23. The ox is dazzling. The ox is pregnant with light.
To the extent that we don’t see the woman’s head—advancing prudently, in a halo of
weak light.
The light seems to be the luminous shadow projected by the flesh.
In ‘reality’ it is doubtless coming from behind the door.
The woman pokes her head in through the doorway, to see? Furtiveness. As if she
were looking at what mustn’t be looked at.
Clandestine glance: curiosity wonders: is it there? Who’s there? What’s hidden there?

23、 公牛令人晕眩。公年孕育着光。

To one side the powerful body, the incarnation of slaughtered power, hung by its feet.
Why is the ox hung ‘head down’ (the absence of a head down there)?
On the other the small head without a body, the question.
But we don’t see her. The shining of the ox attracts my entire gaze. Attracts us. We are
attracted by the open ox as by the illuminated carriage opening of a palace.
The light calls. We advance. Let’s enter.
Here all is gold and purple.
We are in the breast.


24. Before me spreads the agitated space with its somber thicknesses of fatty haunted
gold, so it seems, in the purple distances of the canvas, of flayed scarlet stairs in the
geologic matter, the ground sheer like a deep hanging, past upon past, my mines, my
reserve difficult to access, but overflowing if I arrive, with thoughts, with passions, with
kin, before me my personal foreign land: everything in the nearby over there is mine,
everything is strangely foreign to me: everything that, in its night dough, I discern for the
first time, I recognize. The world, before me, so great, is inside, it is the immense
limitless life hidden behind restricted life.
Stigmata 14

24、 在我面前,这个骚动的空间展开,具有它惨淡的厚度,在画布的紫色的各种距离,似乎萦绕著黄金的厚实。剥落斑漆的猩红色楼梯,地质的质料,直接的地面,像深深的垂挂,过去盖上过去,我的矿场,难以接近的我的储藏室,但是假如我到达,带着思想,带着激情,带着亲密,它满溢出来。我个人的陌生的土地,在我面前。在它的夜晚的质料里,我第一次觉察到的每样东西,我体认出来。在我面前,这个世界是多么巨大。这世界在里面,它是广裘的无限生命,隐藏在受到限制的生命背后。

Do you see the steps? To the right, some somber steps tell us we are down below, in
the cellar. Somber descending steps.
But here we climb up. These steps here, the interior gold and purple steps lead us
toward the heights, toward the heart of the temple.
What are we present at? At a mystery. At a solemn representation.
This is not the crucifixion.
This is the Passion according to Rembrandt. Mourning and Transfiguration of the Ox.
It is there in the cellar, that I divine:
What does he seek to paint of Bathsheba?
Her solitude of slaughtered ox.
Bathsheba or the slaughtered ox.


P.S. Reading the big catalogues, I look for The Slaughtered Ox. For example in
Gerson’s beautiful volume on Rembrandt.9 I flip through the index. The author has
classified the work according to rubrics; Portraits: Self-portraits, Portraits of Men,
Portraits of Women, Portraits of Children; Groups…(I’m looking for the Ox),
Landscapes… Finally I find it: it is in Interiors, keeping company with the Philosopher



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