About dream and desire...

"Dear Wilhelm,

Sorry to be back to you after such a long time... I was traveling abroad, so far away from Taormina... But I brought with me the sun of Sicily, the light of the San Domenico piazza, and the beauty of your models...

How could I forget them... They make me dream so much... I see them, I talk to them so much in my dreams... Your photographic eye made them so perfect, so relevant, so splendid, so desirable... Desire is such a strange thing... How could we desire a boy pictured on a photograph... ? The aura is more important than the body, the gaze is more important than touch, a photograph haunts his viewer longer than a body haunts its lover... At least, I think, I hope so...

I will never be tired to love your photographs, to love your models... You caught their youth, their beauty, what makes them so desirable, so lovable... Looking at your photographs is just reading a love story, a never ending love story, and day after day, I will say "I love you" to the boy you chose to focus on...

Am I loving a boy or a photograph ? I am loving beauty, intemporal beauty, hauting eyes, half open lips, waiting for a kiss, or about to say some loving words...

I am loving a boy from Athens or Sparta, from Alexandria or Rome, a blossoming boy at the peak of youth and beauty, just a flower that will last as far as youth does...

How to forget him, how to forget you... Each of your photograph is the first chapter of a love story, and the viewer should write its ending part... 

Loving a photograph is loving a boy for ever... Looking carefully at the photograph, I can feel the breathe, the warmth of your model, I can almost touch him and embrass him.... "Almost" is  what makes the difference... "Almost" is what will never put an end to my longing, to my love, to my desire, "almost" is what will allow the magic of your photograph to go on and on, for ever, for the fortunate viewer who will perhaps get it, after I disappeared...

Dear Wilhem, thanks so much for experimenting such a new way to write love poetry...

Yours, as always, Philip"

Von Gloeden Archive, Letter from Philip to W. von Gloeden, ca. 1912, call number 1912/00/05

Stage set up

"Dear Philip,

You asked me to share with you some of my little secrets, how I create the stage set up for my neo-Arcadian photographs...

I think about the stage set up as a painter. Every detail has its own importance. Foreground or background, various objects and props should contribute to build up the imaginary world where I want my Taormina boys to be displayed...

First, I am thinking about the floor: my old zebra skin suggests a world of luxury and sensuality, an exotic horizon, where Africa meets Sicily.

Then, I choose some of my favorite singing birds, sometimes some cicadas, and I put them into a small wicker cage. They will create the musical background of my photograph, a drone or a melody that will help the boys to focus and to relax...

Details matter so much... I love to use some of the Greek vases Taormina's peasants sometimes find in a forgotten tumb... A lekythos has such a perfect shape, it was devoted to the dead, and somehow, I think a lekythos is relevant in my photographic art, since I try to dig into cultural memory while making my models immortal...

Taormina's potters still remember the skill of their ancestors and a modern eartheware jar evokes a remote Antiquity where water, vine and oil where kept in such a way...

My house, Piazza San Domenico, and the surrounding buildings are timeless and suggest what the urban landscape of antique Tauromenium could be...

Then, I speak gently to my models, and I try to suggest a mood, a story, a legend. I want them to forget my camera, and to be the intemporal young men that adorned so many Greek temples... Pasqualino is my favorite model, he loves so much to play the part of a Theocritus shepherd, he loves so much to be loved and to inspire tenderness and desire... Who could fight against his gaze, again his grace ?   

Pietro has such a natural grace, who could ever guess that a Taormina's young fisherman remembers so well the grace and curves, the sensuality and boldness, the pride and tenderness of ancient Greek ephebes, who inspired so many dreams of beauty, so many desires and memories...

I am a perfectionist, and every detail matters for me... I spend so much times finding the right light, the perfect stage set up... Sometimes, I miss something... Sometimes a flower may hide another one... Actually, I love this visual lapsus... My Taormina boys do not belong to Arcadia, they live here and now, they love and they are loved, they are not concepts, they are real guys, and the most ethereal desire should not make us forget that there is no soul without a body, and that boys could be loved by men for who they are, sensual worlds to dream about and to caress with the eyes, lovable boys to be loved for their soul as well as for their body...

Each of my photographs is a love story... A love story between my Taormina models, between them and me... A love story between my photograph and the viewer...

Each of my photographs is the archive of a moment that vanished, of light and shade, of a birds song, of a splendid beauty...

In my craziest dreams, dear Philip, I hope my photographs will survive me and that in the future, someone will understand them and love them as well as you do...

With my warmest regards,

Wilhelm"

(Private collection)

Von Gloeden's letter to Philip, around 1902, Von Gloeden Archive, Call number ca 1902/00/04.

Youth, beauty, flowers and love.

Von Gloeden, Young man with a crown of flowers (ca. 1900)

"Dear Pancrazio,

Thank you so much for your letter and for the news from Taormina. I feel so sad, so sorry about the raids of fascist police. How did they dare ? You told me they destroyed so many photographic plates... No print will ever be possible from them... Fascists are killing dreams, desires, imagination and just humanity...

Is there still a space for imagination, for longing, for desire ? Are we still allowed to dream about beauty and youth ? Is it still possible to dream about a photograph ? It is still possible to have a private, an intimate space where one could love who he/she wants?

Dear Pancrazio, the photographs of von Gloeden are an horizon, a landscape, an eldorado, a paradise... Looking at them made me happy... I know I cannot go beyond the photograph, I cannot go through the photographic print: the cute lade is somewhere else, out of reach.

These photographs are so perfect, so elaborated, so relevant. The stage set up, the pose of the model, his face expression, the props, everything is so  beautiful...

What Fascist police does not understand is that such pictures are not pornography, they are just an hymn to the beauty of lads, they are a visual translation of so many Greek and Roman texts we studied in our schools, gymnasia and universities....

