From The Inside

Music: Jacques Brel

2012-02-13T23:54:00.005-05:00

"Moi je t'offrirai des perles de pluie venues de pays où il ne pleut pas"

It’s not a secret that I spent a lot of my life in France, as I moved there at an early age and grew up there, only moving away when I was well into my 20’s. It will always be the country I first and foremost call home, before England (although it has been a struggle to choose between the two at times). One of my favourite things on earth is literally sitting en terrasse with a café and a cigarette, watching the world go by, or with my head buried in a book or writing in my journal. I dream and think in French as much as I do in English and miss it so much at times that I feel like moving back (until I remind myself why I love New York so much and why I have made this city my home). I grew up surrounded by French music, even before we moved to France I already knew of and listened to some of the classic French singers, such as Gainsbourg, Edith Piaf, France Gall, Juliette Gréco, but when I moved to France I discovered the infamous Belgian singer/songwriter Jacques Brel.And fell completely in love.

You can read a pretty informative biography over on Wikipedia, as I am not going to use this space to rehash it (and wouldn’t be able to do such a good job seeing as I am very bad at paraphrasing content that has already been written… Probably a remnant of the excellent French education I received growing up). I just mainly want to say how much I love Jacques Brel. That voice, full of emotion and power, those beautiful lyrics… Multi-talented and so creative, he not only released 13 full-length studio albums and toured extensively for years, he also appeared as an actor in several films, directed others and adapted, translated, directed and played in a musical. I’m so happy that he recognized what an amazing array of talents he had and made the most of them, leaving us with so many wonderful songs and movies and soundtracks. I also have a secret crush on his Belgian accent, which is deeper and harsher than the French accent (those of you who speak French will probably laugh at this because everyone usually dislikes the Belgian French accent).

I wish I had been alive to see one of his wonderful performances. Sadly he died a few months after I was born, leaving me to just imagine what it was like. He wrote some of the most beautiful and heart-breaking love songs of all time. Enjoy.

Photography: Through My Eyes - Jan & Feb 2012

2012-02-13T13:05:00.002-05:00

Through My Eyes - 1, a set on Flickr.

Taking a little break from novel writing today and compiling some random shots I have taken over the past few weeks. I found myself with a lot of photos that don't really fit into any category (area, place, show etc), but are all images of something that caught my eye when I was walking around.
I feel so lucky to live in a place where there is always something to take a photo of, however fleeting or permanent it may be...

The Kills 10 Year Anniversary show - Terminal 5 NYC, 02/11/2012

2012-02-12T13:11:00.006-05:00

I LOVE The Kills. I don't think I have missed one of their shows in NYC over the past 5 years, and I honestly think that they just get better and better with every album and every tour. It makes me so happy that they have become SO big over the past few years, selling out Terminal 5 and playing to a super diverse crowd. So many super excited teenagers in the front rows that were singing along to every single word, and little Allison Mosshart lookalikes with their wigs and happy smiles. I love that the kids love them as much as the adults - so much better than idolising any of that manufactured crap playing everywhere. From my spot just above the stage I could see so many happy faces, and this just made the show even better for me.

Anyway, as always they delivered a fantastic performance, adding 4 drummers to about half of the songs on the setlist, all dressed up as old-school gangsters and lit up through the drumkits. The beats sounded fucking amazing, a super powerful sound. I can still feel it resonating through my body. On top of playing many of my favourites, they also did a great rendition of Patsy Cline's Crazy, stripped down, with just Jamie Hince and Allison Mosshart sitting at the front of the stage, singing and playing for the crowd of fans. Awesome. Seriously awesome.

Can't wait to see them again, and see them go through 10 more years of awesomeness!

Thanks Kerry <3

MTV also streamed the concert live HERE
The Kills official website HERE

Thoughts: Violence/Non-Violence/Terrorism/Revolution

2012-02-11T13:22:00.003-05:00

I started writing this years ago, lost what I was writing, and then started again a few months ago based on something I heard on the news. I then left it sitting for a while and picked it up again today to try to wrap it up. That ended up being literally impossible as I just asked myself more questions than I could even answer and realised that I could just go on forever asking the same questions. So I just closed it out with a "To be continued..." and will continue on my musings, probably after I have finished Mark Kurlansky's Non-Violence: The History of a Dangerous Idea, as this may give me further ideas to discuss.

Every day you switch on your television, phone, computer or radio and you hear the word “terrorist” in all types of news flashes. It will be used in connection with any act of violence committed against a government or a country, or on a group of people by another group of people. We hear about demonstrations and protests and tear gas and violence and non-violence and rebellion and oppressing governments and public uprisings. We hear about sit-ins in public squares, of students being arrested and of protestors being shot at. We hear about air strikes in other countries, about dictatorships being brought down from the inside and from the outside, about dictatorships being pandered to and blind eyes being turned. Public uprisings become acts of terrorism and lawful mass murder gets swept under the carpet. Acts of terrorism are stopped in their tracks while others are successful. Successful democratic elections are held in war-torn countries while at the same time in others women are still not allowed to leave the house without a male companion. One day you will hear about the Palestinian terrorist who blew himself up on the bus on the way to Tel Aviv, but the people who in return pounded Gaza with an airstrike are called soldiers. Gaddafi called the rebels seeking to bring him down terrorists, but to the rest of the world they were portrayed as saviours, and were given the help they needed to fight for and win their cause. Where can you even start discussing this topic? Words are open to a different interpretation by each individual. One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter; one man’s popular uprising is another man’s violent revolution. The main keyword here is “violence”.

Oxford Dictionary definitions:

- Terrorism: the use of violence and intimidation in the pursuit of political aims.

- Terrorist: a person who uses terrorism in the pursuit of political aims. (Origin: late 18th century: from French terroriste, from Latin terror (see terror). The word was originally applied to supporters of the Jacobins in the French Revolution, who advocated repression and violence in pursuit of the principles of democracy and equality).

- Freedom Fighter: a person who takes part in a violent struggle to achieve a political goal, especially in order to overthrow their government.

- Demonstrator: a person who takes part in a public protest meeting or march.

- Protestor: a person who publicly demonstrates strong objection to something; a demonstrator

- Violence: behavior involving physical force intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone or something; the unlawful exercise of physical force or intimidation by the exhibition of such force.

- Non-violence: the use of peaceful means, not force , to bring about political or social change.

I remember having these thoughts going over and over in my brain years ago, through many an occasion. In the past, or more my past, so the late 70’s and the 80’s, even maybe the early 90’s too, it seems that the media had a specific group of terrorists that it had pointed out and referred to: Palestinian (or more specifically, Hamas or Hezbollah), IRA, Libyan. Nobody (in the general public) cared or really knew about anything else – these were the organized groups that blew people up (including themselves in some cases) and spread fear across countries. Small to large acts of violence that were sure to make it to the newsreels as soon as they happened. I’m not saying that this really was all that there was, but this is what we were fed by the media. IRA bad, Palestinians bad, Libyans bad (or were they always bad – I know that the US government supported Gaddafi at some point in time, but then turned around at another point, but that is a little off-topic for now). “Good” was what was called “Democracy” and “Freedom”; “Bad” was anything that we couldn’t fit into the definitions of “Democracy” and “Freedom”. This didn’t always match with the real definitions of these words, but yet again, semantics are the main tool in politics: words take on meaning in the way you choose to interpret them. Social uprisings against totalitarian governments are applauded, and aided in some cases. People fighting for freedom are called rebels, and rebels are considered revolutionaries. But of course revolutionaries can be good or bad, depending on how it is portrayed to you in the media and how you interpret it. If I had stood on CNN or BBC and tell you in a deeply emotional speech how good Saddam Hussein was for Iraq and how much he had done for the US, instead of hearing the words “weapons of mass destruction” and “nuclear war” thrown about, the public opinion on the man himself may have been different. It’s all about what you see and what you read about. Seeing as most people get their news from the most popular channels on television and maybe a newspaper or two, you can only expect most people to believe what they read and see. Not that our media is always wrong, but it’s not always right either. In the end it is just a form of communication, and also a form of propaganda, because communication via the media is the best way to get a message/thought/intent across to the general public. So, in the end, it is up to us to make our own opinions up, and to research alternative viewpoints and ideas.

I myself define freedom as the right to live in the way I want to, within the boundaries of society – meaning that I, as a person, respect the lives and lifestyles of others, and expect the same in return. Freedom means the right to free speech and education, the right to worship any god I want to (or don’t want to) without persecution. Freedom also means the equality of all human beings, no matter where they come from and where they end up. Freedom means that I can portray my thoughts and opinions without worrying about being persecuted. Freedom does not mean that I can kill another human being and/or many human beings because I do not agree with what he/she or they believe in, or just because I don’t like them. But I do rebel against the society I live in, in a non-violent fashion. I disagree with many of the politics of the country I live in, I pretty much always have, no matter what country I have been in. There is always something I will disagree with and want to fight against. But I have mainly lived in countries where I can open my mouth and protest about something that I think is wrong – I don’t know what I would have done if I had grown up in a country where I was openly oppressed and where I could not speak my mind. How would I have rebelled against this? Would I have just tried to live my life within the boundaries set for me or would I have tried to break away and change things, by any means possible?

