..Just Visiting

2011-11-27T10:52:00.000-08:00

So many metros today,
and many a street by foot.
Paris is still warm but people and their babies have dressed in their full winter garb.
I say a little farewell to Paris tonight, and wrote a poem on the train.

Dear friends
Forgive me now, as I am half of me.
Half here with you,
in your garden of Europe,
your seasonal playground.
Forgive my heart and its waning and waxing,
its absence.
This time has been full, and Im tired,
I need my home again, it calls me.

Forgive my heavy bags,
the weight I carry to your door,
Am I seeming impatient?
Its important for me to be present now,
and to do this I may turn down your wine,
and enjoy you in sobriety,
for with a clear mind shall I paddle onto this next wave.

You are not seeing me in the full power of take off,
but the slow release of a prepared landing,
onto shores where my heart is known and shared and waited for.
Sit with me,
in this brief time dear friend,
as I am tearing myself from my tomorrows and yesterdays.

Love this site!

2011-11-16T07:37:00.001-08:00

http://love-spain.tumblr.com/

Home in Barcelona

2011-11-15T03:21:00.001-08:00

Im sitting in a little cafe, brimming with rainy-morning coffee drinkers and street artists flicking through the glossy pages of graffiti magazines. Some kind of excitable action goes on out back in the gallery and people gather and laugh amid colloquial Spanish and banter.

The weeks here have been a challenge!
I knew I would need to take it easy upon arrival to this wild city, and even though after these few weeks of exploring and drinking and eating and walking and drinking and eating and getting a feel for the place, its the pace of Barcelona which has sent me spinning a little. I find myself waking with disorienation, and feel the dramatic change from having so much space to myself on the island. Those wonderful walks and expanses and mountains and island air has been filled by the hectic pace of a city and only just, do I feel slightly adjusted. My poor spirit got a forceful blow by this place, cushioned by the love and companionship from being with friends. Living in a little space has also proved a challenge, but we get on well, and although I think we often struggle with finding some mental aswel as physical space, we have enough sense of humor to get by. Moments of claustrophobia are cured by walks, cooking, dreaming and disappearing into the world of the internet and all its desirables.
Or down to that mad wild beach, all filth and waves and choppy gulls, reflective skyscrapers, rainy afternoons.

Yesterday I went with a friend to buy some paints on a street close by. Where we found this little cafe selling art and paints and coffee. The day was threatening and we wanted to go and paint somewhere, find a wall or a building. We got on the metro, running from torrential rains. The metro took us as far north as we could go, then hopped off into the winds, and saw, towering above us, a big abandoned construction site, all fenced in and locked up. We jumped the wall and found ourselves in a perfect painting location! Climb 10 floors of that place and you will find ponies and pirates, and views of barcelona that extend both southward to the mountain-hugged valley of the city, the point at Mont Juic, and north to the wind and sky-whipped coast. A ghost town, we wandered around the big architecture and moody sky to the coast where we were the only ones around, covered in paint and bruises and waiting for the clouds to burst, and watching the wild chromey sea, the gunmetal playing with silvers and a big wet sky moving and churning above the big structures. We felt small and humbled by the imposing forms, and went home to watch Sin City on the couch, Perfect weather for it.

The idea of the trip ending is a seed that grows slowly in my mind, through the rubble of business and hangovers and planning and chatting. I hope to leave this place in a state of love and acceptance that its been a fulfilling time, which it completely has. I hope to jump that plane filled with the joy that Spain holds places and people that are submerged in my heart forever. And although the idea of going home daunts me a little, I hope to take whatever magic I have found here and cultivate it for future purposes. Im already writing like things are ending, but really I have three more weeks of maneuvering myself around this continent with all my lugguage and tales to the final departure gates.

Painting in buildings

2011-11-14T13:32:00.000-08:00

Some of the works I sold at market

2011-11-06T01:18:00.000-07:00

Goodbye La Serrania, Hello Barcelona

2011-11-06T01:14:00.000-07:00

Sunday market, Pollensa

2011-10-30T06:34:00.000-07:00

Went to market today,
clouds threatened and wind blew,
but I sat on the steps of the Calvari for an hour and made 45Euro. Was a rewarding little excersize. xx

Farewells

2011-10-29T06:44:00.000-07:00

Saturday again, and the group leaves. A wonderful group this week, and Im sad to not be leaving with them as all thier energy is slowly drained from the place, and in its place, the gradual build up of a new group and a new dynamic. I have just riden into town, into this old cyber cafe in the back corner of the pub, its full of blokes again, yelling and spitting over card games and cigarettes, sitting close, one eye on the TV which shows footage of the floods in the mainland. A long and dark morning, the weather is moody and gorgeous, the garden moist and dark and shady, and insects turn up everywhere in the place, crawling out of holes and cracks in the stone, lizards retreat indoors as do stick insects, centerpedes and spiders, being swept aside and gathered by the days cleaning.

Its my last day here on the island and in the wake of this great group, and this great time, its nice to feel gratitude for the island and its gifts. The ladies left me a good 100euro tip! and also bought a bunch of my artworks so with full pockets and an extra full journal, i get to packing my bags, and prepare for the last rainy and glorious Mallorca evening. This week the grip it has had on me has slowly loosened, much to my discomfort, a slow farewell, and the more I bid it goodbye here the more i feel i will come back one day. Last night I went and hungout with my friend Frederico and enjoyed the stars, shooting and sparkling above us, as he told me tales of the kinds of people to get magnetized to this place, and why. There truly is something about it here.

Goodbye goat-bell mornings
good bye fig-sweet evenings
and that hot sceneted wind
goodbye nude swims with sunsets
and salty hilside rambles,
and valley strolling, piglet visiting,
flower picking, scenery sketching.
Goodbye friendly landscape
and your seasons shift
your autumnal colours now,
and your dry earth then,
your rocky pastures,
your twisted olive trees, curling out of the earth,
ready to curl back in.
your sweet rain-smell,
your little chatting birds,
your wild cats, all flattened roadside,
or whining at my window.
Your fullsky of stars bright,
your fullnights of mountain dreams-
with visiting lions and babies and medicine men.
Goodbye all you wise ladies who come here to share,
now i have more must-dos,
more compliments,
and more scribbled email addresses,
loaded in my bag.

Goodbye warm family who welcome me,
and your pets who keep me warm,
and your life you tentatively though gingerly open to others,
a great sharing.

Goodbye wonderful food,
I will miss such a kitchen!
goodbye magnetic island.

