January 20th, 2014

untitled (is) by nico

15.01.2014
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
January 20th, 2014

untitled (is) by nico

14.15.01.2014
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
January 1st, 2014

untitled by nico

01.01.2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

December 16th, 2013

untitled by nico

15.12.2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 19th, 2013

untitled (27.07.13-18.08.13) by nico

 

 

 

 

 

February 24th, 2013

untitled (K.Day) by nico

23.02.2013

 

 

 

February 18th, 2013

untitled (When The Voices Come) by nico

14.02.2013

 

 

 

January 22nd, 2013

untitled (M – H) by nico

15.01.2013

 

 

 

January 1st, 2013

untitled by nico

01.01.2013

 

 

November 10th, 2012

tree planting, 09.11.2012

 

 

November 9th, 2012

08.01.2011

22.04.2012

03.10.2012

08.11.2012

08.11.2012

08.11.2012

08.11.2012

 

 08.11.2012

 

 

April 30th, 2012

untitled by nico, 30.04.2012

 

 

April 29th, 2012

untitled by F, 29.04.2012

untitled by nico, 29.04.2012

 

 

 

April 23rd, 2012

untitled by nico, 22.04.2012

 

Liebe ist kälter als der Tod  08.01.2011

 

 

March 23rd, 2012

untitled by nico

untitled by nico

22.03.2012

 

 

 

February 17th, 2012

enogsin by nico

enogsin by nico

______________________________________________________________________________________

IV
I add one further word to you, a question rather.
Does water flow in your country too? (I don’t remember whether you’ve told me so) and it gives chills too, if it is the real thing.
Do I love it? I don’t know. One feels so alone when it is cold. But quite otherwise when it is warm. Well then? How can I decide? How do you others decide, tell me, when you speak of it without disguise, with open heart?

V
I am writing to you from the end of the world. You must realize this. The trees often tremble. We collect the leaves. They have a ridiculous number of veins. But what for? There’s nothing between them and the tree any more, and we go off troubled.
Could not life continue on earth without wind? Or must everything tremble, always, always?
There are subterranean disturbances, too, in the house as well, like angers which might come to face you, like stern beings who would like to wrest confessions.
We see nothing, except what is so unimportant to see.
Nothing, and yet we tremble. Why?

 

I Am Writing To You From A Far Off Country (je vous écris d’un pays lointain plume précédé de lointain intérieur) by Henri Michaux , 1938



 

 

February 9th, 2012

untitled by nico

untitled by nico

Wish You Were Here

 

 

 

January 1st, 2012

untitled by nico

 

 

December 29th, 2011

untitled by nico

 

 

December 29th, 2011

untitled by nico

_________________________________________________________________________________

 

” Wir wissen wenig voneinander. Wir sind Dickhäuter, wir strecken die Hände nacheinander aus, aber es ist vergebliche Mühe, wir reiben nur das grobe Leder aneinander ab… “

 

 

 

 

November 21st, 2011

untitled by nico

untitled by nico

untitled by nico

 

 

October 28th, 2011


untitled by nico, 27.10.2011


 

October 2nd, 2011

untitled by nico, 01.10.2011

 

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