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Friday 30 March 2012

In the belly of mother earth

Having dediced to illustrate the little known Slavic mythology for my next exhibition, I am reading recently published books which extracted myths form old songs, to discover that Slavic mythology has many similarities with the Greek and Celtic, even Egyptian which I have read upon for years. It has a hierarchy of gods, each empowered and serving their role in ensuring the cycle of life on earth and the change of years seasons. The main god is the god Poseidon god of the skies, and the female is Mokush, goddesss of the Earth, and water..

In the west today, Mother Earth has hippy frivolous conotations of earth and nature,recycling and green protesting , but digging up old myths one must sooner or later discover that this goddess is literally the keeper of the gates of the underworld. She stops sounding like a mother the moment you realise she symbolises death, becomes indeed rather frightening ,that is until you research further .I had thought contemporary witches had coined the name Mother Earth but digging up old myths one realises thar she always existed.We have met her in centuries of art and literature as the Greek Demetra , the Celt Morgana, slavic Mokush, Hecate, other nations use alternate names. She symbolises death, and blossom or feritily. A paradoxical mix.

Slav and Celtic ancestors in did not believe in an all ending death, they belived they go somwhere else after life, to a real country with real but different skies. You live and than when you get tired of life you go on a vaction to summer-land before being borne agian sometime. And this land according to different myths can be hidden beneath lakes, across seas, in the ground, beneath the grass.In Ireland milenias ago people built stone homes in the earth which they believed would be their homes in the other world. Now they are seen as graveyards. But they where built to be homes. .

When you come to one of the many gates be that on a lake or in a cave, of Mother Earth, she will take you into safety and woomb of the earth to this new world, and will introduce you around to the children of other land, makes sure you are OK. Mother earth also has a role as gate keeper to stop people who sohuld not be going in to other land. A few myths describe how girls simpley pay a visit the otherland and take bread as a gift, to the inhabitants. .

In Spring time the mother earth uses keys with which she opens the gates of earth, and realises the dew and water on to the Grass and makes fertile the fields. She closes winter within the earth, and lets out summer. She makes sure plants grow, animals are born and children too. There used to be many festivals of fertility at the begging of spring time, in which people would imitate the walk of gods ower fiels to fertilise them, they also would drink, be merry and make love, celebrating the spring and fertility . .

In the Autumn Mother earth would takes sacrifices, for the fertilety of the new year. There are myths depicting three women of different ages, often known as 'Maiden, Mother, Crone' or three fairies, or three white women always taking lives of young married men, or women in order to have enough water left for babies just being born. Its odd but makes sense.There is only so much resources on the planet one generation has to stop being, to let the next and younger have enough to live . .

In the last milenia since the belif of the mother earth has lessened the inside of earth has been associated with a hell, maybe just because it sounds so finite, lonley, we are all defiantly returned to the earth, and whiteout all the knowledge of the otherland- and visits to it,cultural introduction to it, the idea is simply frightening and claustrophobic. Mother earth who assures all is well down there has been forgotten and lost, her reasons too have been forgotten, and the fertility she fought for, in the contemporary world has less of a value, that is until it unobtainable. The other land, place within the earth has relocated, Heaven, up in the sky has replaced it, and it floats somwhere in the reign of the sky God.

On a more everday note, most people have experimented with meditation. I have encountered many mediation recipes , which guide a person to imagine a path, down into depths of a house into the earth, down the staires, deep down. The mediation always leads to water, and than a light, and in this light we are supposed to encounter our essence, find subconscious solutions, reprogramme our conscious..

To me it now appears that meditating in this way we enter the otherworld that the ancestors believed in. For it is a land buried deep down with its own skies and waters. The idea of going there eventually, is not so frightening if one has visited the place and becone familiar with it in this life . However is it not a wee bit macabre entering this underworld whilst alive? Where do the roots of this mediation come form? Have they been around in some form from the days described in the myths " when girls visit the insides of earth and take bread as a gift, so that they may be allowed out again?.

Any way, for today , enoguh of brooding on the mythology I must geting back to painting it .