During WW2 the French Resistance and the Russian partisans blew up buildings and strategic areas that would damage the German advances and army (trains, ammunition dumps, prisons etc), killed traitors who worked with the Germans and basically did anything they could to revolt against the German occupation. I feel that I would have done the same. These days with the technology that we have it would probably be a lot more difficult to actually rebel/revolt in the same fashion and stay in hiding, so if this type of war were ever to occur again, how would the people stand up and fight? How would one fight against an occupation? This al comes back to the same topic I started off with in the beginning… What can be considered an occupation, a revolution, an act of terrorism and an act of rebellion? In the end, where violence is used the result will always be the death of one or multiple people, innocent or guilty, and that is something that those committing acts of violence, those living through them, and those dealing with the aftermath will always have to deal with. Terrorism is always going to hurt the “innocent” first, because the “innocent” are the ones targeted and the ones who will be damaged. While typing this another thought comes to mind… If a group of people planning to blow up a subway station in NYC are considered a group of terrorists then why aren’t a group of government army fighters in Sudan considered terrorists when they destroy a village and kill all of the inhabitants by locking them in a house and setting it on fire? I feel that once I started writing this piece it just opened a bottomless can of worms, as one idea comes up, followed by several contradicting ideas, and more images and questions that anyone can really answer. Words are simple, but once they are used to determine a specific group of people or a specific act become complex. As I have said before… It all comes down to your own interpretation, and how you are then going to portray this interpretation to others.

To be continued…

Words on Walls

2012-02-07T11:03:00.002-05:00

Words, a set on Flickr.

Over the past few weeks I have been trying to sort through hundred of photos, both digital and film, to see if I can sort them out by theme rather than date which is how they are currently sorted.

I finished this one last night, a collection of words on walls and signs in NYC, Long Island, London. I am sure I will add to it as I am always taking photos of random words that I see in random places.

On one of my walks I was taking pictures of a mural on Myrtle Ave, in Bushwick going towards Ridgewood. The mural took up the whole of a deli wall, and said "Jesus Saves Brooklyn". A couple of guys stopped to tell me that "Jesus Saves" was actually a grafitti artist and that was his name. So there... If you ever see "Jesus Saves" on walls around town, it's not someone telling you that Jesus saves, just an artist signing off on his work.

Anyway, to be continued...

Music: Leonard Cohen - Old Ideas

2012-02-06T17:24:00.005-05:00

I’m a little delayed on writing this one. I’ve listened to it many times since it began streaming on NPR, and then when it was released on January 31^st. One of my most anticipated albums for months, I feel like the music world has been blessed with both excellent new releases by both Tom Waits (Bad As Me late last year) and now Old Ideas by Leonard Cohen.

The lyrics of Going Home, “Going home without my sorrow, going home sometime tomorrow, going home to where it's better than before” are just so simply beautiful. Take off everything that weighs you down and disguises you and walk free towards home, wherever home may be. Death? Maybe. Another world or life? Maybe.

I grew up on Leonard Cohen, quite literally. I inherited all of the old vinyls from my father, stepfather and mother (now in my lovely brother’s care), and have turned to his music and lyrical poetry so many times in my life that I don’t think I could even remember why. Famous Blue Raincoat and Chelsea Hotel #2 conjure up images of sad, rainy and grey days in New York City, walking up Park Ave from the subway, trying to rid myself of the constant heartache I was feeling at the time. Everybody Knows remind me of a trip back from Bodega Bay with my brother, the song starting minutes after we had both told each other stories that neither had managed to tell each other before. Dark roads, unknown secrets and Leonard’s soothing voice keeping us going towards the next destination. First We Take Manhattan takes me back to England in the 80’s, in our old flat by the churchyard, not knowing why certain events had happened and how I was ever going to forget or forgive them from happening. I could go on for hours…

I have seen Leonard Cohen perform just once in my life, and it will still remain the best show I have ever been to. Radio City Music Hall in May 2009. Over 3 hours of an absolutely amazing performance. This is all I could say on my blog back then, and I think I will keep it at that right now:

“Leonard Cohen was amazing - I am still in awe of him and his performance on Saturday night. I really can't describe the feeling of seeing someone you have pretty much admired and adored all of you life, performing in front of you. So I am not even going to try. I will keep the jumble of superlatives stuck in my head and leave it up to you to imagine.
Leonard Cohen. On stage. Yes.”

So, Old Ideas. Another wonderful collection of Leonard’s poems and music, not that I expected anything less. His voice alone has the tendency to reduce me to automatic tears when I hear it, and surround me with memories, despair and much hope, and this album does exactly that. Although low-key in sound, it is never simple, on the contrary it is full of metaphors for death, God, spirituality, love, despair and hope. Somehow it feels like an end to something, not as much the end of life, but maybe a final chapter in a life, the emphasis being on the article “a”. The background singers sound like angels, and the occasional use of an organ and the simple guitar sounds bring calm and serenity to the words that go from bleak to self-deprecating to even happy at times. Ten beautiful songs that each tell a story in the usual Cohen style. Just listen to it and dream – I know you won’t be disappointed.

Leonard Cohen Official Website

Leonard Cohen on Facebook

“You know it really is a pity, the way you treat me now; I know you can't forgive me but forgive me, anyhow. The ending got so ugly, I even heard you say, "You never ever loved me but could you love me anyway?" I dreamed about you, baby, you were wearin' half your dress I know you have to hate me but could you hate me less? I've used up all my chances and you'll never take me back But there ain't no harm in askin', "Could you cut me one more slice?” from Anyhow

Book Review: They Poured Fire on Us From The Sky: The Story of Three Lost Boys from Sudan

2012-02-06T12:05:00.007-05:00

They Poured Fire on Us From The Sky: The Story of Three Lost Boys from Sudan by Benson Deng, Alephonsion Deng, Benjamin Ajak, Judy A. Bernstein

We have all heard stories of war and famine in Sudan on the news, especially over the past year as the famine has been widespread, extremely deadly and finally people have started taking notice (for a little while anyway). The North and the South have now become two separate countries and hopefully South Sudan will now be able to create an environment of peace again after so many years of war, mass killings and atrocities committed by both the government of the North and rebel army fractions from the South. Children have literally grown up in refugee camps after fleeing for their lives and managing to survive alone, through great hardships and without their families. I'm not going to go into detail on the decade-long conflict here, but there is more information on the country HERE.

During the years of war, millions of boys (and girls) from the ethnic Southern Dinka and Nuer tribes ran for their lives when their villages were attacked, walked thousands of miles over years through famine, desert, starvation and death, and survived. About 20,000 or so of these boys (and much fewer girls) ended up in refugee camps in Kenya and Ethiopia. These boys were colloquially named the Lost Boys of Sudan, and the name stuck. More information on the Lost Boys and literature regarding them HERE. The 20,000 refers to only the boys who survived and ended up in refugee camps, the numbers of displaced children go into 2 million or so, so many dying before they could ever reach safety.

I literally could not stop reading They Poured Fire on Us From The Sky. It accompanied me everywhere, until I finished the last page yesterday and felt a little at a loss on what to read next. What can follow on after such a heartbreaking but heartwarming book?! The book revolves around the true stories of three of the Lost Boys of Sudan, told in their own words after their arrival to the USA in 2001. While in a refugee camp in Kenya they applied to the program set up by the US government and the UNHCR to have a certain number of lost boys (and girls) resettle in the USA.
Benson, Alepho and Benjamin are brothers and cousins from the Dinka tribe of South Sudan, born into villages where they spend much of their time helping their families by guarding cattle from a young age. When war broke out and their villages were attacked they literally fled for their lives, with just the clothes they were wearing. For years and years they ran, across southern Sudan, to Ethiopia, back to Sudan, and finally all ended in refugee camps in Kenya. They lost each other many times, but miraculously found each other again, on multiple occasions. Each chapter is written by one of the boys and recounts a story, an occasion, or a memory of something that happened along their journey. Atrocities, death, starvation, wild animals, bombs and so many tears, but also hope, love and at utmost will to survive.
I honestly could not even imagine my 5 year old self trekking across thousands of miles of bush and desert, running away from death without knowing if I was actually going to run right back into its jaws again; not knowing if I would ever see my family again, whether they were alive or dead. How they survived all those years seems pretty much like a miracle to me.

Buy and read this book, you will cry (unless you are really heartless), and it will break your heart, but it also may open your eyes slightly, if they aren't already wide open enough.
More information on the book and the authors HERE.

Art/Exhibitions: Batman Returns/New Photographers/Vivian Maier

2012-02-05T10:29:00.007-05:00

Joyce Pensato

Joyce Pensato/Freidrich Petzel Gallery: I was actually looking for the New Photographers showing in one of the galleries on 22nd street when stumbled upon a sign saying "Batman Returns". How could I resist?! Located at the Friedrich Petzel Gallery, Joyce Pensato's exhibition contains large, striking portraits of Batman on the walls, dripping with black and silver paint, as well as other artistic transformations of iconic American cartoon characters ("Punk Homer" and "London Donald" for example). While these portraits cover the walls, the floors are covered in paint splatters, stuffed animals and other objects, such as a plastic Mickey Mouse head, a snowman that you would usually find glowing in someone's garden around Christmas and other seemingly random (but not so random) paraphernalia.

