Friday, October 23, 2009

The Fountainhead

"Thousands of years ago, the first man discovered how to make fire. He was probably burned at the stake he had taught his brothers to light. He was considered an evildoer who had dealt with a demon mankind dreaded. But thereafter men had fire to keep them warm, to cook their food, to light their caves. He had left them a gift they had not conceived and he had lifted dardness off the earth. Centuries later, the first man invented the wheel. He was probably torn on the rack he had taught his brothers to build. He was considered a transgressor who ventured into forbidden territory. But thereafter, men could travel past any horizon. He had left them a gift they had not conceived and he had opened the roads of the world.
“That man, the unsubmissive and first, stands in the opening chapter of every legend mankind has recorded about its beginning. Prometheus was chained to a rock and torn by vultures—because he had stolen the fire of the gods. Adam was condemned to suffer—because he had eaten the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Whatever the legend, somewhere in the shadows of its memory mankind knew that its glory began with one and that that one paid for his courage.
“Throughout the centuries there were men who took first steps down new roads armed with nothing but their own vision. Their goals differed, but they all had this in common: that the step was first, the road new, the vision unborrowed, and the response they received—hatred. The great creators—the thinkers, the artists, the scientists, the inventors—stood alone against the men of their time. Every great new thought was opposed. Every great new invention was denounced. The first motor was considered foolish. The airplane was considered impossible. The power loom was considered vicious. Anesthesia was considered sinful. But the men of unborrowed vision went ahead. They fought, they suffered and they paid. But they won.
“No creator was prompted by a desire to serve his brothers, for his brothers rejected the gift he offered and that gift destroyed the slothful routine of their lives. His truth was his only motive. His own truth, and his own work to achieve it in his own way. A symphony, a book, an engine, a philosophy, an airplane or a building—that was his goal and his life. Not those who heard, read, operated, believed, flew or inhabited the thing he had created. The creation, not its users. The creation, not the benefits others derived from it. The creation which gave form to his truth. He held his truth above all things and against all men.
“The creators were not selfless. It is the whole secret of their power—that it was self-sufficient, self-motivated, self-generated. A first cause, a fount of energy, a life force, a Prime Mover. The creator served nothing and no one. He lived for himself.
“And only by living for himself was he able to achieve the things which are the glory of mankind. Such is the nature of achievement.
“We inherit the products of the thought of other men. We inherit the wheel. We make a cart. The cart becomes an automobile. The automobile becomes an airplane. But all through the process what we receive from others is only the end product of their thinking. The moving force is the creative faculty which takes this product as material, uses it and originates the next step. This creative faculty cannot be given or received, shared or borrowed. It belongs to single, individual men. That which it creates is the property of the creator. Men learn from one another. But all learning is only the exchange of material. No man can give another the capacity to think. Yet that capacity is our only means of survival.

Howard Roark's Courtroom Speech From The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
(excertos)

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

In B-Flat

Para tocar ao mesmo tempo... separados... pela ordem que quiserem... Enjoy!!!

O original aqui http://inbflat.net/

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

VII - Teatro

Eu não conheço assim muita coisa de Teatro.

Muito raramente vou ver peças de teatro profissional. É caro, nunca sei o que está em cena e envolve sempre um grande malabarismo de conciliação de datas disponíveis, horários possíveis e planeamento de todo o evento. Gosto de ir, mas é complicado. É uma das razões porque vai muito mais gente ao cinema - é só chegar lá e ver o que é que apetece, tipo fast food. O Teatro é uma coisa mais gourmet; investiga-se, saboreia-se e o resultado, apesar de bastante agradável, dá trabalho.

Assim, vejo muito teatro amador. O facto de pertencer a um grupo, facilita o acesso a espectáculos. Nas conversas entre ensaios há sempre uma peça que um vai fazer, ou aquilo que vai estar em cena pelo grupo da faculdade de outro, e tal e tal, funcionando como um cartaz de ofertas. Sempre vejo alguma coisa, e se não gostar muito da sugestão, pelo menos não gastei muito.

É preciso amar o teatro amador!
Um grupo de pessoas que, apesar de todos os percalços, atrasos, faltas, adiamentos e complicações... insiste em reunir-se semana após semana com uma paixão em comum.

Porque a escolha da peça depende em parte do número de pessoas e ninguém fica de fora.
Porque o figurino consiste em roupas antigas que temos em casa e emprestamos uns aos outros.
Porque no cenário está a nossa mobília de casa.
Porque o texto foi alguém que escreveu, a música foi alguém que compôs e fez o arranjo, e o cartaz foi alguém que inventou.
Porque só temos sala se nos pusermos a mexer e andarmos à procura.
Porque quando não dá, ensaiamos na casa de um ou na garagem de outro.
Porque damos tudo de nós e não ganhamos dinheiro por isso.
Porque continuamos...

A voz do teatro amador está bem viva e recomenda-se!
Só é preciso sangue, suor e lágrimas para não a deixar morrer...
(Mas o que somos nós senão um grupo de masoquistas?)

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