finding dad. again

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on my last day in london last year, i visited the wellcome collection, on the euston road. i'd never before heard about the collection, a poster in a tube station drew my attention. 
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since fashioned skulls seem all the rage at the time {december 2012}, and since death is an occupational hazard on my mind, a visit seemed appropriate.

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in the last of five elaborately laid out exhibition rooms my eye stills on anonymous amateur photographs. as i slowly walk from one vintage black & white {& sepia} photograph to the next, i discover a group photo, with skull. as i peer closer into the eyes of the men assembled in the group photo, i notice the face in the left hand corner. that man’s face… he?
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my cerebral storage cabinet flings open. what is this? Is this... ? never! i stroll on, ignoring my surprise, to step straight into reverse. i peer into the demure face on the left again, drinking in its magnetizing features. at that exact moment, i chuckle. i think.  

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please find on the right here an image of my father, age twenty something, perhaps not even twenty. now let your gaze pull back to that man’s face in the left hand corner, to move back to my dad's. at the time lacking my dad's photo, i peer into cardboard eyes of a very familiar kind indeed. checking facts later, i admit a little wishful thinking held me enthralled, as did romance and unwavering dedication to dad... hello-though!

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which makes me wonder. do exact duplicates of ourselves walk this earth a few times at any given time anyway? do you perhaps {like me, vigilantly} frown upon the possibility that one day in the near or distant future, we will be able to draw queries on people's features, thus enabling encounters with look-alikes? what would that be like? would insides match outsides? 


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just a thought, he . ..☻

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{image 2 & 3 from exhibition's catalogue, 
DEATH, A PICTURE ALBUM,
the wellcome trust, 2012}

a foursome

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what happens if you go about crocheting a glove the wrong way, or the akward way? what if perhaps they turned out boots, made for marching? 

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what if my {sharp legged} writing table comfy chair would be clad in four socks, to protect the new flooring? that - would - be - just - awesome. and it is! half an hour tops. dunno what took me so long... ♥

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go{l}d's omnipresence, a good clipping and drawing | egg

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i wanted to use just three colours: a yellow, a grey and a gold. like just three kings, in a different parable. 
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let's call an egg an egg, this is all about the household egg. 
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if you break it, you have food. if you tempt to draw it {and i'm meaning, moi}, you're in trouble. but!
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all's well that end's well... my original attempt at pysanka grew into a good and proper tinyWOOLF, but i've had me some fun, all while listening to classics. oh, ... neil young unleashed, i'd say.
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norma is calling her eggs, go look for one..! ☻
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this drawing challenge post recycled from my previous one, read up on mosaic tiling below. ♥
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there are visitors to venezia who don't do piazza san marco. we did, because we stayed just round the corner and needed crossing the piazza to move about. but on an inexplicable whim and on a cloudy afternoon we found ourselves queuing to get into the basilica anyway. i didn't expect anything, therefore i was surprised. not entirely by the gold that is omnipresent when raising the head. no. i was completely taken in by the mosaics underfoot. never before have i been slapped about the ears by so much patchwork! my neck started hurting, is what happened, for all the staring down. 
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i went back the next day to take a handful of devestatingly bad photos. i've just been able to photoshop a patchwork out of a patchwork, because a separate show would raise the deepest of red to my drooping cheeks. enough said. i think god was present too. some churches feel deserted, but i've learned not to call a basilica a church {if i do not wish to feel the clip around the ears again}. because god is omnipresent after all, no?  
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corner view ≈ hair

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i once had a friend who painted hairdos. he exhibited his tableaus and made him some name. 
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on my commuter into the city, i've taken to drawing hair myself. whenever i see hair that intrigues me, i sketch the outlines into my booklet.
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i work quickly for i don't know when the person will get off the train. {the model in question doesn't know he/she is being drawn. for privacy reasons, i don't usually draw facial features, unless...}.
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{... the occasional profile}. 
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before long and in a mildly meditative state {tongue in cheek, or else pressed between lips. yes.}, i push lines into a coiffure. 
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seemingly hair is also leading me back to corner view. 
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hello!
♥ 
jane's corner view. 
francesca's hosting. 
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drawing | willow

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i read the lulling leafy veils of the weeping willow from memory. it has always been a tree waving about melancholic airs, reminding me of childhood friendships of the innocent kind, those we lose growing up. symbolising emotion, intuition and dreaming {apparantly}, i think i may have fallen in love all over again. carole, loved the theme! 
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four hundred and nine bridges covered

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i drove my travel companion up italian walls, by stopping and starting, shooting images. which is understandable: it ain't no fun walking alongside an a sinistra and a destra snapper. so after a day, we split up, and found one another again at night.  
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have you been to venice? if you have, then you must know that losing your way is a must. if you haven't been, then you are warned. no use getting in a pickle over returning to the same spot when you don't want to, and equally so, NOT finding that spot when you aim for it. it's all in the game of uncovering venice.
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which it is: uncoverable. sort of. it's all pretty logic too, squares equal circles. right. you get lost, but you don't. and while wandering, you snap. and you drink. and you sit. and you people watch. and you keep on hoping for fair weather. and you get it. and you eat pizze. everyday. and you bump into your companion on a tiny bridge, unplanned. of all four hundred and nine venice bridges, you bump into one of your own, off calle aquila nera. that's venice for you. 
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we flew back to three inches of snow! how 'bout that, after a mild 15° and sweet spring sunny snoozing on the riva schiavoni? i better pull out my moon boots again, and start remeniscing, an imaginary spritz at hand. oh, this break! oh, these italians, oh this venice! you can walk it, with me, here. make sure to put some gondola music on. ☻ 
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seeing venice and ... drawing | moon

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that moon doesn't half beg for attention. it is hiding the subtitle laguna, which could also be read as lacuna, the wild orchard of space i've been living in. funny how over the months of these drawing challenges, i have been into round shapes {here, here and here}. i wonder what moon will be shining where we're heading this weekend, besides all of those over on patrice's. ... for now, you will find us getting....

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... lost. that shouldn't be too hard, it seems any calle echoes the previous one, both in name and outlook. we're two minutes off piazza san marco. we may gently phase passers-by from our sunny {?} outside spot, sipping a recommended spritz. we shall be sniffing lagoony air, and quaffing ristrettos till our lips burst. both my hands dangling in the eau-de-canal, bell will mind the camera, NOT letting it drop outside the gondola, thank you very much. this is what we hope for. but plans, hand on ♥, we have not. besides getting lost. see you on the other side of travel! {or in other words: next week} tally-ho & aaaah-hoooo...

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