mardi 31 janvier 2017

Questions...


Some questions do not need any answer...

Blue Memories....


We were the three last boys in the shower room...

You were my boy friend...

He was your boy friend...

But I was his boy friend...

I remember this day...

We understood each other... Words were just useless...

Blue Memories....

Beauty of Vintage Cars....


Guess....


Guess the colours of my eyes ?

Beauty on the Beach (Sinal)



Sometimes, looking at a beautiful body is like looking at beauty itself...

And the viewer has to close his eyes, because there is too much light...

One cannot look at the sun.... Sometimes there is too much light in the clouds too...

Actually, I don't think I a dreaming about an actual boy's pic... I  guess I am dreaming about an idea of beauty, of perfection, of ephemeral perfection...

This boy does not exist anymore...

He was a mirage, a dream, an image, a vision...

The sun light playing with his face and his body does not exist anymore....

These pics (by Sinal) are the fragile and enigmatic archive of something that does not exist anymore, who vanished at the very time of the photo shooting...


Beauty on the Beach (Sinal)



Boys at play... Boys being themselves... Twinks becoming boys again...

Summer beaches are for boys what spring flowers are for a butterfly's chrysalis: a place of metamorphosis...

So many unknown boys to discover... Each one has his own style, his own beauty, his own way to move, to enjoy sea and sun, to play with his friends...  Nature boys, smooth and milky bodies, mirroring the interplay of light and shade...

Such candid pics make me dream, wonder and wander, desire and think...

They are so to say masterpieces of an innocent and casual imagery of boys beauty...

At the same time, they are masterpieces of a Platonic way to love, of a Platonic eroticism... Looking at a beautiful face, at a beautiful body leads the viewer to looking at beauty itself...

This pics are by Sinal, of course... Who else.. ?

dimanche 29 janvier 2017

Call for readers contributions !



Do you want to contribute to my blog with a text, a poem, an excerpt from a book, a drawing or a pic, from your collection or found on the web ?

Please, feel free to send you materials to

arcadianeros [  at  ] gmail  [ dot ] com

Many thanks !

:-)

Today Quizz....



Who is the author of these drawings ?

(easy)

And the answer is... Michel Gourlier !


[Update] Congratulations, Iolaos, for being the winner of this (very difficult) quizz !  Yes, you get a prize: You can choose the boy you want among all the pics of the blog and spend a week-end with him in Ephebopolis !!!

Legs



The Art of Sacrevoir


The Art of Sinal


Sometimes, a photograph is as evocative, poetic, beautiful and inspiring as a painting...

This photograph by Sinal is a painting... Look at the visual composition, at the interplay of the foreground and the background, at the boy's pose, at the colours of his swimsuit and short...

Just perfection and poetry...

Do you hear the music of this photograph ?

A sweet melody, isn't ?

Black and White Painting


It looks like a Evgheny Mokhorev photograph... But I am not sure...
Does anybody among my visitors know the author of this pic .
Please leave a comment (anonymous comments are allowed)

Words are useless...


Words are not needed anymore, when eyes tell so much...
Words are useless, when your eyes are at the same time the poem and the music....
Your eyes mirror a soul and beauty, the very idea of beauty...
I could look at this mirror, think about this idea for ever....

Viens partager mes rêves


"Viens partager mes rêves, il y en aura assez pour deux,
Je te ferai une place au coeur de mes nuits,
Au creux de mon lit, entre Eros et Morphée,
Et nous nous aimerons tendrement dans une nuit sans fin,
Car il est des jours qui ne devraient pas avoir de lendemains..."

Eraste de Saint-Amant, Poèmes garçonniers, 1985.

(merci à Jérôme pour sa lecture attentive !)

Melancholy


Solar beauty: Apollo is among us....


Or / Gold


"Tous ces rêves sculptés dans l'or de mon désir..."

"All those dreams, sculpted in my desire's gold...."

Jacques d'Adelswärd Fersen (1880-1923)

The Art of Pierre Joubert


Cleaning up at the river !

samedi 28 janvier 2017

A sweet silver light over your face and your arm....


Just a fleeting glimpse...


I remember the curve of your shoulder...
I remember your tanned arm....
I remember the interplay of light and shade...
I remember your golden hair
And the way wind caressed your hair...
I remember your milky and smooth chest....

I remember this summer afternoon at the beach...
I remember the sun and the sea, the sand and the light...

I remember you

© Sinal (repost with permission)

Love


Your name is Killian....


Are you real, are you a dream ?
Are you my dream ?

Or are you a poem to read, a music to listen to ?
Are you the inner music I love so much to listen to ?

Looking at you is like a journey...
But I don't know if you are the departure or the arrival point...

I just know I will never be the same again,
If I dream to much about this poem, about this music...

The last plane left hours ago...


The last plane left hours ago...
And it is not the time of the first train...

