tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3103269790335007682024-03-05T04:37:37.946-08:00Peinture de Azzabi OlfaArtiste peintre autodidacte, je vous propose de partager avec moi la passion de la peinture et du dessin et de découvrir mes travaux, peintures, dessins et photos ainsi que mes références artistiques et culturelles.
Vous êtes interessé par l'achat de l'une de ces toiles ou photo laminé sur bois.
Contacter moi au 21969492Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-67458886154314075192009-11-26T09:48:00.000-08:002009-11-26T09:55:53.651-08:00Le petit rocky<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigYwI8kJZEUssylCZWXM85JUGkE8OCqjcmNHh0NAiGNIkYj2_yVd-95dX7j8-nx6VldnDzixfvrqgt0SoHerPuwXY_m8USampDpivrm1sJ0jUnBIXJfKttADJN-6sENRoH9qvL59neLGU/s1600/Photo0021.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408472443678292722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigYwI8kJZEUssylCZWXM85JUGkE8OCqjcmNHh0NAiGNIkYj2_yVd-95dX7j8-nx6VldnDzixfvrqgt0SoHerPuwXY_m8USampDpivrm1sJ0jUnBIXJfKttADJN-6sENRoH9qvL59neLGU/s320/Photo0021.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj65NN4-IT86KZMtfTTDLn4GLD_YrqP80-9xtPfVNlagHeHJMYs6UQ8tFNM5vscqwRboTBCpBeCsX-srZIcxe7JbE3oOWsJ60nOT-kvsssB-M_y6z-eBqkYbSPKKow8wWrlYyxYN9YPYDQ/s1600/Photo0026.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408472097182572370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj65NN4-IT86KZMtfTTDLn4GLD_YrqP80-9xtPfVNlagHeHJMYs6UQ8tFNM5vscqwRboTBCpBeCsX-srZIcxe7JbE3oOWsJ60nOT-kvsssB-M_y6z-eBqkYbSPKKow8wWrlYyxYN9YPYDQ/s320/Photo0026.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Le petit rocky</div></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-69062268059960854312009-07-28T07:31:00.000-07:002009-07-28T07:57:43.159-07:00A la découverte du sable<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMr4HkD0CI47YNPOQJss_nkAdFyNugEZSraz4lbJ3HHvzfWVfZ7txIH_kKeHB4rWkGIbVam4zw__yCBR-ZJxZERjITeSNwu1QzAKWLf_zJPLRXPy4G9czwhmJqyhtVVQd3G_YZZVZva8/s1600-h/A+la+d%C3%A9couverte+du+sable2+.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMr4HkD0CI47YNPOQJss_nkAdFyNugEZSraz4lbJ3HHvzfWVfZ7txIH_kKeHB4rWkGIbVam4zw__yCBR-ZJxZERjITeSNwu1QzAKWLf_zJPLRXPy4G9czwhmJqyhtVVQd3G_YZZVZva8/s320/A+la+d%C3%A9couverte+du+sable2+.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363522619515066914" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74RpkwKpBtQE1ti0bH1YOkxXXgp5KubDjxPTy9D6OwfTfVmH-cVrzUM9yWmScuhOC8Cz7UaxigBZ5pw-pzBz8Xuafd4OB28VOolXGJ5JA1B95Dbvv4hPw_h9zYChoGnJV_yldksNXAH8/s1600-h/A+la+d%C3%A9couverte+du+sable+.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi74RpkwKpBtQE1ti0bH1YOkxXXgp5KubDjxPTy9D6OwfTfVmH-cVrzUM9yWmScuhOC8Cz7UaxigBZ5pw-pzBz8Xuafd4OB28VOolXGJ5JA1B95Dbvv4hPw_h9zYChoGnJV_yldksNXAH8/s320/A+la+d%C3%A9couverte+du+sable+.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363521692883597234" /></a><div><div>Toutes les grandes découvertes sont faites par ceux qui laissent leurs émotions devancer leurs idées.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>C. H. Parkhurst</b></div></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-61310553955803679872009-07-28T05:18:00.001-07:002009-07-28T07:30:02.308-07:00Week end camping à Cap Abed la communion avec la nature<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcZNZcKwgNU9JiLA-0ub6VDz7M6emj808Qp7QX-1K6L-qQ6HPNJEf-ObkpgwqbAiyfsmGwbSxMDwV5DOsDlGeHd2ejFn8LnwJd_OIYVsu59GUWz2MGdVv4nLJH5AtA5cZh5C06URXHuY/s1600-h/TUNISIE+voyage+camping+%C3%A0+BIZERTE+CAP+Abed+.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcZNZcKwgNU9JiLA-0ub6VDz7M6emj808Qp7QX-1K6L-qQ6HPNJEf-ObkpgwqbAiyfsmGwbSxMDwV5DOsDlGeHd2ejFn8LnwJd_OIYVsu59GUWz2MGdVv4nLJH5AtA5cZh5C06URXHuY/s320/TUNISIE+voyage+camping+%C3%A0+BIZERTE+CAP+Abed+.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363487280342545314" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">De quel nom te nommer, heure trouble où nous sommes ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Tous les fronts sont baignés de livides sueurs.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Dans les hauteurs du ciel et dans le cœur des hommes</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Les ténèbres partout se mêlent aux lueurs.