Joyce Pensato

You feel like you are walking into an organised chaos, dark and light, good and bad, where characters we perceive to be innocent and friendly have been warped and all is being looked over by an iconic figure who is struggling to remain on the right side of it all. New York City basically. Both dark and bright, slightly ironic, but more just really tongue in cheek than anything else. Anyway - I loved this exhibition and I can't stop thinking about it. I'll probably go back again before it ends to spend more time there. The exhibition is on until February 25th.
Joyce Pensato

Joyce Pensato

Other interesting exhibitions on right now:
Vivian Maier/Steven Kasher Gallery: This is seriously amazing! All through-out her life Vivian Maier took thousands and thousands of pictures on the streets of NYC and Chicago, developed some and kept the negatives of the rest. They were all discovered after her death and as some are currently being exhibited, the rest are being sorted through and developed. I will probably be writing about Vivian Maier again, as I want to go back and spend more time looking at her photos. The type I photography that I really love more than anything, and the type of photography that is probably the closest to what I aim to produce.
More information on Vivian Maier HERE

Vivian Maier

Danziger Gallery: their New Photographers exhibition has some gems - especially Chris Levine's Queen Portraits and Tereza Vlckova's twins and free-flying women (both striking in very different ways). On until February 25th.
(Watch the video on Chris Levine's website (linked above) - there is a moment when the Queen just laughs and seems so lovely and human).

Chris Levine

Photography: Little India, Jackson Heights, Queens

2012-02-04T22:59:00.002-05:00

Little India, Queens, a set on Flickr.

This week has been a mix of really good days and really bad days. Today was one of the latter, with an early start over to Jackson Heights where there is a small Indian community. I love it there, but don't make it out there often enough. The colours, the smells and the sounds, bring me right back to the time I spent in India. I love that country so much and can't wait to go back again.
I spent the morning walking around with my friend Holly, taking photos, enjoying some excellent conversation with sweets and chai.
I know I have been on a black and white kick these past few months, but this was definitely a day for colour, as there was so much of it. If one day I were to leave Bushwick I would maybe consider moving to this neighbourhood.

The only thing missing were tubs of grains to stick my hands in... Oh and maybe a delicious samosa. Maybe next time. I am considering buying the green tunic one day though, it was seriously gorgeous.

Book Review: Jennifer Egan's A Visit From The Goon Squad

2012-01-31T12:03:00.004-05:00

I haven't written about a book for a while, mainly because I made a strict promise to myself months ago to only write about books/movies/music etc that I actually liked on here. This blog has always been my own personal outlet, to write about what I want to, not a place to pan someone else's work, just because it's not of my own personal taste. So, this really means that I haven't been blown away by a book for a really long time... Until now.

A Visit From The Goon Squad

I bought this book last year in the summer, when I was in Santa Cruz with my sister. I had seen it around in every book shop, picked it up, read the back, hesitated and then put it down again. I finally bought it because it really did look like something I should read, and would possibly like. I only picked it up to read it recently because I am trying to get through my "to be read" piles of books before purchasing any new ones. As soon as I started reading the book I recognised the style and realised that I had already read another book by her a few years back (The Invisible Circus), which I hadn't been able to put down.

This is one of those books that I wish I had written myself. You know, when you are reading it, you stop and say "ARGH - I wanted to do something like this!!". Yes, that. Each chapter is written from a different person's standpoint, from a different type, but everyone is linked back to everyone else, brother, mother, sister, father, son, daughter, employer, friend, boyfriend, girlfriend. Spanning 30 or so years, and seemingly disconnected while each chapter jumps to another character and time, the storyline is held in place by a string of music. By that I mean that music is the underlying theme in each chapter and that everything is brought together by music. From the kids in the LA punk scene, via the music label guy who won't sell out to the last concert at the end of the book 10 years from now, music is literally everywhere. Of course I was going to love this book!!

I read a few reviews last night after I had finished the book, and was surprised to read that many people felt they couldn't connect with the characters as I felt a lot of affection for most of them, especially Sasha and Rob. Other people complained about the whole PowerPoint pages nearer the end of the novel - I thought it was a pretty genius way of telling a story, especially seeing as the point was to show how music and structure can help calm the symptoms of autism. Others complained that it didn't deserve the Pulitzer, but then again didn't really give any reasons for why it didn't deserve it. All I can say is that I devoured the book, and I haven't done that for a while. It's quite refreshing to say that because I've been a little disappointed by what I have been trying to read lately.

I cried in the end. I don't want to spoil it for anyone, so I won't really say anything, but the ending is pretty majestic in my opinion. High technology and simple feelings, all brought together by music that everyone knows. Brilliant.

So much ANGER

2012-01-30T15:22:00.000-05:00

I’m just SO ANGRY at the moment. Small things that usually wouldn’t really bother me are throwing me into fits of intense irritation, things that would normally piss me off are making me scream with rage, and I don’t even want to think about what will happen if something or someone really tries to annoy me.

That person tapping their foot constantly in the seat behind me? I want to smash my fist into his/her face. The person sitting next to me in this coffee shop who keeps looking at my screen? I want to pour hot coffee over her head. The cab driver who tried to run me over last night? I wanted to chase after him with a baseball bat and smash all the windows in his cab. That obnoxious car alarm that keeps going off under my apartment window? I want to open my window and scream obscenities until it stops. I stomp down the streets hoping that some kind of physical activity will help release some steam, but it doesn’t. I try to put my usual happiness-inducing playlists on my iPod and think of better places, but that doesn’t help either. I try to leave the house and write somewhere else, hoping that I will be more inspired elsewhere than what I normally consider to be the place where I feel the most comfortable. Same problem. Angsty and highly irritable seems to be the top feelings of the month, one that turns me into a raging angry person, something that I am finding really hard to contain. I’m usually such a balanced person; I get angry like anyone else, but it’s usually easy to contain and to get rid of. At the moment I feel like I am on the edge of some kind of imminent explosion. It’s so ridiculous that even spell check telling me that my fragmented phrases are grammatical errors makes me want to throw my laptop against the wall. “That’s the way I write you fucking piece of crap software who is telling me I am wrong!!”.

Relax.

Like it’s THAT easy.

So why am I so angry? I mean there must be some reason for this? I list up all the reasons that could explain the hows and whys. I’m angry that I spent Christmas away from my family. I’m angry that I couldn’t afford to pay for a flight ticket back home to be with my family, especially seeing as my brother just lost his father and could have done with his (angry) big sister around. I’m angry because I am constantly broke and it’s always a struggle to pay the rent and the bills and my credit is in such a bad state right now that I would rather not even think about it. I’m angry because I wake up feeling depressed every day and I know that I don’t feel strong enough to fight it this time. I’m angry because I am not pushing myself hard enough to finish my novel. I’m angry because I miss my family, and England and France, and my friends abroad. I’m angry because all the men I meet either treat me like shit, disappear or just aren’t the right person for me. I’m angry because I’m not 25 anymore, and I’m angry because I’ve not traveled in years and miss it terribly. I’m angry because this world continues to fall apart around us and all we do is watch it happen. I’m angry because there is so much sadness around us and I can’t change it. But most of all I am angry because I can’t be superwoman all the time, and I wish I could.

Maybe I SHOULD just go and punch someone. Maybe it will help.

Inspiration (and the inevitable lack thereof)

2012-01-24T11:24:00.003-05:00

Yesterday morning I forced myself out of bed. I forced myself to sit at the table in front of my laptop and I forced myself to find something to write about. I looked through the ever growing list of subjects I want to research and write about. Nothing. I opened up the last chapter that I tried to write, days ago, and stared at it. Nothing. I opened one of my old journals that I have sitting on my table, randomly came across the review of the time I saw Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds perform in Lyon in 2001, put on the DVD of that very same performance, decided to post the old review on my blog and there you go, I felt like I could conquer the world again. Literally two minutes later I received a text out of nowhere from one of my aunts (who also happens to be my godmother and the one who introduced me to Nick Cave) in England with some words to “cheer me up on a day like this”. Another few feathers added to those wings I could feel growing once again. I posted the Nick Cave blog post, and then received a text message from the person I consider to be my best friend here in NYC; just at the exact same moment I was going to send him a message. Another happiness-inducing moment and it wasn’t even Noon…

I grabbed my camera and made my way down to Chinatown, to see if I could capture some of the Chinese New Year festivities. I have been shooting mainly black and whites these past few months and wanted to get some colour on camera, some happiness, despite the gloomy weather and impending rain outside. For once I was out of bed before 10am AND I had one full day with absolutely no obligations in front of me. I felt inspired again. I took some pictures of some gorgeous dragons and happy children and so much confetti and glitter and people, but I knew the photos were not really that good, and for once, it didn’t really matter that much. It felt good to be amidst people celebrating, even though I was alone it was fun to be part of some kind of shared feeling of happiness. I walked along Mulberry St and saw a restaurant with hearts made from lights in the windows and snapped a shot with my phone. I love seeing hearts and the word “love” in random places and have a collection of hearts and words in my phone and on my hard drive. The Italian man on the corner of the restaurant tried to entice me to jump out of the rain and drink a cappuccino inside, I hesitated, but thanked him and moved on (the look of disdain that the other man in his long, not so elegant, fur coat standing next to him gave me helped me make my decision). I walked on towards the Lower East Side, as I craved comfort and food, and both can only be found at Zucco’s, the French Diner by my work. Words were forming in my head and I felt excited to sit down to coffee, soup, some banter in French and some writing, before heading off back home to what I consider to be my safe haven, my cozy space where I can sing and dance to random songs without anyone knowing and cut out beautiful pictures, inspirational words and articles from papers and magazines, read for hours in the bath tub and drink as much tea and coffee as I want.

