Heyes, Ken.

Ken Heyes (1952–)

A picture from 1937 shows him in the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris. Two men, neither of whose face can be seen, share a table some distance behind him.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

'an instant which some feeling of fatique or sadness had perhaps prevented me from enjoying then, but which now, freed from what is necessarily imperfect in external perception, pure and disincarnate, caused me ...'

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

'and this napkin now, in the library, unfolded for me - concealed within its smooth surfaces and folds - the plumage of an ocean green and blue like the tail of a peacock'.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

'-He is thirty five-with dark curly hair over a high forehead, moustache over a full lower lip: youthfull, almost handsome. With his head lowered, his jacketed shoulders seem to start behind his ears'.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

he sits in the right foreground, probably taking notes. He is consulting a volume he holds open on the table with his left hand - his eyes can't be seen - looking, as it were, into the lower right edge of the photograph.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

He thought of himself as a melancholic, disdaining modern psychological labels and invoking the traditional astrological one: 'I came into the world under the sign of Saturn-the star of slowest revolution, the planet of ...'

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

his home was a library that had been gathered with extreme care ...: it consisted of treasures whose value, as he often repeated, was proved by the fact that he had not read them.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

his innate nobility prevented him from developing his slight acquaintances into connections and from making new contacts.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

In a photograph taken in the summer of 1938, on the last of several visits he is standing in front of the house, an old man at forty six, in white shirt, tie, trousers with watch chain, looking truculently at the camera.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

In a picture from the late thirties, the curly hair has hardly receded, but there is no trace of youth or handsomeness; the face has widened and the upper torso seems not just high but blocky, huge.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

In the library.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

(Man with umbrella reading a book).

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

once he was certain of eventual failure, everything worked out for him en route as in a dream.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

once, he managed to draw a diagram of his life: it was a labyrinth, in which each important relationship figures as 'an entrance to the maze'.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

The thicker moustache and the pudgy folded hand with thumb tucked under cover his mouth. The look is opaque, or just more inward: he could be thinking - or listening.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

the way he moved; his manners, but especially his style of speaking: finally his downright idiosyncratic tastes - all this seemed so old-fashioned, as though he had drifted out of the nineteenth century into the twentieth ...

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

'...to lose one's way in a city, as one loses one's way in a forest, requires practice: ...I learned this art late in life: it fulfilled the dreams whose first traces were the labyrinths on the blotters of my ...'

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

'...what I found myself enjoying was not merely these colours but a whole instant of my life on whose summit they rested'.

(1984)

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Ken Heyes (1952–)

When I came out of the study, I found him at the mouth of the cave. He was stretched out on the sand, where he was tracing clumsily and erasing a string of signs that, like the letters in our dreams; seem on the verge...

(1984)

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