The model's nudity is not my main focus... I feel seduced by the whole stage set-up, by flowers and plants, by the model's face, by the curves of his body, by  the way he is standing in front of the camera...

I have a small collection of Von Goeden's photographs. Most of them are vintage prints, I have a few later prints..

I felt in love with a few of von Gloeden's boys. I talk to them when I look at their photographs, sometimes I ever write poems for them.. They make me dream, they make me happy, they answer in such a perfect way to my dreams, to my desires...

Beyond their sepia backgound, dear Pancrazio, these photographs are such an inspiration, such a world to dive in...

My dear Pancrazio, of course I felt in love with the  photograph you sent me.. Comments are useless, silence is required.

So many thanks from the depth of my heart

All the best

Philip

Von Gloeden Archive, 13 May 1935 (1935/05/13)

A blossoming boy

"Dear Wilhelm,

This is the last photograph I purchased, in your villa at Taormina, and its is now within a frame, against a wall in my living room.

As always, your photographic art makes me dream, takes me so far away and so deep within myself. Everything is shown, everything is said, everything is expressed... This photograph is a visual poem about youth, about young male beauty and sensuality, about this secrete and sublime lad's love burning in the heart, in the soul of older men.

Such a photograph is a world to dream about, a love story to  imagine, a endless dialogue to start with a splendid, with a blossoming boy. Flowers of spring, flowers of youth, flowers of a blossoming boy, at the threshold of manhood.

The set-up of your photograph, the balance between what is shown, what is hidden, the grace of the pose, the enigm of the face expression, of the gaze diving deep into an unknown horizon... Everything in your photograph sings to my ears, speaks to my heart, fullfils my secrete dreams, my unsaid hopes.

I love the pose of your model, offered to your mechanical eye, at the same time hiding what he is thinking about, who he is. This photograph leaves such an open space for imagination and poetry...

I could sing forever the feelings, the thoughts, the memories, the longings this photograph, this beautiful lad inspire to me...

Only blind eyes could consider a photograph as a mere surface. For me, it has such a depth, such an horizon... Looking at this photograph, on the wall of my living room, will be for me a way to travel far far away, to the ropes of Mount Etna, to the cliffs of Taormina... I will also travel through time, until classical Antiquity, to Athens, to Alexandria, or to Taorminium...

In the crazy time, the crazy society I am living in, I don't know if it still allowed to fall in love with a model on a photograph, with a photograph... I could embrace just a shade, just a ghost, a photograph is nothing but a paper with a printing of light and shade. This blossoming boy I will never meet, never caress, he is far away, he is absent. At the same time, he is so present, I can touch and reach his essence, his eternal beauty, his youth blossoming for ever...

I will tell him loving words everyday and I know that he will listen to them and understand them, within the frame....

I love him so much and I am so happy we actually met, thanks to one of your photographs, my dear Wilhelm...

Yours, as always

Philip"

Von Gloeden Archive, Letter from Philip to Wilhelm von Gloeden, 23 June 1906 (Call number 1906/23/06/12)

Elegy for a royal Ephebe

"I am a lover, but I am not loved;

I am a lover loving all the beauties,
I am a lover who dreams, but who never reached reality,
I am waiting for the royal ephebe who will fulfill my expectations,
The horizon of my dreams, the ocean of my desire,
A desert to walk through, an oasis I could drink from...

I am a lover, I dream so much about being loved,
I met you once, but you did not notice me...
You belong to another time, I am from another world.

I would have loved you so much in a palestra of Athens,
In the Lyceum or the Academia where you were studying philosophy,
I would have loved you so much in the Museum of Alexandria
Or just siting beside you, in the theater of Tauromenium...

I am lover, perhaps I will meet a special one who loves me,
I am dreaming about a soul as well as about a body,
The soul of a cute ephebe whose beauty will be my horizon,
My desert and my ocean, the sun who will burn my eyes.

I am such a lonely lover, I love images,
But the ephebe I am dreaming about will perhaps live again if I am going to the next page.

I love you in my dreams, I dream about you in my love stories,
My cute royal ephebe, who came from such a distant place just to inspire me desire.

Your smile and your gaze, the curves of your body and your walk,
Your youth and your maturity, and the fragile border between a man and a boy,
My cute royal ephebe, you are the desert and the ocean, you are the sky and the horizon.

I am waiting for you, I am dreaming about you, I remember you, since I met you so long ago,
So close, so far away, here, or there, yesterday, or such a long time ago...

I am a lover, but I will never be loved,
I am lover who loves shades, shade from the past,
But you are here, so close, so far away, you can hear me, I see you...

I am dreaming about a soul as well as about a body, I dream about your lips as well as about your voice,
I love you in my dreams, my cute royal Ephebes, you will never be mine,
I am in the desert, the desert of a desire where there are no oasis...

Perhaps one day in the future, in another life, perhaps in the future, in another horizon,
My cute royal Ephebe, I will loose myself into your eyes, as in an oasis of the desert,
And I will tell some loving words, so close to your lips, it will be a caress rather than words".

Philip,Elegy for an unknown ephebe, Archive von Gloeden, call number 1898/07/16/05.

Elégie à l'éphèbe roi

"Je suis un amant mais ne suis pas aimé,

Je suis un amant amoureux de toutes les beautés,
Je suis un amant qui rêve, mais qui n'ai pas rencontré la réalité,
J'attends l'éphèbe roi qui me comblera,
L'horizon de mes rêves, l'océan de mon désir,
Le désert à parcourir, l'oasis où m'abreuver...

Je suis un amant et je rêve tant d'être aimé,
Je t'ai croisé, mais tu ne m'as pas regardé...
Tu appartiens à un autre temps, je suis d'un autre monde.

