....Marie Charlet

          Marie Charlet

            “Almost three hundred,” He thought of giving her the balance but he afraid she will leave him as soon as she got the money. They sat down at the marbled-top and he gave an order to a starched well-dressed waiter. Leisurely he removed his derby hat ..balance, but she might leave him….

There's that the moon as dawn goes, the sun had set straight out, above the sky. He who was asking me a drink and to whom I'' ll give him a drink for the exchange to tell the story until sailing away to the open shores. Off we've gone by him the captain who knows it's free because we are on board she will not return. From the shore of the shallow sea, she retired as same as I am. tonight never too soon we'll see him a poet of wisdom will slash the moon. Lol, tonight and never any word his name been told. Surely.
translation: มีดวงจันทร์เมื่อรุ่งสางไปดวงอาทิตย์ตั้งขึ้นเหนือท้องฟ้า ผู้ที่ขอเครื่องดื่มจากฉันและฉันจะให้เขาดื่มเพื่อการแลกเปลี่ยนเพื่อเล่าเรื่องจนกว่าจะแล่นเรือไปที่ชายฝั่งเปิด จากนั้นเราได้ไปกับเขากัปตันที่รู้ว่าฟรีเพราะเราอยู่บนเรือเธอจะไม่กลับมา จากชายฝั่งทะเลตื้น ๆ เธอเกษียณเหมือนฉัน คืนนี้ไม่ช้าเกินไปเราจะเห็นเขาเป็นกวีแห่งปัญญาที่จะเฉือนดวงจันทร์ ฮ่า ๆ คืนนี้และไม่เคยพูดชื่อเขาเลย อย่างแน่นอน โปรตุเกส
ช่วยให้คุณสร้างโลโก้ของตัวเองและบทกวี.....There is a knocking on the door.
"Entrée"
As the door open
"VINCENT"
He dropped his tube of paint he held in his hand, snatched his cane.
"When did you arrive? How long are you staying? Come and sit on the couch and let me look at you !
How do you feel?
     While he spoke his eyes flashed their messages to his brain. Yes it was Vincent...
"Yes I was supposed I did" Vincent starred at his knotty hands".
"It almost killed me though, but perhaps it was worth it"
"even in the asylum, can you imagine Henri?"
"Stop talking about it, you all right now."
"But I want to talk about it."
Vincent persists gently " Perhaps if I do. I'll stop thinking about it. It wasn't the seclusion that hard on me.
It was the proximity of most men. Some of them awoke at night. We do need physical distancing.  " Perhaps if I do. I'll stop thinking about it. It wasn't the seclusion that hard on me.
It was the proximity of most men. We do need physical distancing.. Some of them awoke at night and you could hear them cried aloud guards had dragged them away. At the time I felt I was going crazy. Something inside him seemed to have unlocked the floodgates of his speech. In a torrent of words, he told Henri about his life in Arles. the hours spent in the fields under the boiling sun, painting with a frenzy that grew into a sort of madness. And the staggering walk back to town at sunset over a dusty country road. His easel strapped on his shoulder and yield to his back, the canvas in his hand still wet.
Bouquet - Lily of the valley

Then Gauguin's arrival, the happiness on first met of friendship...There is a knocking on the door.

"Entrée"

As the door open

"VINCENT"

He dropped his tube of paint he held in his hand, snatched his cane.

"When did you arrive? How long are you staying? Come and sit on the couch and let me look at you !

How do you feel?

     While he spoke his eyes flashed their messages to his brain. Yes it was Vincent...

"Yes I was supposed I did" Vincent starred at his knotty hands".

"It almost killed me though, but perhaps it was worth it"

"even in the asylum, can you imagine Henri?"

"Stop talking about it, you all right now."

"But I want to talk about it."

Vincent persists gently " Perhaps if I do. I'll stop thinking about it. It wasn't the seclusion that hard on me.

It was the proximity of most men. Some of them awoke at night. We do need physical distancing.  " Perhaps if I do. I'll stop thinking about it. It wasn't the seclusion that hard on me.

It was the proximity of most men. We do need physical distancing.. Some of them awoke at night and you could hear them cried aloud guards had dragged them away. At the time I felt I was going crazy. Something inside him seemed to have unlocked the floodgates of his speech. In a torrent of words, he told Henri about his life in Arles. the hours spent in the fields under the boiling sun, painting with a frenzy that grew into a sort of madness. And the staggering walk back to town at sunset over a dusty country road. His easel strapped on his shoulder and yield to his back, the canvas in his hand still wet.

Bouquet - Lily of the valley Lily of the ball...Then Gauguin's arrival, the happiness on first met of friendship, their trip together to Avignon, then back in Arles the first quarrels, the arrangement degenerating into brawls, the reconciliations in absinthe at the Cafe de la Gare, the evening at the brothel flung to Gauguin's face, the scuffle, the murder rages

Something inside him seemed to unlocked the floodgates of speech. In a torrent of words. He told Henri about his life in Arles: the hours spend in the fields under the boiling sun. painting with a frenzy that grew into the sort of madness

,,,,,,,,,,,,,Christmas Eve is here

Yet the Christmas crisis proved instructive, too. “Among artists, we no longer know what to say to each other, we don’t know if we ought to laugh or cry about it

No entanto, a crise de Natal provou instrutivo, também. "Entre os artistas, já não sei o que dizer um ao outro, não sabemos se devemos rir ou chorar sobre isso, e fazendo, a minha palavra, nem uma coisa nem outra nós somos mais felizes quando encontramos em oneselves. posse de uma pintura e, a coisa que tanto carecem às vezes ", ele escreveu para sua irmã" Mas qualquer idéia de uma vida regular, qualquer idéia de despertar em nós mesmos ou em outras ideias gentis ou sensações, tudo isso deve necessariamente aparecer pura utopia. para nós. "nas últimas cartas de Van Gogh, há um realismo moderado, como a de heróis de Shakespeare no quinto ato, quando a morte é certa e a prontidão é tudo. Em, ele se estabeleceu em leitura e ler Shakespeare. "Você já leu o Rei Lear, perguntou ela. Ele tinha. continuou: proibição de segui-lo ir.

