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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Sposa son disprezzata

"SPOSA SON DISPREZZATA" by Giacomelli and Vivaldi.

Scenic concert "Setaro, el constructor de utopías" concieved by Mario Pontiggia with Vivica Genaux, Borja Quiza and Orquestra Barroca de Mateus, directed by Ricardo Bernardes.
This project was organized by Casa de Mateus Foundation (Portugal) and Amigos de la Ópera de A Coruña (Spain). The concert tells the amazing story of the "impresario" Nicola Setaro that brought the Italian opera to Spain and Portugal in the mid-eighteenth century.

Ricardo Bernardes – direcção musical
Violinos I: Tera Shimizu, Elena Vasquez Ledo, Boyana Maynalovska
Violinos II: Álvaro Pinto, Philip Yeeles
Viola: Maria Pampano
Violoncelo: Raquel Reis
Contrabaixo: Tiago Pinto-Ribeiro
Oboé: Fabio D’Onofrio
Trompas: Edouard Guittet, Jorge Fuentes Arce
Cravo: Catarina Sousa
Tiorba: Pedro Martins
Bandolin: António Vieira


From “græ: Part 1,” out now.

Visual by Josh Finck


[intro, in a bar: my life, to something, something bigger, than me]

I wish I could dedicate my life
My life to something bigger
Something bigger than me
The earth ever spins on its axis
I'm spinning in echopraxis
My life does not belong to me

I gave my life
To something
Something bigger
Than me

The galaxy's a broken mirror
Slowly the asteroid gets nearer
My strife does not belong to me

For that big blue bold
I'll let go
For the gold medal

My life
To something
Something bigger
Than me
I give my life
To something
Something bigger
Than me

Gender Stories

Early 18th-century Italian opera companies often cast female voices in male roles, and sometimes castratos took female roles according to the vicissitudes of local circumstances. For example, during some periods female performers were forbidden on stage in Rome, but throughout the rest of Europe good female singers were the preferred option for leading male characters if no suitable castrato was available. Beyond that, there are plenty of Baroque operas in which characters disguise themselves as someone of the opposite gender. Such fluidity inspires a playful double album by Vivica Genaux and Lawrence Zazzo, who take turns to sing every conceivable kind of character within the compass of their voice-type (male, female, and covertly disguised), regardless of the genders of the characters or their original performers.

Jill McDonough - Husky Boys' Dickies

WTF texts Josey, and I text back OMG. We had to tell Maggie what LOL
meant– it's not Lots Of Love, though that almost always fits. Major
emailed LMAO when I assumed his inbox gets dealt with by an underling,
some undergrad, assumed it was Major's minor who invited me to read but
"can not pay much sum of monies." Sum of Monies? I emailed back.

Who wrote this? Your assistant's a Nigerian prince? WTF.
For a while we just played with these, joking, like I tried on
Wicked when I moved to Boston, called Lisa Liser, pizza pizzer, said
Fucken, wicked, pissah, dood. But before you know it, it's part
of how you talk, how I talk, fucken guy. Dude. When my ex

student saw me she said Sick a dozen times, amazed, delighted, meant
it's super I've moved back, and, whoda thunk it, come in to her cafe.
She checked out Josey, my instant street cred. Josey bought new pants
for work with a cell phone pocket; the cell phone pocket pants
are Husky Boys' Dickies, which I can't get enough of, laugh every time

I think of them, or try to name them out loud. Josey wears
Husky Boys' Dickies. My darling, my husky, my husky little boy.
Hey, Husky, we say, around the house, just waking up, just bumping
into each other en route from basement to garden to kitchen. Hey,
Husky, do you want coffee? Hey Husky, Hey Bunny, Hey Hon.

When I'm helping my students translate Sappho's Fragments 1 and 31,
I get them to make a list of many-colored things, so they don't feel stuck
with colorful throne. One girl can't think of anything but Skittles. Terrific, I tell her,
you're breaking product placement ground. Then I ask them to think of voices
they love, the voice of someone they love. It's hard to describe a voice, but

I ask them each to try, put his or her beloved in the place of Sappho's, make her
theirs, more real than just sweet-voiced and lovely-laughtered. You have
three minutes. Get something down, I tell them, some adjective or comparison,
even if you just write the same word over and over again. 5:47 p.m. on a Wednesday,
me saying Do your best and You could just say husky husky husky husky husky.













Laura Stevens:

Over the course of one year I invited over fifty men to my home to be photographed naked. Most were strangers, and it would be the first time we met. Stripping my bed to a white sheet, my most intimate space became a site for the man to be at his most intimate. An area with defined boundaries to move within, into which I would look, and he would be looked at.

Being a woman, at the age of forty, contemplating the naked male body feels curiously problematic. With representations of the male nude predominantly made by male artists, there is a lack of imagery exploring a female sensual response to male beauty. Regardless of the advances made in recognising women’s capacity for and right to visual pleasure, the historically dominant male gaze prevails.

Pursuing a way of looking at and portraying man, I questioned the cliched symbols of a ‘hard’ and ‘active’ masculinity which deny vulnerability or the supposed feminine qualities of ‘soft’ and ‘passive’.

Allowing oneself to be the object of another’s gaze requires yielding one’s control and allowing for a revealing to occur, both physically and emotionally. To be naked-as-an-object – to become a nude – furthers this uncovering. In photographing this series of men I was entrusted with this exposure. 

Within this encounter, between him and me, what would I see?