Je t'aurais aimé dans une palestre d'Athènes,
Dans un Lycée ou une Académie où tu apprendrais la philosophie,
Je t'aurais aimé dans le Musée d'Alexandrie
Ou à tes côtés, dans le théâtre de Tauromenium...

Je suis un amant, peut-être rencontrerais-je celui qui m'aime,
Je rêve d'une âme autant que d'un corps,
L'âme d'un bel éphèbe dont la beauté sera mon horizon,
Mon désert et mon océan, le soleil où brûler mes yeux.

Je suis un amant si solitaire, j'aime des images,
Mais l'éphèbe rêvé prendra peut-être vie si je tourne la page.

Je t'aime dans mes rêves, je te rêve dans mes amours,
Mon bel éphèbe roi, venu de si loin pour m'inspirer le désir.

Ton sourire et ton regard, tes courbes et ta démarche,
Ta jeunesse et ta maturité, et la frontière fragile entre l'homme et le garçon,
Mon bel éphèbe roi, tu es le désert et l'océan, tu es le ciel et l'horizon.

Je t'attends, je te rêve, je me souviens de toi, que j'ai rencontré autrefois,
Si loin, si près, ici, là, hier, il y a si longtemps...

Je suis un amant, je ne serai jamais aimé,
Je suis l'amant qui aime les ombres, les ombres du temps jadis.
Et pourtant tu es là, si près, si loin, tu m'entends, je te vois.

Je rêve d'une âme autant que d'un corps, je rêve de tes lèvres autant que de ta voix,
Je t'aime dans mes rêves, mon bel éphèbe roi, tu ne seras jamais à moi,
Je suis dans le désert, le désert d'un désir sans oasis...

Peut-être un jour, dans une autre vie, peut-être un jour, dans un autre horizon,
Mon bel éphèbe roi, je me perdrai dans tes yeux comme dans une oasis du désir,
Et je dirai des mots d'amour, si près de tes lèvres, une caresse plus que des mots..."

Philip, Elégie pour un éphèbe inconnu, Archive von Gloeden, call number 1898/07/16/05.

Le théâtre du désir (1)

"Comment pourrais-je oublier que j'aime tout en toi, ton regard, tes lèvres, la forme de ton visage, ce que ton visage exprime, les nuages du coeur, le voile des états d'âme, les désirs et les peines, ton histoire à toi, mon Pasqualino de Taormina...

How could I forget that I love everything in you, your gaze, your lips, the shape of your face, what your face is telling to me, the clouds upon your heart, a veil upon your emotions, desires and pains, your own story, my Pasqualino from Taormina....

Comment pourrais-je t'oublier, mon Francesco en fleurs, comment pourrais-je t'oublier, jeune berger des collines lointaines, toi qui sait chanter les chants qui font revenir les moutons, le soir, vers les lumières du village...

And how could I forget you, my blossoming Francesco, how could I forget you, young shepherd going to remote hills, you who knows how to sing the songs bringing the sheeps back home, at night, towards the lights of Taormina...

Les fleurs sont entre tes mains, mon Francesco en fleurs, tu fleuris l'épaule de Pasqualino, mon ami, mon amant de toujours...

You have flowers in your hands, my blossoming Francesco, you are flourishing Pasqualino's shoulder - he is my friend, my lover since ever...

Penses à tes amis, à tes amants, Pasqualino, mon bel ami... Pense à celui qui aimera cette photographie, demain, ailleurs, dans un autre siècle... Regarde ton ami, ton amant, Pasqualino, mon bel ami... Il aime ton âme autant que ton visage....

Please, just have a thought about your friends, your lovers, Pasqualino, my so cute friend... Just think about the guy who will love this photograph, tomorrow, elsewhere, in another century... Just look at your friend, your lover, Pasqualino, my cute friend... He loves your soul as much as your face...

J'aime cette photographie, douce et sensuelle, j'aime ces étoffes improbables qui entourent les corps, tuniques de bergers d'aujourd'hui dans une cité grecque rêvée, Taormina, Tauromenium, séjour de tous mes rêves, de tous mes amours...

Merci, Wilhelm, mon ami, pour la douce sensualité qui se dégage de cette image... Cette photographie est pleine de désir, de parfum, le parfum que s'échangent des garçons qui se désirent, ou qui regardent au delà de l'appareil photographique celui qui, peut-être, dans un autre lieu et un autre temps, les désirera aussi... 

I love this photograph, so sweet, so sensual, I love these weird clothes surrounding these boys bodies, these tunics of shephers in a dreamt Greek city, Taormina, Tauromenium, the place of all my dreams, of all my loves...

Thanks so much, Wilhelm, my friend, for the sweet sensuality emanating from this photograph... It is full of desire and perfume, the perfume shared by boys who desire one another or who look beyond the camera the viewer, in another place, in another time, who will desire them too...."

Letter from Philip to Wilhem von Gloeden, March 12 1902, Von Gloeden Archive, call number 1902/03/12/01.

Le théâtre du désir (2)

"Oui, j'aime tout en toi, mon Pasqualino, j'aime ton regard et tes lèvres, j'aime la musique de ton visage, j'aime le souffle de ta bouche, les questions de tes yeux, j'aimerai tant entendre le son de ta voix....

Yes, I love anything in you, my deare Pasqualino, I love your gaze and your lips, I love the music of your face as well as the breathe from your mouth or the questions asked by your eyes, I would love so much to hear the sound of your voice...

Et toi, mon Francesco en fleurs, je t'envie tant d'être l'aîné, l'amant, l'éraste, celui qui a choisi l'éromène à aimer, le garçon qui aime ta jeunesse en fleurs...

And you, my blossoming Francesco, I envy you so much for being the older one, the loving one, the erastes who chose the eromenos to fall in love with, the boy who will love your blossoming youth...

