Black dogs

Winston Churchill called his bouts of depression "Black dog". I had many black dogs and the amazing thing about them was the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel, the cosmic sensation of joy you experienced while going through the darkest time. I remember very vividly a few: a night sitting on the boulders in Genova with my then best friend smelling sea air and an incredible cold breeeze, feeling the shivering on my body as an electric energy running through me; discovering W.G. Sebald at a time when I was exploring the concept of exile and finding that he had nailed it to an extraordinary level of accuracy. In my recent dark days I came across Dan Eldon and his illustrated journals and through the intensity of his short young life I felt almost purified. He used to say that the journey was the destination and I've learned recently what that really means in terms of giving up expectation and witholding judgement. I got in touch with his mother and learned yet another lesson about pain and joy and strength. I don't have heroes in my life because my search pushes me forward all the time, but I have had magical encounters, Dan was one, Christina was another and the fabulous Fender family was yet another. I hope I can give to others what these people have given to me.

The art of travel and The Art of You

I made a list of things I wanted to do during my travelling, some I'm doing, some I haven't done yet and maybe will end up not doing, like collecting ball point pens from all the places I go to, and then use them all in one very intricate drawing. Among the things that I have done was to attend a workshop at The Art of You in San Diego. It had been on my list for over a year, and it turned out to be as great as I expected, and better. The studio has every possible art supply, found objects, ephemera, magazines to cut from, glues, paper, scissors, whatever your imagination tells you you need, you find it there. The idea is to let your creative mind express itself without all the limitations imposed by our tyrannical rational mind, things like judging the importance, usefulness, beauty - or lack of - of whatever we do. And when you give your creative mind some space and say, "I won't judge and I won't be judged", the journey really becomes the destination.

Venice

Venice was very emotional for various reasons this year, but we found good weather until yesterday's storm and spent most of the very hot days at the beach, reading and drawing (and swimming and sunbathing, of course). I only took my camera out at night, when it was cooler (not much).







In the house I found a trunk of my grandad's paintings, watercolours and oil, but so many, hundreds. Still lifes, portraits, scenes from the opera and cafes. I was hoping to find some of the paper he used, but didn't. He used a very thin paper, I don't think it was particularly good or expensive, but it laid so wonderfully flat, while mine tends to buckle even when I stretch it. I'd love to know how he did that. I didn't bring any of his paintings back with me, but I will next time, and I'll write a little bit more about him. Here he is (the guy standing) in a very surreal picture my mum took in the 1950s.

Kaleidoscopes

I fell in love with kaleidoscopes when I went to Jerome, Arizona, where there's the most amazing kaleidoscope shop. Today I was playing around with images and decided to turn some into kaleidoscopes, and I thought of doing some "kaleidoscope magic", choosing images of things I would like. Here's my Ferrari:











And here is a beautiful mansion in Encinitas, where I would like to live:




Perhaps my subconscious mind picks up on these suggestions and turns my dreams into reality.

I hope it works for you too!

Making Time

I have just finished reading Making Time by Steve Taylor (on My Shelfari) - Why time seems to pass at different speeds and how to control it. After a few pages in which I could relate to what he was describing - the internal chatter and other stuff about how time can expand in states of maximum concentration, but it shortens in states of absorption - he lost me completely. Not that I could not follow what he was saying, I just simply have a different experience on the matter. For me a day can be long while living it and short looking back. And it is not due to the amount of experiences and exposure to the new, but to change. Time feels longer for me when the before and after an experience are different, i.e. after I have changed in some respect. But then again I've never suffered at the thought of time passing too fast, for me it passes too slow. Taylor says that in states of mindfulness, i.e., living and experiencing and concentrating on the present, time seems longer or we might transcend it altogether. He says that children live in the now. But so do I, I am aware of the clouds and the trees and buildings, sounds, all of that, micro and macro worlds to discover. I'm surprised to hear that other people don't. It's sad. But in the now there always seems to be something bugging me, I might be thirsty or tired or cold or carrying a heavy bag. So the future is still a better place. If I need more time I think of reincarnation. What a shame that we don't seem to learn from one life to the next. What a shame that what we identify with the I (or ego in the sense of the I) is our personality, which is what we shall leave behind. Time has not passed fast for me, but I still don't know how I got here.

The White Cliffs of Serendipity

This was Dover a few hours ago, seen from the cliffs. On a good day, and actually on bad days too, you see a lot of elderly couples, usually wearing funny hats and some white items of clothing, sitting there looking at the harbour. And if you don't believe me, look at this:









These being two different sets of couples! One of the things I like about going to my caravan near Dover is that there are a couple of places that leave books out in baskets, either for free or for a donation, so I end up getting stuff I wouldn't normally read, like Super Cannes by J.G. Ballard and a Seventies travel book by Ethel Mannin: An Italian Journey. I randomly opened it and the Gritti Palace just stared at me - being the place where Hemingway used to stay when in Venice. Last night we went to an Indian restaurant by the sea with fuchsia lights and golden pictures and I remembered a book my parents had, that was quite seminal in its own way, Kitsch; the world of bad taste by Gillo Dorfles, so I've decided to order it from America. I might scan some pictures for my posts when it arrives. I highly recommend it, if you are a connoisseur of bad taste.

Canary Wharf

Another day of photography with a group of photographers, this time in Canary Wharf. Turner would have loved the sky today:








I am not too keen on architecture, so I was trying to find an angle, some kind of story to tell: I thought this building looked more like some crazy mental asylum from the 50s than an expensive office block. When I was a teenager I developed the belief that I was allergic to poplar, as if its pollen had some kind of lysergic effect on me. Doesn't seem to work anymore (sadly).

So here the twilight zone theme continues with this giant menacing clock, you can imagine it to start spinning backwards.
If it does I might find that I'm still fourteen soundly asleep under a poplar tree.

Happy nightmares