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Croyances, passions, désespoir, espérances,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Rien n'est dans le grand jour et rien n'est dans la nuit ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Et le monde, sur qui flottent les apparences,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Est à demi couvert d'une ombre où tout reluit.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Le bruit que fait cette ombre assourdit la pensée.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Tout s'y mêle, depuis le chant de l'oiseleur</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Jusqu'au frémissement de la feuille froissée</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Qui cache un nid peut-être ou qui couve une fleur.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Tout s'y mêle ! les pas égarés hors des voies</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Qui cherchent leur chemin dans les champs spacieux ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Les roseaux verts froissant leurs luisantes courroies ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Les angelus lointains dispersés dans les cieux ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Le lierre tressaillant dans les fentes des voûtes ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Le vent, funeste au loin au nocher qui périt ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Les chars embarrassés dans les tournants des routes,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">S'accrochant par l'essieu comme nous par l'esprit ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">La mendiante en pleurs qui marche exténuée ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Celui qui dit Satan ou qui dit Jéhova ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">La clameur des passants bientôt diminuée ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">La voix du cœur qui sent, le bruit du pied qui va ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Les ondes que toi seul, ô Dieu, comptes et nommes ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">L'air qui fuit ; le caillou par le ruisseau lavé ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Et tout ce que, chargés des vains projets des hommes</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Le soc dit au sillon et la roue au pavé ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Et la barque, où dans l'ombre on entend une lyre,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Qui passe, et loin du bord s'abandonne au courant ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Et l'orgue des forêts qui sur les monts soupire ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Et cette voix qui sort des villes en pleurant !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Et l'homme qui gémit à côté de la chose ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Car dans ce siècle, en proie aux sourires moqueurs,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Toute conviction en peu d'instants dépose</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Le doute, lie affreuse, au fond de tous les cœurs !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Et de ces bruits divers, redoutable ou propice,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Sort l'étrange chanson que chante sans flambeau</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Cette époque ne travail, fossoyeur ou nourrice,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Qui prépare une crèche ou qui creuse un tombeau !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">- L'orient ! l'orient ! qu'y voyez-vous poëtes ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Tournez vers l'orient vos esprits et vos yeux ! – </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Hélas ! ont répondu leurs voix longtemps muettes,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Nous voyons bien là-bas un jour mystérieux !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Un jour mystérieux dans le ciel taciturne,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Qui blanchit l'horizon derrière les coteaux,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Pareil au feu lointain d'une forge nocturne</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Qu'on voit sans en entendre encore les marteaux !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Mais nous ne savons pas si cette aube lointaine</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Vous annonce le jour, le vrai soleil ardent ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Car, survenus dans l'ombre à cette heure incertaine,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Ce qu'on croit l'orient peut-être est l'occident !