Il n'est pas besoin de mots, quand on aime et quand est aimé, les gestes suffisent, les mains et les doigts dessinent des poèmes, d'un corps à l'autre, d'une épaule à une poitrine, entre deux garçons qui écoutent la musique du désir...

Words are useless when one loves and when one is loved... Gestures are enough, hands and fingers are drawing poems, from a body to another one, from a shoulder to a chest, between two boys who are listening to the music of desire....

Il n'est pas besoin de mots, tout est dit, la musique du désir peut s'entendre dans le silence des voix, dans la polyphonie des gestes, dans la proximité des corps, dans l'arias des regards, dans le souffle d'une bouche entrouverte...

Pasqualino, mon ami, mon aimé, tu es aimé par l'aîné qui te caresse des yeux, que tu caresses de la main...

Words are not needed, everything is said, the music of desire can be listened through silent voices, through the polyphony of gestures, in bodies being close one to another, in the arias sung by the eyes, in the breathe of a half-open mouth...

Pasqualino, my friend, my loved one, your are loved by an older boy who is caressing you with his eyes, whom you are caressing with your hand...

Je vous aime tous les deux, Pasqualino et Francesco, je vous aime pour les poèmes que vous me rappelez, pour la musique que vous me faites entendre... Il est des mondes où des garçons peuvent s'aimer et de désirer, se caresser et se regarder...

Il est des théâtres du désir où il n'est pas besoin de mots, les gestes, les regards, les corps disent l'essentiel en dehors duquel tout n'est que bavardage vain...

Wilhem, mon ami, certaines de vos photographies sont des opéras, elles font chanter mon regard et mon désir, aimer vos garçons, c'est être un mélomane....

I love the both of you, Pasqualino and Francesco, I love your for the poems you remind me, for the music that you allow me to listen to... Yes, there are worlds where boys can love and desire one each other, can caress themselves and look one to another one....

There are some theaters of desire where words are not  needed: gestures, gazes, bodies tell hat really matters, and beyond what there is just useless gossip....

Wilhelm, my friend, some of your photographs are just operas, thanks to them, my gaze and my desire are singing... One cannot love your models without being a music lover... "

Letter from Philip to Wilhem von Gloeden, March 12 1902, Von Gloeden Archive, call number 1902/03/12/01.

Camera Obscura

"My dear Wilhelm,

I am very grateful for the new photograph you sent me... It is just sublime, in its composition, in its intent, in what it invites me to dream and think about... There is a wall and a body, a jar and flesh, white and brown, plants and a bird in a cage, a boy and a column.

I know you chose the frame and the angles, light and shades, and that you shot this photograph just as one catches a flying away moment...

Giovanni is splendid and his muscular body would have been an inspiration for Michel Angelo, for his frescoes on the Sistina Chapel ceiling... What a beautiful depiction of youth and grace, of body and mind, of balance and thought !

Your photograph, maestro, my dear friend, makes me dream and think... Giovanni is looking through the window into an obscure room, into the camera obscura, where light and shapes are printed forever on the albuminate paper sheet.

This photograph is an hymn to what is visible or invisible, to what Giovanni is looking at and what I will miss for ever. I can see Giovanni so focussed in his contemplation, in his gaze from the outside to the inside... Your Taormina lads, Wilhelm, are sometimes so strange...

I love this photograph, because it makes me imagine what I will never see, that is why Giovanni is leaning that way, why he is so focussed onto what he sees within the camera obscura... 

This photograph is an allegory of photography....

If I try to listen to your photograph, Wilhelm, my good old friend, I can hear a song, the song of a bird inside a cage. It is also a Sicilian song, an immemorial song that is sung at the top of Taormina rocks, since the most remote antiquity... "Carpe diem", says this love song, this song of wisdom... "Carpe diem", youth does not last for ever and even the most beautiful photographs will fade away, sometimes in the future, there will be only white on a white background, a solar wall to desire and to love..."

Philip, Letter to Wilhelm von Gloeden, june 6, 1902 (Von Gloeden Archive, call number 1902/06/04).

Camera Obscura

"Mon cher Wilhelm,

Merci de m'avoir envoyé cette nouvelle photographie... Je la trouve sublime dans sa composition, dans son intention, dans ce qu'elle donne à rêver et à penser... Il y a le mur et le corps, la jarre et la chair, le blanc et le brun, le végétal et l'oiseau dans sa cage, le garçon et la colonne. 

Je sais que tu as choisi le cadre et les angles, la lumière et les ombres, et que tu as pris cette photographie comme on saisit au vol un instant fugitif...

Giovanni est magnifique et son corps musclé aurait inspiré à Michel-Ange un ajout aux plafonds de la Chapelle Sistine... Quelle belle expression de la jeunesse et de la grâce, du corps et de l'esprit, de l'équilibre et de la pensée... !

Ta photographie, Maestro, mon cher ami, me fait rêver et penser... Giovanni regarde par la fenêtre dans une chambre obscure, dans la camera obscura, où la lumière et les formes viennent impressionner le papier albuminé et s'y fixer pour toujours. 

Cette photographie est un hymne au visible et à l'invisible, à ce que voit Giovanni et ce qui m'échappera à jamais. Je vois Giovanni absorbé dans cette contemplation, dans ce regard du dehors vers le dedans, tes garçons de Taormina, Wilhelm, sont si curieux...

J'aime cette photographie car elle me donne à imaginer ce que je ne verrai jamais, ce qui courbe le corps de Giovanni, ce qui l'absorbe au dedans de la chambre noire.

Cette photographie est une allégorie de la photographie...