Saturdays

2011-10-22T11:59:00.000-07:00

OK, The new week has started here at La Serannia. Winter has arrived bringing the urge for sleep ins and more tea, and makes this place really feel like home! The last few nights having the kids here has been lovely, wandering down to the lamp lit barn, for a few wines and a little sing and a movie and mostly being silly and rude and then around midnight I crawl out of there all wine-filled and joyous, to climb up to the main house under the canopy of great cold-night stars, all glistening and gentle, into my own cosy bed. And now the kids have gone, flew down the highway today and out of the mountain range, after a breakfast and a hug, A busy day ensued, all parties coming and going, new team arriving, old team leaving with all thier debris and flowers and paint-marks on the floorboards for us to deal with. And all of us staff jostled around eachother in a synchronious dance of efficiency getting the whole place made over for the arrival of more American women to come and demand more coffee and enjoy the place. The last group were great, although harked from an insular and repbublican world of South Carolina and to me it felt like all this *find yourself* week away thing was like an accesory, or a lifestyle thing, other than something real, or deep. But, everyone that comes here harks from a different world and for different reasons. These picket-fence ladies with their boys and husbands out hunting for the week while their gone, still must have gained something from here, even if its just a great memory and alot of fun talking about dreams and getting imaginitive. Even though it all felt a little novelty.
This new group seem great, older, artist types, a group I would like to join, more serious, more sincere. Harking from New Mexico and Sonoma, New York and Chicago, an interesting bunch to get to know and learn from this week, my last week. I have compiled a little list of things to do before my departure next week and as i went walking this afternoon I realised Oh how I must come and paint these feilds, these gnarly figs trees dancing together over centuries, these lambs and rams and groves! But it was a thought that I could do this for eternity. And even if I dont end up having the time to do this, it makes these landscapes eternal soils for my imagination and creativity. I soak up these last days, and appreciate the friends and relationships I have made. The next three weeks in Barcelona with the kids are going to be fun, and a reward, somewhat, for the weeks of comtemplation, patience, learning.

Another wednesday morn

2011-10-19T01:54:00.000-07:00

Its 11 am, and quiet around the retreat. The birds playfully chatter and some kind of OmShanti mantra music soothes the guests doing mask making from dream symbols. Kyle and Anna are here! So lovely to have some friends to share this space with. Its a joy to wander the lands with loved ones and watch the stars, and wake up next to familiar faces. Saves me from going crazy out here, really. I stay until next saturday and although this place feels like home Im getting more impatient, which is another test. The next week brings a new art group and this week I am blessed with the company of 7 Gals from the states who are the most demanding guests, taking much of my time and energy. Although, they are terribly kind and interested in me and hail questions on me and give me poems to read and interpretations of my dreams. Its been an interesting cultural study watching the different people come through here, and how the Americans are compared to the Danes, the poms.. I try to keep out of the way when Im not working otherwise they will demand more of my time, hide by the pool in the sun!

Near to the end

2011-10-15T13:16:00.002-07:00

A new group have arrived! And Im back form my weekend with Alex (rom Copenhagen, see post 1). The few days in Sitges, south of Barcelona were fabulously resorty and indulgent. I must say I have been subject to great examples of pleasure and indulgence these past few weeks, and learning that it takes more forms than its decadent and spoiled reputation. The Sitges film festival was brimming with fat and geeky looking Spanish film directors, as it was a fantasy and genre film festival. A glossy catalogue delivered to our room of the hotel which hosted the festival, including tickets and a themed laptop bag, showed an array of predominatly Asian, South American and American Genre films, all gore and missing eyes, wrong turns and other worlds. We had a balcony, a bar fridge, a view of a nude beach, and a perfectly sunny palette of sky, so didnt see many of the films on offer. One film i saw was the english dubbed version of Ronal the Barbarian, the film Alex was represnting from Denmark. It was a well animated but grossly rude tale of a man who succeeds against all odds and comes up against boobs and babes and balls (the tag line). Ultimatly very silly and culty, we'll see where it goes beyond the 14 year olds. There were fellas around me, all bespectacled and boyish, full of giggles and claps when silly scenes emerged, like when Ronal took a magic potion that made him invisible except his balls, hence his balls went adventuring alone getting into lots of trouble. I had pleasure watching these blokes and their boyish laughs even though some seemed to be in their forties. So, we enjoyed immensly the fantastic Spanish 5 course buffet breakfast, and also took advantage of various company credit cards, eating well, drinking well, and going to the nude beach to compare our bodies with those of all-over tanned Europeans who walk, hand in hand, showing their gleaming bronzed buttocks like some proud mediteranean statue, standing, contra-posto against the sun, all sillouhetted and ready for my pencils and paper. Had some good sketches amongst these sun-bathers and their sunburnt bits'n'peices. The days flew, and after a few nights with a generous and interesting programmer for Tribeca film festival, talking industries, career paths, celebs, directors, dealing with people and artists, we parted ways in the lofty foyer of Melia hotel, amongst red carpets and coffee drinkers and we said goodbye yet again, for when the next rendezvous we never know, hopefully in Barcelona! I jumped the train back to Barca, then spent the night with my wonderful friends Anna and Kyle.
They met me at the hostel, as i was napping and taking in some afternoon peace before the evening began, presumably with more wine and entertaining. I was having a minute to myself when they walked through the door and it was a wonderful pleasure to see old friends again! I was somewhat speachless, perhaps from the exhaustion of three days at the festival enjoying the pleasures on offer, but still, its good to see familiar faces for a girl who has been lonely in the mountains. We planned to rent a place in Barcelone for the month of November. To invite all the friends who are living in the north of Europe and suffering the dreary weather, to have a place to cook and share and base ourselves, meet some Spaniards and enjoy a city. We spent the evening, as everyone emerged from siesta and opened their bars, wandering the gothic area, El Raval, and the funky back streets. Got lost in alleys as we caught up on months of travels and stories, laughed our way excitedly through the streets imagining our days here, our days there ie: "we can frequent this bar!" , outside a 3Euro mojito divebar sporting bearded gents and shady yet suitable location. It was nice to get the social juices flow after my solitude, and I now feel, back here in the mountains, strangely subdued and ready for the next step. This evening 7 women arrived from Souwth Carohlaahna. Very friendly bubbly and interesting women whose accents make me want to mock them silly, i have to refrain myself from adopting their fun way of speaking, its very infectious! A good group it seems, and Im glad that if this in my ast week here that the group is fun and eager for me to join in. I did some paintings on postcard sized paper and sold them 5bob a piece and made 50 bucks from these lovely ladies, which is very helpful. Makes me think maybe I could make more and sell them at the markets....? (Will post some pictures soon).

Tim and Martina are aware of my desire to depart earlier than planned and I know that while i was gone they could feel the lack of me being around so its a week when we make the most of eachother, and I have a great eagerness to get out into those mountains and make the most of being here while it lasts. Although, I think I have already made the most of it in many ways, its been a beautifully rewarding experience, even though Im here in extreme comfort and isolation, I have learned alot, and feel I will learn alot more this week as I am soaking it up before my imminent departure. Will write of the outcome, the departure, the Americans and the week of yoga and art making with them.

Having mad nights of full and intense dreams, where my bed is a canvas for submerging beings form my unconcious, a page of chracters and moments and confrontations and still I wake with a room full of the energy of people, family, and animals, scenarios that are surrealist and detailed with Spanish lifestyle frills, and as I sit here, after cleaning up the table after the women, in a big and lofty kitchen in the wake of activity, I pray for a rested and full nights sleep! I send lost of love through the airwaves today,
Rx

