting ought to be this or ought to be that, that there is some preferred list of appropiate subjects. Again, I think that many young people if they were asked "What do you believe, or hold most dear?" would reply honestly, "I don't know." And so we again go back to our first outline for an education: "In college or out of college, read, and form opinions."

In the absence of very strong motives and opiniones, the solution arrived at by the student or young artist who does not know what to paint is that he simply copies or produces a replica of what some other artist has painted before. Ultimately, however, even in this process there seems to take place a kind of self-recognition -if the young person continues to paint at all. He finds some elements among his eclectic choices which are expressive and meaningful to him. Gradually his own personalit emerges; he develops beliefs and opinions. One might say, through his own somewhat stumbling creative efforts he gradually becomes an integrated person.

How shall I paint it?

I could teach him the mixing of colors, certainly, or how to manipulate oils or tempera or water color. But I certainly could not teach him any style of painting -at least I wasn't going to. Style today is the shape of one's specific meanings. It is developed with an aesthetic view and set of intentions. It is not the how of the painting but the why. To imitate or to teach style alone would be a little like teaching a tone of voice or a personality.

Craft itself, once an inexorable standard in art, is today's an artist's individual responsibility. Craft probably still does involve deftness of touch, ease of execution -in other words, mastery. But it is the mastery of one's personal means. Freedom itself is a disciplined thing. Craft is that discipline which frees the spirit; and style is the result.

What security can I have as a painter?

No one can promise success to an intended painter. Nor is the problem of painting one of success at all. It is rather one of how much emphasis one places upon self-realization, upon the things that he thinks. The primary concern of the serious artist is to get things said-and wonderfully well. His values are wholly vested in the object which he has been creating. Recognition is the wine of his repast, but its substance is the accomplishment of the work itself.

There are many kinds of security, and one kind lies in the knowledge that one is dedicating his hours and days to doing the things that he considers mosts important.

For whom does one paint?

Oh yes, for himself, that is obvious. The painter must fulfill his own personal needs and must meet his own private standards. But whom actually does he reach through his paintings?

I suppose that the tangible public of any artist is confined to a circle of persons of like mind to himself, perhaps never a large circle. (...) The sense of reality and meaning in any person's life and his work is probably vested in a community of some sort wherein he finds recognition and affirmation of whatever he does.

*

More than anyone else, the young person embarked upon such a career needs a community, needs its affirmation, its reality, its criticism and recognition. (...)

In the case of an older artist, one who has done a great deal of painting, his own work may be in a strange sort of way come to constitute for him a certain kind of community.

(...)

The public function of art has always been one of creating a community. That is not necessarily its intention, but it is its result.

*

The incidental items of reality remain without value or common recognition until they are symbolized, recreated and imbued with value.

El tiempo pasa cuando es otoño en Buenos Aires
stock - pink roses
latine
No me gusta el frío pero este otoño me enternece. Las hojas de algunos árboles sangran en distintos tonos, pero también vi otras de color del mango, verde y naranja. Mañana quizá ya sangrarán ellas también. ¿Cómo frenar el tiempo? ¿Y si agarro una, la meto en un frasco de vidrio, quedará roja? ¿Quedará inmune al paso del tiempo, mi pequeña hoja color mango casi roja, casi madura, casi mujercita?

*

- No quiero olvidármelo.

Me lo dice entre sorbos de vino. Levanta la copa, empañada y sucia, y toca el líquido con los labios. De fondo: luces de colores, banderines, cháchara, bocas que tocan otras bocas, una rubia comiendo pizza. Cloé está en su salsa y la noto más alta, con el pelo suelto y la espalda recta. Habla como una adulta de veintidós años, que es un tipo de adultez, y que me gusta mucho.

Pruebo mi vino y pienso: me encanta esto por primera vez en tanto tiempo que me sorprende. Esto. No el gusto ácido del tinto, porque deja mucho que desear, pero este momento, esta sensación de tomar vino con mi amiga en un lugar que no conozco, una noche de miércoles, viéndola tan grande y tan chica al mismo tiempo, con esa postura erecta y esa bufanda gris.

A la salida se me viene a la mente esos artículas que inundan Internet - 10 cosas que le pasan a todos los veinteañeros o Cosas que no te dijeron sobre tener 23 - y me sentí adentro de ellos, un item en su lista. Así se siente. Mi cuerpo cálido descansa en la actuación del cliché.