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"C'est peut-être le soir qu'on prend pour une aurore !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Peut-être ce soleil vers qui l'homme est penché,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Ce soleil qu'on appelle à l'horizon qu'il dore,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Ce soleil qu'on espère est un soleil couché !"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Seigneur ! est-ce vraiment l'aube qu'on voit éclore ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Oh ! l'anxiété croît de moment en moment.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">N'y voit-on déjà plus ? n'y voit-on pas encore ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Est-ce la fin, Seigneur, ou le commencement ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Dans l'âme et sur la terre effrayant crépuscule !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Les yeux pour qui fut fait, dans un autre univers,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Ce soleil inconnu qui vient ou qui recule,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Sont-ils déjà fermés ou pas encore ouvert ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Ce tumulte confus, où nos esprits s'arrêtent,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Peut-être c'est le bruit, fourmillant en tout lieu,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Des ailes qui partout pour le départ s'apprêtent.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Peut-être en ce moment la terre dit : adieu !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Ce tumulte confus qui frappe notre oreille,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Parfois pur comme un souffle et charmant comme un luth,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Peut-être c'est le bruit d'un éden qui s'éveille.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Peut-être en ce moment la terre dit : salut !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Là-bas l'arbre frissonne. Est-ce allégresse ou plainte ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Là-bas chante un oiseau. Pleure-t-il ? a-t-il ri ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Là-bas l'océan parle. Est-ce joie ? est-ce crainte ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Là-bas l'homme murmure. Est-ce un chant? Est-ce un cri ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A si peu de clarté nulle âme n'est sereine.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Triste, assis sur le banc qui s'appuie à son mur,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Le vieux prêtre se courbe, et, n'y voyant qu'à peine,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">A ce jour ténébreux épèle un livre obscur.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">O prêtre ! vainement tu rêves, tu travailles.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">L'homme ne comprend plus ce que Dieu révéla.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Partout des sens douteux hérissent leurs broussailles ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">La menace est ici, mais la promesse est là !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Et qu'importe ! bien loin de ce qui doit nous suivre,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Le destin nous emporte, éveillés ou dormant.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Que ce soit pour mourir ou que ce soit pour vivre,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Notre siècle va voir un accomplissement !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Cet horizon, qu'emplit un bruit vague et sonore,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Doit-il pâlir bientôt ? doit-il bientôt rougir ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Esprit de l'homme ! attends quelques instants encore.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Ou l'ombre va descendre, ou l'astre va surgir !