En approchant l'oreille de ta photographie, Wilhelm, mon vieil ami, je peux entendre le chant, le chant de l'oiseau enfermé dans sa cage. C'est un chant sicilien, un chant immémorial que l'on chante sur les falaises de Taormina, depuis la nuit des temps... "Carpe diem", dit ce chant d'amour, ce chant de sagesse... "Carpe diem", la jeunesse n'a qu'un temps, et même les plus belles photographies s'effaceront un jour, blanches sur un fond blanc, il n'y aura plus qu'un mur blanc, un mur solaire à désirer et à aimer..."

Philip, Lettre à Wilhelm von Gloeden, 6 juin 1902  (Von Gloeden Archive, call number 1902/06/04)

Memory

"Dear Philip,

As promised, I am sending you a little "souvenir" of your last visit in Taormina... As you remember, Pascualino was behind the camera, he made this photograph, so I should create a stamp: "Pascualino fecit, Taormina".?

You looked so great with your white suit... You wanted so much me to be on the photograph... I am standing up against the pillar of the entrance gate of my garden...

"A souvenir, Wilhelm, my friend..." You told me... "I would like so much to have you on this photograph..."

Usually, I don't like that much to be shot on a photograph beside my visitors and my customers... But for you, Philip, I broke the rule. Because I know you understood what really matters, and you are looking, among my photographs, to the atemporal part...

You told me what you are dreaming and thinking about, we spoke so much about Vergil and Plato, Strato and Theocritus, well, the both of us love the music of Latin language, and mainly of Greek language, this is such an horizon of beauty, perfection, humanity and intelligence...

Who else better than you, Philip, who else could understand the idea or the intent, the poem or the concept, the dream or the music buried deep within each of my photograph ? 

Through the years, your letters make me think that, among all the visitors coming to my place, Piazza San Domenico, there is one, at least, who understood everything, who is sharing my gaze and my feeling, my heart and my memory...

You understood that each one of my photographs is a story, a love story, involving the photographer and his models, the photographs and those who chose to buy it...

Some of my customers are concerned only with the surface of my photographs... Others are going beyond the surface, towards the heart of the photograph... Yes, all my photographs, all my models have a heart..

Each one of my photographs, either a landscape, a portrait, nude boys or boys with veils, is telling a story, is singing a song, is just a music.

You are among  those who know how to listen to a music while looking at a photograph...

We understand each other so well, beyond any words...

Pascualino asked me to tell you... He loves you very much... He will not forget you... He knows you love him too... 

Pascualino's life is here, in Taormina... He loves this country, its light, its perfumes, its music...

But Pascualino will never forget you... He will not forget Philip...

I will not forget you either, Philip... Please, come back to Taormina as soon as you can.... We will dream aloud about the horizons we share...

Your friend

Wilhelm v. G."

Letter from Wilhelm von Gloeden to Philip X, Von Gloeden Archive, call number, 1906/08/20/01.

Souvenir

"Cher Philip,

Comme promis, je t'envoie un petit souvenir de ta dernière visite à Taormina... Tu te rappelles que Pascualino était derrière l'appareil photographique, il est l'auteur de cette photographie, je devrais créer un tampon "Pascualino fecit, Taormina"...

Tu étais si élégant, avec ton costume blanc... Tu as insisté pour que je sois aussi sur la photographie... Je me tiens droit contre le pilier de la porte d'entrée de mon jardin...

"Un souvenir, Wilhelm, mon ami...", m'as-tu dit, "j'aimerais tant que tu sois sur cette photographie..."

Je n'aime guère être photographié à côté de mes visiteurs et de mes clients... Mais j'ai fait une exception pour toi, Philip. Car je sais que tu as compris l'essentiel, et que tu viens chercher, parmi mes photographies, ce qui touche à l'intemporel... 

Tu m'as dit tes rêves et tes pensées, nous avons parlé de Virgile et de Platon, de Straton et de Théocrite, nous aimons tous les deux la musique du latin et surtout du grec, un horizon de beauté et de perfection, d'humanité et d'intelligence...

Qui mieux que toi, Philip, pourrait comprendre l'idée, l'intention, le poème, le concept, le rêve, la musique, qui se cachent derrière chacune de mes photographies ? 

Tes lettres, d'année en année, me laissent penser que parmi les multiples visiteurs que je reçois Piazza San Domenico, il en est un, au moins, qui a tout compris, qui partage mon regard et mon désir, mon coeur et ma mémoire...

Tu as compris que chacune de mes photographies est une histoire, une histoire d'amour, entre le photographe et ses modèles, entre la photographie et ceux qui choisissent de l'acheter...

Certains de mes clients ne s'attachent qu'à la surface des images... D'autres vont au-delà de la surface, vers le coeur. Car toutes mes images, tous mes modèles ont un coeur...

Chacune de mes photographies, qu'il s'agisse d'un paysage, d'un portrait, de garçons nus ou voilés, raconte une histoire, chante une chanson, est une musique.

Tu es l'un de ceux qui savent écouter la musique en regardant la photographie...

Nous nous comprenons si bien, au-delà des mots...

Pascualino me charge de te dire... Il t'aime beaucoup... Il ne t'oubliera pas... Il sait que tu l'aimes aussi...

La vie de Pascualino est ici, à Taormina... Il aime cette terre, il aime sa lumière, ses parfums, sa musique...

Mais Pascualino ne t'oubliera pas... Il n'oubliera pas Philip... 

Je ne t'oublierai pas non plus, Philip... Reviens vite à Taormina, nous rêverons à haute voix des horizons que nous partageons...

Ton ami,

Wilhelm v. G."

Lettre de Wilhelm von Gloeden à Philip X, Von Gloeden Archive, call number, 1906/08/20/01.

Garçon en fleurs / A Blossoming Boy

Mon cher Wilhelm,

Comment pourrais-je oublier ce 14 septembre ?