Thursday 29 March 2012

Pomorac Finac

Adrenalin nadolazeće izložbe kao uvjek upuca me dozom smrtonosnog dangubljenja koje me smrzne i neda da radim,te uobićanjo odvede bilo kud daleko od slika, negdje zanimljivo, tako sinoć smo završili M, ovo tjelo i Gđa i G Tanaj na izložbi u postapokalipstičnom mad-max-gradu..

Ulazak u zgradu bio je kroz rupu u ogradi, a vrt preplavljen mladeži obučene kao dječica Marlyn Mansona. U ime scenografije broj pasa su vukodlačili uokolo a razbijeno staklo je reflektiralo neonska svjetla i grafite. Kada smo ušli cure u cervenim kaputićima na biciklama su pitale sramežljivo što se i gdje tu nešto događa, a kako jedini ljudi ne odjeveni u uniformu trulosti nisu znali odgovor, gurnile su bicikle kroz ogradu i pobjegle. Mansonova djeca su nas gladno pikirala, a da se nisu upravo zazitili štakora na gradele bili bi nam prerezali grkljan s limenim čepom od konzerve. .

Mladen je postao nervozan također, i započme bosti botune po mobitelu, ali kako jedini put iz ove situacije je mogao biti uzgor, prema gore smo se i počeli pentrat po klimavim skalama te pronašli izložbu. U velikoj tamnoj praznini nalazila se divovska vida ili šaraf u obilku penisa. Dali je umjetnik bio svjestan brojnih interpretacija ovog rada? Penis je bio obložen lavandinim sjemenkama. Očekivala sam golubove. No samo jedna osoba opsjednuta s tim organom mogla je doć do takve ideje. Philipa Horan je napravila skulpturu svoga golog momka, uključujući njegov nadprirodno veliki penis, prekrila je skulpturu sa sjemenkama i pustila golube na gozbu, te nije potrebno istaknuti da od svih mjesta golubi su najviše sljetali na falusnu granu Jhony boya i čokali..

Ostatak prostorija sadržaavale su skulpture koje su bile sličnih materijala, to jest centralna tema izložbe bila je " Tvrdo drvo". Grupe muškaraca njuškale su ukokolo kao neki pametnjakovići, a tada se među svim tim pojavilo svjetlo. Svetac..

Kako opisati čovjeka kojeg jedonstavno moraš upoznat zbog njegovog izgleda?.

On je bio knjiga u kožnim koricama sa smeđim stranicama koje su obečavale, kartu otoka i zakopanog blaga. Čovjek je imao raštrkanu bradu koja je izgledala kao explodirana zvjezda mačana duhannom, iz nje je visila pušeća drvena lula, uokvirena zrnim zubićima, pićušnim plavim oćima, a sve je držalo tijelo zamotano u zelenu voštanu jaketu i narodne čizme do koljena. .

Tanaji su htjeli znati jeli Englez "nooooo hohohohohohohoho hoho" Hutao je kao sova. "ja ja ja ja ja jaj aj sam iz Finske ž žžžžživio sam u Starigradu ovu zimu ali sutra odlazim jedriti na Baltičko more""Naravno da jedri pomislila sam, jedino čovjek koji poznaje samoću i more može izgledati ovako"Pomorac si? Upitala sam veselo" " da da da da da dadadadadada da!" Složio se" ali, u starigradu sam sam radio skulpture" Becky je primjetila da je ovo čovjek kao stvoren za mene pomorac i umjetnik. Oooooooho ho ohoho ohoh oho he nasmijao se kao dida mraz i vratio lulu usta. Evo on je također pomorac ponudila sam mu Mladena, a mi smo umjetnici. Muškarci su potom se zapričai o djelovima brodova i razlikama između skandinavskih i mediteranskih brodica. Hutanje kao je nastavilo neko vrijeme..

Međuvremenu ja sam se vinski pripremala za pričati ovaj galeb mors-kod, te kad su bili gotovi sam ga zaskočila. Skupljam kolekciju pomoraca, svih oblika, godina, i vrsta jedara, ukoliko su neobični. Ovo je bio primjer koji nisam mogla propustiti. Otvorila sam memoriju na stranu pomoraca sa bijelim bradama, i započela intervju ..

