tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74983460730239133382024-03-20T09:45:02.623+00:00FREDERIKSSHAABSGelos EternosCONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-55618540323245785392007-09-22T12:28:00.000+01:002008-12-08T22:39:19.124+00:00Sobre as Ondas do Oceano...<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfT0FKxQNhjHd8cr0vNWMBBOs0kKDO5uP87Jsru_LhX3Di52xtE4EzFoIsiyKd8oB-5QPxbR6le_i2c0e2iFw_NbPBzpgr_iMLrbHNCCTPyFtbxLWQ5aU9JEbbcpOOA8jXmpalOTzO3q8/s1600-h/barco-gelo.jpg"></a>"Nos Mares do fim do Mundo" </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">"Dantes, ainda há vinte ou trinta anos (...)" <em><span style="font-size:85%;">Os Mares do Fim do Mundo</span></em>, <span style="font-size:85%;">de Bernardo Santareno. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:100%;">É assim que uma mulher mais velha conta, a outras mulheres mais jovens, a história dos seus homens, quando estes partiam para os mares da terra nova, passando privações, comendo o pão que o diabo amassou.</span></div><div align="justify">O grande bacalhoeiro <em>mãe</em> arriva os dóris no meio dos mares da Terra Nova, tão frio como um campo de gelo e, quando a sorte deixava, regressavam os pescadores ao barco materno carregados de peixe. E, por vezes enfrentando tempestades súbitas, combatendo com as forças de uma natureza temível...</div><div align="justify"></div>CONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-58379185576248550952007-09-22T12:17:00.000+01:002008-12-08T22:39:19.280+00:00O grito das Gaivotas<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2-bG96CoiM3GaMyr2Dgd0Oxfu_TE6WRgAZbJQxxkJdTEObfiVe2Arg_6HUdciBPfKzk922-LJxNuR8rTm1t5sNf0IrYXp1D96E8Z2nzHSyc5Fssdi5LdwdsfTlCgNMR5u8sej1g4sdpL/s1600-h/gaivotas1.jpg"><span style="color:#000099;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112986495313742098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 410px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="240" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2-bG96CoiM3GaMyr2Dgd0Oxfu_TE6WRgAZbJQxxkJdTEObfiVe2Arg_6HUdciBPfKzk922-LJxNuR8rTm1t5sNf0IrYXp1D96E8Z2nzHSyc5Fssdi5LdwdsfTlCgNMR5u8sej1g4sdpL/s320/gaivotas1.jpg" width="424" border="0" /></span></a><span style="color:#000099;"> "O grito das Gaivotas agora, parecia um riso gutural e cruel."</span> </div>CONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-43190444197037787832007-09-21T21:46:00.000+01:002008-12-08T22:39:19.509+00:00Brisa<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEZ0WguCAw32yzgQQNWBDsr3lIO_5y-wJH53x9cRk2K0oI4t7Uo7dIkWVdFZZJG38VvebEnaIzOmhFkynQrjeB3Y4v-8BIltdMp13dxHt7hXzZtmWey0zifOOTNWfzNHQ5bNQP_t29UcSF/s1600-h/blog-titulo.3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112762005963114738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 387px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 119px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="104" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEZ0WguCAw32yzgQQNWBDsr3lIO_5y-wJH53x9cRk2K0oI4t7Uo7dIkWVdFZZJG38VvebEnaIzOmhFkynQrjeB3Y4v-8BIltdMp13dxHt7hXzZtmWey0zifOOTNWfzNHQ5bNQP_t29UcSF/s320/blog-titulo.3.jpg" width="359" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>CONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-8676909133881373382007-09-21T21:10:00.000+01:002008-12-08T22:39:19.620+00:00É fria, fria...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIvqH-HzMIAy1XmpTqoHsTNti6b5MDGAyiSPxXIK6Tq6VxRNRkqGoOXbUuqNcpF_hFcb775MVRuKnYHoFl-kv334BW_AbqBQQGG8wttgklMWV-bsK88fHFE-MPktl9DMkk4KjTVD7c2IU/s1600-h/Img061.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112756340901251234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIvqH-HzMIAy1XmpTqoHsTNti6b5MDGAyiSPxXIK6Tq6VxRNRkqGoOXbUuqNcpF_hFcb775MVRuKnYHoFl-kv334BW_AbqBQQGG8wttgklMWV-bsK88fHFE-MPktl9DMkk4KjTVD7c2IU/s320/Img061.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div align="justify">"(...) Não a sentes?... Não a sentes agarradinha a ti?... Pois a mim nunca ela me larga... Nunca! ... É fria, fria (...)" <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>"O Lugre" </em>de Bernardo Santareno</span></div><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE997YgQ5vnVrrUGAPbj_R4m9CbOd7v1aFE5fVcDLhyBp0sd4bH0AqZ6yUqhKzgQN59S3s3XPuRvd8gVzuaz24Z1TuIGZlxRJo0FtdvyKgWPOWJrnVnhlt3l1IqQ11CtYLhBBMfXm-tam6/s1600-h/Img061.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>CONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-74175690086860758612007-09-21T21:06:00.000+01:002008-12-08T22:39:19.790+00:00Homem ao Mar<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagBcOmyw7M9mB_Fvg2rjB6rPFARFVT6kf2RF1lGpTctg-LYZdHaOtbMDPHWbfQ92o2cyu6fzRfzJmMeF3hf6mNPhBgEW7Bo1Ye5yyuVxVu8DWEWI4U_xCND4x6xBkgst1UB7dqumu_aKc/s1600-h/Img073.