Tu as été assez gentil pour m'inviter à déjeûner chez toi, Piazza San Domenico. Nous sommes de vieux amis, il est vrai... Nous avons longuement parlé, de Virgile et de Théocrite, de Platon et d'Ovide... Tu es comme moi un grand lecteur de ces textes d'autrefois, de ces voix grecques et latines qui nous ont transmis tant de savoir, tant de sagesse, tant de beauté...

Comment pourrais-je oublier la douce ivresse de ce vin sicilien, les reflets du soleil sur la mer, et tes albums de photographies...

Comment pourrais-je oublier Pascualino, mon ami, mon aimé, Pascualino le Napolitain, comme tu l'appelles, que j'ai tant aimé, que j'aime tant...

My dear Wilhelm,

How could I ever forget this September 14.. ?

You were kind enough to invite me for a lunch at your place, Piazza San Domenico. We are such old friends, as a matter of fact... We had so long talks about Vergil and Theocritus, Plato and Ovid... You are like me such a skill reader of these texts from Antiquity, from these Greek and Latin voices who transmitted to us so much knowledge, wisdom and beauty...

How could I ever forget the sweet drunkness caused by your Sicilian wine, the sun's reflections on the sea, and your photographs albums... ?

How could I ever forget Pascualino, my friend, my beloved one, Pascualino from Naples, as you call him... I loved him so much, I still love him so much...

Wilhelm, mon ami,

Tout me fait rêver dans cette photographie, les fleurs, le garçon, Pascualino, il est une fleur, un garçon.

Comme les fleurs, les beaux garçons de ton jardin doivent être cueillis à temps... 

Pascualino rêve, pensif, seul dans ton jardin, une fleur en main. Il me fait rêver, il est un horizon de désirs, de pensée, il est un poème visuel que mes mots ne sauraient égaler.

Pascualino, petit berger de Taormina, tu as raison de faire confiance à l'oeil de Wilhelm...

Nul autre que lui ne saurait capturer ta beauté en fleur, la faire partager et désirer...

Pascualino, tout en toi est courbes et douceur, grâce adolescente du corps d'un jeune adulte... 

J'aimerais tant partager avec toi... Un moment de silence, un instant de grâce, un rêve, un désir qui passe...

Sais-tu combien tu es aimé, Pascualino, de l'autre côté du miroir, par qui regarde cette photographie ?

Tu es un parfum, une musique, tu es une promesse de bonheur, tu es celui à qui dire des mots d'amour, quand on aime Ovide et Théocrite, Virgile et Platon...

Attends moi, mon Pascualino, attends moi, mon ami, mon amant, je voudrais tant cueillir ta beauté en fleurs, les fleurs de ta beauté... Une caresse, un baiser ? Un regard me comblerait...

Philip"

Wilhelm, my friend,

This photograph makes me dream so much, either the flowers of your garden or the boys, Pascualino, he is at the same time a flower and a boy... As flowers, the cute boys in your garden should be picked at the right time... 

Pascualino is dreaming, he seems so pensive, so lonely in your garden, with a flower in his hand. He makes me dream, he is such an horizon for so many desires and thoughts, he is such a visual poem that my words could not equal with. 

Pascualino, my little shepherd from Taormina,  you are so right when you trust Wilhelm's eye...

Nobody else could catch so well your blossoming beauty, to share it and to make it so desirable...

Pascualino, you are just curves and sweetness, just a teen age boy grace with a young adult body...

I would love so much to share with you... Just an instant of silence, an instent for grace, a dream, a desire  passing away...

Do you know how loved you are, Pascualino, on the other side of the mirror, by who is looking atyour photograph ?

You are a perfume and a music, you are a promiss of happiness, you are the one I should say loving words, when Ovid and Theocritus, when Vergil and Plato are so loved... 

Wait for me, my Pascualino, my friend, my loved one, I would love so much to catch your blossoming beauty, to pick the flowers of your beauty... A caress, a kiss ? Just a gaze would be enough...

Philip".

Von Gloeden Archive, Letter from Philip to W. von Gloeden, October 1st 1899. Call number: 1899/10/01/06.

A song for the fall

(Private collection)

"Dear Wilhelm, 

During my last stay in Taormina, in april 1925, I brought back home this souvenir, this photograph I bought from you, in your office, piazza San Domenico.

You displayed all your treasures, these most precious photographs you collected since thirty, forty years... I decided to buy this one...

You had so clear memories of this photographic session... It was at the very beginning of the XXth century, on your favorite terrace... Your models were Marco and Pietro, they founded families and have many children now, tempus fugit, so fast, it is impossible to come back... 

I agree, it is not the most beautiful, the most famous of all your photographs... "Baaaah, this photographic print is fading away... There is like a fog inside my photograph...", you told me.

Wilhelm, my dear old friend, I love this photograph precisely because of the fog... Mountains are vanishing, at the threshold of vision...

Everything is so peaceful, in this evening during the fall... All is so quiet... Even cicadas keep quiet, they are listening to Alkinoos while he plays his flute... He plays a forgotten tune, a tune coming from such an old time, a song coming from the heart of Sicily, from the Greek Sicily... Alkinoos is a young shepherd, he just forgets goats and sheeps, as long as his song lasts, for Meleager, his friend, his lover...

Meleager is a lad from the village, he masters the skills of reading and writing, he writes poems, he knows Homer's poems by heart. At the tip of his fingers, he is caressing a bunch of grapes: "I love you a little, very much, with passion, with madness, I love you a little, very much, with passion. Alkinoos, my sweet music, my little shepherd, very much, with passion;

Your photograph is like an epigram by Strato, Wilhelm, my old friend, one of these poems ancient Greeks wrote in  order to celebrate the beauty of boys.

