Mireille Balin
IV
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Mortes, women who posed for the Eve by Cranach the Elder, The Birth of Venus by Botticelli , The Venus of the mirror Velasquez, The Great Bather Ingres The woman in the waves Courbet, L'Arlesienne and Van Gogh. Dead models The Madonna of the rock Vinci, La Maja de Goya Nude the Bathers Renoir ... Dead, dead, those that inspired countless female figures of world art.
Yet, through the mediation of a great artist, their charm has escaped the landfill body, rotting flesh, the abyss where Oblivion precipitated dust which was a time object of desire, deposit enjoyment.
This deception seems frozen? It never ceases to flow down to us, constant, inexhaustible, when a master was interposed between the perishable and posterity, and has exalted the bottom of the settling model of reality, "crossing appearances "whose artwork shows.
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I imagine, in the distant future, facing a black and white film, which I know only that he is a mediocre director. I also enter in as one these caves that man has dug into the mountainside to retrieve a precious metal, and he abandons after the exhausted resources.
A half-day welcome me and I try to accommodate the walls where the shadows stir in human form ... If dull, so common, that is founded for the abandonment of the place . Yet suddenly the gray rock lights. For a few seconds, it remains a shining silver vein. Could it be that this cave renfermât traces? I had, for a time too short, the sensation of the unusual and, further, that's incomparable. This was surreptitious and seemed linked to the appearance of a young woman whose other actresses, without consistency, were it not for the Stooges.
And here I am, hoping the problem recur, confirming my sense of presence, which alone had escaped the general tarnishing. But yes, introduced each of its occurring in a medium ghostly shimmer of a raw silk, taffeta, handled under a raking light.
As to persuade me that I do not dream, projects suddenly enormous, the face of one who, without even moving, exhausting his cronies. And I am like one who, after discovering the remains of a vein of great price, would think that imposing vein, the radiance intact, miraculously remained unnoticed.
In truth, what comes to light up a whole section of wall is the face of a woman plenary provided with all its powers, starting with those of governing, dominating each of their attitudes ; to restore the nobility of the human face, to prove fertility, to transform the features. From what country come? Without references, without further justification that the opal or moonstone, it is even strangers, passing, without any asperity that would allow us to retain it for a moment.
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And so, thanks to the cinema, beauty corrosive missing some actresses still reach us as we reached the still starlight extinguished. A photograph is almost always acts as a reminder. We encounter the obstinacy of the model to keep the pose, her eyes cleared by the stubborn fixity of the face. Fault that has the pure, the seduction of it was stale and no longer operates, so that the film makes the great players, talented actresses of aura, duration singular - earnest if necessary, she infuses color as ours and sometimes supplants our breath scansions subject to the reply.
These are only shadows? That some women, projected onto a coarse cloth, give him the luster of satin. Their faces with a sudden close-up sheet, hustle and grabs our face, their curves, their behavior, their connection, authenticate the fascination of the man the scenario lends them. They love rusent, flee, suffering, wrong, it's a passion, a bitterness, a resolution which publish full sluggish or no scope, their eclipse.
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I have no doubt that a hundred years and more after the death of such actresses, men, thanks to a forgotten film, abandonment, will discover - delighted grateful and gently torn - what heights a Lillian Gish, Bette Davis a, a Anabella, a Edwige, an Anna Magnani, Ingrid Bergman a, a Liv Ullmann, induced magnetism, the iridescence of the feminine and they have exhume the same shock that, in a steppe, a Scythian jewel; to reveal whether modern bill, a cave painting, the same contentment as to collect a constant smile that makes us a Creation bruised yet, through a hovering seagull, a palm that bends from the hem on the beach of a sheet of foam, an undulating hills on the horizon ...
... but also one of those women's faces where mass for us to take control, clarity came from far away: - "Not like that, unexpected, I am lost as the face of Yvonne de Calais as the Grand Meaulnes has long sought. In my eyes, you will find reflections of Field, Castle, from "Strange Day". Lost, found, I am the channel, the channel, which overlook the sea, when most men have to stumble on the feminine side. Do you have a sense of increase, in front of my face prospect which aspire to leave quietly? Do you foresee, for him, the profusion of oases that conceals a woman capital? Forget about the roles they made me play fatal - and look at me like you would do with the Angel of Reims, exchanging smiles. "
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Ah! we must give thanks to inventions that allow faces death has rendered to nothingness, to arouse in us, when their image appears animated in a "Time Regained," a sense of event, coming. Of those, even tiny, make this world increased.
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The only biography, but sensitive, passionate, well documented, the actress is that of Daniel Arsand, Mireille Balin or beauty thunderstruck, Lyon, La Manufacture, 1989.
are available on DVD: Don Quixote , Pepe Le Moko , Naples kiss of fire, love Maw, Macao, hell the game , The murderer is afraid at night , Last asset.
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A head seductive and beautiful, a woman's head, I mean, it's a head that dream at a time - but in a confused way - of pleasure and sadness that has a sense of melancholy, weariness, even of satiety, or - an idea contrary, that is to say an eagerness, a desire to live, coupled with a bitterness flowing back, as from deprivation or despair. The mystery, the regret are also characters of Beauty.
* * * * * ( Charles Baudelaire
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And your smile, your smile, raise my heart in a snowstorm.
* * * * Serge Essenin
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ago women who inspire the desire to overcome them and enjoy them; but it gives the desire to die slowly under her gaze.
* * * * * * * Charles Baudelaire
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May I watch you long as you look at the flames.
* * * * * * * * Valéry Larbaud
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