Of course, nothing ever runs smoothly, as I walked into a mini minefield of puns and sous-entendus, all based on something that I had said to a friend who had then said it in her words right back to one of the people in question. No big deal, except for my words were funny, but said in an American way are more embarrassing than funny. Cue blushing, denial, much laughter from others on my behalf, and then coffee, soup, French banter and more coffee, before I decided I must make a move out of the warmth and the comfort of one home (France), back into the outside world. During lunch/embarrassment/banter I was also texting with above aunt back and forth about life and love in general, about inspiration and the lack of it in the most recent weeks, and she reinforced the belief that I had done the right thing by quitting the job that made me so unhappy to do what I really wanted to do in life. She also said that I had real talent – something I really want to believe every day but never can. Coming from her it meant a huge deal, because she would never say anything without meaning it. Trust me, I know. A few more steps up on that ladder that I had been climbing up so diligently before Christmas and had fallen off of sometime during the last two weeks. A little bit more weight off those shoulders. I could even feel the pain in that muscle I pulled last week dissipate slightly. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

I decided to walk over the Williamsburg Bridge, even though it had started to rain. The Williamsburg Bridge is the one place I go to to think, to cry, to ponder, to breathe, and it never ever fails me. If you walk over it you will always find some word of wisdom or inspiration etched onto the ground, the railings or the immense structures of steel that hold the bridge up. Last year, when I finished running my 5K for the women in the Congo I walked over the bridge, and I looked up and about 20 large black butterflies flew over my head, towards the water, and it made me feel so happy to see something so rare in the city. This time there were no butterflies, and the city was shrouded by clouds, and the rain kept coming down harder, but instead of being annoying and saddening it was the opposite. It felt good to walk, to think, to listen to music and to look ahead, as opposed to backwards. It was while walking over the bridge that I got the idea to write this piece. In any case, I got the title. That’s usually how these things start, I think of a title and the rest follows suite. The only problem is that if I don’t write the title down I tend to forget it…

I took the J train at Marcy and while waiting for the train I received a call from above best friend in NYC, yet again perfect timing. Sometimes there are things that only certain people understand, and once said out loud to someone who gets it they become less of a burden and you can let them go. Sometimes I have to fight the overbearing cloud of depression so hard that I give up the fight, but as soon as I admit that I have given up out loud I regain the will to fight it. I learnt a lot about myself in the past 5 years, and some things are best left behind, as they really are only stumbling blocks along the way. I just need someone else who knows me nearly as well as I know myself to confirm it so I can move away from it all, or at least have enough strength to walk past it when it rears its annoyingly stubborn head. I literally nearly skipped home to the song playing on the playlist that I had randomly selected in the morning, and made it home elated and soaked.

Two minutes later I felt at a loss. If you look at the dining table in my living room it looks like there are twenty things going on at the same time. Two laptops, notepads, papers full of writing (going back to 1995), pens, pencils, candles, photos, note boards, piles of clippings from magazines and papers, lists and lists of songs and places and art shows and movies and shows and places to visit and books to read and and and… Too much. Overwhelmed. I am trying to accomplish so many things and I can’t even get to one right now. So I grabbed my book (which happens to be so good I nearly missed my subway stop earlier) and ran the bath. Nothing like a bubble bath to calm the nerves and the brain and the feeling of being overwhelmed when one does not need to. But it was all going downward spiral-style… After the bath I had dinner and just crashed on the couch watching Law & Order (SVU latest season on Netflix), but I couldn’t even concentrate. Tried to distract myself by looking at Instagram and Facebook but became mildly irritated by the not so irrational thoughts of how my so-called female best friend here can never be bothered to like or comment on anything that I ever post or write about, except when she is involved in it. I hate being irritated by that, especially when I know full well it’s just silly to get upset by something that is never going to change. In any case, you see the pattern of the day… Up, up slowly, and down, down just as slowly. I tried looking at the photos I had taken in the morning, no real interest, so back to the couch, yet again eating too much, mindlessly, because I sure as hell didn’t need that cookie or three after the pasta dish I had just eaten.

And then, all of a sudden I remembered the title that had popped into my mind. I switched the TV off and put the playlist that had followed me throughout the day, and here I am, 40 minutes and 1,600 words later. I can’t remember when I exactly put this playlist together, but it contains some of my most inspirational songs, as well as some of my favourite songs (and yes, most of the time those two adjectives do go hand in hand, all songs from before I was born and all songs that I feel have always been around me somehow). I don’t want to be one of those people who require constant encouragement, to be honest I can usually muster enough self-encouragement together to achieve something alone, but sometimes, when my self-esteem is even more in the crapper than it usually is, it’s helpful to receive words from the outside, words that inspire me to go on and finally get something that I really want to finish done. And now I am going to go to bed with the book I referred to earlier and will write about it once I have finished it. Because once again I have been inspired to get something done today. I’ve lost count how many times that happened today.

I hope no one read all the way through this hoping for some huge revelation on how to be constantly inspired for the rest of time, and/or on how to succeed at life. I can’t help you with that, sorry. Trying hard not to fail at my own right now, and sometimes you just need to write about it to make it all seem ok.

Here is the playlist I mention several times above

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - June 2001 concert review

2012-01-23T09:44:00.004-05:00

Just because I will never ever feel jaded when it comes to music, as long as bands and musicians like this still exist... I wrote this the day after I saw Nick Cave at the Transbordeur in Lyon in 2001, and 11 years on it's still one of the best shows I have ever been to. So here is what I wrote in my diary back in 2001, the day after the show:

Saturday 9th June 2001 - Grenoble, France
I saw the best concert I'd ever been to last night: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Strangely enough I didn't feel as hysterically excited as I did before the Cure concert last year, it was all more calm. Maud and I were the first people to arrive at the Transbordeur (in Lyon), and as we were sitting in the carpark, smoking cigarettes and reading I saw Nick Cave go by... He is as absolutely gorgeous in the flesh as he is in pictures and on the screen. The man is everything: character, humour, uncharacteristic gorgeousness - anyway, he really is just this whole image. First it started with his music (this mini obsession I have with him) - when I was younger Louise used to listen to him all the time and I used to pretend to hate it, and then suddenly I fell in love, and now I can't go a day without listening to him. Anyway, it's a whole: the music, the person, the lyrics... Anyway, where was I?
The doors to the hall were opened around 7pm, and Maud and myself didn't even think of grabbing first row places, we ended up going up the steps, middle back, where we had a great view and we could sit down, and we weren't far from the front at all. The support band was not that good, well I didn't like it anyway. Australian band lacking in many things, especially atmosphere.

And then Nick Cave. It's undescribable really. The band started off with Do You Love Me? (great way to start!), and continued on, with many songs from the last album (at the time was No More Shall We Part), beautiful songs, especially the one I had difficulty containing my tears to, Hallelujah, others like Red Right Hand, The Mercy Seat, Henry, Into My Arms and many more. Nick Cave was wonderful, he's still full of energy, of anger, of pain... So were the Bad Seeds, although I found Blixa to have a little less energy than the rest, maybe he's always like that. Anyway, the audience was great, except for the idiot stagediver, you couldn't hear anyone during the slower songs, total respect, followed by thundering applause and cries.
When they left the stage the first time the whole audience was so heated up, front to back, that everyone felt as one big clap and stamp of the foot. They came back twice, two encores.

Excellent, fabulous, enchanting, too short, but it would never have been long enough. I want to see it again and again and again and again... I feel some kind of sense of fulfillment though, I saw Nick Cave and it was brilliant, even better than I could have expected, and I will see him again in a few years. That voice... So powerful and beautiful. To be honest, they are even better live than on album, and that is extremely difficult. They are all so together on stage. I can't explain all the emotions I felt during the concert, but it's all there and here, in my head and in my heart.

