GALEART: Sillas modernas

SILLA BARCELONA

MIES VAN DER ROHE

SILLA VOLADIZA

MIES VAN DER ROHE

ARMCHAIR

WALTER GROPIUS

CHAISE LONGUE
DIMA LOGINOFF

BUTACA BIBENDUM

EYLEEN GRAY

SILLA HILL HOUSE

CHARLES MACKINTOSH

SILLA WILLOW

CHARLES MACKINTOSH

SILLA TULIP

EERO SAARINEN

SILLA MINIMALISTA

EHTAP OBUZ

BERLÍN CHAIR

GERRIT RIETVELD

SILLA RED AND BLUE

GERRIT RIETVELD

HYPNOSIS

DIMITRY SAMAL

LA ROCHE CHAIR

MILLA REZANOVA

SILLA PRATFALL

PHILIPPE STARCK

SILLA TRAMPA

CHRIS DUFFY

SILLA WASSILY

MARCEL BREUER

THE FLIP

ADRIEN ROVERO

SILLÓN CON FORMA DE CORAZÓN

GIOVANNETTI

SOFÁ

FRANCOCECCOTTI

SILLA GIRATORIA

LE CORBUSIER

CHAISE LONGUE

LE CORBUSIER

Starry, starry night

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer’s day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they’ll listen now.
Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they’ll listen now.
For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.
Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can’t forget.
Like the strangers that you’ve met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they’re not listening still.
Perhaps they never will…

Don McLean

GALEART

Páginas

Sillas modernas

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Starry, starry night

Starry, starry night