Duró lo mismo que un pestañear. Fue suficiente. Nos vi en el reflejo de un vidrio, tan diferentes a quién éramos y tan iguales, y me sentí feliz, tan dueña de todo lo que está pasando.

Todo esto es mío. Toda mi vida es mía.

*

Domi y Santi y yo lo vimos, cada uno por su cuenta. Sobre la vereda, un árbol calvo, erigido firme y noble sobre una alfombra de hojas amarrila. Decenas y decenas de hojas más chicas que la palma de mi mano, amontonadas, un colchón, y todas amarillas pero no cualquier amarillo, amarillo patito.

El nombre de la víctima de otoño es el árbol Gingko biloba. Es uno de los árboles más antiguos que hay, según Santi, y sus hojas tienen forma de abanico.

Le saqué una foto. Frené en mi caminata, busqué mi celular y probé distintos ángulos y ver cuál representaba mejor el momento de un árbol que me quería apropiar, el de un Gingko biloba que tuvo la belleza y la dignidad de pararme en seco.

Ahora me pregunto si es que ese árbol ese día era excepcional o si es que no miro lo suficiente. Voy a estar más atenta a ver si más cosas me encuentran que me hagan buscar el celular.

*

Me confundí. ¡Es invierno! ¡Ya es invierno!

*

Hola Julio, llegaste y casi ni me dí cuenta. ¿Dónde quedó Enero? ¿Te sorprende verme acá, en Buenos Aires? Y bueno, vos sabés cómo son las cosas, los planes van y vienen, se arman y se desarman, se mezclan y se forman nuevos. Lo importante es estar abierto a los cambios y a dejar tranquila la cabeza que no siempre puede controlar todo. Estoy aprendiendo a dejar de querer controlar todo, como ya sabrás, porque no es más que una ilusión y porque de a poco me doy cuenta de que es más fácil y más divertido y más inesperado todo cuando fluyo.

Quiero decirte una cosita antes de que te vayas, porque sé que antes de que me dé cuenta, te habrás escabullido por l puerta de atrás sin haberme dado la oportunidad de decirte las cosas de frente.  Sos frío, Julio, y no me gustan las cosas frías, en general no me gustás mucho y hasta pensé que te iba a desencontrar - pensé que estaría veraneando en Barcelona y no tapada con vos - pero hoy y solo hoy te tengo aprecio, así que aprovechame.

Para que se caigan las hojas y para que surjan las flores tenés que aparecer. Sos un mal necesario, pero por el necesario te agradezco, porque me gusta ver las hojas de colores en el piso y me gusta ver nacer a la primavera.

Así que hoy te quiero un poquito.

Sos parte del paso del tiempo y el tiempo está pasando, el tiempo nos está pasando y yo y nosotros le estamos pasando a él.

El tiempo pasa cuando es otoño en Buenos Aires
stock - pink roses
latine
No me gusta el frío pero este otoño me enternece. Las hojas de algunos árboles sangran en distintos tonos, pero también vi otras de color del mango, verde y naranja. Mañana quizá ya sangrarán ellas también. ¿Cómo frenar el tiempo? ¿Y si agarro una, la meto en un frasco de vidrio, quedará roja? ¿Quedará inmune al paso del tiempo, mi pequeña hoja color mango casi roja, casi madura, casi mujercita?

*

- No quiero olvidármelo.

Me lo dice entre sorbos de vino. Levanta la copa, empañada y sucia, y toca el líquido con los labios. De fondo: luces de colores, banderines, cháchara, bocas que tocan otras bocas, una rubia comiendo pizza. Cloé está en su salsa y la noto más alta, con el pelo suelto y la espalda recta. Habla como una adulta de veintidós años, que es un tipo de adultez, y que me gusta mucho.

Pruebo mi vino y pienso: me encanta esto por primera vez en tanto tiempo que me sorprende. Esto. No el gusto ácido del tinto, porque deja mucho que desear, pero este momento, esta sensación de tomar vino con mi amiga en un lugar que no conozco, una noche de miércoles, viéndola tan grande y tan chica al mismo tiempo, con esa postura erecta y esa bufanda gris.

A la salida se me viene a la mente esos artículas que inundan Internet - 10 cosas que le pasan a todos los veinteañeros o Cosas que no te dijeron sobre tener 23 - y me sentí adentro de ellos, un item en su lista. Así se siente. Mi cuerpo cálido descansa en la actuación del cliché.

