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in the last vendela vida i read, there is a phrase that captured my attention, in view of this week's cv.
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'koray looked at the sky as yvonne followed his gaze. three clouds formed a row of dots like some ellipsis.'
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in the context, i'm sure, it had its proper meaning, but in general too, we all know what is meant by {...}
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(photo taken by anestis karas).
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in my mind's eye though, i saw these three clouds hanging, and thought i'd rustle up an image for the occasion. a little more daunting than i'd imagined. while the clouds picture bank is profusely filled with silly ones, there prooved to be few three dotted ones.
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(photo taken by pablo minto)
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on the subject of clouds though. {now you got me talking...}
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are you familar with the amanda filipacchi novel VAPOR?
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in it, the protagonist carries a cloud in her handbag, and the excellent thing about it is, it all reads so plausibly! · how 'bout that for ...
· jane's corner view, hosted by francesca.
(leaf from a vintage reference book on the weather, now torn up. the book.)
there's no place like wallony to hunt down derelict délice, especially when the sun comes out. and whether it was that sun, starring all morning way into the afternoon, or house upon wall upon car upon pilot that crossed my view, as i was loitering the dilapidated streets and alleys: today was a good day for visual expression.
after a winter stop of shooting outside photographs, i find my eye drawn to different subjects than usual, to changing moods and shifting angles. as if the space around me is looking for a new way in, straight into my lens. thoroughly enjoyable.
naturally, i had the drawing challenge on my mind. i even took my book and felt tips, with the intention to draw outside, in the monk's gardens e.g. (which was closed), or in a rundown café on the high street (which was closed ~ for refurbishing ~ figures ☻).
i headed back home. a monogram is such an interesting subject. many hours in my life i have spent monogram and type watching, as does a bird watcher in nature. i go quiet whilest eyeing swirls, curves and graphics to ornamental words or names. when images intertwine with type, i am in heaven!
it is comforting that so many out there feel the same. that's why i let my hand travel the paper, in order to get my own initials straight. or lobsided more like. overworked even. i keep telling myself: perfection so is not key. · patrice collects monograms this weekend. · and traveler... walk with me.
all it needed was a ray of sunshine or two, very much in this fashion. · since i simply do not know who to lift out of the crowd in turn, ALL of you, dear readers, obtain a sunshine award today! · look for the CAPITAL words in below tiny story. you'll find these to be answers to said award. if you're hungry for the original questions do visit patrice{thank you!}. · ·
ps - images do not correspond.
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pps - if you scroll further down, and set off the music already, there will be a sunny accompaniment to your reading. if you can keep your eyes off georges, tim and john....
· i got outside pretty early, slipped on my boots and an old BLUE sweater and headed for the shed, where i undoubtedly and unwillingly would bump into a {least favourite} ANIMAL of the eight legged arachnid variety.
· the two COFFEES i had for breakfast carried a bitter aftertaste for some radio reporter's survey on negative effects of caffeine on the body.
· as i was ploughing along, i heard early birds tweeting (which is as close as i get to TWITTERing). · when crocheting i find i count to FOUR quite meditatively so, but here now i was rather counting the hours, towards ending these darn winter chores.
· perhaps with beloved SATURDAY on my mind, the day drew to a rapid close, as i was considering possible new PASSION for greens and the great outdoors.
· i hoped i was doing myself a favour in considering GIVING away half of my shed gear, for too many tools were cluttering the wooden floor.
· brooming the concrete steps into the garden, blurry sunshiny PATTERNS caught my eye, next the two big planter pots, housing fifteen rembrandt TULIPS each. · yes! · to be continued.
bicocacolors has cauliflowers of the romanescu kind on her blog at the moment. if there's one thing {one of many} which fascinates me no end, it is ungraspable mathematics, as in... fractals.
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i fell in love with fibonacci's numbers in geneva, a long, long time ago.
{geneva in itself being a place of mystery, because of cern}
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where does mathematical fascination kick in, i wonder.
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that's what romanescu, and in a broader sense, market does to me. because when i'm market shopping and romanescu pops up, i just have to get me some.
our mixed feelings on quotes being what they are, here are a few poetry lines i like to hear {and so well in tune for today's meeting up of the drawing circle}. i admit it is a.o. the honed voice of actor ben whishaw which rings to mine ear,
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in the likelihood of valentino riding off his horse into the horizon again, i was reminded of a far more frivolous love messenger. it was alaskan polkadot petticoat {queen} who whimsically renamed these wings under glass. haul the insect world right upside down, turn it inside out, further pronounce it out loud:
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♥ f l u t t e r b y s ♥
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do you find early spring is sometimes pregnant of a buzz, a little unreal? the morning light starting just a trifle more thrilling, sun coming up in a bolder orange flair, morning ♫churpeys♪ from our winged friends sounding gingerly cheerful; the very air holding still, for the natural spring curiosity to begin? i mean, we all got to dream a little, if it's only february still?