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Vers l'orient douteux tourné comme les autres,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Recueillant tous les bruits formidables et doux,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Les murmures d'en haut qui répondent aux nôtres, </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Le soupir de chacun et la rumeur de tous,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Le poëte, en ses chants où l'amertume abonde,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Reflétait, écho triste et calme cependant,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Tout ce que l'âme rêve et tout ce que le monde</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Chante, bégaie ou dit dans l'ombre en attendant !</span></span></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-64589236287372640362009-07-28T05:05:00.000-07:002009-07-28T05:28:48.566-07:00La source tombait du rocher<div><b><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">La source tombait du rocher</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Goutte à goutte à la mer affreuse.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">L'océan, fatal au nocher,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Lui dit : - Que me veux-tu, pleureuse ?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Je suis la tempête et l'effroi ;</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Je finis où le ciel commence.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Est-ce que j'ai besoin de toi,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Petite, moi qui suis l'immense ? -</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">La source dit au gouffre amer :</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Je te donne, sans bruit ni gloire,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ce qui te manque, ô vaste mer !</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Une goutte d'eau qu'on peut boire.</span></span></div></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Victor Hugo (</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">1802-1885) -Les conptemplations- </span></b></span></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-79129464175078277302009-06-09T06:49:00.000-07:002009-07-28T05:35:28.818-07:00Traces<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOVXoduFG0BqiPxzRX2jXUImkhCx97_e3NiuaWBCjrmnOAsPnn4y6sZ4cDQeAKy_y_9BfVd3_kPbTOxRBGqPD7iwzlSibkDo6ntalTwfCosieRUsH9LquwjZEjPx19O0Tr32nMACmzj0/s1600-h/traces+.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOVXoduFG0BqiPxzRX2jXUImkhCx97_e3NiuaWBCjrmnOAsPnn4y6sZ4cDQeAKy_y_9BfVd3_kPbTOxRBGqPD7iwzlSibkDo6ntalTwfCosieRUsH9LquwjZEjPx19O0Tr32nMACmzj0/s320/traces+.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363488643156356322" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><i>Ecrire :</i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><i>Essayer méticuleusement de retenir quelque chose :<br />Arracher quelques bribes précises au vide qui se creuse, laisser, quelque part, un sillon, une trace, une marque ou quelques signes.<br /><br />[Georges Perec]</i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><i>Espèce d'espace</i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-64535549698329018382009-06-04T09:47:00.000-07:002009-06-04T09:51:39.179-07:00Convergence<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjry-2Qp_Y-IoBG5E1oHmKcayJfUm2_q-4QfUzptFPiOpxoaUM6EYKVagKGp7LGlf9sVSk36_IR7sTd8Eqz7onnhpzwGf3BEDcFWer_4XZsE8QIdxAl7RJUB5Yngq6Z3fEhMHVrXScfMqo/s1600-h/convergence.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343516099381794322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 194px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjry-2Qp_Y-IoBG5E1oHmKcayJfUm2_q-4QfUzptFPiOpxoaUM6EYKVagKGp7LGlf9sVSk36_IR7sTd8Eqz7onnhpzwGf3BEDcFWer_4XZsE8QIdxAl7RJUB5Yngq6Z3fEhMHVrXScfMqo/s320/convergence.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaX3BdRmfG97HxDscHSfPWrZNsrwS_GSlYn9huRV_yEmoTXVtSP-e5I9wN_Gv8GSw9qTS2dfOGiU12z-H75FT0XNy6ewVoDw7M-YJguke6nPSkeyZ2jf9w3nF-5cwHhG6brb04E5k9HkA/s1600-h/100_2798.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div></div></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-84023958417252771292009-01-27T02:22:00.000-08:002009-01-27T02:52:00.457-08:00L'enfance volée<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHitwsYO3qtzy3wmN_0-daupBZrRF8MC8meFYJOgZ_CaRNl3cnXpoVQ6XpImy3s69VvOWvriGFo3y6NkapX1hKB8txpvRCwtmvbrtfYlpRe8ih5rtXyJlESJLdsOrWTS78FRbGUIVzF7E/s1600-h/last1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295922949778603794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 226px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHitwsYO3qtzy3wmN_0-daupBZrRF8MC8meFYJOgZ_CaRNl3cnXpoVQ6XpImy3s69VvOWvriGFo3y6NkapX1hKB8txpvRCwtmvbrtfYlpRe8ih5rtXyJlESJLdsOrWTS78FRbGUIVzF7E/s320/last1.jpg" border="0" /></a> Pastel à l'huile, acrilyque sur papier lisse.