Duró lo mismo que un pestañear. Fue suficiente. Nos vi en el reflejo de un vidrio, tan diferentes a quién éramos y tan iguales, y me sentí feliz, tan dueña de todo lo que está pasando.

Todo esto es mío. Toda mi vida es mía.

*

Domi y Santi y yo lo vimos, cada uno por su cuenta. Sobre la vereda, un árbol calvo, erigido firme y noble sobre una alfombra de hojas amarrila. Decenas y decenas de hojas más chicas que la palma de mi mano, amontonadas, un colchón, y todas amarillas pero no cualquier amarillo, amarillo patito.

El nombre de la víctima de otoño es el árbol Gingko biloba. Es uno de los árboles más antiguos que hay, según Santi, y sus hojas tienen forma de abanico.

Le saqué una foto. Frené en mi caminata, busqué mi celular y probé distintos ángulos y ver cuál representaba mejor el momento de un árbol que me quería apropiar, el de un Gingko biloba que tuvo la belleza y la dignidad de pararme en seco.

Ahora me pregunto si es que ese árbol ese día era excepcional o si es que no miro lo suficiente. Voy a estar más atenta a ver si más cosas me encuentran que me hagan buscar el celular.

*

Me confundí. ¡Es invierno! ¡Ya es invierno!

*

Hola Julio, llegaste y casi ni me dí cuenta. ¿Dónde quedó Enero? ¿Te sorprende verme acá, en Buenos Aires? Y bueno, vos sabés cómo son las cosas, los planes van y vienen, se arman y se desarman, se mezclan y se forman nuevos. Lo importante es estar abierto a los cambios y a dejar tranquila la cabeza que no siempre puede controlar todo. Estoy aprendiendo a dejar de querer controlar todo, como ya sabrás, porque no es más que una ilusión y porque de a poco me doy cuenta de que es más fácil y más divertido y más inesperado todo cuando fluyo.

Quiero decirte una cosita antes de que te vayas, porque sé que antes de que me dé cuenta, te habrás escabullido por l puerta de atrás sin haberme dado la oportunidad de decirte las cosas de frente.  Sos frío, Julio, y no me gustan las cosas frías, en general no me gustás mucho y hasta pensé que te iba a desencontrar - pensé que estaría veraneando en Barcelona y no tapada con vos - pero hoy y solo hoy te tengo aprecio, así que aprovechame.

Para que se caigan las hojas y para que surjan las flores tenés que aparecer. Sos un mal necesario, pero por el necesario te agradezco, porque me gusta ver las hojas de colores en el piso y me gusta ver nacer a la primavera.

Así que hoy te quiero un poquito.

Sos parte del paso del tiempo y el tiempo está pasando, el tiempo nos está pasando.

List of books read 2010
art - painting 22
latine
In 2008, I wished to read 50 books, but by the end of December decided I priorised other things better than completing the list. Thus I got to 48 and spent days with my family, who had come from Brazil, for the festivities. In 2009, on the other hand, I did not pressure myself at all and read the books I wanted when I wanted. The final countdown made it to 29, a bit more than 2008's half. Let us see how this year unfolds. I have learned that I love having these lists written. I'm happy I started with the habit.

2010
Books read:
(* stands for reread)
 
...Collapse )
Tags: ,

(no subject)
stock - pink roses
latine

When travelling on long flights/rides, what do you like to listen to?

I'm going on a 36-hour bus trip to Brazil so I need music. I usually like mellow and slow, the kind of music that makes you reflect on your life while staring out at the window, and I desperately need recs, unless I want to be stuck listening to the Jonas Brothers.
Tags: ,

(no subject)
art - SuSSigkeit
latine
Life is good.
Tags:

I could be considered illegal
stock - pink roses
latine
Movie & internet lovers, I'm in need of serious help.

It has been a while since I've last watched movies on the Internet. A while.

Usually I use Cuevana and Sidereel to watch the newest episodes of Glee, but that's pretty much all I watch. Neither of them are great for movies, though, so here's what I've got to ask:

Where can I find good quality movies to watch online? And not download them?
Tags: , ,

Mermaid vs. Whale.
art - elli
latine
So, here's something that has been navigating across the web (lies, I just read it in galadarling.com) and I thought was interesting enough to post here. I'm sure y'all will like it.

