Alex Burke - Copenhagen

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.

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

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.

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.

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! 

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.