 

............La FEMMES en FLEURS-....The ..WOMEN FLOWERS

 FEMMES en FLEURS

 

Wealthy, nobly-born and one of France’s greatest painters, Toulouse-Lautrec knew the secrets of many of paris’ most beautiful and voluptuous women, from the actresses, models and streetwalkers of Montmartre to the titled beauties in the salon of the riche. But a terrible curse prevented him from receiving the love he desired so passionately. FEMMES en FLEURS

The Madame

The Madame was conceived, but never born. She wrote on the dark walls of some womb for centuries, words dripping from the quiet of her solitude. One day she heard something from the outside: "We shall be fat, gentlemen, but never happy." It was 1944. A terrible violence swelled from her pen, she pierced these words through the walls, a reverse dissection, blood in her eyes, the sound of gunshots, a woman screaming and she took off across the plains. When she laid her lovers down in the fields, her hair would swirl about their faces, a fiery mahogany frame for no picture she might afford to see. She remembers, "It's a beautiful accent you have, ma vie en rouge, but where is it from?" She swore her mouth would never make that shape again. The surgery was a success. With all of their smallest things in her pockets, she would flee in the night. Millions amassed in a cluster of rock, metal and paper. Many an ocean liner, thumbs from pockets to the air, and she is here, doing her good work in worship of the two most vital traditions in this world. Do not ask of her origin. Do not question this work. Everything you need know of this woman, she can see-slathered all over your face in brilliant, black ink.

__________

La Madame

La Maquerelle a été conçue, mais elle n'est jamais née. Elle écrivit sur les murs sombres de quelque tombeau pendant des siècles, les mots suitant du silence de sa solitude. Un jour elle entendit, venant de l'extérieur, "Nous serons gros, messieurs, mais jamais heureux." C'était en 1944. Une terrible violence rugit dans sa plume, elle perça ces mots au travers des murs, une dissection à l'envers, le ssang aux yeux, le son des coups de feu, un cri de femme, et elle s'en fut de par les plaines. Lorsqu'elle faisait s'étendre ses amants dans les champs, ses cheveux tourbillonnaient autour de leur visage, un cadre d'acajour et de feu pour une image qu'elle ne saurait voir. Elle se souvient, "Quel joli accent, ma vie en rouge, mais d'où vient-il?". Elle jura que sa bouche ne prendrait plus jamais cette forme. L'intervention chirurgicale réussit. Toutes leurs plus petites choses dans ses poches, elle s'échappait dans la nuit. Des millions amassés dans un tas de pierre, de métal et de papier. Nombre de paquebots, les pouces des poches à l'air libre, et elle est ici, travaillant pour la bonne cause des deux traditions les plus vitales au monde. Ne remettez pas ce travail en question. Tout ce que vous avez besoin de savoir au sujet de cette femme, elle peut le voir, recouvrant tout votre visage d'encre noire et luisante.

Madame คุณนายดอกไม้

งามอย่างดอกไม้ รวยอย่างสง่างามเกิดและเป็นหนึ่งในจิตรกรที่ยิ่งใหญ่ที่สุดของฝรั่งเศส, ตูลูส-Lautrec รู้ความลับของหลายปารีส 'ผู้หญิงที่สวยที่สุดและยั่วยวนจากนักแสดงแบบจำลองและ streetwalkers ของ Montmartre เพื่อความงามชื่อในร้านของเศรษฐี เมธาวลัย ษรแดง..แต่ถูกสาปแช่งอย่างสาหัสป้องปิด มูแลงรูจน์จนถูกลบออกจากแผนที่บนถนนราชดำเนิน  เขาจากไปพร้อมกับความสวยงามของแหล่งบันเทิงชื่อดัง...มูแลงรูจน์..การได้รับความรักที่เขาต้องการจากเพื่อนที่รู้ใจ  ไม่สำคัญว่าเธอผู้นั้นจะเป็นใครหรือแม้แต่หญิงงามเมืองก็ย่อมดีกว่าไม่ได้ แต่ทว่า..บทกวีแห่งเนื้อหาสาระของความเศร้าได้สอดแทรกเข้ามาในช่วง...ราตรีแห่งปัจฉิมวัย โดยการแนะนำของลูกศิษย์....แวนโก๊ะ..ตอนนั้นทำเพื่อเขาด้วยการเอาหูของตัวเองไปจำนำ.

.ราเชลหญิงสาวผู้ที่เขาลุ่มหลงจนได้เข้ามาในชีวิตของเขาในฐานะ ..นักเรียนศิลปะ และแล้วเขากับเธอก็ได้เจอกัน...ในซ่อง ..ของ มาดาม มองมาแตร..ต่อจากนั้นชีวิตของทั้งสองได้กลายเป็น  อมตะอัตตะนวนิยายระคนเศร้า...และ..เศร้าอีก

....แต่ทำไมคนเราเกิดมามีไม่เหมือนกัน


This is the astonishing illustrated from which the great book by Pierre La Mure: "Moulin Rouge" was made.