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112752063113824370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="240" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagBcOmyw7M9mB_Fvg2rjB6rPFARFVT6kf2RF1lGpTctg-LYZdHaOtbMDPHWbfQ92o2cyu6fzRfzJmMeF3hf6mNPhBgEW7Bo1Ye5yyuVxVu8DWEWI4U_xCND4x6xBkgst1UB7dqumu_aKc/s320/Img073.jpg" width="334" border="0" /></a> Experiência 3</div>CONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-14293127345506548482007-09-21T20:53:00.000+01:002008-12-08T22:39:19.938+00:00Mas aqueles homens são loucos?<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3d2djGmrm_7EfcoSHqVSNb97wN24NmRJWie3aQIifDblrlMHYCSM6xL1HJ5Wt_F1Ii45vWExf59sdABHD6-y0KpoCe0GpkOb4MBphnkxwdvXs33Zg2n_ma2kIqD3YZXJMn9NmS0L47bz/s1600-h/grandes-vidros.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112749099586390114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 357px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="254" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3d2djGmrm_7EfcoSHqVSNb97wN24NmRJWie3aQIifDblrlMHYCSM6xL1HJ5Wt_F1Ii45vWExf59sdABHD6-y0KpoCe0GpkOb4MBphnkxwdvXs33Zg2n_ma2kIqD3YZXJMn9NmS0L47bz/s320/grandes-vidros.jpg" width="337" border="0" /></a>"É noite, e está <em>brisa</em>, quer dizer mar bravo."</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="justify">(...) "Num canto da ponte, protegido pelos grandes vidros, eu observo a cena: Arrepios de frio e de medo cortam-me, espasmodicamente, ao longo da coluna vertebral." <span style="font-size:85%;">"<em>Os Mares do fim do Mundo"</em> de Bernardo Santareno<br /></div></span>CONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-57549134291571461642007-09-21T20:06:00.000+01:002008-12-08T22:39:20.163+00:00Gelos Eternos<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ-WGv1qmYEmhCFb87jVJPwGsyO6w_B1rdlhTCj1x9sqhbgOmekCdI06D7u6I5Y40HP-L9FsBWM_TM5qkcfQevcVETl_OIwmdg8KlFUmE6GywMa9sfhrDllcrNE5DfENGkmYo3MQPMGe9x/s1600-h/frederikshaabs.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112738649930958866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ-WGv1qmYEmhCFb87jVJPwGsyO6w_B1rdlhTCj1x9sqhbgOmekCdI06D7u6I5Y40HP-L9FsBWM_TM5qkcfQevcVETl_OIwmdg8KlFUmE6GywMa9sfhrDllcrNE5DfENGkmYo3MQPMGe9x/s320/frederikshaabs.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify">"Se levado pela brisa que, sem rugas nem cor, nasce nos montes desta costa, ainda virgens de pegadas humanas, eu fosse até um dos <em>Icebergs</em> e se por ele, pelo coração do seu centro, passasse incorrupto e nítido (...)" <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Os mares do fim do Mundo </em>de Bernardo Santareno</span></div>CONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-27847478666421753142007-09-16T22:42:00.000+01:002008-12-08T22:39:20.171+00:00De mim para mim<div align="justify">Isto é um blogger. Um espaço o<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi59ZB0GuLeTOduvwODiV9UBkug_OKFaEHRCOIAixcVEeqb4GjICzHgw7Y0bHe_7xeIkF7oPbdcS4-MW9mCExgvyok2RUmRJY7ss9sngPw_gdBAEU8qNmOqblrv42gpxEO3xeBmzIuiQV6K/s1600-h/homem-aomar+027.jpg"></a>nde posso pensar alto. Não será assim? Eu nunca fui muito desenrascada em informática. Gosto de sentir as texturas, ou os cheiros, de ver o verde... aqui onde moro, posso olhar a serra d'Arrábida e limpar o olhar com o verde e o azul do céu... , e os cheiros de rosmaninho, ou de alecrim...</div><p align="justify"><br /><em><span style="color:#3333ff;">"...Depois , na terra de uma campa nascem flores e ervas de cheiro: giestas e malmequeres(...)O lugre de Bernardo Santareno</span></em></p><p align="justify"><br />...Bem, já estou a fugir ao que agora interessa. Aqui estou eu a falar para mim num blogger. É que hoje eu pensei nesses perfumes de ervas silvestres...</p>CONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-74575280816971226472007-09-15T17:21:00.000+01:002007-09-17T00:20:52.205+01:00Albino"<em>Nunca mostrem ao mar que têm medo dele... nunca! Se ele o sabe, se ele o desconfia, estão perdidos..." O lugre </em>de<em> Bernardo Santareno. </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>F</em>oi assim, que iniciei o meu blog... com o pensamento neste mar...<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dycp8AODTCo90VLHB72HSOqr62228xy4Pll3qlHhfiEbEmE0b4PIxvXCv6wCWp8BYsUjEY7Xqajz6hqfl4ecA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>CONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7498346073023913338.post-88847469145887753082007-09-15T13:45:00.000+01:002007-09-22T12:28:46.087+01:00mar ruimmar traiçoeiroCONTROVERSASIDEAS - associação artísticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18252769320516068513noreply@blogger.com0