This is one of the reasons I didn’t update in a long time, I had started and stopped this book countless times in two years but decided to finally finish it. It’s just that Bruno Schulz demands complete attention from you, you need to stop thinking in other things to understand the detailed descriptions he makes because that’s the beauty and I’m almost mad he wasn’t a photographer because he knew how to observe light, like this richness of color:
"The room was dark and velvety from the royal blue wallpaper with its gold pattern, but even here the echo of the flaming day shimmered brassily on the picture frames, on doorknobs and glided borders, although it came through the filter of the dense greenery of the garden."
Or one perfect description of a sunny day:
“On Saturday afternoons I used to go for a walk with my mother. From the dusk of the hallway, we stepped at once into the brightness of the day. The passerby, bathed in melting gold, had their eyes half-closed against the glare, as if they were drenched with honey, upper lips were drawn back, exposing the teeth. Everyone in this golden day wore that grimace of heat–as if the sun had forced his worshippers to wear identical masks of gold. The old and the young, women and children, greeted each other with these masks, painted on their faces with thick gold paint; they smiled at each other’s pagan faces–the barbaric smiles of Bacchus.”
Reading Schulz is to enter a dark, dreamy world, like Alice in Wonderland, not the book but the version made by Jan Švankmajer.
So I wore this black, doll-like dress from mango, it has a tulip skirt and a big satin ribbon, the fabric is thick and heavy, with a wallpaper-y pattern; I’m also wearing an American Apparel neon skirt and a flower in my hair to break with the black the same way the cover is broken by orange feathers.