After the concert was the slight problem of getting home. Now Maud and I usually have a total lack of organisation going on, it's like we will organise the logistics of doing something and getting there, and the rest will work itself out. I love it. So we really didn't know how to get back to Grenoble (note: Grenoble is about 100km through the mountains from Lyon). We had the train timetable and saw that the last thing back to Grenoble was a bus from the Part Dieu station. We had 20 minutes to get there. We tried to hitch a ride and thankfully a nice couple dropped us off right in front of the station. We ran around looking for the buses, found where they were and looked for ours. Not there. Ten minutes later I looked at the timetable again and realised that it was only valid from June 10th onwards. That bus didn't even exist yet!!! Thankfully there was a train to Grenoble at twenty past midnight so we drank cappuccinos waiting for it and sang Henry Lee and Do You Love Me? on the train. I tell you we were lucky because otherwise we would have been hanging around in Lyon until 6am!!! Not that we really cared we were on such an emotional high.
Anyway, I have my literature exam on Monday, my last exam this year, so I had better go and finish reading Macbeth again. I hope the exam will be with Mme Blattes and that it will be on The French Lieutenant's Woman... I can't wait for it to be over at last.

Thank God for the pure existence of Nick Cave.

Note: The official live DVD released for this tour was actually the footage of this show in Lyon. Another note: I have seen Nick Cave many a time since then and he is always amazing.

Discussion/Ramblings - radical children's literature

2012-01-14T14:18:00.002-05:00

A few months ago, right at the beginning of the Occupy Wall Street movement I came across an article discussing the wrongs and rights of what was called “radical children’s literature”. I can’t find the article itself anymore, but the book that this article pointed out was called Tales For Little Rebels – A Collection of Radical Children’s Literature and contains forty or so stories, illustrations, poems and other writings for children by authors and illustrators such as Lucille Clifton, Syd Hoff, Langston Hughes, Walt Kelly, Norma Klein, Munro Leaf, Julius Lester, Eve Merriam, Charlotte Pomerantz, Carl Sandburg and Dr. Seuss. I haven’t read the collection myself, but each article in the book supposedly contains some historical background and the author’s biography. The main theme of this publication is of course “radical” literature and its intent to make one think and question, all of these articles aimed at children. But isn’t that what the whole point of education is anyway? To learn how to think for oneself and make up one’s own mind? Are these publications considered “radical” just because they have some kind of political opinion (towards the left)? In general isn’t literature full of opinions and views and ideas? As a writer myself I know how hard it is to write something that doesn’t contain anything of yourself – actually pretty much impossible (unless you want to produce a bland string of words that are not going to interest anyone). Think I am just really intrigued on why these authors are considered radical, whereas others aren’t. All the literature I remember reading as a child was full of opinions and views, some of which I agreed with, others that I still remember questioning (and probably still do today).

I suppose I am too removed from the literature that is offered to children nowadays. I don’t have kids, I haven’t been a nanny in years and most of my friends who have children don’t live in this country. I still have the impression that it’s all about Enid Blyton, Judy Blume, Tintin, Huckleberry Finn, Dr Seuss, Flicka, Hans Christian Andersen, Charles Dickens, George Orwell, The Secret Garden, Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, Noel Streatfeild, Pippi Longstocking, Robinson Crusoe and these are the types of books that I will read to my children when I have them. I still have a lot of my old children’s books and will still read them now and again, just to try and recreate that feeling that they gave me when I was so much younger. Nothing like reading Enid Blyton’s The Secret Island and imagining how you could also run away from everything you dislike and make a secret life for yourself and your friends on an island. Or pretending you are Oliver Twist, running around the streets of London, hiding from Fagin and Bill Sykes. Or jumping on a plane with Tintin and falling into different adventures all over the world. Imagining the world governed by pigs standing up on their hind legs, wearing suits and smoking cigars (I still imagine Napoleon in Animal Farm to look like a pig version of Roosevelt and Churchill mixed together, don’t ask why). I wouldn’t really consider any of the above as “radical”, but they are definitely thought-provoking and in some way, character-forming. I don’t think I have ever read a good book, finished it, and not thought about it for days afterwards (not the use of the adjective “good” here). Many of the books I read as a child have stayed with me until this day, however outdated they may seem – yes, I am well aware of the fact that nowadays pre-teens would not be able to bike around the countryside of England by themselves for days on end, but how much fun is it to imagine that you can actually do this?

In any case, I really want to read this group of stories and illustrations, just because it sounds like a good collection of works by important writers and illustrators. Whether it really should be considered “radical” is another question that I will answer once I have had the chance to read it. That won’t happen until I have paid off my rent and overdue credit card payments, but once I have purchased and read it I will post about it. In the meantime I would love to get some examples of what is considered to be radical children’s literature of today and the past, and why it is considered radical…

To be continued...

Songs that cheer my brain

2012-01-12T12:52:00.011-05:00

Just because I have been feeling strange all week (and not in a good-strange way), because I'm tired of people being flaky and inconsistent, and because, in general, I dislike the month of January, this post is dedicated to a few songs that never fail to make me feel better.

Tim Buckley - Sing A Song For You:

Rolling Stones - Shine A Light:

Cher - Where Do You Go?:

David Bowie - Five Years:

Tom Waits - Ol'55:

The Cure - All Cats Are Grey:

The Ronettes - Walking In The Rain:

Roy Orbison - In Dreams

Mazzy Star - Flowers In December:

Edith Piaf - Padam Padam:

Jacques Brel - La Chanson des Vieux Amants:

Leonard Cohen - Suzanne:

Stevie Nicks - Bella Donna:

Bruce Springsteen - Born To Run:

Bauhaus - She's In Parties:

Spring in January

2012-01-09T22:23:00.002-05:00

Spring in January, a set on Flickr.

Nearly 60 degrees Fahrenheit in NYC in the beginning of January is rare. Very rare. The sky was blue, the views were gorgeous and the day was beautiful.

Poetry: Lord Byron - She Walks In Beauty

2012-01-09T12:17:00.003-05:00

She Walks In Beauty - Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all
A heart whose love is innocent!

This is still one of my favourite poems ever written. Unlike most of Byron's work it is actually short and quite simple in tone and wording, but I think this was the exact effect that was intended. It's said that Byron wrote this after meeting his cousin's wife, and being inspired by her beauty wrote this poem. Other sources say that it was written about Augusta, his half sister (like many of his poems), and yet other sources say it alludes to the beauty of Art in general. After spending so many years studying 19th and 20th century literature and pulling apart poems until you could find any meaning to them that would make sense if backed up with the right arguments, I just like to read poetry and let the words give me the meaning they want to give me.

This poem was published as part of the volume of poems called Hebrew Melodies in 1815, and each poem was set to music. When read out loud you can almost hear the melody that goes with it (or maybe that's just me). In any case, whenever I feel agitated or upset I read this poem and immediately feel calmer. Serene beauty, inspiration, music and the calm sound of the ocean (the ocean is not mentioned but serenity and the ocean go hand in hand for me, and if you want to know why you should just ask me).

Here's a lovely recording of Eric Portman reading She Walks In Beauty:

I still have a teenage crush on Byron... What girl doesn't?!

Random words put together form sentences and thoughts

2012-01-08T17:50:00.003-05:00

It’s always interesting how you can live in a large city, populated by millions of people and still feel like you live in a small village where everyone knows you, even if you don’t know everyone.

“Oh my god, did you see X1 the other day? She was wearing SWEATPANTS in public!!”

“X2 didn’t have a cigarette after he had dinner, maybe he’s SICK??”

“I didn’t see X3 get her coffee this morning, maybe she has relapsed and shooting up in some gutter again!”

Multiply by 5 voices and all of a sudden X1 has bedbugs and had to get rid of her whole wardrobe, X2 has lung cancer and X3 is in a morgue after multiple heroin overdoses. All in the space of a few hours.

And then come the text messages:

“Are you OK?”

“Why are you doing X or X again?”

“What on earth were you thinking??”

“Do you need help??”

WHAT?! We’re all guilty of gossip and most of the time it’s pretty ludicrously funny.

Word gets around faster than fire on wood here; fire on dry wood that is. I should have just taken a foghorn and stood on Ludlow and Houston and yelled “I’m having a drink and I’m getting drunk – let’s all talk about it!!”. It wasn’t a secret, I don’t have anything to hide… I got drunk, had a blast, felt terribly hungover the next day and then moved on with my life. As my mum so accurately put it, it’s called survival. I doubt I’ll be doing that again for a while, but I taught myself that there really is nothing wrong in having a drink now and again, as long as it’s just a few. I really do have way too much to accomplish in my life than to waste my time getting over a hangover. I’m on chapter 6 of my novel, I have a job that I actually enjoy, I am working on several pieces of art that may or may not be any good, I have an ever-growing list of articles to write and post on my blog, I have several photography excursions that I want to do and about a gazillion other things I want to get done before I am 34. Which happens to be in about 5 months… So that leaves little time and a lot to get done.

I spent so much of my life thinking that it was always all or nothing. Sometimes it’s possible to use moderation, and even I am finally coming to terms with that. If I don’t think it’s a big deal then no one else should either – I would really honestly you paid more attention to things that really matter to me, like my writing.

And that’s all I have to say about that. Except maybe that the high kick in the little crepe dude's face is going to keep me giggling for a long time.

