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Mireille Balin
(Monte-Carlo July 20, 1909 * - Paris, November 9, 1968)
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Painters, sculptors, historians, writers, testify: always women surpassed their peers in Attractions and justified the word Cocteau: "The privileges of beauty are enormous. But long ago, these privileges, favors attached to the perfection of a face, with a continuation, were confined to the dimensions of a yard, a circle, a medium. When they were not within the only lyricism of a poet celebrating his mistress.
photography, cinema, who revel in the feminine world, provide in abundance in our imaginary pictures of creatures that make credible the power lent to such favorite on the monarch, such courtesans driving their lover to ruin and suicide.
There is no "small" seductive. Of those that are described as "large", the accommodation is made immediately, while still unclear what surrounds them, other women included.
Each is a messenger that the species we delegate to remind us of the feminine hegemony. She is the bearer of sovereignty, since no claim is obvious, almost palpable, and we suffer with gratitude his tyranny. Because it's a whole panorama of the feminine, with its background, the seductress pretends to deploy our eyes when our friends are the best office of indentation in the real. Hence the edges of a photograph of the screen, which frames a "great" seductress seem cramped, and its image invaded the margins of a kind of wealth to be.
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Only certain players they come on the scene, they surround us with a satisfaction similar to that which gives us the chance encounter with a warm and familiar to the free amenity. Such actors immediately get us more attention, adherence to their lines, their behavior, as they fit correctly in space as they say, their reactions have a veracity that makes ease and the surrounding air, and silence the rustling of tissue paper qu'assemblent breaths assistance.
Thus women - many of whom become actresses - they have an innate presence compels our sensory system to how certain works of art we endow the soul. Like a painting, a sculpture, a monument, this is a musical chord and fertilization at a distance.
We knew the nature inexhaustible in its productions, it we will once again surprised by the vivid image that fills an expectation - of the order of nostalgia? - That we did not own, a man stuffed effigies.
is. For her, the world used, hirsute, will hand the damage we are causing it. For her, the alliances that we assume it, we just thought of everything on earth, still eludes the rapacity of man: the bird hovering below the horizon marine stratum umbrella of a cedar of Lebanon, the splay of the conch, whelk, the spar of the arum ...
She is even more alien than her sisters? It legitimizes the enthusiasm, gratitude, that we devote to them. It conjures everything that hurts our eyes and it touches them out of their distracted, the way of a pleasant surprise that we would be inconceivable. The word windfall from our lips before that which belongs to the rare, the fascinating.
We do not have the temerity to think she will distinguish us in the crowd of his subjects, it is enough that it accredits the myth of the goddesses, nymphs, Vestal , sirens, it is their incarnation, sculptural, but human. So vulnerable, which makes it close, moving to those who know that time goes on that face smooth as a laughingstock on a sea of young lady, and she will not be one day a shadow moving or static without more compact than a threadbare fabric. The most endangered are those who loudly proclaim, by the arrogance of their forms, the emphasis of their hair, the hemmed their lips parted, they are more than their sisters, promise, promise and expensive exquisite , indefinite, like the houris that the Koran promises the faithful.
There are men and the male is laudatory epithet. It is also among the "big" seductive women that females in the mouth, eyelashes, nostrils themselves, prefigure the major access road, as if sex admitted it without shame, and their flesh, falsely immediate, prompt appearing explicitly embrace, the ... deducted. An ounce of vulgarity for chili.
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For seductive luscious, creamy, an omen that we are sinking deeper into the flesh (and a sip of America Confectionery - meringues, religious, whipped cream, drizzled with a flute of champagne - was recognized in a pink fluffy named Marilyn), is it permissible to prefer the beauty closed, lock, a Louise Brook, helmeted fiber ebony, detached an Egyptian frieze, unless she was the sister of Queen Karomama, whose profile medal continuous incision space?
Is it lawful to grant, as the crowd of idols that went to represent the fullness of universality of the feminine, a preeminent place to Greta Garbo? I never think about it without seeing, in a snowy country, a beam of morning light through a fog bank. Then needed, as one would speak of the imposition of hands, which features notes of perfection the highest statuary - the grain of the skin with the polish of the Cycladic figurines in the likeness of Mother Earth.
We forget the body: we have eyes only for clarity in this nebulous web and beyond the face, making it in Queen Christina, the archetype figureheads.
Seduction can be challenging. He happens to be chaste. By light clean the Nordic countries - Calvinists - who seems to have modeled Garbo; by sexuality of it, ambiguous, held a ... "healthy exercise," the actress shows femininity unknowable, inaccessible. Until the love scenes where she shows enterprising, bold, she comes from a Noli Me Tangere which, combined with the solitude that is the nimbus extreme beauty, keeps us at a distance, brooding verse of Baudelaire: "I am beautiful, oh mortals, like a dream stone! "
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* 1911 is the date stated on numerous documents. 1909 would be the exact date.
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Whispers ...
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The love
I can, with you, dreaming of more commonplace since nothing ever is. And so I dream of a road island - without knowing what they are! In a room with walls lined with books of poetry, of those who cause thirst - a burning room.
I dream of a smooth time, indefinitely, to love with constancy.
I dream of being around you like a sleep between sun and shade. To be a stuffed ball on which you rest your hand.
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The lover
bulimia and I knew the frustration of the lover of museums here and those it does me more than anything: what gallery of paintings and sculptures grace overwhelm me like you do again? But I am advised that being convicted to attend beauty is a refined torture. Are we in his presence? She breathless, it constrains us. Engages she looks to others? A sense of dispossession, we grudge deaf comes. Present, absent, it is the thorn that reminds us of our dependence, we mean we do not know what exile.
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François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.
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