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India of One Thousand and One Nights

Door Roland Michaud e.a.

Categorie	Azië
Boeknummer	#350465-KN32
Titel	India of One Thousand and One Nights
Auteur	Michaud, Roland & Michaud, Sabrina
Boektype	Gebonden hardcover met stofomslag
Uitgeverij	London : Thames and Hudson
Jaar van uitgave	1986
ISBN10	0500541132
ISBN13	9780500541135
Taal	Engels
Beschrijving	Originl gilt decorated blue boards, gilt lettered spine, dust jacket, decorated endpapers, illustrated with numerous colour photographs, unpaged, oblong (circa 25x35cm).
Samenvatting	Pha of One Dousand and One Nyhts Roland and Sabrina Michaud For twenty years, the French photographers Roland and Sabrina Michaud pursued a dream. Captivated by the mystery and romance of the Tales of One Thousand and One Nights, they travelled the exotic lands of Central Asia in an inexhaustible search for images which would evoke the spirit of those beguiling stories. In India they found all they were looking for, and more. 'India', they discovered, “burns your eyelids, your throat, your heart; the foreigner is consumed without even being aware of it.” Here is the India of legend and of dreams — fields full of radiant cloth spread to dry in the sun... seductively veiled women glimpsed through latticework .. winding silhouettes of caravans at dusk — in breathtaking... (Lees verder) photographs, enhanced by quotations from Scheherazade's enchanting Tales. And here, it seems, is a world where fantasy and reality meet, where past and present coincide. With 115 colour illustrations ON THE JACKET Front: Two young Moslem women promenade in front of the tomb of ltimad-ud-Daula at Agra. Back: Bolts of dloth are rinsed in the waters of the Sabarmati in the city of Ahmadabad. ndia is woman. She is mother, goddess, and adored as one. She is shakti, energy, source of all Artngs. Erernally. The embrace uniting Parvati and Shiwa lasts through millions of vears. Lakshmi, wife of Vishnu, is the goddess of beauty and fortune; she is called the Milltonairess. And the god Brahma's mate, Sarasvati, ts the goddess of speech, eloquence, knoxledge, patroness of art and music, mother of poetry, the archetype of Scheherazade. India ts women. Servant or princess, rich or poor, one spirit moves in all of India's women. The same feminintty inspires the poorest of country women to wear colors as bright, adornment as sophisticated, jewels as heavy as a queen's. The Indian woman is beautiful. Her sari wraps her in beauty; golden powders, perfumes, and beads add to her allure. Whether svelte as in the cave paintings at Ajanta or voluptuous as 1n the aarvings at Khajuraho, always she will have jet-black harr flowing down a body slathered with incense and sandalwood. Always the immense kohl-ringed eyes lighting a moon of a face. ' Everything that 1s beautiful in India is dedicated to women. When Shah Jahan's favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, died, Me stricken emperor decided to build her a memorial “as beautiful as she was!” The result was the Taj Mahal, an accomplished blend of Moslem and Hindu styles, the gem of Indian architecture. This work of love delights us with the purity of ifs propornions and the perfection of its situation. Like every Mogul emperor, Shah Jahan had a garden in hts heart. For his beloved, he created in stone a paradise of tmmortal flowers, so lovely we can almost smell them. The story goes that the craftsmen who encrusted these jade and cornaline, agate and lazulite flowers had reached such a degree of skill that they could cut the stones by sight alone. The quintessence of refinement: the subtle variations in color bathing the marble at different times of day symbolize the changing moods of the feminine mystique. Yer the strangest part of Mumtaz Mahal's charm is not so much her legendary beauty as the mystery surrounding it. Though none of them ever saw her, poets said that when she appeared the stars went out and the moon hid itself in shame. Her beauty transcends her memorial; Mumtaz Mahal 1s the essence of the Taj, just as Scheherazade, another unseen woman, is the verbal essence of the Thousand and One Nights, the hiterary masterwork of the oriental world. “Ar this point in her story, Scheherazade saw morning coming, and discreetly fell silent. But when the thousandth night came she said.” And if King Shahryar, dehghted “to the limits of delight' with the lovely teller's tales, could not resist Scheherazade's eloguence, who else could? Let us go back twenty years. In the dimness of our furnished rooms in Parts, the Thousand and Ône Nights is our bedside book. Each evening we take turns enjoying it. Like the beads of a giant rosary, the tales spread out night after night. We listen closely to the myths and secrets of the universe hat Jascinate us and come to hfe in our sleep. We dream of the Orient until the day we decide to measure our dream against reality. We are on our way. Our first eastward journey lasts 1584 days. It takes us from Turkey to China, passing through Samarkand, Tartary, and India along the way.
Pagina's	-
Conditie	Goed
Prijs	€ 20,00

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