Inspiration – Ayat Al-Gormezi

2012-01-04T14:02:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago I posted about the uprising in Bahrain and how it was quashed by the Bahraini government and pretty much ignored by the rest of the world. If you watched the Al Jazeera documentary that stemmed my original post you probably shed a few tears in the same way I did and wondered why Bahrain was ignored when other countries weren’t. The answers to those questions are pretty self-explanatory, even to an idealist like myself (cynical idealist is probably a better way of putting it). In any case, out of this uprising came a young woman who should be a source of inspiration to us all. No matter what your religion, skin colour or personal beliefs are, we all have the right to live in freedom, to speak freely and to be able to live our lives without having to constantly check our backs to make sure we are not being followed or spied on.

During the popular uprising of Bahrain in the spring of 2011, Ayat Al-Gormezi, a 20 year old student and poet recited a poem that criticized the Bahraini government and its policies. She was subsequently arrested, subjected to psychological and physical harassment and most possibly torture and sentenced to a year in jail. Her family was also subjected to major harassment before and after her arrest, and they had no idea where she was being held or what had happened to her. With other vocal public figures that had been arrested during the uprising turning up dead, I assume that her family would expect the worst every day. Ayat was eventually tried without any type of representation (not even allowed to represent herself) and charged with a year in prison for "incitement to hatred of the regime", "insulting members of the royal family" and "illegal assembly” – all because she used freedom of speech to express her views on the way the government was treating the Bahraini people.

She was subsequently released, but remains on house arrest, and was forced to make a public apology on television to the king and the prime minister. All for using her creativity and art to express how she, and a whole nation, feels about the way they are being governed. Imprisoning her and subjecting her to abuse just because she spoke her mind is to me a form of extreme censorship and dictatorship. Ayat Al-Gormezi continues to advocate her thoughts through other channels outside of Bahrain and will not be silenced.

I don’t think I need to explain why Ayat Al-Gormezi is an inspiration to me, as well as to many others – without fear she walked on stage and spoke her mind in front of thousands, and consequently was imprisoned and suffered for speaking her mind against governmental injustices. I doubt that she will ever really be silenced, and for this she should be celebrated. I feel that if we all stood up and spoke our minds a little more there would be a little less suffering in this world and a little more activism.

Here is Ayat reading her poem on stage last year, with English subtitles:

Here is a blog about Ayat: http://ayat-algormezi.blogspot.com/

Here is the forced apology on national Bahraini TV (with English translation):

Marge Piercy's Gone To Soldiers: my favourite book of all time

2012-01-03T12:50:00.005-05:00

This happens once a year, at least once, sometimes multiple times: all of a sudden I will stop what I am doing and say "it's time to read Gone To Soldiers again." Then I pick it up and fall back into the words that have kept me going for so many years now. I will never ever tire of this book. It happened to me this morning, while I was making my morning tea, wondering through the haze of my mind what on earth I was going to write about today, trying to avoid the inevitable subjects of "2011 was a shitty/great/annoying/interesting year", when I just stopped in my tracks, grabbed my most recent copy of the book and read the first page. Nothing better than starting off your new year with firstly your first bender in 3 years, and then back to reality with your favourite book. The former not to be revisited for a while, the latter a lot more healthy.

The first time I read Marge Piercy's Gone To Soldiers was in 1991 or 1992. One of my mum's friends lent it to her, and as with any book that ever came into our household, I read it. Actually I devoured it. I've always loved historical fiction, especially dealing with WW2, and I love strong women characters that I can relate to. I also love rich, well-constructed prose, words that let you imagine the scene in your own head, help you to picture faces and expressions and leave them imprinted in your mind for a long time after you have read the last page of the book. This is how Marge Piercy writes. Gone To Soldiers will make you laugh, cry, want to hit things and finally feel like you can go out and accomplish anything that you want to, just because you can.

The novel is the story of ten different characters (men and women), interweaving, across the Atlantic and the Pacific, over the space of 5 years of war. Every character is human, and you will probably relate more to one over another, depending on how old you are when you read the book. My favourite will always be Jacqueline, feisty French Jewish girl who has to grow up and deal with the undealable. I sometimes see some of myself in her, more than in any of the other characters. Basically, Jacqueline makes me realise how much potential we have to create something from our lives, while remaining true to our hearts and beliefs. I know it sounds a little silly said like that, but you really need to read her story to understand what I mean.
There is also Bernice who breaks away from her father and runs away to fly aeroplanes; Louise who goes from writing women's stories to writing from the front lines in France via London; Daniel who deciphers code for a living; Jeff, the artist with the survival instinct, and probably the male character who I am the most attracted to; Abra who learns to live with nothing after having everything and all of the others who will touch your lives in a way that you wouldn't expect. An epic story that you can't put down. Life changing? Maybe. Just read it, the least it can do is help you learn a little more about what the regular person went through in the 40's.

I've read this book at least once a year since 1991. I've been through so many copies of it, I've given copies to my friends and it is without a doubt my favourite book of all time. Every time I read it I discover something new and somehow I find comfort in the stories, in a way I find a patch of non-moving ground that I can stand on for a moment to recollect myself.

More information on the book on Marge Piercy's website: Gone To Soldiers
More information on Marge Piercy: Biography

All of Marge Piercy's novels are excellent - once you have read this one try the others (especially Braided Lives).

2011 in images (make up your own stories)

2012-01-03T11:42:00.002-05:00

2011 in images, a set on Flickr.

I couldn't bring myself to write a post about 2011 - so much happened last year, and I feel that everything has already been said and done and written about in some form or another. Therefore, I am just posting a set of pictures that I took over the year, some with my phone, some with my DSLR, others with with film cameras. All in all they describe this year somehow in my head.

Happy New Year!

Photography: Jean Depara

2011-12-29T13:52:00.007-05:00

I ran across Jean Depara a few months ago while reading a post about him on a blog I read every day, Africa Is A Country. Black and white, gritty prints always catch my eye, and most intriguingly for me: he documented the nightlife and the social life of nightbirds in Kinshasa in the Congo in the 50's and the 60's.

He would frequent the clubs and bars of the city and capture people on film, dancing, embracing, smoking, drinking, crying, basically he became somewhat of a storyteller in pictures of social life in Kinshasa at the time. Such a vibrant and soulful scene - no boundaries, all held together by a love for music and dancing. For some reason I feel like I can hear the music coming directly through the photos, the smiles, the faces. Wonderful captures of moments in time that I hope will never be lost in history. Maybe one day this vibrant social scene can find it's way back into the soul of the Congo. In the meantime I wish I had been able to see the retrospective of his work that was on exhibition in Paris this year.

Jean Depara was known for following the music scene in Kinshasa at the time, he was the Zairian singer Franco's official photographer and he also documented the Miziki associations, and the music that would come out of these associations of women. Jean died in 1997, but he left hundreds of negatives that I would love to take my time scrolling through and admiring.

More information:
Jean Degara - Pigozzi artist
Retrospective at the Maison Revue Noire

So what's going on in Yemen?

2011-12-26T11:22:00.003-05:00

I was on my way home from work a few weeks ago, around 5:45 am, when I stopped into my local/favourite deli on the corner. I love this deli and I love the guys who work in it. They are all from the same big Yemeni family and always remember me, remember what I like to eat, ask me how I am and how my day is going and all of that nice stuff. And I always return the favour. I stop by to say hello, chat with the guys about where they are from as well as random everyday stuff, kind of just make the place into my local corner shop that I stop into every day. The reason I stopped by after work the other night was because I saw some sketchy looking guys hanging out on my street corner, and I just didn't feel comfortable walking past them - so I went to hang out at the deli for a bit, until they left. The guys who were working the night shift were watching something on TV behind the counter, and I joined them... They were watching reports on the ongoing protests and governmental/police violence in Yemen, protests that have been going on for months.

Yet again another country that the media doesn't really care about. I posted about Bahrain a while ago, and we all know what happened there (or you do if you either read my post and watched the AJE documentary I posted). So what's been happening in Yemen? The country has been rising against the existing governmental body, requesting the resignation of president Ali Abdullah Saleh since last January. That means nearly a whole YEAR. A whole year of protests and crackdowns on protests and police and the army shooting into the crowds and killing people. A year of negotiations and agreements and backing out of agreements and confusion and lies and more marches and demonstrations. The murder of innocent people by the government is not calming the crowds down - it's making them even more intent on fighting for change.

Saleh has been in power since 1978. That is the year I was born, and this means that the same man has been governing Yemen for the past 33 years. I honestly doubt that he has been democratically elected as president for the past 33 years, so it's only natural that the people want to see something different, especially with the other uprisings and fall of dictatorships in other Arab countries this year. Apparently the elections in Yemen have been set for next February, but with the recent shootings who knows? Protesters marched miles for 4 days from the city of Taiz to the capital to demonstrate their unhappiness and discontent with the way things are moving, and were attacked with tear gas and sniper shots; men throwing stones at the crowds and attacking women. How much longer does this need to go on for until someone decides that it's enough? Is this another Bahrain, or maybe another Egypt? There has been internal fighting in Yemen for years now, and different political factions clashing... Including Al-Qaeda. So with Saleh on his way out, does this mean a different type of worry for the West?

Do you even really care? I know I do. And I know my friends from the deli on the corner are worried about their country and their family. I know revolution is not usually non-violent, but it doesn't always need to come at such a price.