Loves are like a bunch of grapes: one should catch them at the right time, when they are mature, at the top of their taste and of their perfume.

For ever I will dream about the love story of Alkinoos and Meleager... Loving, being loved, knowing one is loved, waiting until one will say "I love you". Hoping, dreaming, loosing hope, loving anyway and waiting, still waiting...

Wilhelm, my old friend, your photographs are the best commentaries to the Epigrams about boys in the Palatine Anthology. Everything is said, no need for a translation...

Tomorrow, I will read again Strato and I will say to Alkinoos: "My friend, my loved one, I wish the sound of your flute could last forever, I don't know who I love the most, Meleager or you".

Your friend

Philip

Von Gloeden Archive, Letter from Philip to W. von Gloeden, 20 Octobre 1925, Call number: 1925/10/20/2

Chant d'automne

(Collection privée)

"Cher Wilhelm,

De mon dernier séjour à Taormina, en avril 1925, j'ai emporté ce souvenir, cette photographie achetée à ton studio, piazza San Domenico. 

Tu m'avais montré tous tes trésors, ces photographies amassées depuis trente, quarante ans, et c'est celle-là que j'ai choisie...

Tu te souvenais bien de cette prise de vues, c'était au début du siècle, sur ta terrasse préférée... Tes modèles étaient Marco et Pietro, ils sont pères de famille maintenant, tempus fugit, si vite, sans retour possible...

Ce n'est sans doute pas la plus belle, la plus célèbre de tes photographies, "Baaaah, ce tirage s'estompe... La brume envahit ma photographie", m'as-tu dit.

Wilhelm, mon vieil ami, c'est la brume, précisément, qui me fait aimer cette photographie... La brume qui estompe les montagnes aux confins de la vision... 

Tout est si paisible, en cette soirée d'automne, tout est si calme... Même les cigales sont silencieuses, elles écoutent Alkinoos jouer de la flûte... Un air oublié, venu du fond des âges, du coeur de la Sicile, de la Sicile des Grecs... Alkinoos est un petit berger, il oublie chèvres et moutons, le temps d'une chanson, pour Méléagre, son ami, son amant...

Méléagre est un garçon du village, il sait lire et écrire, il écrit des poèmes, il connaît son Homère par coeur. Du bout des doigts il caresse la grappe de raisin: "Je t'aime un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, à la folie, je t'aime, un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, Alkinoos, ma petite musique, mon petit berger, beaucoup, passionnément..

Ta photographie est une épigramme de Straton, Wilhelm, mon vieil ami, un de ces poèmes que les Grecs écrivaient pour célébrer la beauté des garçons.

Les amours sont comme le raisin, il faut les saisir à point, quand ils sont mûrs, au summum de la saveur et de leur parfum.

Pour toujours je rêverai aux amours d'Alkinoos et de Méléagre... Aimer, être aimé, savoir que l'on est aimé, attendre avant de dire "je t'aime". Espérer, rêver, désespérer, aimer cependant et attendre encore...  

Wilhelm, mon vieil ami, tes photographies sont les meilleurs commentaires aux Epigrammes garçonniers de l'Anthologie palatine. Tout est dit, point n'est besoin de traduction... 

Demain, je relirai Straton et je dirai à Alkinoos: "Mon ami, mon amant, puisse le son de ta flûte durer pour toujours, je ne sais qui j'aime le plus, Méléagre ou toi".

Ton ami, 

Philip"

Von Gloeden Archive, Lettre de Philip à W. von Gloeden, 20 Octobre 1925, Call number: 1925/10/20/2

Jardin / Garden

(Collection privée / Private collection)

"Cher Philip,

Je vous envoie une photographie de mon jardin, Piazza San Domenico, que j'ai prise en ce printemps 1898. 

J'espère qu'elle vous permettra de deviner les couleurs et la fraîcheur, les parfums et le bruissement des feuilles... J'essaie d'utiliser mon appareil photographique comme une palette de peintre, pour saisir la beauté du monde et les impressions d'un instant.  

J'aime mon jardin, il est une oeuvre d'art vivante, qui évolue au fil des saisons. Je parle aux fleurs et je caresse les branches, c'est toute la Méditerranée qui est renfermée entre les murs de mon jardin.

Au plus fort de l'été, j'aime m'asseoir à l'ombre de ces feuillages, à écouter le chant des cigales, ici, à Taormina, au coeur de la Sicile, entre la Grèce et l'Afrique...

J'aimerais tant, cher Philip, partager mon jardin avec vous, en ce beau printemps, j'aimerais tant, mon vieil ami, partager mes rêves et mes souvenirs avec vous...

Votre affectionné,

Wilhelm"

"Dear Philip,

I send you this photograph of my garden, Piazza San Domenico. I shot it during this spring, in 1898.

I hope you will be able to grasp from my photograph the colors and the coolness, the perfumes and the rustling of tree leaves... I am doing my best to use my camera as a painter's palette, in order to catch the beauty of the world and feelings that do not last. 

I love my garden: it is a living art work, evolving through the year's seasons. I am talking to the flowers, I am caressing the branches, the whole Mediterranean world is enclosed within the walls of my garden.

At the peak of the heat wave, I love to be sitting under the shade of this leafiness and to listen to the cicadas song, here, in Taormina, the heart of Sicily, between Greece and Africa.

I would love so much, dear Philip, to share my garden with you, during this so magnificent spring, I would love so much, my dear old friends, to share my dreams and my memories with you...

Yours, as always,

Wilhelm"

Wilhelm von Gloeden, Letter to Philip, 10 May 1898 (Von Gloeden Archive, call number 1898/05/10/01)

Le songe d'un jour d'été / A Midsummer Day's Dream

"Cher Wilhelm,

Te souviens-tu de ma dernière visite chez toi, à Taormina, dans ta maison de la rue San Domenico ? J'étais resté longtemps pensif devant le panneau où tu affichais tes plus belles photographies, ton catalogue, en quelque sorte... Quelle photographie choisir et ramener avec moi, pour prolonger mes rêves siciliens, mes rêves de Taormina.. ?