These winds

2011-10-08T02:08:00.000-07:00

These few last weeks we have had days of big winds, mornings where the valley is subject to great sways of seasonal change, pushing the last of the seeds around, and clearing debris. Each time, it carries a cool force from somewhere, and little by little it gets cooler and cooler, winds from across Europe come over the sea and make these mornings chillier as we slip softly into winter.
Each evening this week I have been by my self at La Serrania, the two guests left Tuesday. I have enjoyed the pleasures and the pains of being trapped in paradise, the upside being able to swim with no clothes in the setting sun! But, I fear after this weekend that my little ritual will change, this morning the pool is choppy with leaves and winds, a cold front pushing around the wet garden, and finally, winters presence prevails. The island is still charmingly beautiful in the winter, the olive and almond trees all leafless and expressive, the pines hold a dark light and become mysterious, the ocean, something to watch only, to enjoy from afar.
When the owners return from their lives and visit me up at the ranch, I excitedly over compensate for the lack of ears, and bore them with my rabbling and my pent up words.
The cat has been my faithful and kind companion, snuggling up to me, holding on tight with her arm around mine, pushing her little wet nose into me, and purring like mad. Sharing my bed and the couch, and watching Almodovar films into the night.
This morning Tim watches the rugby world cup and I can hear him and the german commentary getting exited and expressive. A woman has arrived, who I met the other day whilst we worked on the almond trees. ( battering them with a stick so they plummet to the earth to land on big nets we drag around the sundrenched garden, made about a garbage bag full!) and she is in the throes of divorce, quietly telling me, in her SwedishGerman accent, of how he up and left her with three baby boys. And as we have chatted here and there, I gather the loss in her silences, and feel her desperation, and know how she considers the impossible idea of never returning to her consuming boys and consuming affairs, so stay island-bound and free. I feel the strength of her will and negotiation of her desires. It's here that people come to escape and I feel the weight of their lives as it slowly slips off their shoulders and follows the winds to the hills for the week. The energy of healing can be heavy in it's subtleties, and takes many different forms.

I am off the island for a few days, to have a little break from these mountains, to get beyond them to the rest of the world, leaving the dreamland to the beat of Barcelona to go to the annual Spanish fantasy film festival!

2011-10-04T04:30:00.000-07:00

A day of mine

2011-10-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

A little reason to love Spain.

Today I woke, and after a meditation, a good bunch of slow laps in the mountain-reflected pool, and a good morning breakfast for the guests, I got a ride into town. Its good to get to town after being a little holed up at La Serrania, and I am joyed by seeing people, even in the calm of siesta afternoon, shopkeepers sitting curbside, mostly old men, gossiping, watching the afternoon roll into the hottest part of the day.
So, I hurried up the towering mountain that hangs over Pollenca town, a rocky and steep climb, a winding and slippery cobbled path. And in the heat of the afternoon, getting a little sunburnt, the town sat sleepily below me, hanging in the suspension of the Spanish day, the compulsory pause, the natural post-feed rest, the slump. Up on the Puig de Maria, which seemed to be totally deserted, was a rambling old stone monastery, all Spanish charm with swaying sea-breeze poplars and those cone shaped trees, and acorn strewn grounds, wild goats and their babies, all bearded and nimble, scrambling from the paths. And rocky sandy buildings, all cool and shaded inside, a quiet little church, with that stained-glass light play thrown around in colourful peace. And lofty presbitary spaces, and lookouts, and crumbling walled gardens, all terracotta-potted, with ancient wells and olive trees. Oh the peace and charm of this mountain top reverie! In that space in the afternoon where time stops, and me, book in lap, legs resting on the rounded curve of a tumbled pot, back against the sandstoned brick of an ancient hand-worked wall, above me an open window, a cat, and a view over the light drenched horizon. Those faded colours of distant mountains, light and sea spray, shading them dull and far. And the resting towns below and beyond, all adding to my sweet Spanish afternoon. I got hot, those white legs getting pinkish and I retired under a light dappling oak, watching the goats and pigeons, reading.
I meandered down after a few hours, and a good meditate in the silent, warm chuch. Back to town and its on! Fruit baskets pushed back to the streets and cafes a-buzzing yet again, and children return with their unifroms and books from school and the town has woken up and so have I and I wonder if the mountainous reverie stays up there, suspended in glistening peace. Im going back tomorrow! RX

Week 2

2011-10-01T06:36:00.000-07:00

The afternoon is mine!

The flock of brits have left the island and their retreating week and left me to a magnificently quiet and calm afternoon. And in this calm the mountains and I enjoy an afternoon together, they, all cloud-light dappled and shaded, all misty in the sundrenched distance, and I, recovering from the intensity of being apart of the re-awakening week of 11 strangers. They all turned out to be kindred spirits and lovely people, gentle poms who left me parting gifts and a generous tip. They were ever so Brittish with their camp-fire songs, their incessant chatter of all things menial and boring like Doc Martin and the Royal gossip. In their wake is a week ahead of 2 Germans who come and idly lazy pool-side, a sight which i suspect will continue all week. They giggle and squirm in the sun and breeze, moisturizing eachother and laying about in white linens and panama hats under the flapping umbrella. Its just me and them this week and time to ride to town, time to explore the area beyond the sub-universe that is La Serrania. Silent winds wobble the flowers in the oncoming autumnal change, and the sharp edge of the mountainview increases in contrast as the sun slips away, there is a great sincerity to them, the waz they rise and fall, kneeling to the valley, and extending themselves to the afternoons in full light and colour.

I have been reading Lolita and am whisked away by Nabokovs invocation of dreamy desire and earthy passions, all full of the language of holidays and vacations, albeit the paedopheliac backdrop, the imagery is fitting to my island paradise here.

Saturdays, my day off, is often something I anticipate and also dread as I feel the need to escape this little reverie of a place and its, at times, claustrophobic mountains. Though, the need seems to be not so pressing, its enough to be free of tending to people for the day, to enjoy the landscape to myself is enough of a recovery of the week and my desire to depart is fullfilled by dreaming and painting the day away, either pool side or lost in painting with a great podcast and a pot of tea.

I have spent the morning painting, and have just done a little watercolour in purples of the darling cat, Cookie, and her laconic sun-stretched pose in the bench in front of me, she seems to know what Im up to.

I just went for a little swim in the view-reflected pool, cool and calm. I feel the wake of the departure of a lively group and feel the emptyness, and realize my job is actually quite a sad one, so be making friends with these great groups that come and open up and enjpy their time, then wave quick goodbyes and Im left with the silence.

Im off for a walk to the woods, Rx

2011-09-24T03:49:00.001-07:00

http://laserrania.com/

La Serrania

2011-09-24T03:44:00.000-07:00

So, after a warm and friendly departure from Lin's, with sentiments, a good meal and farewells, I went to Palma with the next leg of the journey to explore.

Now I have the pleasure to be working in a wonderful place, a charming and idyllic retreat in the picturesque mountains of northern Mallorca.
Tim and Martina, the owners, have become both friends and surrogate parents and I help them in the great kitchen learning all sorts of tricks and secrets to Spanish and world cooking.
At lunch and evenings I set a big table for the retreating guests, who enjoy long meals between walks, yoga and poolside sunning. I offer full service to my table of mostly ladies and help make entrees, salads and deserts, and refill wine glasses and coffee cups. In the kitchen I get the stories and history of the place, of the people who have come through, of the pleasures and challenges of moving from Canada and Austria to make a life of the retreat business in the secluded and mountainous regions of an island, surely there's some good stories amongst these hills and pines!

So I am here for a month or so, learning recipes, helping out, feeling useful, and enjoying the good company of seasoned healers and yoga teachers who always have something to share and stories to tell. There is time for me to paint these mountains and valleys that change with the light and the coming of autumn, that turn lavender in the dusk and rose coloured in the dawn. Right now they are deep and richly green after a nights rain, clouds cushion the tops, and some sun breaks through to illuminate valley edges and rock faces. I can hear the clang of the heavy bells that hang from the necks of neighbouring sheep and their casual bleats. The sparrows softly chatter, and a rooster crows somewhere. The 14 Danish woman say goodbyes and after the seemingly endless slamming of hatchback doors they roll out in succession, the crunching of the driveway gravel indicating their mass departure, now we wait and prepare for the next flock of retreaters to arrive. This week is a Tai Chi and Reiki week, with various mountain walks, morning yoga, and organic food.

