mercredi 31 juillet 2013

Just a caress...


Digital Narcissus: checking the technical set up


Beauty


About a boy I loved

Why did I fall in love with you ? Why did you fall in love with me ?
Why you and me ?
Love is such a strange alchemy...
Love is ruled by physical laws, by laws of magnetic attraction...
You were the magnet attracting me... 
You were the face I desired to look at
You had eyes telling me so many things that words were useless,
You had lips so sweet and so expressive that they mirrored your soul, your thoughts, your feelings...
Everything in your face was calling for kisses and caresses, or just for a silent contemplation...
And your deliciously smooth and sweet body was a whole world to explore,
With its milky plains, its curves, it small forests, its crevice, its peaks...
Your body was a whole world, a whole cosmos, with its warmth, its earthquakes,
Its music, its taste, its perfumes, its secrete fluids...
Falling in love with you was like starting a long journey towards unknown and remote countries...
Loving you was a one-way trip...
I will never return from the secrete country the both of us reached together... 
 

Tribe of teen boys

Lips


Iconic pic

This boy's gaze and face expression are mirroring his soul, his most intimate thoughts and feelings...

Very few photographers are able to catch the suspended time of such a day-dreaming, of such an introspective look...

To my eyes, this pic is a riddle: why am I so attracted by the face, by the eyes of this golden boy, whose whole body is so deliciously tanned by the sun... Golden boy, summer boy, chest and face sweet and golden as honey...

Looking at this pic opens a space for sensual dreams, for dreaming about a caress across such a golden chest, around such a golden face...

Looking at this pic also expands a space for metaphysical questions... Who is this boy ? What is a boy ? What is a photograph ? What is this photograph mirroring and expressing ?

I know this photograph will never answer my questions. I know I will never meet this boy: his dreaming eyes will remain a riddle for me...

Iconic pics, for me, blend desire and questions... Iconic pics mirror what is out of reach...

lundi 29 juillet 2013

Wu Meng Chun


Tadzio playing with an orange














Essence of boys beauty

A true Platonician lover is involved in a endless quest.

As a lover of beauty, he is fond of looking at as many beautiful boys as possible. Each of them mirrors a part of the ideal and true beauty. No one of them will be the end of his quest. But each boy will be a step in this endless journey

A Platonician lover is self-aware of the paradoxal nature of his quest... Does he desire a beautiful body ? A beautiful soul ? No, he desires beauty... Each boy, each body, each soul mirrors a part of this beauty...

A smile, beautiful eyes, a smooth chest, blond or brune hairs, a chin, cheeks, a forehead, tits, arms and shoulders, legs, hands, a navel...

Or a necklace, a grin, a pout, the way light is playing with a face, with a torso...

So many boys, just an ideal beauty...

Tes yeux


"Tes yeux ont la pureté de tous les azurs du ciel,
Ils sont l'horizon sans nuages de la beauté d'une âme,
D'une âme de garçon qui a franchi le seuil des adolescences.

Tes yeux sont une question et une réponse,
Une énigme et un sourire,
Un sourire de garçon qui a franchi le seuil des adolescences.

Tes yeux sont l'origine d'un monde,
Là où se trouve toute la beauté de l'humanité,
Tes yeux racontent la naissance d'une âme, d'une âme de garçon.

Tes yeux sont l'alpha et l'omega, le début et la fin de toutes choses,
La naissance d'un monde, l'émergence d'un désir,
La naissance d'un amour pour les yeux, pour l'âme d'un garçon."

Eraste de Saint-Amant, Poèmes garçonniers, 2011.

dimanche 28 juillet 2013

Gymnopédies ( a visual tribute to Erik Satie's music)


Tribe of teen boys


Hans


 This story is dedicated to Edmund M.


"Hans was so to say an epitome, a synthesis of what makes late teen boys so charming and desirable, even for the eyes of older men...