<br /><div></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-45256098059833028942009-01-21T09:15:00.000-08:002009-07-28T05:48:07.928-07:00Autant en emporte le temps<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3uAtTQzWnTHtd5wmDWQ-WEvT-qnjt-E5BHBoPsMfoGLXh5NERllctBb5bPCZhDgoZATN7rYa090Ltp1wwDYbJdSED5CW0UtHtPu9wJLXwwQLzt5WV_sws3NwymByu4OHei1HoYb5I1xE/s1600-h/time3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294059967830016450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3uAtTQzWnTHtd5wmDWQ-WEvT-qnjt-E5BHBoPsMfoGLXh5NERllctBb5bPCZhDgoZATN7rYa090Ltp1wwDYbJdSED5CW0UtHtPu9wJLXwwQLzt5WV_sws3NwymByu4OHei1HoYb5I1xE/s320/time3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikq0DqEIJ5Hs-u3M4OAB5-Ss82ouTLPGO0KW3v04Kf6AB_4cPtGCqDjY6YSiKm7Q4bsDOePVnKnIW0YT23v-9VMTLYVVN3qCSfWIrMB1nogrz6yEVmBXBuVvtbUh-mHkK99lRUvAo-m4I/s1600-h/100_1916.JPG"></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKPFcKVHWbwHOnrQztrEadOKp2QdAHrm5B73wXytPIEvHbXbf1-S718uAZWuiSGu7oPD7_zNjxHAajq0OVSAnv2DrOGX7jhInumEDooSJyw_yqJaD0fB_AmrefgOUg15GPbose_Xc-dT0/s1600-h/time1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294058432883861810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKPFcKVHWbwHOnrQztrEadOKp2QdAHrm5B73wXytPIEvHbXbf1-S718uAZWuiSGu7oPD7_zNjxHAajq0OVSAnv2DrOGX7jhInumEDooSJyw_yqJaD0fB_AmrefgOUg15GPbose_Xc-dT0/s320/time1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj4D553cMN849jYimcVaXZHiejRlkPI9LflNt61-ydMYnSZq3uXbT8Du6BFv1AUFZNwKOU099Yugu97C3x7sJ0ag0DetR3u-kRCw-tPJZBteKdZI8UenT2UL6nifuSkYyO8PbO2Nl-BhA/s1600-h/time4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294058171999443698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj4D553cMN849jYimcVaXZHiejRlkPI9LflNt61-ydMYnSZq3uXbT8Du6BFv1AUFZNwKOU099Yugu97C3x7sJ0ag0DetR3u-kRCw-tPJZBteKdZI8UenT2UL6nifuSkYyO8PbO2Nl-BhA/s320/time4.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294057940750625538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 226px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCC0E4FOSUnRFKG5QePDaEQsfZ4icDJs0wnCb4BeeEKHyx2oB_6sigz8OhPqBVet_momjVYUSg6aJE2A_59qeWbxQL_Sj-UpfQ1PUmlOLlsce0deHyPq7Um58NMleK3hH-bTDFBh4xp2g/s320/time2.jpg" border="0" /></div></div></div></div><br /><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Le Temps n'a d'autre fonction que de se consumer : il brûle sans laisser de cendres.</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Elsa Triolet, extrait de Le Grand Jamais.</span></p>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-47599931354416995292009-01-06T02:14:00.001-08:002009-01-07T08:07:09.595-08:00Kélibia le port au premières lueurs de l'aurore<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUS8ZtS7IATg1PbUK4I9_V5rCIsP9x9_L1j-cDyyWymcueV4kDSLVT7H_YvezUyFBcd9A8wlEKaEOggIS_jiXHsr6udGhO3l2RvZ6qp8meBAZ4MN4Xio3cpdNSJFN1Gi47haNfcD-wss/s1600-h/portk%C3%A9libia1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288175637515871074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="tourisme, tunisie, pêche, kélibia" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUS8ZtS7IATg1PbUK4I9_V5rCIsP9x9_L1j-cDyyWymcueV4kDSLVT7H_YvezUyFBcd9A8wlEKaEOggIS_jiXHsr6udGhO3l2RvZ6qp8meBAZ4MN4Xio3cpdNSJFN1Gi47haNfcD-wss/s320/portk%C3%A9libia1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Retour d'un sardinier au port de Kélibia au moment ou le jour commence à pointer à l'horizon.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG4aPbEqilT-bIVJyOIhIJHG4sN4jiPYZkbxYytHcDyHTGx7aTpHR9I8HJm9eWRtbvA5E67-3x2K1GUgHveFOnFGfd3uMIe_vHT3BVlLTTT5jJ8Imq8f8HnxS7xYL9b-j6hVweKe2Lkuc/s1600-h/100_1889.JPG"></a></div><div>Au dessus de cette falaise ou demeurent encore les traces d'une necropole punique , sont passés les espagnols puis les turcs.</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288175780330443490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="tunisie, tourisme, port, pêche, sous marine" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZWrdYfD73FPW60y1nCW2AWsINXHs3AwpCLYeOuqO0B5ZwR3dvkmYEPt6dbpwk95iAnIVcGkmutqBqyxbcFC2b6HLd4MadmpALJHwqp3HseDB63lVooo0FrES4_UUOQujV2AFnJ8mcPPk/s320/portkelibia2.