I sit on the terrace in this new silence and watch the fit Argentinian gardener tend to hedges, and I copy some recipes. Perhaps I will put one up on here for you! Salt encrusted monkfish? Chorizo and chickpea tomato soup? Nut and cheese loaf? Dorado and pepper Paella? Stuffed capsicums, endive and apple salad, rich lamb and apricot stew??! YUM.

2011-09-16T08:46:00.000-07:00

2011-09-11T13:08:00.000-07:00

The people have gone, and the days wind slowly through the warmth of mornings, the walks around pine forests, and an easy rhythm.
I have been left to my own between these long meals and beach visits to siesta, and have spent whole days immersed in drawing, a fluid and wonderful flow of imagery of the kind I haven't felt in a while. Now with Time, we have moments of silence together the three of us, and relax into eachothers company. And my calm in the charm of this place is addictive as if i could stay in my little villa for a long time, spending the days like this, the morning freshness, the summer meal, a dip in a sparkling bay, a long and calm afternoon in the shade of the garden, and evening walks under the moon. I get to know Mallorca and her natural wonders in the way Jorn did, and have been reading books about his embrace and worship of the elements here, the giving sun, the generous nature. We bought a fish off a guy with a van of his fresh catch, and wrapped it with lemons and garlic and had a fragrant feast with peppers and salad from the neighbor. Picture me wandering fine landscapes, as this place wont leave my unconcious and the soils of my creative self, a lasting impression. Rx

Cala d'or

2011-09-07T03:12:00.000-07:00

Here in Mallorca finally!

And what a wonderful place it is! It was tricky for me to come here with all my dreams and expectations loaded onto one as-yet unknown island. The boat trip was a bit awkward, and I didnt know what to expect of the place or of myself. Im now adjusting to being very impressionable and in awe at life and beauty here. Im totally overwhelmed.

Lin has welcomed me into her home and life and I stay in Villa of my own at the edge of the property, down the hill from the main house, the walk which I usually remember the most after dinner and wine, is scented with the wild rosemary that grows along side the gravel path. A big moon illuminating. The island is wonderfully mediteranean, with worn sandstone homes, dry iron-filled earth, rocky and red, with olive and fig groves, and stone fences winding around plots. The hills are high and rocky and fortresses perch in them, eagles circle them.

We have long dinners on large sandstone terraces, with visitors from the world. We spend the days swimming, sunning and eating, walking groves and hillsides, sketching, chatting. The home is beautifully designed, and I soak it up while it lasts. Theres really something to be said for good design, I have never spent time in a space so considered. There are intermident spaces set aside exclusively it seems for a moment of rest and thought, like Jorn was a meditative and easy man. A reader, a thinker. Spaces for reading are abundant, sun and shade lounges, little forest stools, benches with a unique view, Sketch points, contemplative angles, and practical use of space, a generous use of light, a fine balance of modern, minimal and practical, with traditional, homely and social space. Lin's eye for design and all her ceramic and glass works adorn the place along with a fantastic selection of artworks and books. Im in a heaven of mind and space, and imagery, and impression. A balance of Danish design and Mallorcan lifestyle and stone. Villagers turn up with fish and olives and eggs. Locals come and help relocate pots and paintings from studio to stroage space with their red-brown skin and ponytails. Its a serious and proffessional working studio, and I soak it all up as much as I can, without getting in the way and trying to eb as usefull as possible.

Must get back to the house to make lunch, Rx

FYI - Here is a video of Hughes, Lin's interesting husband;

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_5QW-sGfI8

Barcelona to Mallorca

2011-09-02T00:10:00.000-07:00

The lady I visit here is barcelona herself, warm and full of tourists! Bronzed Europeans in all their amazing skin tones of deep olive and caramels, interesting to see. They wander around shopping and eating and spending and looking fabulous and eating gelato together. Young couples and families at the end of the Euro summer break, getting memorable snaps. All the Aussies seem to be at this hostel Im staying at, hundreds of them, and all young, having their first trip away, meeting up with other Aussies to go get pissed at Ibiza. Its not really my scene here in the hostel and to be honest I have struggled being here, and have had to spend most of my time walking and exploring outside the hostel, I feel like a bit of an old lady! Its because I have been spoiled this whole time with wonderful comfortable lodgings.

I havent thought much about what happens after visiting Lin's, I have been waiting to get to this island to see what will happen, to see how it will unfold. Though as she is sick and now not working, and juggling all the friends that come to visit from all over the world on their summer break, I feel I need to be prepared for this trip to be cut shorter than expected. I still dont know what will happen and this is fine but its good to be prepared. I spoke to Lin yesterday and we are both very excited to see eachother, the island and its charms await me tomorrow after a long boat ride along these warm meditaranean waters. We will see!

2011-08-29T01:05:00.001-07:00

PS I have a nephew!

2011-08-29T00:04:00.000-07:00

I leave the wonderful comforts of Normandy today, and went for a nice early morning stroll to breath the fresh country air before I depart. The fog was lifting off the ground, the sun coming in, the frost on the apples shimmering like decorations and the swallows doing their loops and figure 8's, and I will miss it here.
I have been completely spoiled here, my senses satisfied in ways only the French country side can deliver. Hence, it has been complete in its perfection, a perfect amount of time and balance of weather, of quiet time, forest walks and then social events. I leave in gratitude and pleasure, knowing I have shared with Le Perche all the glorious exchanges of the season and enjoyed all her earthly delights..

Bretagne

2011-08-26T12:11:00.000-07:00

I havent been able to write much this week! Its as I am without a computer here in Britany but as it turns out I find one tucked away in one of the many rooms of this rambling old house and I have snuck in for a little blog-sesh! I am here with an old French friend of my fathers, Marie-Christine, her side of their history I am hearing bit by bit along the way, like today, eating crepes by the sea with cider, before a long walk around the coast. Tales of their youth and India and Ex en Provence in the 70's when they were all young and free. It turns out to be a complete coincidence that they are here, not 3 hours away from Lynne's in Normandy, and perfectly timed as I wanted to give Lynne some space this week. I go back for the weekend for an annual farm-party, trying to steer clear of the fromage to wear the new dress. I had not expected to turn up in paradise and to be honest i do not know anything about this corner of the world, but a short train ride later and a little drive to the sea and I'm here, in a cosy big family home in a well to do holiday area. By well to do, its the Parisians that I recognise here as the same type who, in their holiday gear, gallavant around the countryside. Its very Palm Beach crowd actually, the sea-side style of stripes and straw and sandshoes is universal, or perhaps it originates here. None the less, I am surrounded by very stable old stone homes which dot a green and calm sea-side, rose bushes and the berry bush adorn the coast along with acorn trees and pine. The sea gives me no gust of salty air and the water smooth and lakey, unlike our oceans at home. The horizon is flat and dosent jiggle around uneven and choppy, and the sand is well behaved, if not sand then soft and granite coloured stones. Big skies and a temperate climate, all very agreeable and easy. Stony islands with isolated watch-towers and coast-side towns still very much boasting all the European refinement they do so well, these coasts are much more tame than mine! We have just watched an amazing flourescent sky descend behind the town and sillhouette the trees to that black shaddow known so well by the Romantic painters. It has been wonderful to re-connect with another lady-from-the-past and gather peices of myself as a child from her, details of my and dad's trip here in '98, and to get another perspetive on France and her people. We spent yesterday laying in the garden catching up, peeling hundreds of apples and sucking on fresh-picked figs, ready for a crumble. Anna, MC's daughter is bubbly and generous company and in between her juggling her three sandy and handsome children I gather more of their tale in the life of dad, and of their tale between here and Australia and a few of the pieces in between. Its been a lovely sea-side holiday of cooking and playing with children and walking coast-side! And I have just been called for dinner of local seafood so I must be off. We all wait in anticipation for news of my new neice/nephew and by the time I write again we will know!!