Ime mu je Sakari Koskenalho.Rođen je u Helskinkiu, no dok je još bio mali siromašan dječak imao je kajić i odlazio je na more dnevno. Sada živi na otočiću skupa s ostalih 30 otočana. Došao je živjeti na Hvar preko zime da bi se malo podružio . Ksko lito dolazi on kao svake godine diže sidro i ide ploviti na Baltičko more, jer ovdje je pre vruče..

Zapravo ima plan, naslikati cijeli ocean, svaki dan po jednu sliku, i to izdati u knjigu, tako da pomorci više neće trebati koristiti karte, već će po njegovoj slici znati gdje da putuju. Sakari i ja smo se dogovorili naći na Hvaru u listopad.Kada je poćeo brujiti nešto o mogućem zakašnjenju i zbog pituravanja broda. Ubacila sam malo mornarskog šećera. "Pa moraš doć. U listopadau će na Hvaru biti moja prijateljica meksikanka".Pomorcu je oko poprimilo sjaj " u huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhu uuuuu huuh uuu" Onda morat ću biti tu!

Arapski susret

Prolazila sam pored Harvy Nicholsa kao uvijek kasneći na sastanak, nisam imala sat i morala sam pitati stranca koja je ura. Dao mi je. Takoder me pitao odakle sam. "Hrvstske? Ah. jedina država u Evropi gdje su mi ljudi pokazali poštovanje na granici. Vrlo pristojni i generozni ljudi." Uzvratila sam pitanje" A Vi?" " Iz Emirata" Jeste li ikada posjetila Dubai? "" Ne još " Molim Vas dopustite mi da Vam se predstavim nastavi stranac. Ime mi je Ali. A Vaše? Nadam se da Vas ne zadržavam", ispričao se ali imam jednu želju." Budući da ljudi u Vašoj državi su bili dobri prema meni volio bih vas pozvati na čaj jednom." Čudno pitanje od stranca na ulici ali, Ali je imao velike tople oči, iskreno lice i manire prefektong gospodina, dala sam broj i požurila na sastanak.

Nije prošao ni sat vremena kada je telefon zazvonio i Aliev glas pozdravi" Dobra Večer djevojka sa Sunca. Nadam se da ne ometam. Bilo je zadovoljstvo upoznati Vas i želim da znate kako bi bilo veće zadovoljstvo ako bi ste se odazvali na čaj. "Zašto ne?" odgovrila sam. " Može li sutra popodne" Želio je dogovoriti stvar. " Dali mogu pozvati prijateljicu?" " Pa naravno".

Jako me zaintersiralo ovo prvo poznanstvo Arapa. Nemojte me krivo shvatiti. Tada je taman počeo rat u Iraku i bila sam zgrožena time, podsječalo me na ratu u Hrvatskoj kad sam bila mala, i odlučila sam postvetiti dio akademske godine kako bi nacrtala animirani film protiv tog rata.Što sam više istraživala arapsku kultru to me je i više zanimala, bila sam preseretna imati priliku upoznati nekog tko bi mi mogao pokazati pravu stvar.

Za događaj sam izvukla Olgu, i odjenula crnu haljinu do poda smatrajući to pristojno za druženje među arapima, sreli smo se u Knightsbridgeu. Ali nas je pozvao u lounge simpatičnog hotela pored Harvey Nichollsa. Razgovor je bio fascinantan. Ali je bio čovjek na početku svojih tridesetih, i vrlo odrastao u usporedbi s dečkima s kojim smo mi socializirali na faxu, imao je svoju firmu, surađivao je s Inom, uzgajao je i trkao konje i deve, i znao je mnogo o povjesti koja me ja zanimala zbog projekta. Kada je pitao " Dali vi dame volite Lebanonsku kuhinju" odgovorile smo " Nismo nikad kušale".