Everything was inspiring, enticing, mesmerizing me, from his blond hairs to his dressing style, from his beautiful, soft and smooth face to  the sound of his voice and the light of his eyes, from his smile to his smart, deep and witty mind...

It was impossible not to notice Hans among my students at the University, it was impossible to ignore the beauty of his mind, of his soul, the shining grace of his youth, his seducing face and body...

While giving my lectures in the largest classroom at Göttingen University, my gaze was always attracted by the magnet of Hans beauty, of Hans face...

The way he looked at me, the way he was focussed on my speech, the light in this eyes and sometimes the grin upon his lips... Hans was my Muse, he inspired me, my lecture was just for him, and I just desired so much to raise his interest, to get his approval, to be someone else than a Professor, to be just a real man, a possible friend maybe...

While giving my lectures, I think never I was so focussed on a listener's face... No one else mattered... Hans was the center of the world, of my world...

No wonder if Hans was among the brightest students at Göttingen University, in the early 80's years...

His vision, his creativity, the way he was thinking, his writing style, his imagination, his culture were like a firework, they were a blessing for any professor fully involved into his mission of awakening young minds, of helping young men to unfold all their abilities...

Hans visited me several time in my office and even at my home in Göttingen...

We had long talks together: we were speaking about Kant and Nietzsche as well as about politics or just the meaning of life...

Hans trusted me enough to share with me his most intimate thoughts, his concerns, his hopes, what made him doubtful about himself, fearful about his future and sometimes sad ...

I did my best to answer his questions, to clear his doubts and his fears, to increase his self-confidence, and just to make him hopeful about his future...

There was a lot of tenderness between us... Tenderness was expressed through gaze, through words and silence, through the way we felt comfortable while being together...

There was nothing else, nothing more... It was a Platonic love story, but a love story... And the both of us were aware of it, and the both of us worked hard to make this story as beautiful and fulfilling as possible...

At the end of the academic year, Hans left Göttingen and went to Berlin...

When we met for saying goodbye and farewell, I was devastated... I felt he was too... I was unable to speak, or even to look at Hans' face...

Before leaving, he gave me something... A book and a black and white photograph of him...

It took me some time to look at it without crying...

On the back of the pic, there were a few words written...

"To Mark, the best teacher I ever had, thanks so much, I will never forget you... Love, Hans..."

I never forgot you either, Hans..."

Fragment of a novel


A love story

I felt in love with a cute teen boy I met by chance a few days ago... It was such an unexpected meeting... He was nude, he had curly hairs, he had the smoothest skin one could ever dream about... His cheeks and his chin were beardless.. He had the most intriguing grin a boy could ever display, and he modestly looked elsewhere while I was contemplating him... He did not want to make me uncomfortable by noticing my presence close to him, my gaze.

I admired the subtle play of light and shades upon his body, his velvety and soft skin, such an invitation for a caressing hand... And I caressed him, with the tip of my fingers...

He smiled and turned his head, and he looked at me...

"Hi Mark, welcome in Arcadia, I am Eros..."

It was at the Louvre Museum, in the modern sculptures Department, a few days ago...

Tribe of teen boys


samedi 27 juillet 2013

A boy is a musical instrument

One cannot love a boy if one does not want to listen to his own to his inner music...
Some boys are a piano, other are wind instruments, other are strings, or even a solo violin or cello,
Other boys are wind instruments, or just a singing voice, soprano, or mezzo, or even baryton..

Looking at a boy is like a synaesthesic experience: one is viewing him and listening to him at the same time..

There is no way to love someone, without taking the time to look at him, to listen at him, to decipher his intimate and deep music...

When I want to listen to a boy's intimate music, I just look at his face, at his eyes... I look again and again at his eyes...

Most of the time, it is enough for allowing me to listen to this boy's inner music... 

Blond boy with red roses


Eyes, fingers, lips


Louis

"Among all the boys I loved, Louis was one of the most special and original... This late teen boy was a first year student at the University. He was studying philosophy and comparative literature. He was also fond of music, mainly jazz music... His musical tastes were as eclectical as his literary ones, and he enjoyed vintage jazz music, of the early XXth c., as well as contemporary jazz, free jazz, and mostly ECM music...