2011-08-22T12:14:00.000-07:00

Today, We did get out of the house despite the rain. The weather put a moist and dark mood on the landscape and we just returned from a between-shower stroll through paths, winding between fatcow farm plots, blackberry strewn and droplet sharing acorn trees. Strolling through the graveyard, a heavy sky above, and a dusk silence so deep that when the church bell struck 9 we jumped in our boots.

Visited a charming old retiree couple in their restored French home today, and their visiting children. Drank wine fire-side with the windows streaming rain and discussed Indian politics and the way of the future, then ate a full and varied meal accompanied by wine and cheese and bread and then fruit salad and ice cream and then coffee and then sweets and then a stroll around the house, full bellied! This place has made me consistently full-bellied! Not surprised if i leave twice the size, despite walking each day, how can I refuse all this wonderful fresh produce and crunchy local bread and melty cheeses?!

2011-08-22T03:39:00.000-07:00

Oh, my.

Its happened. I dreamed endlessly of homely comfort in India, of having a kitchen of my own to prepare wholesome meals, to prepare tea at whim, to pull vegies from the ground and make a soup! And now i have been sucked into a beautifully scenic and comfortable vortex, my body completely forgetting that in fact, I am traveling and living from a bag, and no I am not at home.

Woke this morning in the light-drenched attic room and read European fables and folk stories for a few hours listening to a morning storm, thunder which rattles with an echo unlike storms of Australia. Lost deep in faerytales I pondered whether i need get up at all? Oh, to get up and prepare fresh figs and raspberries for breakfast while watching the town and reading the news? To have a day spread ahead of me with a few options of Rest, to Write or Draw, to Read, Walk, Stroll, or perhaps spend more time in the kitchen, cooking the produce that appears in a constant stream from friends and gardens, (we now have a whole new over-sized zuchini to deal with). The living space is a cycle of cook, clean, cook, clean, rest, cook, eat, play music, eat, tea, rest, chat away.

I think I have to get on the road so as to not get too cosy here!!

Never Leaving

2011-08-20T11:41:00.000-07:00

2011-08-19T07:36:00.001-07:00

Last night we visited a friend a few towns away and drove in the dusky landscape visiting locals Manoirs and Chateaus. The evening light played softly on the landscape of sunflower crops and corn fields, meandering around townships and orchards. Tree-lined roads lead up to remarkable properties in their vintage splendeur of tall stone barns and castles and pigeon-houses tucked behind over-growth. Roses and creeping vines, turrets with slate tiles slipping to balance precariously on the edge of now and hundreds of years ago. These are the places of Wuthering Heights and Lady Chatterly's Lover! Lands of great fables and stories! Rich in deep history and landscape. The small windows of the turrets are so Repunzelesque I prayed princesses still lived in them, pining over lost lovers.

Its not really the fancy Chateau that you can imagine with tidy,manicured gardens, its the ones tucked away and hugged by forests that invoke the romantic and literary in an on-looker. Held together by vine and the tender-hands of peasants for countless years, the shadows in between garden and building stir the imagination! Exploring these lands the past few days in varying times of the day, and eating produce from the local soil has given me the gift of feeling the place and its essence.

A few days ago we wandered with an animated sculptor friend in another town-not-so-far-away, through a misty afternoon after a feast of cheeses and cabbage-from-the-garden salad. We stood looking into a green river rushing down into dark willow-shaded corners of the landscape on an old stone bridge. The river recalled a painting by Millais, Ophelia, adding to the cultural language of the landscape.

An enclosed statue of Mary sat protecting the bridge and perhaps the river also, and as we watched the drizzle make planets on the water surface the ladies discussed the pagan activity still active in the area. Little did I know, but probably have known and forgotten, that the french countryside and in that dark soil, runs a deep histoire of pagan tradition. Witchcraft and Druid sights scatter around water-sources and stone. Churches placed directly on-top of sacred spots of ceremony or significance. This conversation added to the garden of charm and enchantment already growing in the predictably romantic-leaning soil of my imaginings.

So last night, sharing our Zuchinni dishes (which we ate with some bread we picked up from a local organic bread-making farm, yum!) in the recently acquired prespitary home-to-be of another expat friend and her full-bellied, garden-handed French boyfriend, I got to see the transformation occurring of an old building and its gardens. Glimpses of what-was, the stone work and charred back-walls of fireplaces. The evidence of many lives. The high garden walls and gnarled trees. After the meal and trying to pick up on some french conversation, ( the soup was delicious!) I wandered the grounds with the evening light softening the grasses and poplars, and walked down to the rivers-edge, soaking up the sweet scents of freshly-turned soil and flowers on the air. My daily meditation, which I did earlier while the others discussed kitchen arrangements, was filled with these scents, and the warm and chirpy atmosphere of sparrow play. Such comfort from elements is something Zana and I dreamed of in India where these harmonies were disappearing rapidly from life and tradition. What a relief to feel what is important. Thankyou India!

Ps.

Just went for a walk in the woods. I anticipated bumping into a hedgehog, a badger or a farmer. No-one crossed my path! The sparrows played up ahead, darting through blackberry bushes and saplings. Crickets rustled in the dandilion. And then, as i was emerging from the edge of the woods, a clearing on a road near a Chateau, which made me wonder what kind of things this back track has been used for over the centuries, I spotted a beautiful male spotted deer standing in a beam of sunlight against a gnarled old fallen tree. We held gazes for a while as he looked like a vision. Then he wandered over and showed me his lady and baby standing nose-to-nose in the shade. A splendid sight!

2011-08-19T02:41:00.001-07:00

La Perriere

2011-08-18T09:15:00.000-07:00

Am now in wonderful La Perrier where I have spent the week in the cosy restored home of Lynne, an old friend of my mothers. A wonderful, huge and spacious kitchen full of wholesome foods and fresh produce, we have just spent the day cooking the over-sized zuchini some local friends have given her. It now is in the form of crispy little lemony-cheesy fritters and a fragrant soup.

The last few days we have done walks into the forest and around the village; up to the local graveyard and steeple, around the old, stone townhouses stopping to say hi to the dog-walking locals. Everything is straight out of a classically quaint french country-style magazine.

Rose bushes grow fondly against stony walls and lavender adorns street sides. To add to the fragrant blossoming streets are the blackberry bushes with juicy gifts for our stomachs on a morning walk.

The landscape is so European to my Australian tastes. To wander around ancient apple groves and nibble from pear and berry trees is a total delight for my senses, especially the roses that are growing on every terrace and street corner. Im in awe of the unusual abundance of the land here and its centuries-old traditions, rich fertile soil and vintage hedge-rows.