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if like me, you would like to dance under an umbrella of lepidoptorous {love the sound of that word}polychrome, and in the action would like to get brushed by brightly coloured miracle dust, why, you might even catch john keats unawares, reciting heavenly rhyme. do join in the hopeful band of volunteering butterfly wings and sign up, sign in already. we'll be waiting in the sideline. fluttering. ♥
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is it me who's rambling on about my new, old house at times? did i borrow money to get this house, and does it ever make me blue?
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i know.
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i'm making it up as i go along! not being married, this old new borrowed blue tradition is an occurrence which hasn't passed my way. yet. {nub of floor tile as shown here, borrowedfrom nature, would you believe it?}
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so improv time is mine and here's as close as i could get to blue underwear. thrifted lately, extra long undershirt from the fifties {and belgian!}. durable, came in the original cellophane wrap. bingo on theold, new!
one thing we haven't needed round here recently, is an umbrella. unless of course, one wants to carve one's way through frozen water, with the sharp tip of said object.
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when collegue b. announces there's a small natural spectacle to be enjoyed in the small park above the brussels sablon, i take a lunch break outside, regardless of the freezing temperatures and a gigantic cold on the part of yours truely.
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as i walk the walk, i begin to suspect what b. meant with natural spectacle. and there it is! running a little, and also frozen over. hard as ice. strange sight nonetheless, to observe running water under ice, but such is nature on the whole. unpredictable. and stubborn.
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as i back out of the park, i stumble upon an antiques shop i haven't seen before. the contrast with the frozen water couldn't be more crushing.
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i snap a few pictures and slide back to the office, wondering what will flow from my palm this weekend, on behalf of, erm, umbrellas ~ parasols.
once you open up your eyes to the full, quotes pop up like sprouts in spring. the air seems to be brimming with 'em. wisdom is being whispered from fanatic's lips or else spoken up (hopefully not in tongues ~ unless we're talking TALKING HEADS). thus i've been wondering about quotes recently, about the quality of quotes. because like the next person, i do enjoy a memorable quote {when found solitary, on someone's blog, e.g.; here or here}.
since i caught quotable gertrude stein/kathy bates saying the following on our television screen just a few days ago: "... we all fear death, and question our place in the universe. the artist's job it is, not to succomb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence, ... ", i have felt a little out of sorts. {the actress spoke the words to a desperate owen wilson - who handles woody allen's mild melancholy to a tee, might i add?}
i mean, as an antidote to fear of dying in general, it is a comforting cite. sit back, relax, find your topic, enjoy the creative process, you're done. consider the emptiness of existence and roll yourself in it. accept it. on a clear day one can see forever, and in a good mood that is exactly what we'll do, and we'll be creative and kill that thing, that bug, that knowledge, that piece of existence. well. kill it. LIVE it!
quote by cesare pavese
but when the days are dark, and when the walls come tumbling down, the quality of life and death, or quotes on the subject, can become a little gloomy, a little hard for us to take. but a few examples: "there is left us ourselves to end ourselves" (william shakespeare), "i hope the leaving is joyful, and i hope never to return" (frida kahlo), "there are worse things in life than death. have you ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman?" (to quote the man himself, woody allen).
just to make the point, really, quotes should be taken in small doses, don't you find? which is NOT what happens in above mentioned movie. a fireworks of quotes, of cites, of excerpts and paraphrases. and once one tires of words spoken to fulfill wisdom's despair, fortunately, there will always be paris. let's live, let's dance.
· i've far from read all of charles dickens' gems, but i've had great pleasure at viewing a vast majority of bbc adaptations, which traditionally steer well close to dickens' world, literature and mind. recently great expectations was put through the test, starring a.o. a brilliant gillian anderson; as was remastered in 2011, the mystery of edwin drood(left half finished, for dickens' sudden death in 1870).
· over the christmas break armando ianucci took his viewers on a tour through dickens' world. starting out in the inoccuous british settlement of chatham, he takes us on a dickensian ride through time and places. beloved broadstairs pops to mind, where bleak house (now privately owned) still lies, on top of a dune, looking out over the sea. {in the eighties, we found ourselves strolling those beaches ofttimes.}
· forever apt to his surroundings and always on the go to scrutinize upper society on social disparities, dickens treated humankind and its intricate psychology in such a literary, but above all comical way, the author, who initially published in sequels, found himself well read in many different social milieus.
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europe unexpectedly faced to snow and ice, i fear this gruesome little month of february wants to settle for a charles dickens default mode. the celebrated author born on february 7th, 1812 {soon VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOY!}, it furthermore lends this whole year of 2012 a charles dickens lustre, don't you feel? i kinda like that. are you, by any chance, dear reader, familar to dickens' work? which of his pieces is your most favourite, i wonder.