More information:
Yemen Live Blog on AJE
BBC Q&A
Yemeni Uprising on Wikipedia (remember that not everything is always 100% accurate)

Churches - photos

2011-12-20T00:44:00.002-05:00

Churches - 1, a set on Flickr.

Last week I decided to go out and walk around Manhattan, taking photos of some of the beautiful churches that are hidden between the skyscrapers... I made a list of a few that i wanted to go to, and came across some other hidden gems along the way.
Mostly exteriors, because I don't always feel comfortable taking shots inside churches for some reason. I still have to be a little more confident in what I can actually do. Working on it...

This will probably be a work in progress as there are others I need to visit and photograph.

As always, I lit candles at St Patrick's. This year one for my dad, one for Dot and one for Mirek.

The long 10 year wait...

2011-12-14T14:20:00.001-05:00

In March 2003 I entered the US on the usual visa waiver progamme thing, up to 3 months stay in the US, no right to work etc. This was after I had requested a 6 month tourist visa in London so that I could actually stay longer with my family and it was refused. Bear in mind, I had been to the US twice that year and had stayed for 3 months at a time… I was taken to the side office at Immigration in SFO, held there for over an hour without being able to contact anyone, yelled at, and then told that this was the last time I would be granted entrance into the US for at least a year, and if I tried again within that period of time I would be deported.

Nice.

My mother and sister moved to California in 2000, and thanks to my mother’s job got their green cards pretty much straight away. So did my little brother, even though he moved there later. But I happened to be 22, and therefore not legally a child anymore, and therefore not eligible to get my green card like my sister and brother. So my mother applied for one for me, and we waited.

And waited. I finished my MA in France in 2002 and decided I didn’t want to live there anymore. But I didn’t want to live in England either. So travelled back and forth to California, getting more and more depressed and using more and more of my mother’s money in flight tickets and living expenses, seeing as I couldn’t work. I went to Israel for a little over a year. I went back to California, still waiting. I applied for Canadian citizenship, on the off-chance that if I got it it would be easier to get a working visa in the US. Thanks to the small fact that my dad happened to be born in Canada and lived there for a few years of his life and never gave up his Canadian citizenship, I was granted with a nice blue Canadian passport myself. This was in 2004.

I was at a loss of where to go. I didn’t want to go back to France because it was so hard to get a job there (and I didn’t feel like going back to school). I couldn’t stay in the US. I couldn’t go back to Israel. I didn’t have enough money to go back off into the world and travel around hopelessly looking for something that didn’t really exist. So I went to London. I lived there for ten months, and apart from the fact that I lived with the loveliest people and actually started being responsible and had a full-time office job, they were the most depressing months of my life. London is not a good place for someone who is fighting heartbreak (never, ever fall in love with a Colombian boy, EVER), and who just doesn’t want to be there. I love London as a city. I love walking around, discovering little places that you would never find if you didn’t explore, going to the free museums, the leaves falling in the autumn, the special days in spring when you can feel summer coming. But London just depressed me. I didn’t know anyone, I was too shy and depressed to actually go out and meet people. I didn’t earn enough to spend it by going out. I didn’t even earn enough to be able to spend every weekend with my family in Rutland, and I just wanted to be in California. I didn’t even have a plan after California – I just wanted to BE THERE.

Then a light appeared in the form of a job offer in NYC in the spring of 2005. I’d never been to New York, but it couldn’t be any worse than London, and it was the US! My work visa was a little too temporary (year-long TN visa on my Canadian passport, renewable every year through my company). So I moved to NYC with two suitcases and nothing else. I worked hard, made some wonderful friends who have become my family, partied hard, stopped partying hard, went through a terrible depression, worked even harder, suffered through visa renewal stress every year, worked harder, felt trapped, wanted to leave. I fell into a life of thinking that I had to work at my job because that was the only reason why I could stay in the US, but in the end I just began to despise my life, myself and everything I had always stood for. Six years in NYC and all I wanted was out, to be someone else, somewhere else. Until I had my Biometrics appointment, and another light appeared right in front of me. And it dawned on me that I wasn’t in a prison, that I could find myself and the life I wanted again… So I left my job, and fell back in love with my life again. And got my green card 4 months later. In the mail, just like that. No official ceremony or celebration. Ten years of stress, heartbreak, crying, depression, travels, new experiences and happiness for the freedom and right to live and work in the country that I haven’t really left in the past 7 years.

I could write a novel about the last ten years. I don’t regret much, because I ended up experiencing things I never would have experienced if I hadn’t had to go through this, but if I had to do it all over again I would just go with the easier option of getting married. I just kind of needed to write this all down, get it out of my system and maybe put it aside as another idea for a novel. Sometime in the future.

(Oh, and as a side-note: it just annoys Immigration officials even more if you burst into tears when they are yelling at you. I know from experience. Try to keep it together, especially if you are prone to burst into tears at any given moment in your life, like me).

People begging with (their) children - Rant

2011-12-11T12:43:00.002-05:00

Back when I lived in Grenoble in France you used to see a lot of people begging on the streets, sometimes the lone old “pochtron” with his dog, pockmarked face and vinegary-wine smell, sometime a group of punks with their dogs and their tattoos and their piercings (otherwise known as “les travelers”, kids who moved from city to city, living in squats and abandoned buildings until they got bored of the lifestyle). But often you would see women begging in the streets, holding their babies. We called then “les gitans”, gypsies, Romanis, those people who would roam the land in caravans, pitch up camp anywhere and everywhere and move on afterwards. People who have never really had the best reputation anywhere that they stop. Not that I would judge anyway. I always liked the romantic idea of living the gypsy lifestyle, picking up camp and moving along to the next location, palm reading and dancing and just being free. I know, I know, I read too many novels and watch too many old movies (Golden Earrings being one of them). I used to read a lot of Enid Blyton when I was a child, and there was often a gypsy camp portrayed in the book, often with one bad apple who was always caught, and the rest of the camp were full of wonderful people. I don’t even know if these people were really gypsies or not, we just all used to call them that. Probably because they would move on to other cities when they felt like it, they were not here for good. Fleeting begging?

Back in France, these people that we would call “gypsies” would beg on the streets, always holding a tiny baby and maybe pulling another little child along with them, usually holding a sign up asking for money. They would make it sound like they couldn’t speak French and it dawned on me pretty early on that they would change identity depending on what was going on in the world at the time. Fall of Ceausescu in Romania in 1989? They were all Romanian. War in Yugoslavia between 1991 and 1995? They were all refugees from Yugoslavia. I’m sure today that they are all holding signs that say they are from Libya. Smart move no? How can you tug at someone’s heartstrings the most? Look sad and distraught, carry a tiny baby around on a sling and say that you are from a war-torn country that has been on the news every day for the past year.

I am not going to write about how I dislike people who beg – not at all. It’s not the people I dislike, it’s the system that makes it so that there are people who have to beg to survive. Although I wish we didn’t have to live with poverty in this day and age, we all know that it’s never going to go away. The rich get richer, the poor stay poor, unless they are really lucky. The even poorer struggle to live and depend on others to help them. There are many reasons why a person may be begging on the streets of a city, and I am not going to write an essay on that. I do however, severely dislike people who beg while using their children as a prop. It makes me so angry and sad at the same time – parading your child around the streets of a town to get money is just wrong. We frown upon the wide use of children to beg in countries like India, where groups of adults actually collect and buy children from their parents and use them in begging organizations (yes, we have all seen Slumdog Millionaire); but when it actually happens in our country we just let it happen. It’s still child exploitation. Especially when the children get to an age where they should be at school, or at least interacting with other children their own age.

The reason why I bring this up is because I hadn’t really encountered this in NYC until very recently. I’ve seen Vietnam vets, pregnant ladies, crackheads, people who claim they have AIDS and no money for meds, buskers, poets, dancers, actors (that subway version of Act V, Scene 3 was pretty amazing), blind people etc… But I hadn’t noticed anyone begging with their children until recently. Then twice in one week I saw it. The first time it was a couple with a tiny baby, with a sign asking for money. The second time it was a guy playing the accordion, followed by a woman and a little girl. Just like it used to be back in France… The war-torn country victims who are trying to get money from people by parading their children around the subways. And the main reason why it really makes me angry is that it makes me want to cry. I wish I could do something about it, but I can’t, so I am just writing about how much it really annoys me to see this happen.

There are lots of organisations around that help the homeless - if you want to volunteer or donate, see this website for more information: Hearts and Minds

Richard Mosse - The Congo in infra-red film

2011-12-05T10:08:00.005-05:00

Whenever I read a press release my usual first thought is "I wish I had written that!" immediately followed by "but why are they trying to sell me something I already own/know?". You can read the exhibition press release from the Jack Shainman Gallery HERE, it's well written and explains what Richard Mosse does to obtain all of the purple and pink hues. I will just talk about what I thought of the exhibition.