Its been an incredibly sensual experience being here and eating amazing food, picking the fresh produce from gardens of friends, and given a beautiful attic room with long views over valleys and forests. Its also been surprisingly hectic for 4 days in the countryside. Lynne has kept me busy and entertained visiting the array of eccentric ex-pats living locally, mostly women. Single and fabulous, with full and flourishing gardens and generous lives they share with us. I have listened to stories of the local gossip, the grumpy mayor and his plans to pave through the garden-plot, the gaggle of gay boys wanting to take over the town, the posh and the posers, the old bats and the conservative farmer peasant folk. The ex-pats here are in a group of their own sharing their experiences and lives.

I arrived here thinking I would have lots of time to be sitting around sipping Vin Blanc and doing watercolours, but have been given the full tour of summer life in rural France. As well as a fantastic home-maker (the restoration of her place a wonderful transformation and project of vision) Lynne has also filled me in on detailed and rich tellings of life here and the many stories of relationships, proccesses and obstacles. We have sat around a cheese-board, a pot of tea, or a bowl of my own Biryani (recipe i picked up in India, which surprisingly worked quite well! ) and shared our reflections. Just like visiting a real aunt. I have been grateful to meet the women here, living and sustaining a well-being from their passions like gardens, friends, food and their art practice. Its a pleasure to see how people survive in another land and hear them share their tales of its people and the concessions and obstacles they have overcome.

We are on our way out to a friends place to share our zuchinni love!

2011-08-18T08:44:00.000-07:00

2011-08-17T03:24:00.000-07:00

Paris welcomes me and I embrace the new solitude for the weekend, visiting Modigliani and Chagal's women in the Galleries, and wandering the streets of Montmartre, remembering being there with my father in 1998, visiting to same cafe which happened to coincidently be next to my hotel, to drink hot chocolates and sketch old women and their dogs.

Montmartre, with its memories and cosy summer streets felt very much a place of my heart. I spent the weekend re-visiting myself after 7 weeks with a companion. Leaving Zana to be alone was both refreshing to be able to get on my own rhythm, and uncomfortable as the silence was new.

So much to say! Where do i throw my ideas out now? On whose ears can my observances land, to be handed back, re-considered and discussed? Who can I reminisce with, complain to and wake up next to?

I noticed when we were in India that I am much more of a meditative and contemplative traveler who enjoys to sit in cafes or parks, soaking up the atmosphere, watching the people, writing letters, sketching locals. Zana is a much more active traveler and we balanced each-other out in this way, bar some rare moments in the beginning where we struggled to find the middle way.

So, for me Paris was a chance to get back into my own groove. Much sketching and observing and watching, eating, sipping wine, letting the sun play with the streets and shadows, watching people play with their families and babies, pregnant women by fountain-side chatting with elderly locals. Paris in the summer! So different to when I was last here, in mid winter, both times. So charming winter is, only in Paris can even winter be charming with the desiduous trees and handsomely rugged up people. Summer brings joy to the streets and cafe life to a full and brimming pond of variety and colour. After the first night, which was awkward being alone and I went to sleep with unease and nerves, I woke with a sunny day and city to myself, and wandered in the charm of it until the evening which gave me the pleasure to meet a lovely gentleman and we ate snails and drank wine in a Montmartre bar under the full golden moon like real Parisiens. Lucky me! Paris offered herself to me unlike before and the weekend is mine!

Monday takes me to La Perrier, to visit an old friend of my mothers, Lynne, in the countryside of Normandy.

Alex Burke - Copenhagen

2011-08-13T10:33:00.000-07:00

My port of entry into Europe was Berlin, where we stayed in the apartment of a friend of Zana's, my traveling partner through India. She had been living and studying in Berlin for a year and had slipped back to Australia leaving us the debris of her life there, and the lofty room she lived in, the bed that smelled of someone gone, and the comfort of having a washing machine, a kitchen and a space to ourselves.

A wonderful space to recover in! My post-India ailments did nothing to prevent me from registering Berlin's vibrancy and dynamism, the energy in the streets on the faces of its residents cycling below my window. My internal and physical being was in total re-construction mode, where I had to put myself together from the way India ripped at the layers of every level of my being and body. I left Berlin to Copenhagen knowing I would return.

Alex Burke and I met at the restaurant I worked at in Sydney for 3 years and we became partners in crime, attracted to her generous spirit, constant sense of humor, and love of wining and dining.
In Copenhagen she works for a Danish film distributor and lives in a cosy old apartment close to everything, full of girls who are drawn by her magnetism to share her bed, her floor and her couch. A little family of ladies in the 'West-end' all sharing space, patience, wine and days, revolving like planets with different axis', around Alex and her fay and vague line of living, her smooth and fluid lifestyle, which however disorganized it seems from the outside, somehow functions and survives in new countries, new jobs, demanding situations, and all sorts of social echalons. This ability is highly endearing and her method of survival creates an air of Mother-Hen-ism that offers the famous Burke-Hug and endless generosity. Copenhagen was a platter of ladies and friendly wine-bars, long mornings spent relaxing (well earned and needed after my Indian Adventures) and strolling the city, getting a little high off Christiania, Copenhagen's own Nimbin-style commune right in the centre of the city, watching the local talent of freaks and lovers and European men, laying lake-side. In full ease did we roll the week over in CPH with the west-end girls, and had the leisurely rhythm of home to get comfortable in ourselves again, recover to our full selves after the debilitating experience of Berlin previously, where I was out of action in recovery mode for the whole week. Thanks to Alex and her nest, I'm now off to Paris alone, and feeling fully returned to myself.

2009-01-10T13:26:00.000-08:00

More Jesus!
i didnt think i could do more christian paintings but being here in Italy, the subject matter is simply the vehicle for technichal advancement. I loved watching the light change when oils overtook tempera and Michaelangel0, Raphaelo, Parmiaginino and other high renaissance artists began exploring with these new colours!
Florence is a haven for Art and im not phased by the religous manner of the art or the artists, but marvel at the place where artists began gaining respect as artists. The place where they stood up and took a role bigger that craftsman. This place is so full of Art and History i am overwhelmed by the Ufizzi and the endless symbols. The best thing about these galleries, as i have said before, is the obvious references to the environment. the backdrops for so many paintings are the very backdrops to our days here. the faces in these paintings are the very faces we are surrounded by. bar the tourists. As i marvelled at this rise of skill, this development of visual consiousness, and this expoloration of concepts and meduims, i was taken back to the vatican.
In the vatican city museum, which holds probably one of the most valuable historical collections of all times, i found the mystical relics which truly touched me.
Looking apon artworks of the Egyptians took me into a mystical world of distant conciousness and deep symbol. Mummefied cats, animal gods, sacred hybrids, goddesses and mummies and 10,000 year old ART. I cant beleive this kid of stuff still exists, and after this i look at 600 year old art as young and realise more about how history works..in waves.
Amongst all these galleries, these vibrant and moving van goghs, these dark eyes Madonnas, elongated baby jesus', Mythological movements, natural wonders and imaginative ponderings, i see now at the close of this journey, what has truly touched me the most.

firstly, its been the Places where these people drew inspiration and being amongst these environments, sitting amongst the forests of barbizon, the trees of Ancient Roman ruins, the Mosaics of the Alahmbra, the HARMONY of these environments and how harmony has been captured and created by these artists. Ive come to understand the Harmony of Art and its environtment, and the role of the artists in this beautiful exchange. This discovery has come with an appreciation of the mystical strings attatched, the symbols and the language of this harmonious world. I read a book about picasso and remember a quote of his ' being an artist is not to immitate nature but to use what she has to create new and removed creations'. In a way i dont agree with this because i beleive its about being in harmony with creation, and this is why the environments have touched me. What a delight to know that in the world, for centuries, there are places that are, have, or tried, to live in complete harmony, and the role that rt has taken to be the tool is which to create this.
I will always be taked back to these forests, these castles and these villages.
I'll dwell in the rhythms of europes tidal creativity and lively cultures.
Ill feel at ease with these rhythms of the creative universe.
Harmony!

sintra

2008-12-31T03:37:00.000-08:00

another magical palace with the harmony of moorish architecture and the vibrance of that harmonay existing in the people and the town of the area. Portugals Sintra palace was still occupied early last century and is portugals pride. Less pompous and extensive

than somewhere like versailles, its gardens have trees and plants from all over the world in a harmonious and shady present for the kings wife. magnificent!