Restoran je bio na istom trgu , i Ali nam je obečao da če nam se sviditi. Na razini ulice restoran je bio razočarajuće obićan, lift muzika je svirala u pozadini engleza koji su pristojno žvakali. No pratećo signal Alia vlasnik restorana je otvorio vratašca i proveo nas niz stepenice i ciglane tunele u podzemnu pećinu. Pecina je bila sastavljena od individualnih pečinica iskopanih u kamenu svaka sa svojim stolom, i centralnom prostorijom u kojoj dva čovjeka s crnim brčinama su svirali sintizizer i pjevali arapske pjesme. Pečina je vrvila ljudima i ekom misterioznog jezika. Iznenadilo me je vidjeti dame ne omotane u crne tunike, već odjevene u kombinacije visoke mode. Na ulazak u pećinu žene bi podignule crne pokrivače, otkrivajući bogat dekolte, večinu noge i zakoračale bi u unotrašnjost noseći prekrasne štikle.

Ali je naručio toliko jela da su sasvim prekrili stol. Olga i ja sjele smo jedna do druge, s laktovima uredno složenim,i ogrnomnim očima oduševljene ovim novim svijetom u Londonu. Pridružio se rođak iz Emirata,pa su nas zajedno vodili kroz degustaciju svih jela koji sastavljaju Lebanonsku kuhinju, razna mesa s roštilja u umacima od jogurta, balancane, salate od poma i petrsimula. Sve je bilo ukusno, svježe i čarobno. Nakon nekog vremena pjevač je počeo vrtjeti kuhinjsku krpu, i skakutati po restoranu. Tada, svi muškarci solemno su ostavili jela i pridružili se plesu krpe , uhvativši jedni drugog za ramena i dižući koljena u zrak s ritmom. Uskoro je u pečinu stigla i trbušna plesačica. Vrtjela je i treskala kukovima kao zmija šuškalica ali pritiskom naših domaćina smo frcnule kukovima i mi.

Na stolu do nas, sjedile su dvije prekrasne dame u Valentino večernjim haljinama.Ogla studentica mode i ja bile smo oduševljene samo njihovom pojavom. "Jeste li igrale nočas" Pitao ih je Ali. " Ahhh, da , pa moramo raditi nešo kako bi zaboravile". Naravno" Razumio je Ali. " Koliko ste izgubile?" " Sto pedeset tisuća" Kaže prva " Tristo tisuća" Prizna tužno druga. Prezentirane smo damama koje su obje bile iz Iraka. " Počeli su bombardirati naš grad draga" Pogledala me je i objasnila " Bacaju bombe na Bagdad. Ovo je tuža tužna većer za Irak. " Zatim je ustala, prošetala do podija, te počela plesati na sve jaču glazbu. Vjerojatno je to bilaa neka pjesma iz Iraka jer sve žene u restoranu su ustale od večere i počele plesati kombinaciju sensualnosti i tragedije. Neke od žena popele su se na stolove. Dame iz bagdada vrtjele su rukama u zraku u ritam muzike i puštale crne maskara suze da teču niz njihova prekrasna lica.

"U istinu su počeli bombardiranje večeras" Pitala sam tužno. "Da" odgovorio je Ali ,zatim je nastojao nas razvedriti i pružitit sasim veselo prvo Arapsko iskustvo. Kada je večera završila, zustavio nam je taksi i posalo nas u stvarnost istočnog Londona. --
sparrows love house and techno

honney and walnuts wake up more than coffee

when you get lost and stop being able to do the things you know you can do and must do, call your name agian and gian out loud, find yourself , than hypnotise yourself with music to stay



vrapci vole house i pegglu

med i orasi bude bolje od kave

kada se izgubiš i nemožeš raditi ono što znaš da bi trebao i da znaš, zovi svoje ime, glasno i ponavjlajući dok se ne nađeš, onda se muzikom hipnotirizarj da ostaneš

Wednesday 28 March 2012

Two days ago there was one tree with new leafs and blossom the one in front of the window, the very smallest, now all trees in front of the window have blossomed, and look like fairy popmpoms lit by street lights.