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div>Cette imposante forteresse, donne un aspect unique au plus grand port de pêche en Tunisie, avec une production de 15 tonnes de produits de la mer par an. </div></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-64359817431209703652009-01-05T08:58:00.000-08:002009-07-28T05:51:00.266-07:00Le piscines naturelle d'El hawaria<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmrIH4kLpu4-i44j7B2gPvcvnpl5zQ1EEpGT5cgBjv4HLEc1W76xjCSBi1Egw6n7xikUAgmJBpSyuo4Tse8sgyhqRSmMBCOH9yv9rpBxQ0qd0I-CaS3UG5f-JpsQCeRms55HEuSkQmkI/s1600-h/100_1919.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmrIH4kLpu4-i44j7B2gPvcvnpl5zQ1EEpGT5cgBjv4HLEc1W76xjCSBi1Egw6n7xikUAgmJBpSyuo4Tse8sgyhqRSmMBCOH9yv9rpBxQ0qd0I-CaS3UG5f-JpsQCeRms55HEuSkQmkI/s320/100_1919.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287855672381698066" /></a>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-37296411163631202412009-01-05T07:31:00.000-08:002009-01-05T08:02:41.943-08:00Dogga: Les traces de la civilisation romaine en TunisieCoup de coeur pour cette photo prise par mon amie Sandra Kraut à Dogga.<br />Les oiseaux sont au rendez vous, ils veillent sur dans les ruines vertigineuses de Dogga, sur la trace d'une civilisation qu'on pensait indéclinable. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287833448523917746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguH2Qtx3WAks2np5vldDBwCbTHaWna87Tlhqv6lwvY_5eKUAqIsp3lzoe6X7b8JkQAB3sbKCqqNFsnHAUmGHPZwyenB9OUy-lob7k8iLU2vFw2OuNTCAAzb9X5ATprJ4Sx9UO4sPCZRg8/s320/P1060180.JPG" border="0" />Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-56087714908118242272009-01-05T07:03:00.000-08:002009-01-06T05:48:06.475-08:00Moutons party devant les éoliennes d'El Hawaria<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVZs3g7GAjnqgaU1joV5KkBA82TvP2TZdifDnvJwbNF9UiugEVbzHsbEmiMI4a_g95R41lIQiokz12PIZufKj9bvCmUf-mY5sn6OllFB1ld1QuwIQmZsHSf9XLlNeNrG5J7KCWwKYj-o/s1600-h/elhawaria2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288177016758571074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVZs3g7GAjnqgaU1joV5KkBA82TvP2TZdifDnvJwbNF9UiugEVbzHsbEmiMI4a_g95R41lIQiokz12PIZufKj9bvCmUf-mY5sn6OllFB1ld1QuwIQmZsHSf9XLlNeNrG5J7KCWwKYj-o/s320/elhawaria2.jpg" border="0" /></a> Scéance photos pour la star :) <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULp14mzyPeYfBT4c67SunF-YeWgiwBjJiF_pfqDgmDrDyj3O-YgQt456i7Ni9hXCLubTQxZ504fdk8HQEswT9yq56kT-j-z7dtqykCP93zIC-Pxw3pEzs9q9FyUILtzmt2k4a3kLQk0I/s1600-h/el+hawaria1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288176915575703202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULp14mzyPeYfBT4c67SunF-YeWgiwBjJiF_pfqDgmDrDyj3O-YgQt456i7Ni9hXCLubTQxZ504fdk8HQEswT9yq56kT-j-z7dtqykCP93zIC-Pxw3pEzs9q9FyUILtzmt2k4a3kLQk0I/s320/el+hawaria1.jpg" border="0" /></a>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-35349006399373808852008-12-17T03:15:00.000-08:002008-12-17T03:21:06.470-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-tTfSpYwiB-kcUWmPWHO7a7HqzeIrOjKNf6OlXbD2glN7k57L5Dn0jEEe4zaNRJP73fjVlBQB0IuBuk42Z05XiHI6xvVb7A975DU6tPbgptt35KzfeZ4OKVJYpDFV6XHlAq15dCYfPg/s1600-h/la+condition+humaine.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280717520878904162" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 82px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 139px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-tTfSpYwiB-kcUWmPWHO7a7HqzeIrOjKNf6OlXbD2glN7k57L5Dn0jEEe4zaNRJP73fjVlBQB0IuBuk42Z05XiHI6xvVb7A975DU6tPbgptt35KzfeZ4OKVJYpDFV6XHlAq15dCYfPg/s400/la+condition+humaine.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p>« 21 mars 1927. Minuit et demi. Tchen tenterait-il de lever la moustiquaire ? Frapperait-il au travers ? L'angoisse lui tordait l'estomac ; il connaissait sa propre fermeté, mais n'était capable en cet instant que d'y songer avec hébétude, fasciné par ce tas de mousseline blanche qui tombait du plafond sur un corps moins visible qu'une ombre, et d'où sortait seulement ce pied à demi incliné par le sommeil, vivant quand même - de la chair d'homme. La seule lumière venait du building voisin : un grand rectangle d'électricité pâle, coupé par les barreaux de la fenêtre dont l'un rayait le lit juste au-dessous du pied comme pour en accentuer le volume et la vie. Quatre ou cinq klaxons grincèrent à la fois. Découvert ? Combattre, combattre des ennemis qui se défendent, des ennemis éveillés ! » </p><br /><p>Ainsi commence La Condition humaine roman d’André Malraux (1901-1976)...