Reina Sofia & Prado galleries, Madrid.

2008-12-23T08:05:00.000-08:00

ooooooooooohhhh the Prado Gallery put me to sleep, what a shame it is that one can tire of images. I feel i wasted the money going in, although i reconcile myself by saying i atleast saw some seriously spooky and amazingly imagintive H. Bosch works. ( El Bosco, as he was called). Breuhgles landscapes of death and war were dark and strange to be in the presence of.
The highlight of the prado was Velasquez's Las Meninas, as i have studied this image for exams and we have had various classroom discussions and tutorials about its meaning. to stand infront of the handywork of Spains most notable artist and artwork, gave me a beginning of a feeling for the country and its artists. beyond this painting and the rest which were full of jesus and mary and saint whatshisname which i have seen over a million of now, I'm glad i went.
One of the best reasons is because after seeing all these paintings of spanish faces, the stern brows and the great mustaches , you see these same faces in the streets. paintingfaces. It was the same in France.

The place that showed me spain and its artists was the Reina Sofia, with its great design and easy stroll-through chronologically-planned veiwing system, me and my not-usually-so-fond-of-art friend, had a day of playful fun in the primary colours of Miro and the shapes of Dali.
I really felt the active revolt and the exploring of freedom of the midcentury franco-era spanish artists. What energy they all gathered! we spent all day with all the secret publications, childlike squiggles, wonderful colours and comical charachters. Im reading a book at the moment called Life With Picasso written by Francois Gilot and am learning of his moody, egotist, chauvenist womanising qualities, constantly reminding me of a child. I wondered how his art would effect me now that i am learning of his character, and truthfully, the images touch you somewhere that his manners didnt. Guernica is a masterpiece. There is vitality and energy in all these spanish artists and there is this energy in the people too.

2008-12-07T06:12:00.000-08:00

Barcelona was a vibrant international festival for travellers and traders and i was touched not as strongly by the art but the place, getting a grasp on the context of spain and its people/artists. It seems the country has a real pride and faith in its artists, as i found it amazing to see how much creative freedom was given to antoni gaudi and all his city wide projects, as strange as they are.

A day at the national gallery proved interesting as we were the only ones there it seemed, a few others roamed though usually they were security or clerks. much of the art was deeply religious, dark and pious, hundreds upon hundreds of jesus'. thousands of strangefaced madonna and child statues, and the comical relics of catalan cathedrals from the pyronees mountains. It seemed the rest of the collection were the Bgrade works that the louvre or orsay didnt want, because after seeing those collections this one seemed dark and limited.

The picasso museum was full to the brim of tourists and i was lost in the mazelike streets of barcelona, mesmerized by the religous fervour in the air on a friday, nativity scenes everywhere, lights and decorations on everything.

i learned about picasso and his life in spain, the art school he went to, and more than appreciating specific works, i loved seeing his develoment through portraiture, realism, pointilist impressionism and fauvism, to see his works simply become simbols and he became the simbol of artistic freedom and pregression. i did not know he was a great portrait painter in his earlier years, or fantastic drawer.

Did not get to the Miro or Dali institutes because i didnt have the time or money and its always hard which places i should visit, although i feel i got a grasp on what Barcelona had to offer. maybe i will go back on my way through and get to go to the dali institute, although at the moment my eyes are set on history and im calmed and awed by the great air of an old gothic cathderal stinking of beeswax and mouldy stone. Now, i sit in a busy cafe, which, looking around is not so busy, it just seems spanish like to be loud. one group are rowdy as the women aet gelato and the men lean on the bar sipping expressos. We arrived in Seville this morning after my companion got pickpocketed twice in a flustered last evening in barcelona and a well earned though stiff sleep on the train. Seville 'seviyyya' seems to be alive on a sunday! After checking into the hostel i roamed the streets, filled with locals in their sunday best, making there way in and out of cathedrals, the children dressed all the same and the clergy in cassoks herding people. i went into a cathedral, it was quiet and stragglers sit deep in prayer, a 4ft couple of elderly looking up at a bleeding christ, and a gold adorned and crowned mary, their gloves and hats in hands. Some people were going in and out of confession and i heard the subtle spanis whisperings. the city is full of churchbells and sundaybests, pious populace and immaculate conception festival posters and paraphernalia. I have never seen so many religous relics on sale from figurines to calenders and all kinds of poeple buying them.

The men and women are dressed beautifully and their skin and hair is different from those in south america who are mixed with indian and black, their faces not yet familier to me, like the french became. This place looks like fun and full of orange trees and im exited to get some vitamin c and vitamin see. off exploring!

2008-12-03T09:00:00.000-08:00

Amsterdam is a drizzling tourists playground for the the stoners, red light rollers, sexaddicts and shoppers.

I took shelter in the Rembrandthuis where i watched them grind and make the pigments on Rembrandts old marble grinder. i made friends with the bloke that was working in the stillactive etching studio with its old wooden press and hand made inks. I stumbled out and found myself walking alleys with the redgleam of the girls on sale, your grocers wife, your collegue, your friends sister. Tragic faces.

I woke the next morning in the squeeky hostel bed, delirious and in the flush of fever, after a restless night. After garlic and codral i hit the Van Gogh museum, which was, in my delirious state, vibrant, warm and soulful for my depleated senses. This last destination in amsterdam was a big pointilist cherryblossom ontop.

2008-11-30T01:32:00.000-08:00

'It elevated folk art and custom to something noble, and argued for a "natural" epistemology of human activities as conditioned by nature in the form of language, custom and usage.'

The little home studio of Millet where i visited in Barbizon.

Old and musty and packed with relics like mouldy clogs and old palettes the colours of the forest.

'' The first man who, having fenced in a piece of land, said "This is mine," and found people naive enough to believe him, that man was the true founder of civil society. From how many crimes, wars, and murders, from how many horrors and misfortunes might not any one have saved mankind, by pulling up the stakes, or filling up the ditch, and crying to his fellows: Beware of listening to this imposter; you are undone if you once forget that the fruits of the earth belong to us all, and the earth itself to nobody. ''

— Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 1754

The forests of Barbizon/Fountainebleu were enchanting for me, the zero degree frenshness of the air and christmas scents of pines. I Dont know weather i was touched by the fresh historical importance of the forest like those hundreds of years, or weather i was perfectly happy to be out of the big cities, the masses.

This trip really is major city to major city and taking a walk through the forest was like a mentos for a smokers mouth. The air pure and the light diffused like fog hanging between trees, deer scattering, mushrooms underfoot, and grand old trees umderwhere artists have sat for hundreds of years. This has had more personal importance for me than galleries because a forest is a place easily experienced personally, as opposed to the masses in the galleries.