Dear Wilhelm,

Do you remember the last time I visited you, in Taormina, at your place, San Domenico street ? I stayed quite a long time dreaming in front of the wood pannel where you displayed your most beautiful photographs... It was so to say your catalogue... Which photograph should I choose and bring back home, to extend my Sicilian dreams, my dreams of Taormina ?

J'avais eu l'attention attirée par une photographie au format inhabituel, allongé, où trois garçons se trouvaient entre le ciel et la terre...

I noticed a special photograph, with an unusual size, an onlong photograph, where three boys were featured, between sky and earth...

Cette photographie m'avait fait rêver par son atmosphère, par les montagnes au loin, se dessinant sur le ciel, par les bras de l'olivier, tendus vers le feu solaire...

This photograph made me dream, through its atmosphere, through the mountains in the background, whose outline was drawn on the sky, through the olive tree branchs, raised against the fire of the sun...

C'était un jour de canicule, au coeur de l'été, où l'air tremblait de chaleur, où les montagnes s'évanouissaient dans une brume de chaleur...

It was a day at the peak of a heat wave, during summer, where air itself was shivering with heat, where mountains were fading away, in the shades of heat...

Même le blé était brûlé, brûlé de chaleur, cuit comme le pain, tant il faisait chaud, à Taormina, durant cet été...

Even  wheat was burnt out, burnt by heat, burnt like bread... It was such a hot summer in Taormina...

Les jeunes bergers dans cette campagne sans ombre écoutaient le chant obsédant des cigales, leurs yeux se fermaient de sommeil, tant il faisait chaud, dans l'été de Taormina....

Young shepherds in this shadeless countryside were listening to the obsessing cicadas song, and their sleepy eyes were about to close...

Il fallait pourtant veiller au troupeau, rassembler les chèvres avant la nuit, et revenir au village pour trouver la fraîcheur des maisons aux murs épais...

But they had to take care of the flock of their goats before the night fall, they had to come back to the village, where they would enjoy the cool of their houses with so thick walls... 

"Ne vous endormez pas !", disait la flûte de Peppino, "allons, les gars, ne vous endormez pas ! Il est temps, il est temps de partir, le jour va tomber bientôt, même le soleil va dormir... allons, les gars, pas encore, ne vous endormez pas !"

"Don't fall asleep !" was singing Peppino's flute, "come on, guys, don't fall asleep ! It is time, time to go, this day with end soon, even the sun will go to sleep... come on guys, not now, please, don't fall asleep now !"

Les jeunes bergers étaient bercés par la flûte de Peppino, par le chant des cigales, il faisait si chaud, en cet été de canicule, dans la campagne de Taormina... Il faisait si chaud, tout invitait au repos, au rêve, à la mélancolie, tout invitait à ne plus bouger, face à ton appareil magique, Wilhelm, mon ami, ton appareil qui attrape l'air et les montagnes, les bergers et la chaleur, le blé qui brûle et la mélodie d'une flûte...

Peppino's flute was rocking the young shepherds, the cicadas song was rocking them too, it was such a hot day, it was the peak of a hot wave in the land of Taormina... It was so hot, everything was a call for a rest, for a dream, for melancholy, everything was a call for staying motionless in front of your magical camera, Wilhelm, my friend, your camera able to catch air and mountains, shepherds and the heat, burning wheat and a flute's melody...

Wilhelm, mon vieil ami, c'est cette photographie que j'ai choisie, c'est un instant d'éternité, le temps est suspendu, tout est si calme, tout est si paisible... C'est un instant d'éternité, mais aussi un instant qui s'efface, tempus fugit, tout s'enfuit, mais la jeunesse reste à jamais, penchée au bord d'un instant d'éternité, au coeur de l'été... 

Tout invite à rêver, entre la veille et le sommeil, tout invite à penser, qu'est-ce que le temps, qu'est-ce que le temps qu'il fait, qu'est-ce que le moment qui passe, qu'est-ce que l'éternité... ?

Je ne me lasserai jamais d'interroger la mélancolie de cette photographie, Wilhelm, mon vieil ami, la mélancolie de ce qui fut et de ce qui n'est plus, mais que je peux encore voir aujourd'hui, et même entendre, car, oui, en penchant bien l'oreille, j'entends encore la flûte de Peppino...

Avec mon immense amitié, Wilhelm, mon ami, mon vieil ami, avec toute mon admiration, ton art nous survivra, et fera rêver, encore et encore, le songe d'un jour d'été...

Philip"

Wilhelm, my dear old friend, I chose this photograph, because it is a moment of eternity, time seems to be stopped, everything is so quiet, so peaceful... It is a moment of eternity, but also a moment fading away, tempus fugit, everything will fade away, but youths stays forever, on the edge of a moment of eternity, at the peak of summer..

Everything invites the viewer to dream, between the waking state and sleep, everything invites to meditate, what is time, what is weather, what is a moment fading away, what is eternity.. ?

I will never grow tired of questioning this photograph's melancholy, Wilhelm, my old friend, the melancholy of what was once and is no more, of what I can still see today, and even listen to... Yes, if I am pricking up my ears, I can still hear Peppino's flute...

With my infinite friendship, Wilhelm, my friend, my old friend, with all my admiration, your art will outlive us and will inspire forever a midsummer's day dream...

Philip"

Philip, Lettre à Wilhelm von Gloeden, 12 Octobre 1898 (Von Gloeden Archive, call number 1898/10/12/05)