Louis was a brune boy, looking younger than his age... Witty eyes, smiling lips, smooth face and body, but with the voice and the mind of a young twink...

We met in jazz clubs in Paris, in the St Germain area... We became friends, and we became lovers too...

Louis did not stay at my place... He visited me when he wanted to, most of the time without warning...

It was always a joy for me to spend an evening and sometimes a night with him... We spoke about literature and philosophy, about music and Paris, about the meaning of life...

Louis was a funny, interesting, beautiful and smart boy... He made me laugh so much, for example, when he told me: "Mark, could you believe that, within a few months, I will be 20 years old... I will be THAT old... How could I survive it... I don't want to be 20 years old, ever..."

He was kidding, but there was something more than that... Louis had tears in his eyes, and he kept silent, while I was caressing his hairs, his forefront, his cheeks, his chin...

What was so special with Louis was the way he wanted us to make love...

He always had a headphone around his head, upon his ears... And he was listening to the music of his Ipod.

But Louis never told me the music he was listening to... I guess most of the time it was jazz...

"It is up to you to guess, Mark... What is the music I am listening to today ? You have to feel the groove, the vibs, the harmonics, the rythm, the melody... You should guess the music through my whole body, through my kisses and embraces, through the way I hold you between my arms, through the way I slide against your body, through my groans and my silence, through the way I open my lips and I close my eyes... Mark, listen to my music, listen to my vibes and my grooves... I am the music, you are the loudspeaker..."

Never a boy friend whispered so challenging words into my ear while we were about to make love...

And while looking at Louis' smooth and shining face, while holding his so desirable body within my arms, indeed I was listening to music, I was hearing it...

According to the choregraphy of our desire, to the gymnastics leading to our pleasure, I was listening to piano improvisations or to vintage standards, I was listening to a blues by Ella Fitzgerald or to a Chet Baker's solo, to Stan Getz or to Keith Jarrett, to Brad Meldhau or to Duke Ellington...

What matters the most, when you hold a cute boy within your arms is feeling the groove, the vibes, the swing...

I never found with any boy something close to Louis' inner swing..."

Fragment of a novel


Desire: a Visual (and Challenging) Allegory


Dans tes bras / Within your arms

 A visual poem...
Everything is said, expressed, suggested...
Words are uselesss...
Just feeling the warmth of your body,
Just being within your arms, entre tes bras,
Being loved by you, loving you...
I forget myself in the seashore of my desire,
I want to be swept away by the tides of our pleasure...


Iconic pic


Jeans shorts, trainers, bare and smooth legs, thick socks, swollen carf muscles, sweat, sensuality... So many parts of the mythology of teen boys are summarized in this vintage pic...

There is something intemporal... but also something so vintage... Such a pic reminds us memories of games and races, of high school and friendship, of revolt and self-affirmation...

vendredi 26 juillet 2013

Digital Narcissus

What a fascinating pic... It is an icon of what photography is about: a time of stunning, of amazement, of speechlessness... Photography is perhaps the last metaphysical experience one can live: catching and freezing forever one's own appearance, one's being...

"If I shoot this photograph in the mirror, will it erase my reflection ?"

Such a self-pic could be the starting point of a philosophical text about identity and the self, about the duplication of the self, about the metaphysical status of  image and reflection.

I will write this philosophical book when I will have the time.

I already found its title: "Digital Narcissus".

For now, I contemplate the mesmerizing eyes of this teen boys, looking at his own face...

First caress, first embrace


Splash


Nape of the neck


This photograph mirrors to my eyes something like a quintessence of a boy's beauty, like a summary of the desire I feel for him...

It is a shower scene, and I feel the warm water caressing and wrapping this boy's body in a wet and gleaming veil... I can almost see the single drops of water caressing the skin and playing with the light of the shower room. I imagine this boy's smooth body streaming with warm water, in the steam of the shower room... I imagine what he feels while water is streaming through his chest, around his shoulders, along his legs...