But you are so tired, lonely boy,
You have nowhere to go,
No one is expecting you...

You are on the run, maybe....

You are lost in your dreams, in Dream land,
Where no plane, no train will ever go...

I would love to share your dreams,
And just to take your hand,
And gently I would wake you up...

"Come on, let's go home..."



"Oh, renverser sa tête fine...."



"Oh, renverser sa tête fine
Comme une flasque de muscat !
Boire à sa gorge, j'imagine,
Tous les baisers qu'elle invoqua....

Dormir sur son épaule heureuse,
Dans le jardin de son beau corps,
Cueillir sa nuque, ô tubéreuse,
Fermer ses yeux, ces genêts d'or...

Suivre — songeur — les hanches pâles
Jusqu'au nocturne temple hindou
Qui le relève, idole mâle,
Au donateur d'encens très doux...

Jusqu'à ce que, lys en prière,
Tout épuisé, mais ingénu,
Son front pâli par les chimères
Soit le reflet de mon front nu !"

Jacques d'Adelswärd-Fersen
Une jeunesse
La Neuvaine du petit faune
Préface de Patricia Marcoz
Paris, Quintes-Feuilles, 2010, p. 147.


In Quest of Love (2)


"At first I fancied, as boy,
The Quest of Beauty was my care;
To find a form divinely fair
Filled my young heart with fearful joy.

But Beauty delicate and rare
Provoked an infinite desire
Not for the flesh but spirit; fire
That shrivelled lust; a sweet despair

That filled my eyes with tears; and ire,
Contempt and Scorn for what was low;
And Love then seemed to me to grow
Far down amid the slough and mire."


Edwin Emmanuel Bradford (1860-1944)
"In Quest of Love"
in: Michael Matthew Kaylor (ed.).
Lad's Love. An Anthology of Uranian Poetry and Prose,
Vol. 1, Kansas City, Valancourt Books, 2010, p. 79.

In Quest of Love (1)


"Love have I sought, and Love I seek,
Yea, and will seek until I die:
I follow him afar or nigh,
Though I be halt and blond and weak.

Not woman's love that passeth by;
Nor the world's love, so near akin;
Nor love of that low self within,
More base than both: but throned on high,

Sexless, eternal, free from sin,
Unvexed by passion, holy, mild,
Pure, spiritual, undefiled,
Is that sweet love I yearn to win."

Edwin Emmanuel Bradford (1860-1944)
"In Quest of Love"
in: Michael Matthew Kaylor (ed.).
Lad's Love. An Anthology of Uranian Poetry and Prose,
Vol. 1, Kansas City, Valancourt Books, 2010, p. 79.

The Art of Sinal


vendredi 27 janvier 2017

Deep, deeper....


Dig, dig deep, dig deeper...
You hands into the sand,
Be focussed on the sand,
On the warmth of the sun around your body,
On the wind across your hair...

Be focussed on the present time,
Be focussed on the sand, the sun and the sea...

Tomorrow will be another day...
This blond boy with half open pink lips will be gone...
Gone forever....

Photograph @ Sinal 
reposted with permission from www.sinalphoto.com

In the sandhills


Sand castles



Beaches at summer are such a stage
For unseen choreographies of boys having fun...

Where else could smooth bodies and blond hair
Dance with the wind, the sun and the tides of the sea...

I would love to be a sun ray and to caress those golden hairs,
To warm up those milky chests, while the boys are so focussed,

So focussed in building up sand castles...


Photograph @ Sinal 
reposted with permission from www.sinalphoto.com


My dreamt boy friend...


"Je te retrouve, mon doux ami, mon bel amant,
Je te retrouve sur les plages de ma mémoire,
Caressé par les ressacs de mon regard, de mon désir,

Je te retrouve, mon doux amant, mon bel ami,
Et je voudrais te dire, oui, te dire, avant que je n'oublie,
Combien je te désire encore après t'avoir tant aimé...

Je sais que tu n'es qu'un mirage de lumière et de couleurs
Sur l'écran aveugle de la mémoire de mes amours,
Mais nous nous retrouverons, je le sais, mon élu, mon aimé..."

Eraste de Saint-Amant, Poèmes garçonniers,  2001.

Sand




Let's forget everything.... anything else...
Sand, water and sun, nothing else matters...
Let's dig in the sand... Let's find water under the sand...

Let the sun caress our bodies, and warm up our milky skin...
Let's forget anything else... Just our hands deep in the sand...
Let's focus on the water caressing our fingers....

Photograph @ Sinal 
reposted with permission from www.sinalphoto.com

Inspiration



I would like to tell you, cute unknown boy, I would like to tell you,
The dreams and thoughts these pics inspire to my soul...

I guess we know each other for so long, since ever, from our previous lives...
I know you do not remember me, perhaps if we meet again, you will....