Arabian Encounter

I was wondering by Harvey Nichols late for a meeting as ever, had no watch, and had to ask a stranger for the time. He gave it to me. He also asked me where I was from. "Croatia. Ah, the only country in Europe where people where not rude to me at the customs and treated me with respect. Very polite and generous people. " Where are you from? "I returned the question. " I am from the Emirates. Have you been to Dubai?" "Not yet, but I would very much like to see it" "Please allow me to introduce my self" continued the stranger" My name is Ali. And what is your name?" I hope i am not keeping you too long" he excused him self, "but I do have a wish." Seeing people in your country have been so good to me, please allow me to take you for tea sometime". It was an odd question form a stranger on the street, but Ali had big warm eyes, an honest face and seemed like a perfect gentleman, I gave him my number and rushed off to the meeting.

Not an hour passed when the phone rang with and Alis voice announced" Good evening girl from the Sun. I hope I am not disturbing you. It was a pleasure to meet you, and I wished to let you that it would be a great pleasure if you would come to tea." "Why not " I replied" how about tomorrow evening" he wanted to close the deal " May I bring a friend " I asked " Well of course".

I was in fact very intrigued to have met my first Arab. Please do not misunderstand me. At the time a war on Iraq just started and I felt very bitter about it all, as it reminded me of the war in Croata when I was a child, and I decided to dedicate a term of college to create an animated film against the war in Iraq. The more I researched about Arabic culture the more intrigued I was ,and I was happy to met someone who could show me the real thing.

For the occasion I russeled up Olga, and dressed in a long to the floor black dress as I assumed would be polite among the Arabs and we met in Knights bridge . Ali took us for tea to a cosy hotel lounge by Harvey Nichols. The conversation w was enticing, he was a man at beging of his thirties, very grown up in atitude in comparison to the boys we socialised with. He had his own businesses and worked with the national petrol company of Croatia. He raced and bread horses and camels , and knew a lot aobut history, it was all very fascinating .Thus when he asked "Do you ladies like Lebanese food?" we answered "We had never tried it."

The restaurant on the same square, and Ali promised we would love it. On the street level of the restaurant it was rather disappointingly ordinary, with some lift music playing and english people chewing away politely. But after a signal from Ali the owner of the restaurant opened a door and we where lead down stairs and trough brick tunnels to a underground cavern. The cavern was made of booths dug into the rock and a central space in which two men with moustaches and sintisizer played and sung Arabic songs. The cavern was full and echoed in the mystirious language. It surprised me was to see the Ladies not covered in the black tunics they wear on the strees, as all where exquisitely dressed in couture outfits. On entering the cavern the ladies removed black covers, showing pleanty of cleavage, and leg ower beautiful stilettos.

Ali ordered enough dishes to cover the table entirely.Olga and I sat next to one another, with elbows tucked in neatly,eyes huge with fascination at this new world hidden in London. Emirati cousin joined us and together they lead us to taste all the dishes that constituted Lebanese kitchen, dips made of aubergine, tomatoes, yogurt and grilled meats, parsley tomato salads. Everything was astoundingly delicious, fresh and enchanting. Some time trough the dinner the singer wrapped up a tea-cloth and started hopping around the restaurant to the music. Men left their meals and joined arms to folow this tea-cloth dance lifting their legs into the air in rytham. After this a female dancer stepped into the cavern. She swayed her hips and our hosts insisted we shimmied our bottoms with her.

Seated at the table next to us where two voluptuous dames dressed in Valentino gowns. Olga the fashion student and I where stunned just by their exuberant presence. " Did you play this evening" Ali asked the ladies" " Ah yes we have to do something to forget". "Of course "confirmed Ali "How much did you loose?" Hunrdedand fifty thousand. Answered one, Three hundred thousand." admitted sadly the other." We where introduced to the ladies and told that they we both from Iraq. " They have started bombing our city this evening dear."She looked at me and explained. "They are throwing bombs on Baghdad.They are bombing my town. It is a very very sad night for Iraq this night." She than rose walked to the dance floor and started dancing to increasingly loud music. It must have been a song form Iraq for all the women rose from their dinner and danced a mix of sensuality and tragedy. Some women climbed the tables. The ladies form Bagdhdad swayed their hands in the air to the rhythm of the music and let black mascara tears slide and down their beautiful faces.. "So they really started the bombing tonight" I asked sadly " Yes" Replied Ali and than did his best to make us forget all tragey and enjoy our first Arabic experience . When dinner came to an end, Ali thanked us for our company, stooped a cab, and sent us with it to our East London reality.