The town of barbizon is small and suitably deserted for the timne we were there, not a tourist to be seen, just chimneysmoke and singing garderners. I stood in the studio of millet in the light of mouldy windows and the air of dustyrelics. Splendid day!

2008-11-24T03:47:00.000-08:00

SNOWY PARIS
not quite like this painting
but we imagined so!

Yesterday it snowed! how wonderful paris is in a winter wonderland!
It was a very indoor type day though, super cold and wet and drizzly and the face feels red raw.
I wandered around deserted streets of saint michelle looking for the musee dòrsay by myself, the quiet sunday streets where i imagine everyone especially the french sayed indoors by the heaters. The family had freids for lunch and i left whilst the home filled with the smells of a cooking tart and the notes of little Elvira's flute practice.
I arrived finally at the museum, to find hundreds of people, mostly english speaking tourists and solemn travellers coming all the way to wait in line for 40 minutes.
once inside, i only had 2 hours, and wasted half of it in the first room, the gift store, marvelling at great big books of photos of paris last century. I roamed and saw a chalkpastels show which was comlpetely inspiring to one who never felt the love to chalkypastels. Some of them Degas and segatini and dhurmer and prouve.
I love when the impressionists and seccesionists left the old school of history painting, the romantics and the old school, to capture and be amongst nature, this slow progression where art lef the country and the standard and became natural and personalized. You can see the love and longing in Corot's country paintings, Millet and Rosseau. Capturing and recognizing the natural man and land bond, finally after so many years of cloisters and schools, the artists go back to nature!

2008-11-24T03:43:00.000-08:00

lovely men

2008-11-22T03:44:00.000-08:00

2008-11-22T03:16:00.000-08:00

The men, they smoke cigarettes elegantly like a woman taking a bite of a croissant. They seem classically elegant compared with australians, refined and full of old features like a face that has existed for centuries. There are wonderful faces to watch here, beautiful manners to observe. Their accent becomes hypnotic and their culture more mysterious by the day. The women, and their classical grace, full hair and olive skin, natural pouts and loving gazes. Even after almost 2 weeks it is as though france will never become familer or understood for me, i prefer to watch it all as if in a movie.

Last night we slaved over the pokey kitchen, navigating our way around the maze of utensils and strange ingredients. People came over with their wild children who played around the downstairs in french giggles and squeels, the imaginitive and contained maddness of apartment reared children. They started us on oysters, salty nostalgia of clareville at lowtide. Then wine and the feast we made, grilled sweet pear salad with crispy pancetta and pine nuts, with warm risotto of parmesan, lemon and leek. After the feast, Pascalle and her daughter sang theatrical french songs on the piano while all the children danced an sung along. We watched from the door of the kitchen where we cleaned the plates after chesses and rhubarb tarts, then coffee and chocolate. such an indulgent and rich night.

2008-11-21T08:02:00.000-08:00

THE MAD JEFF KOONS AT THE MAD VERSAILLES!!

2008-11-21T06:56:00.000-08:00

the louvre has many sweet madonnas

just like the streets of paris

the louvre has many colours

unlike the streets of paris

paris in winter is grey and cream

and silver

like barnacles.

i am staying with small parisian family

with sweet children

who we catch watching us from doorways

like the cat who spies on us and creeps around our things.

the children did a musical performance for us

polite with classical flute and piano

and then they served us chevres

goats cheese

on pikelets.

we saw the cold city of rotten stone

pere lechaise cemetary

wet loss covered statues

and leaveless trees like that painting of that cloister

on the narcisuss and goldmund cover.

the least grandiose being jimmy morrison

whose grave was watery with black roses

an american manwolf in paris

a rockstar amongst grand families.

oscar wildes grave was covered in lipstickisses

and love hearts.

we sleep in an old smokeysmell room

overlooking montmarte

where maybe picasso hungout

its nice to hangout here

overlooking the city of barnacles

with the sky that glows pinkyorange

and flourogreen trees like a fauves painting

like a van gogh.

and i was touched by the louvre and the people init

the mona lisa the only one relaxed amonsgt the photoflashes

medusas raft rocking on the sea of eyes

and delacroix's liberty leading the people through isles of history.

back to paris and its sweet breadsmells xx

2008-11-12T09:03:00.001-08:00

Today..
I bought a banana on Portobello road and ate it curbside whilst watching beard clad gentlemen ride bicycles with leather knapsacks.
I strolled through notting hill and took photos of english rose gardens in the morning light.
I walked through the shades of histories minds, being chased down by the cheekiest squirrels in Hyde park, under falling wintry leaves, down winding bankside paths in bruegelesque tones.
The light, dramatic through looming dark clouds, and the wind rocking white dinghys in the choppy slate couloured lake. Fat geese and swans paraded like i was there to see them.
I was in a pisarro painting all afternoon as i walked down orange and yellow leafed trees and found buckingham palace, sketched the luminous gates, lay in green park with the squirrels and we snacked on raisins.

I ended my last day in london with a glimpse at the old tower on tower hill, a meander down piccadilly, popping into the national portrait gallery catching an annie leibovitz retrospective, and a squiz at the royal academy of arts ( all shows - byzantium and giacometti - were £12, beyond my budget, although i got a free catalogue :-). All in all, london has overwhelmed me in pace and size, but also touched me in colour and culture. xx

2008-11-11T02:24:00.000-08:00

2008-11-11T01:48:00.000-08:00

Arriving in a new city, body clock distorted, hazy from those transit moments in a saudi arabian airport in the Am, is when one needs a dose of solace.
Where does solace come for backpackers? When hostels are buzzing with festive fever and kareoke nights, when the city you have arrived in is extensive and bustling with busy people. When you want to receive some retail therapy or even catch a flick, but it costs the price of jetstar flight to brisbane. Galleries have been my haven from the mad world of the hostel. The tate modern on saturday took me aback with its lines, £4 coffee and swarming tour groups of 30+. The artwork seemed like simple objects, floating amongst the masses, some unable to stand out over the energy of exitable humans. Saturday is not a day for solace.
I went to meet with a camp hawian fashion student from the hostel and got lost in the Lord Mayors parade, Fur lined velvet clad gentlemen and flashbacks of aristoracy, military tanks and relics rolling down the pedestrian filled rainy streets of central london.
We went shopping in the vintage warehouses of brick lane, before spending the night drinking fishbowls of long island ice teas and using london for what its saturday night had to offer.

Monday the tate brittain. I walked along the thames in the rain, the soft drizzle and the white skies so typical of london, big ben towering like a post card, double decker busses the the lot. The Tate was peaceful and serene, like a playground for the weary artist. I rested in the francis bacon room and watched a documentary on his debauchery, illicit romance and the emotional language of his painting. I played the interactive games in the turner drawing room, playing with light and pencils and hand made watercolours. I sat and drew the neo classical sculptures amonsgt other young art students on a feild day. I mosied through the Victorian room, the 16th century brittish portraits room, the Romantic landscape room, the turner prize and the Francis Bacon collection. It was now getting dark, as it does around 4 o clock, and went for a wine&sushitrain feed in mayfair with an old friend from sydney.

Today, all the stimulation of london and being here for a few days, i've settled in to the pace of things a little more. I think i will find hyde park and nestle up to a tree with my sketchpad, then find the royal academy of arts, see the globe theatre, scope st pauls cathedral, buy gumboots, and get ready for my last day here tomorrow.