But the true erotic power of this pic lies in the nape of the neck, where water meets light and sublimates this boy skin...

The nape of the neck: a place to kiss tenderly, a place from where my caressing hand could start the long journey towards our shared pleasure...

Manuel

"The end of a love story is always painful. It was and it is still devastating for me... Because I never imagine my current story with the boy I love could ever end up... And I would be unable to think it will be followed by a next one... I live any of my loves, I love each of my boy friends just as if they were unique, or the last ones, or the definitive ones... The end of a quest, of a search, the beginning of a new phase in my life, where I will be for ever with my loved one...

Indeed, such stories, such loves always reach a end... Most of the time, not an happy end... And I should survive the day after, when the boy I loved left... I still feel his presence everywhere in my place, his unique perfume, the sound of his voice, the way he laughed, the way he made a mess in the kitchen each time he was hungry, his warm place in my bed, the illusion of his desirable body close to mine, in the deep of the night...

I should learn to survive the end of my love stories... I should learn to forget, at least, to try to, even a bit... I should purge myself from too painful memories and sorrows... After a few months, I am able to think again about my loved one. Usually, the photographs I shot remind me the whole story... What happened this day, the light in my room, the mood of my boy friend, what we spoke about, if we made love before or after I shot the photograph, the tender words we exchanged, our silence and the warmth of his body, the wet touch of his lips, his closed eyes, his caressing hands...

All these fond memories come back to my mind when I look at this photograph of Manuel... A so beautiful brune boy, smart and creative, so tender and funny..."

Fragment of a novel

Iconic pic


jeudi 25 juillet 2013

Swimming pool


Blond boy with blue flowers


Digital Narcissus

The golden frame makes the difference...

Remembering about the night we shared...


Answering the questions of one of my blog readers

Dear all,

My first post today will be quite unusual... I hope it will not be too boring for you, and that you will read it, at least a bit...

I received from a reader of my blog (Wolfgang) some questions I would like to answer in this post, and not only through a private email.

By the way, your mails, questions, reactions are always welcome at : arcadianeros [@] gmail.com

So, let's start...

"— Dear Mark Daschenbach, while most of the gay blogs focus only on pics, it seems words, texts, poetry and fiction are quite important in "Eros in Arcadia". Could you please comment ?

— Well, Wolfgang, it is a good point... Indeed words are as important as pics in my blog... I would say words are framing pics... They expand what is displayed into an horizon of feelings, dreams, memories, possible stories... For me, words, comments, poetry, fiction are like a fine tuning of my own gaze and sensitivity, of my own inner world... And I am trying to share this world with the visitors of my blog...

— Your blog sounds like a personal diary, a "journal intime", so focused on your intimate feelings...

— Well, of course... And this is what blogging is about isnt't it ? I am the real guy, the real man behind "Eros in Arcadia", and everything in this blog mirrors my own sensitivity, my inner world and story...  At the same time, I think I belong to a tradition, to a community: what I feel is maybe shared by others, what I express could help readers to put the adequate words on what they feel or at least, to try to express it in their own way...

— Your blog belongs to the late teen boys / twink boys sub-genre of gay blogs... Why don't you post nude pics ?

— Well, there are plenty of web sites and blogs posting such pics... With "Eros in Arcadia", I am trying to express something else, to publish different materials...  To tell the truth, I am not interested in gay twink porn... It is so boring, so predictable, so repetitive... When eveything is shown, displayed, there is nothing left for desire, imagination, dream... I am not attracted by meat... A body, a skin, a face inspire me far more when they are displayed by an artistic gaze, by a poetical gaze... What is hidden, what is left to the viewer's imagination is what creates a lasting desire...

— How would you define yourself in the current debates about homosexuality and about the civil rights of gay men and lesbian women ?

