In Praise of Shadows.
Greenfinch| N° d'inventaire | 23798 |
| Format | 14 x 22 |
| Détails | 160 p., paperback. |
| Publication | Lagrasse, 2011 |
| Etat | Nine |
| ISBN | 9782864326526 |
"Because a lacquer decorated with gold powder is not made to be taken in at a glance in a lit place, but to be guessed at in a dark place, in a diffuse glow which, at times, reveals one or other detail, in such a way that, the greater part of its sumptuous decoration constantly hidden in the shadows, it arouses inexpressible resonances.
Moreover, the brilliance of its sparkling surface reflects, when placed in a dark place, the agitation of the flame of the light, thus detecting the slightest current of air which from time to time crosses the quietest room, and discreetly incites man to reverie. Were it not for the lacquered objects in the shadowy space, this dream world of uncertain clarity secreted by candles or oil lamps, this beating of the pulse of the night which is the flickering of the flame, would surely lose a good part of their fascination. Like thin streams of water running over the mats to gather in stagnant sheets, the rays of light are captured, one here, the other there, then spread out tenuously, uncertainly and scintillating, weaving on the warp of the night like a damask made of these designs in gold dust.
"Because a lacquer decorated with gold powder is not made to be taken in at a glance in a lit place, but to be guessed at in a dark place, in a diffuse glow which, at times, reveals one or other detail, in such a way that, the greater part of its sumptuous decoration constantly hidden in the shadows, it arouses inexpressible resonances.
Moreover, the brilliance of its sparkling surface reflects, when placed in a dark place, the agitation of the flame of the light, thus detecting the slightest current of air which from time to time crosses the quietest room, and discreetly incites man to reverie. Were it not for the lacquered objects in the shadowy space, this dream world of uncertain clarity secreted by candles or oil lamps, this beating of the pulse of the night which is the flickering of the flame, would surely lose a good part of their fascination. Like thin streams of water running over the mats to gather in stagnant sheets, the rays of light are captured, one here, the other there, then spread out tenuously, uncertainly and scintillating, weaving on the warp of the night like a damask made of these designs in gold dust.