LA TOILE N'A JAMAIS EXISTÉ ; Source "ஓவியன் காவியம்" from "மதுமொழி திருப்பா " in Tamil. скачать в хорошем качестве

LA TOILE N'A JAMAIS EXISTÉ ; Source "ஓவியன் காவியம்" from "மதுமொழி திருப்பா " in Tamil.

LA TOILE N'A JAMAIS EXISTÉ Le karma est un peintre Maître de toutes les teintes Sa toile — cette vie — Blanche — et qui attend (Karma is a painter Master of all hues His canvas — this life — White — and waiting) Il lève son pinceau Avant que tombe la lumière Et tout ce qui était N'avait pas encore de frontière (He lifts his brush Before the light falls And everything that was Had not yet found its border) La toile n'a jamais existé La toile n'a jamais existé Le peintre et la peinture N'étaient que — l'air (The canvas never existed The canvas never existed The painter and the painting Were only — air) La colère — un rouge vif L'avidité — l'or qui ment La vertu — le blanc naïf Là où le pinceau n'a pas pris (Anger — a vivid red Greed — the gold that lies Virtue — the naive white Where the brush hasn't taken hold) Couche après couche Il travaille son art Chaque trait qui cache La trame — sous le fard (Layer after layer He works his craft Each stroke concealing The fabric — beneath the paint) Les distinctions tracées Entre les espèces d'hommes Les lignes qui ont séparé Ceux qui règnent — de ceux qu'on nomme (The distinctions drawn Between the kinds of men The lines that have separated Those who reign — from those who are named) La pauvreté — la richesse Le dogme — le débat Tous les coups de pinceau habiles Pour cacher — ce qui est là (Poverty — wealth Dogma — debate All the clever brushstrokes To hide — what is there) Et sous tout ça — la trame — Ce qui était avant le pinceau — Ce qui restera — sans programme — Quand tombera le rideau (And beneath all this — the fabric — What was there before the brush — What will remain — without design — When the curtain falls) La toile n'a jamais existé La toile n'a jamais existé Le peintre et la peinture N'étaient que — l'air Celui qui a fait l'épopée A caché le sens dans l'art Mais ceux qui voient sans être aveuglés Voient la toile — dès le départ (The one who made the epic Hid the meaning in the art But those who see without being blinded See the canvas — from the start) Le peintre n'a pas de substance Le pinceau a toujours été libre La peinture se peignant elle-même N'était — que — voir — (The painter has no substance The brush was always free The painting painting itself Was only — seeing —) La toile n'a jamais existé La toile n'a jamais existé Le peintre ne faisait que feindre (The canvas never existed The canvas never existed The painter was only pretending) Et l'air — était — tout France has always known that the painting is not the thing. Magritte painted a pipe and wrote beneath it: Ceci n'est pas une pipe. This is not a pipe. The representation is not the reality. The image is not the truth. The French cultural tradition — from the Surrealists through the Structuralists through Derrida's deconstruction — has been circling this insight for a century. But circling is not arriving. La toile n'a jamais existé — the canvas was never there — goes further than Magritte. Magritte showed that the painting is not the pipe. This verse shows that the canvas itself — the ground of all painting — was never there. Not just the representation is non-substantial. The very ground of representation is non-substantial. This is not nihilism. It is the most radical liberation. Karma — le karma — is the cosmic painter. A master of hues. Life the waiting canvas stretched white. And then the colors: anger's red, greed's gold, virtue's white — the strokes that cover the original emptiness. Layer after layer. The social distinctions — the lines drawn between kinds of people, between wealth and want, between dogma and debate — all clever brushwork hiding the fabric beneath. But in French — peindre and feindre live in the same phonetic neighborhood. To paint and to pretend. Le karma peint — karma paints — karma pretends. The cosmic painter was always performing. The painting was always a performance. And performances require a stage — but the stage itself — la toile — the canvas — was never there. For those who see without being blinded — ceux qui voient sans être aveuglés — the painter has no substance. The brush was always free. The painting painting itself — la peinture se peignant elle-même — was only seeing. Pure seeing. The canvas that was never there is the space in which all seeing happens — and it cannot itself be seen — because it is the seeing. Sartre gave French culture le néant — nothingness — as the void that haunts being. This verse offers something different. The canvas that was never there is not le néant as absence. It is l'air — the air — everything — the virtual ground that is more real than all the actual paintings layered upon it.