— I am happy, indeed, to see the fight of the gay and lesbian community for their rights, for egality with straight people, and indeed, I fully support this fight, and I am happy with its results, such as the right for gay and lesbian people to be married. This is a major social, civic, ethical and political step. I am worried, however, by homophobia, by its roots in our Western societies, by its political expression: the debate about the "gay and lesbian marriage" in France revealed how deep and irrational was the hate of homosexuality in Catholic and right and extreme right networks... On another hand, I think this political fight of the gay and lesbian communites overshadowed other trends, other sensitivies in the world of homosexualities. Expressing an interest, a desire for young men, when one is a grown up man, seems to be unacceptable today... And there is indeed a confusion today between homosexuality and pedophily... Desire for late teen boys was always a part of gay history, since Ancient Greece to early XXth c., through Arabic world, Persia, China, Japan, European Renaissance and the Uranian trend in XIXth c. It is no more correct today to belong to this tradition...

— Are you a happy guy ?

— What is happiness ? I don't think happiness is an absolute value... I think in a human life, one experiments many forms, many moments of happiness, interspersed with periods of loneliness or sadness... For me, a human life is like an ever-changing sky: some days could be cloudy, other days could windy, and other days could be just sunny... My blog is like the weather report of my inner sky... And I am sure my readers will know when there are clouds, shades, winds or just sun in my heart....'

mercredi 24 juillet 2013

The arrow of Eros


"In the National Museum at Athens, many years ago, I was contemplating the graceful outlines of boys, men and gods on Attic vases painted with red figures...

There were so many of them, boys running at the stadium, boys fighting at the palestra, men courting boys and offering them tender gifts, heroes busy forever with the hunting of beasts or the fight against monsters, gods drinking ambrosia in their Olympian palace... So many scenes drawn from Greek tragedies or from Homer's epics, mixed with scenes of the daily life...

I was lost in my dreams, looking at all these perfect sketches of young male bodies, with brune hairs, witty eyes, smiling mouth, muscular bodies suggested by just a few lines, by their smooth chests and the curves of their tighs and bottom...

Suddenly, I heard the noise of glass breaking up, and I saw a winged shape flying away from an open showcase... I saw the blurred shape of a teen boy, so smooth, so perfect, so ethereal...

"Kalos ho paîs..." ("Beautiful is the boy..") I said... The unknown boy roared with laughter and told me: "Catch me if you can... !"

I tried to catch between my fingers this evanescent vision... My fingers just caught sunrays, the warm and thick sun light of Athens in a summer afternoon...

I still heard a crystalline laugh and these few words: "I am Eros, time for me to be free, to play again with my bow and my arrows, time for me to inspire love and to revive the love of cute boys... You are my first target... ! You will love for ever, you will desire and admire beauty, you will live many love stories, even you just dreamt about them... You will be my poet, my herald, you will sing my power, you will sing the beauty of boys..."

I just felt a sting on my neck... A light sting... Perhaps it was just a mosquito... However, I have good reasons to think it was Eros's arrow... Actually I am quite sure it was...

Why am I so sure ?

Because the following day, the National Museum issued a press release: for unexplained reasons, a painted Eros on a Vth century BC Attic kylix unexpectedly vanished... There were no reasons to suspect a malicious act, although the showcase was open... No vase disappeared or was dammaged.

I am probably the only one to know what happened, in this room of the National Museum in Athens, so many years ago, in a summer afternoon, at the peak of the heatwave..."

Golden sandhills


Le beau vendeur de roses


"Dieu ! l'étonnant vendeur de roses !
Un rayon de miel sur sa lèvre suffit
A faire bien des ravages.

Lorsque j'ai contemplé le luxurieux jardin
Qui ornait la colline de sa joue, 
Mon coeur aussitôt est devenu esclave
De ce beau parterre fleuri"


Mouhammad al-Nawadji
La prairie des gazelles
Eloge des beaux adolescents
(traduction René R. Khawam)
Paris, Phébus, 1989, p. 74