</p><br /><p>Après son meurtre, Tchen vient se confier à Gisors : il se sent séparé du monde des hommes et avoue sa fascination pour « le sang ». Gisors est partagé entre la compréhension inquiète de ses « deux fils » et la fuite dans l’opium qui lui permet de se réconcilier avec lui même....<br /></p>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-56578568414284401422008-12-12T08:16:00.001-08:002009-01-05T08:58:16.127-08:00Joyeuse fin d'année à tout le monde<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKC_p6C6rkkRuSJIfzXPA6-XPBU4dUWq01I_azRaMhVOrb_B8pAse1yFFWm3MELd63zX5PazVvadtKHFeJ6ObWIhVl0WIEl4LUaL5EKdCrMr3MunFwSm_sBGLKMFMbfyKxUkOfaEFkxE/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278938939366164594" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 146px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 142px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKC_p6C6rkkRuSJIfzXPA6-XPBU4dUWq01I_azRaMhVOrb_B8pAse1yFFWm3MELd63zX5PazVvadtKHFeJ6ObWIhVl0WIEl4LUaL5EKdCrMr3MunFwSm_sBGLKMFMbfyKxUkOfaEFkxE/s400/untitled.bmp" border="0" /></a>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-78961266349860410412008-11-25T07:15:00.000-08:002008-12-16T06:07:04.513-08:00<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275184839174612514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 201px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 389px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="peinture art photo" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrhEi1geMbupe8HLXu3p6fvO7VdXlvWh2RBBKqZZau_Oo2HUiobFC1z0Gfu0NMD1ZS6tPCUV0TXn0S2QZurX7iAgbW5qII3rtj1uPMqQ_aH9a-j9ft2xPN0_lwQ1RYFwZJOmscLitMOI4/s400/azzblog6.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>Nous vivons de l'ombre d'une ombre.<br />De quoi vivra-t-on après nous ?<br />[Ernest Renan]</div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-44894537397228454882008-11-21T05:39:00.000-08:002008-12-16T06:08:06.638-08:00Contemplations<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQi3ujLQEVC5pNrHmAPFKsf2wSFIdckvMMjcUtlOEZA_BEseZAyM_KnjatszHEqfb8FJkpXNmQ866FNRPH87iPZ7a88Q9_dce5im97vEriBm7pvjXYiJzSHaUT7rvbXeG0OOcAPH0U9Bw/s1600-h/azzblog5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271105809373647746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 257px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="peinture art photographie" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQi3ujLQEVC5pNrHmAPFKsf2wSFIdckvMMjcUtlOEZA_BEseZAyM_KnjatszHEqfb8FJkpXNmQ866FNRPH87iPZ7a88Q9_dce5im97vEriBm7pvjXYiJzSHaUT7rvbXeG0OOcAPH0U9Bw/s400/azzblog5.jpg" border="0" /></a> Pas trés photogénique comme tableau, mais me tient beaucoups à coeur.<br />Peinture à l'huile sur bois<br />Disponible.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQzrzxIKV-ef2TIk446JwW0NZt87q-fPaLFW6wauRq94XdBQnqfUOd5xmyyvygya_BGG-plEaPxYkMpQ-1MOl2_p7Oe-xjsCITxtnYQVZCPNIBD-yYr3kwysekQiDqFTuCZQw8A1r6KE/s1600-h/azzblog5.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-32579774413209071752008-11-21T05:35:00.000-08:002008-11-21T05:38:44.105-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIbQjkDv1VVCfNmlIS3qe_66Jlt04u1DBgFDHyOpwUnkzR6rPOS4F0YH-K4lDgxFCFWX1euemeW2uf5Gqd7F7XpHa0z7RqFc1L21kjyPViaVf-wR9aTFeqhpyWdppGST3g7ymFqfy61E/s1600-h/azzblog4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271104768012389906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 301px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIbQjkDv1VVCfNmlIS3qe_66Jlt04u1DBgFDHyOpwUnkzR6rPOS4F0YH-K4lDgxFCFWX1euemeW2uf5Gqd7F7XpHa0z7RqFc1L21kjyPViaVf-wR9aTFeqhpyWdppGST3g7ymFqfy61E/s400/azzblog4.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-32083118536489675882008-11-21T05:31:00.000-08:002008-12-12T06:21:06.878-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2cnvKHnq6_Lf_KFhaKzRZVWrqA6EijnvJk2jIs2Ht3gYtwbtwm1or8qvPAzyhEAP9WA_TiLti4XrYfBxP5h8VhubsaUJYBxhyphenhyphenaaASxxyTflbPRhekSgKiwB4USUxTL8ai1U93WavXxQ/s1600-h/azzblog1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271103704012276962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 226px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 283px" alt="peinture art" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2cnvKHnq6_Lf_KFhaKzRZVWrqA6EijnvJk2jIs2Ht3gYtwbtwm1or8qvPAzyhEAP9WA_TiLti4XrYfBxP5h8VhubsaUJYBxhyphenhyphenaaASxxyTflbPRhekSgKiwB4USUxTL8ai1U93WavXxQ/s320/azzblog1.jpg" border="0" /></a> Dans vos fêtes d'hiver riches heureux du monde.