"Recently, in a large city in Australia, a poster featuring a young, thin and tan woman appeared in the window of a gym. It said, “This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?”

A middle-aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman on the poster, responded publicly to the question posed by the gym.

To Whom It May Concern,

Whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, sea lions, curious humans.) They have an active sex life, get pregnant and have adorable baby whales. They have a wonderful time with dolphins stuffing themselves with shrimp. They play and swim in the seas, seeing wonderful places like Patagonia, the Bering Sea and the coral reefs of Polynesia.

Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs. They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans.

They are loved, protected and admired by almost everyone in the world.

Mermaids don’t exist.

If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of Argentinean psychoanalysts due to identity crisis. Fish or human? They don’t have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them, not to mention how could they have sex? Just look at them… where is IT?

Therefore, they don’t have kids either.

Not to mention, who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store?

The choice is perfectly clear to me: I want to be a whale.

P.S. We are in an age when media puts into our heads the idea that only skinny people are beautiful, but I prefer to enjoy an ice cream with my kids, a good dinner with a man who makes me shiver, and a piece of chocolate with my friends.

With time, we gain weight because we accumulate so much information and wisdom in our heads that when there is no more room, it distributes out to the rest of our bodies. So we aren’t heavy, we are enormously cultured, educated and happy.

Beginning today, when I look at my butt in the mirror I will think, “Good grief, look how smart I am!”"
Tags: ,

(no subject)
stock - pink roses
latine

My school's library is the biggest fraud in the face of the Earth, and obviously, I've made this obvious to the Student Council this past week. The response we got from the headmistress was that us students should hand her a list of books to buy to complete the library. As I am practically the only one involved, I've been sort of handed the task, but now that I have this 'assignment' I am hesitant.

The library is OK and somewhat complete as regards homework books, etc. but I think it would be really interesting for the school to buy some literature books for the students. So here is my question that I hope you guys can answer:

Which literature books do you think are basic or fundamental for a school's library? If you had the chance to buy any books for your school library, which would you get? What authors would you deem important? Most importantly, which books would you love to have in your school's library to go and pick up whenever you wanted?
 


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Poll & pidgeon time, bitches
art-- pidgeon -- audrey kawasaki
latine
Poll #1529761 Vacations & trips

Where do you live?

Do you usually travel during holidays?

Yes.
10(76.9%)
No.
3(23.1%)

Which specifically?

Summer
5(38.5%)
Easter
0(0.0%)
Winter
0(0.0%)
Other
0(0.0%)
I don't travel
1(7.7%)

For which reasons?

Family visits
7(53.8%)
Discover new places
3(23.1%)
Sports
1(7.7%)
Competitions
0(0.0%)
Exchanges
0(0.0%)
Religious issues
0(0.0%)
I don't travel
0(0.0%)
Others (please specify)
2(15.4%)

Where to? (Usually.)

Within the same country
2(15.4%)
Within the same continent
4(30.8%)
Within the same province/state
2(15.4%)
Anywhere
5(38.5%)
I don't travel
0(0.0%)

Who do you travel with?

By myself.
1(7.7%)
With my family.
7(53.8%)
With friends.
0(0.0%)
With school.
0(0.0%)
Other (please specify)
5(38.5%)

By what means?

Bus
0(0.0%)
Car
4(30.8%)
Planes
7(53.8%)
Train
1(7.7%)
Other (please specify)
1(7.7%)

In a scale of 1 to 10, which number would you classify the importance of travelling?

Mean: 8.23 Median: 8 Std. Dev 1.25
1
0(0.0%)
2
0(0.0%)
3
0(0.0%)
4
0(0.0%)
5
0(0.0%)
6
0(0.0%)
7
5(38.5%)
8
4(30.8%)
9
0(0.0%)
10
4(30.8%)

Best place/more memorable place you've been to (write down the one you're thinking of RIGHT NOW! YES! THAT ONE!)

What is what you enjoy most when travelling?

Architecture & museums, the place's history
0(0.0%)
The new people, seeing how society works
0(0.0%)
Change in currency
0(0.0%)
Food
0(0.0%)
All types of relationships (romantic, platonic, etc.)
0(0.0%)
Having time for myself.
0(0.0%)
Using the time to connect with those I go with.
1(7.7%)
Parties
0(0.0%)
Nature
0(0.0%)

Any other reason, write down here:

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