He deliberates whether he should try to have sex with her or get as much sleep as possible. E ric is both everything and nothing. He smiles. They are part of him no matter what. Life is short and sweet. And the beauty of it all is not in the decisions. E ric is happy. He is an aspiring writer who has been published in the Burningword Literary Journal and the Morningside Monocle.
To Russia with Love. On any given night, the stories flow. It might be her friend,. Or how the prior tenant had been axed,. Or how. Or how soldiers and police would rape girls,. I marvel at how she can appear intact,. I can forgive, then, how she stroked. I can forgive.
It tastes. She was a Pushcart Prize nominee in In addition to poetry, she writes graphic novels, most recently in collaboration with the North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences. Special Dual Language Presentation. The Doll. From then on, she was known as Alma Mahler. What do we know about her? Everything and nothing. History informs us of the countless lovers and affairs that made her the most intriguing and talked-about woman of the twentieth century, eclipsing her artistic production.
The daughter of a painter, from a tender age she mixed in the intellectual circles of Vienna and became acquainted with their foremost representatives. She was still very young when she met and had a love affair with the artist Gustav Klimt, and possibly others Max Burckhard? Alexander von Zemlinsky?
Alma loved music. She wrote some Lieder and sang one to her husband, accompanying herself on the piano. Mahler listened attentively, then, without saying a word, he got up from the sofa and retreated to his studio. It was then that Alma, devastated, realized what her fate would be: to love madly, and to lose her beloved—along with the fruit of their intimacy.
First, she fell in love with Walter Gropius, the future founder of Bauhaus, the school that would boast Paul Klee and Wassily Kandinsky among its teachers.
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The Maestro tried to restore their relationship—he even consulted Sigmund Freud, in the hope that the eminent psychologist would give him some advice—but refused to divorce his wife. In , Alma married Gropius; the two separated in , when Alma discovered that she was pregnant by the poet Franz Werfel, whom she married a few years later. Alma Mahler fell in love with him, but realized that they would never form a stable relationship.
Insufferably possessive, he demanded to see her at all hours, to spend all his time with her. After two years of passion and strife, Alma Mahler decided to leave her lover. Kokoschka was devastated. No: Alma was a part of his own soul that had suddenly become independent and had decided to walk out on him. It was as if carmine and ultramarine blue refused to be brushed onto the white canvas that he stretched across wooden frames with wide-jaw pliers.
He had never intended to restrict the freedom of his beloved: Alma had every right to do what she wanted with her life. Yet he needed her presence, just as his paintings needed carmine and ultramarine blue to come alive. He went to the most famous milliner in Vienna, Hermine Moos, who also crafted rag dolls, and ordered a life-size doll whose features he designed himself.
Her long black hair fell softly to the shoulders, and her skin was warm and soft: Moos had used the best plush fabric on the market, and its flesh color had been obtained with a dye created by Kokoschka in person. When the doll-maker finally delivered her, the artist was enthusiastic. He placed her on the large red armchair in his studio, and gazed at her at length with loving eyes. Kokoschka had no idea about sizes. He dressed her, scrutinized her. Everything was fine, except for the hat. He removed the hat and threw it into the fireplace. Not until their elongated shadows projected themselves onto the trunks of the plane trees did the two go home.
There they ate, then lay on the perennially-unmade bed until they fell asleep, exhausted.
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He took her with him wherever he went: to the park, to coffee shops, to the store where he bought paints and brushes. One month later, however, he started to feel that something was amiss. Sitting on a stool, in his studio redolent of oil paint, he gazed at his beloved reclining in the red armchair. You look like a ragbag Are you feeling depressed?
I know how it feels, I get like that, too: every time I finish a painting, my soul feels drained. But believe me, you need to use your willpower and overcome this torpor. When steeped in darkness, the worst thing you can do is curse the light. He observed her silently. Where were her laughter, her smart comments, her sense of humor? Where was her eagerness?
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He realized that what he loved in Alma Mahler was, in fact, her passion, her hunger for a fast-paced existence. He drew nearer, started to undress her. When she was completely naked, he carried her to his bed and lay down beside her. T he next day he showed up with Alma at the front door of the imposing house of Herr Porsche, in Mozartgasse. The famous engineer and captain of industry had sent him a note the day before, and Kokoschka was keen for such a wealthy man to become a collector of his art. Under his right arm, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, he carried the painting that he intended to sell to him.
He rang the doorbell. Would you announce us, please? Herr Porsche is waiting for us. The servant nodded and opened the door wide to let them through. He showed them into a sitting room furnished in the fashion of the previous century: satin-covered armchairs; gilded stucco work; exquisite china on burl-wood furniture.
The walls were covered in paintings, among which Kokoschka recognized the two that Porsche had bought from him. On a table in the center of the room, the master of the house had placed a glass case containing a model car. An inexpensive car that everyone can afford.
Manual Furia (Passione senza tregua Vol. 3) (Italian Edition)
But do sit down, please. A glass of liqueur? Porsche wore an elegant double-breasted gray suit.
He was well-groomed, clean-shaven, his moustache seemingly trimmed to size with precision instruments. As he entered, the air was stirred by a subtle drift of Cologne.
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