<br />Quand le bal tournoyant de ses feux vous inonde,<br />Quand partout à l’entour de vos pas vous voyez<br />Briller et rayonner cristaux, miroirs,balustres,<br />Candélabres ardents, cercle étoilé des lustres,<br />Et la danse, et la joie au front des conviés ;<br />Tandis qu’un timbre d’or sonnant dans vos demeures<br />Vous change en joyeux chant la voix grave des heures,<br />Oh ! songez-vous parfois que, de faim dévoré<br />Peut-être un indigent dans les carrefours sombres<br />S’arrête, et voit danser vos lumineuses ombres<br />Aux vitres du salon doré ?<br /><br />Victor HUGO, Les Feuilles d’automne.<br /><br />Fusain sur toile avec une fine couche de peinture à l'huile.<br />reproduction d'un dessin anonyme sur le net.<br />Disponible.Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-42693832167831926012008-11-21T05:25:00.000-08:002008-12-04T02:19:00.460-08:00Celle que j'adore.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBhccy5-APxKWuPM9_Lb2TZAkHgIYm-gIRF1iNqEUj6qByizAjKZ-sKEyaw4B11bBg9GI4QCRO4jmvRlzuHTVo-iaO3Ui2I9CpzRAVT7za5FLtTp07pMUvsUyVv96gY1qpR3Uxm3OId8/s1600-h/100_1438.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275877320627188306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 206px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBhccy5-APxKWuPM9_Lb2TZAkHgIYm-gIRF1iNqEUj6qByizAjKZ-sKEyaw4B11bBg9GI4QCRO4jmvRlzuHTVo-iaO3Ui2I9CpzRAVT7za5FLtTp07pMUvsUyVv96gY1qpR3Uxm3OId8/s400/100_1438.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><div>Inspirée d'une peinture que j'ai trouvé sur le net.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhkVrTlNPSaXoz-2Cnxqtz8VuZWTsvxfjJKCd9rr9k79ozDMNHFYqnXrr-7ZsPMinXkEbz1XBc-IpwgQbttcycWUIci9VnKFm7dLvPGgRPIVwG3Epy44TAMxZVQm86LuM98H3hYTW1A8/s1600-h/azzblog3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271102066042712786" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 159px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 319px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZhkVrTlNPSaXoz-2Cnxqtz8VuZWTsvxfjJKCd9rr9k79ozDMNHFYqnXrr-7ZsPMinXkEbz1XBc-IpwgQbttcycWUIci9VnKFm7dLvPGgRPIVwG3Epy44TAMxZVQm86LuM98H3hYTW1A8/s320/azzblog3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Peinture à l'huile </div></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-55699005447827890092008-11-21T05:22:00.000-08:002008-11-21T05:23:40.043-08:00Un peu de couleurs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilLwtr2xoBKIRxKK3bO_GIGm6_Gb752DfbK-4Je87Q6Xd-3GXuN6LvKSG8_OTn4_kLZfCPAlo6D6N_4jWY8UKUNYHFIiq7wUQa7dDSxqcqsD7T_iY37dfSX3j54lkq1T7tbPtRPhGg21Y/s1600-h/azzblog2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271100714431619010" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 169px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilLwtr2xoBKIRxKK3bO_GIGm6_Gb752DfbK-4Je87Q6Xd-3GXuN6LvKSG8_OTn4_kLZfCPAlo6D6N_4jWY8UKUNYHFIiq7wUQa7dDSxqcqsD7T_iY37dfSX3j54lkq1T7tbPtRPhGg21Y/s320/azzblog2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Disponible.</div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310326979033500768.post-20708967737917679142008-11-20T06:35:00.000-08:002008-12-10T02:43:46.694-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwcx0rBUBzXIgirnDGXdr0rNzeI4A5T4E6eBRG5h5fjhxt7C0_h4gHLI0j4BS8M2kDrbDmvAlWwzH_cPacZ1PuDT4tWLGVOTfSWPpn8TgcY9Zsio06a6KZALZjbi3RQy0aVZSFZmtSJ0/s1600-h/blogsoumise1+copy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278110276349246530" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 121px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 188px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwcx0rBUBzXIgirnDGXdr0rNzeI4A5T4E6eBRG5h5fjhxt7C0_h4gHLI0j4BS8M2kDrbDmvAlWwzH_cPacZ1PuDT4tWLGVOTfSWPpn8TgcY9Zsio06a6KZALZjbi3RQy0aVZSFZmtSJ0/s400/blogsoumise1+copy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>C'est trop facile d'entrer aux églises</div><br /><div>De déverser toutes ses saletés</div><br /><div>Face au curé qui dans la lumière grise</div><br /><div>Ferme les yeux pour mieux nous pardonner.</div><br /><div>Jacques Brel. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Ma dernière oeuvre.</div><br /><br /><div>Disponible.</div><br /><br /><div></div>Olfa AZZABI.http://www.blogger.com/profile/12266824975680540084noreply@blogger.com0