I had already seen a couple of Richard Mosse's prints and was intrigued to see more. They are nothing less than striking with the juxtaposition of violence (militia, guns and army) on top of a landscape that is coloured in warm pink, purple and red. Knowing what I know about the Congo, meaning the years and years of civil war, unrest, millions of deaths, poverty, systematic sexual violence and the guerrilla warfare tactics performed on civilians by multiple militias, makes these photos even more powerful. The Congo is DANGEROUS. For everyone. It's no wonder people don't care to talk about it, let alone go there on vacation. You only really venture into the Congo if you are a journalist intent on telling the truth about what happens inside the country, you work for a non-profit, or you have a sense of adventure which borders on the edge of self-destruction (see Joseph Conrad or, more recently, Tim Butcher). But without people like Richard Mosse, who actually go to this country and document what they see, no one would really see what the country actually looks like.

Tell me... How many of you reading this know that during this last week general elections were held in the Congo? That the Congo is the world's largest producer of cobalt ore, and a large producer of copper and diamonds? That with a strategic set up of public transportation and hydro-electric power the Congo could become a wealthy and powerful nation in Africa? But that since the late 80's, war and violence have created one of the poorest and most dangerous nations in the world (the numbers of deaths associated with these wars are around the 5 million mark).

The Congo is beautiful, extreme, huge and very daunting. More than luscious rain forests, waterways, mountains, always hot and humid, and raw. There are places where nobody lives, and places where you wouldn't think anybody could survive, but they do. You just have to look at Richard Mosse's landscape photos of the mountains that go on forever, with the grazing cows - seemingly peaceful images in a land of never-ending conflict.

I think my main question revolves around whether this is art or photo-journalism? In a sense isn't photo-journalism art too? Mosse uses a specific type of infrared-sensitive, false color reversal film called Kodak Aerochrome, that used to be used by the military to detect camouflage in green landscape (hence the fact that it turns the landscape into all these different hues). I don't know if he does any further editing on the photos once they are developed (I would like to know more about that part), but the end result is deeply striking. I just hope that these photographs can be considered as both art and photo-journalism, the former because they are so GOOD, and the latter because they depict a country where violence is the main form of communication and that the rest of the world doesn't really care about. Just look at his photo of the bombed out and abandoned UN building and think about it.

Richard Mosse's exhibition, Infra, is being displayed at the Jack Shainman Gallery until December 22nd. More information here: Jack Shainman Gallery

Richard Mosse Official Website
Kodak Aerochrome (discontinued)

Mark Ryden: innocent eyes and tears of blood

2011-12-04T12:49:00.006-05:00

I actually walked into this part of the Paul Kasmin Gallery looking for something else and came across the wonder that is Mark Ryden's artwork. It all seemed so familiar and so new at the same time, beautiful, dark drawings and paintings of doll-like children and Alice in Wonderland type-figures with a gothic twist. He paints his figures with large kewpie eyes that are both innocent and full of depth and knowledge at the same time. When surrounded by all of the different paintings on the walls you can feel all of the sad, angry, lonely and innocent faces staring out at you, asking you to look more deeply and think about what you see. This is what I felt in any case, and I'm now officially obsessed with this artist. I would like his prints to cover my walls at home, especially the ones that I have posted in this blog post.

I don't really know how to categorise Mark Ryden's work (in any case I really detest categorising anything as it is all based on personal judgement in the end), so I will just take a quotation from the Mark Ryden website biography which actually voices my own personal thoughts:
"Blending themes of pop culture with techniques reminiscent of the old masters, Mark Ryden has created a singular style that blurs the traditional boundaries between high and low art. His work first garnered attention in the 1990s when he ushered in a new genre of painting, "Pop Surrealism", dragging a host of followers in his wake. Ryden has trumped the initial surrealist strategies by choosing subject matter loaded with cultural connotation." (See the full biography HERE).

I am not going to even pretend to be an art critic. I fall in love with a piece of art very fast because it touches me, punches me in the stomach, makes me think, makes me cry and inspires me to create something that provides the same emotions in others. Art can be music, paintings, drawings, words, photography, dance... Anything that provides some form of beauty or provokes an intense reaction. In the case of Mark Ryden's work I fell in love immediately. The mix of innocence and irony, beauty and the grotesque is an amalgam of paradoxes that I always fall for, and he uses it to perfection. Now if anyone wants to buy me a large print of Rose from the Blood collection I would be overjoyed.

Mark Ryden: Editions is currently showing at the newly launched Paul Kasmin Shop until January 14th, 2012.

Mark Ryden Official Website

Coney Island in the Autumn

2011-12-02T17:48:00.002-05:00

Coney Island in the Autumn, a set on Flickr.

I missed the ocean. I missed the soothing feeling of listening to the waves on the beach, of walking along the sand and just contemplating on everything that is happening in my life with a clear mind. The ocean, the beach and the sun always helps me think, whatever the season.
I woke up wanting to go out and take photos, and decided that Coney Island would be the spot for today. I tend to usually go to the Rockaways for beach time, but really wanted to capture the gaudiness of Coney Island on camera, in both black and white and colour, during the off-season.

I'm very happy with the result, and will just let the photos speak for themselves.

Bahrain: Shouting in the dark - documentary to watch

2011-12-02T10:08:00.005-05:00

Bahrain: Shouting in the dark
(Al Jazeera documentary - the journalist crew who filmed and documented all of the content in this documentary obviously risked their lives more than once to collect all of the footage. Amazing).

I posted this documentary on Facebook last week, but it has really affected me and I can't help posting about it again. I know I should keep my focus on certain causes, talk about, fight for and research one or two major concerns in this world, but I can't. Everything affects me and I want to make changes everywhere. I know I can't, but at least this blog is one platform where I can talk about everything and anything that affects me (be it in a good or bad way), and maybe, just maybe, it may affect one of you reading it and you will pass it along too.

Earlier this year, in the heyday of the Arab Spring, when news crews were showing us images of clashes in Libya, demonstrations in Egypt and protests in Bahrain, there was so much talk about people standing up for their rights, for democracy, for free speech and for change in these countries. A small domino effect of different populations seeing hope and reaching out to grab it in their hands. We all know what happened in Egypt (currently waiting for the first election results after the fall of Mubarak). We all know what happened in Libya (we all saw the pictures of Gaddafi being captured and then dead), but does anyone actually care that Bahrain just dropped off the newsreels back in the Spring? Does anyone actually really care what happened to the entire population who went out and peacefully protested for reform? They didn't even protest for the overturn of the ruling powers, just reform...
Watch this documentary, it will show you exactly what happens in a country when the minority ruling powers decide to go in and crack down on revolution, and when nobody in the West cares, because maybe, just maybe, this little country is too close to certain assets that we want to keep on our side. Watch how an entire population goes from rejoicing freedom and the right to speak to watching loved ones being shot down, arrested and tortured to death. And still, no one cares.

(And as food for thought, why are we all imposing sanctions on Syria - Western AND Arab countries - because of the violent governmental crackdown on protests, but no one even bothered with Bahrain?! This is not about not-caring, it's full-blown hypocrisy).

Bushwick Ave to Broadway

2011-11-29T15:50:00.002-05:00

Bushwick Ave to Broadway, a set on Flickr.

From nothing for weeks to three sets in three days... I suppose I've been more inspired these past few days, taking my camera out every time I go for a walk or run some errands. I love walking down Bushwick Avenue to the Post Office at Gates Ave and Broadway. The street is lined with beautiful old buildings, some well kept, others in various stages of dilapidation. There are many different churches along the way, often facing each other on opposite sides of the street. And then there is the bustle of the walk back along Broadway, under the elevated subway tracks: fried chicken, 99 cent shops, launderettes, delis, African supermarkets, dust, noise, colours and different languages.
Lastly, a photo of the house that I have always wanted to own, from the moment I moved to Bushwick. It's so intriguing...

Bushwick To Ridgewood Via Myrtle Ave

2011-11-28T17:40:00.002-05:00

Bushwick To Ridgewood, a set on Flickr.

It was a beautiful, warm day today, and there was no way I could sleep through it, even if I didn't get to sleep until 5am last night. I had a few errands to run so I took my camera out and took photos all along Myrtle Avenue, going through Bushwick to Ridgewood, where the nearest branch of my bank is. Today was a colour day, I needed to capture the colours of the murals, the shop awnings, the gaudiness of the Christmas decorations and the skyline.
This is my neighbourhood... I love it. I feel at home here, and always have done, ever since I moved here from Manhattan over 4 years ago...

From the trash on the street to the Wanted posters on the signposts to the street art to the colourful cheap shops to the crazy traffic to the mix of Dominican/Puerto Rican/Mexican/Indian/Polish/Ukranian food, to the elevated subways and the gorgeous skylines, I love this place.

Highline & More Nov 2011

2011-11-27T20:08:00.002-05:00

Highline & More Nov 2011, a set on Flickr.

I've been lacking in photography inspiration recently, for no real reason I can think of. I walked along the Highline with Miriam and Larisa today, dodging the many people who had decided to do the same thing and captured some images. I'm still shooting mainly black and white, just because I love the starkness of it. I miss film, but I just can't afford to develop rolls and rolls of it at the moment, so I will wait a while before going back to my trusty AE-1.
I'm still working on a new set of portraits, it's not happening as fast as I would like it to, but that's only because I can sometimes be too shy to ask people if they mind me taking a shot of their face while they go about their day...

Maybe I will become more confident with time.

In the mean time, enjoy these images.