I know I was your erastes, and you were my eromenos, my loved meirakion,
In IVth century BC Athens, I was philosopher, you were in love with philosophy...

"What is life ? What makes sense ? Is there anything beyond words and appearances ?'
Love is the key, I answered you, it open the gates from appearance to the essence of beauty...

Perhaps you will remember our walks in the Gardens of Akademos, and our talks close to the Ilissos,
Perhaps you will remember how much I loved you, and how you answered my love....

So vivid are the imaginary memories these pics of yours remind me today....

Memories, sorrows


Do you remember those endless sunny afternoons, at the beach,
The fun and the happiness of playing between sun and sea,
Of playing like kittens, between light and sand ?

Do you remember how free and happy we were,
Running across the waves and dancing with the tides,
While sunrays were caressing our smooth and pale bodies
In such a troubling way....

We were forgetting everything, we were just mad and playful kittens,
Jumping in the water, screaming at the seagulls, waving at mom and dad....
We were happy boys and we did not know yet that these memories would become sorrows...
Later....

Photograph @ Sinal 
reposted with permission from www.sinalphoto.com

jeudi 26 janvier 2017

Phénix


"C'est un infime tremblement qui brouille les frontières et du corps et de l'âme,
Dans un geste de trop de la main qui fait fermer les yeux et ouvrir les lèvres....

C'est l'ébranlement d'un monde, d'un être, qui sous l'insistance des doigts
Réinvente le haut et le bas, l'envers et le droit, le Big Bang et le dernier souffle....

C'est un plaisir de garçon qui qu'entre garçons ne se peut dire, qui d'autre comprendrait,
Le frisson et le soupir, la fièvre et les fluides, la petite mort et la renaissance....

Plaisir de garçon, le mythe du phénix...."

Eraste de Saint-Amant, Poèmes garçonniers
[date uncertain... around 1990, but I am not sure....]

L'écume des jours


"Que me reste-t-il des souvenirs effacés, des désirs inavoués,
Que me reste-t-il de ces moments en suspens,
Où je te demandais "Qui suis-je ?", "Qui es-tu ?",
"Pourquoi moi ?", "Pourquoi toi ?", "Pourquoi nous ?"

L'écume des jours a tout emporté, et le ressac du temps qui passe
A effacé de nos innocentes caresses toutes les douloureuses traces...
Nos adolescences se sont envolées dans la blanche écume des jours,
Dans des corps trop aimés qui n'ont jamais su se parler...."

Eraste de Saint-Amant, Poèmes garçonniers, 1982.

The Art of Aratuan




Well, I don't know who Aratuan was, I don't know where he was from, if he is still alive...

Sometimes, some of his pics can be found on the web....

I love his vision, the way he looks at the male body...

Of course, oil, or water, is an easy trick... But so effective... It put a troubling emphasis on a young male body's architecture... On its muscles, on its symmetry, on its structure...

These two pics remind me the art of "physical" or "body building" male photography in the US around the '50s and '60s of the XXth century...

Body building was such a convenient juridical and political alibi for printing magazines of desirable male bodies, almost naked, when homosexuality was forbidden by law, and indeed a sin...

Aratuan's pics are not only an archive of young male beauty....

They are also an archive of we way we looked at the young male body in the XXth c.

The Art of Hajo Ortil


I guess what homophobic censors hate the most is candid pics of cute and happy boys...

I guess they hate the idea that a cute boy could be happy while being shot by a gay photographer....

They hate the idea that gay men could be happy while looking at the pic of a cute and happy boy...

I love this pic...

I love this boy....

I love the feelings thic pic conveys....

I feel tuned to its harmonics....

I do not need to see more to dream, imagine, hope and remember...

I do not need to see more to be happy...

Oh yes, I probably just need to meet this boy...

F...k the haters....

The Art of Gérard Marot


I love the sweet and soft eroticism of this pic... Such a wide space left to the viewer's imagination and dreams....

Such a pic is a starting point for inner movies, for stories without words...

Is it the beginning or the end of the movie, of the story ?

For me it is the beginning....

This silver ephebe just said: "Come, come with me...."

The Art of Gérard Marot



These photographs were published in Le fils d'Ariane, a book by Gérard Marot, with a text by French writer Hugo Marsan. The book was printed in 1986 by Edition Imagine.

It is a book about boys and their mothers, at various steps of their lives.

No porn.

Artistic photography.

Silver bodies, silver beauty, beauty of boys in black and white photography.

Would it be possible to publish such a book today ? I don't know...

But Gérard Marot's photographic books are at the Bibliothèque nationale de France in Paris.

They are part of history, part of culture, part of art, part of the history of art....

It was before the hysterical turn that prohibited any vision of a boy's body as a art....

Here below are two screenshots from Bibliothèque nationale de France's online catalogue.