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A Finish sailor man

The adrenalin of an exhibition dooming upon me and the procrastatanion of doom which freezes me not alowing me to work always takes me somwhere interesting, last night m and self ended up with the mrs and mr Tanay in an exhibtion in postapocaliptic mad max-ville.

Arrival in the building was trough a chnik in the wall as shakepeare would say, and the yard swamped with adolescants dressed like marlyin manson's babies. To set the scene few dogs where warefolfing aobut and broiken glass reflected neon signs and grafitti. As we entered girls in red coats on bycicles asked shyley and where is the thing happeneing, but being the only ones not attired in the uniform of decay and not knowing a good answer made them push their bikes back troguh the fence and run away. The manson babies looked hungriley at us, and had they just not had a rat barbicue would have without a thought cutt of our necks with a tin can rim.

Mladen got nervous too, started pressing buttons on a phone, but as the ony way out of this incubus was up, up the rickety steps we went and found an exhibition. In its dark holow was a giant penus shaped screw.. did they realise the dobule entendre..? Covered with lavander seeds. I was expecting pigeons to be hopping aobut pecking at the penus. But I suppse only one person obsesed with the organ could come up with such an idea, Philipa Horan had made a mould of her boyfirends body together with his unaturaly large penus, covered the whole sculpture with seeds and let pigeons to feast on the work, needles to say the pigeons favoured landing on the phalic branch of Johnny boy and pecking at it.

The rest of the rooms contained sculptures which where simmilar in their material, that is central theme of the exibition seemed to be "wood". Groups of men where walking aobut taking aobut the works being cleaver and than a saint appeared among the mortals. How can I describe a man one just wants to get to know becosue of the way he looks.?

He was a leather bound book cover with brown pages promising a trasure island map. The man had a wispy beard which looked like an tobaco stained-exploded star, out of which hung a smoking wooden pipe, framed in eeny-weeny girtty black teeth and tiny blue eyes, all held up by a body embalmed in a waxgreen jacket and tucked into high folk leater boots.

The Tanays wanted to know if the where English? "nooooo hohohohohohohoho hoho" He hooted. "im, Im ,im from Finland"I li li li lived in Starigrad in the winter and now go to sail sai sail the Baltic sea tomorow" Of course he sails I tohguht. Only men who know deep solitude and sea can look like this" So you are a sailor I exclaimed excited" "Yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyesy yes. He agred. In stari grad i i i i i i made sculptures but i sail all all all all my life" Becky pointed out that he is everything I ever wanted, both an artist and a sailor . Oooooooho ho ohoho ohoh oho he chuckled like father christmas and than rosey at the cheeks put his pipe in. Here he is a sailor too I gesticulated to Mladen, and we are artists here" " oh hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo he quiped and put the pipe back in to the mouth. The men spoke aobut sailing, boat parts, and diffenrences beteen scandanavian boats and mediteranaoian boats so the hooting went on for a while. "

I sipped at my vine to prepare for speaking this seagul- morse code and awaited the exhaustion of subject to pounce. I am a collcetor of sailors. Of all body shapes, ages, and type of sails you see so long as they are unusual. This was a specimen not to be missed. I opened the page of memory dedicated to sailors with white beards and started the interwiew. His name is Sakari Koskenalho. He was born in Helskinki, but even when he was a poor booy he always had a little vessel and went to sea daily. Now he lives on a tiny island together with 30 other inhabbitants. To him a winter spent on the island Hvar was socialising, despite the island being infamous for being in winter exceptionaly quiet. Now the summer was comming. Yes he sails the Blaltic sea with his boat every year . Sakari has a plan - He wantes to sail the ocean and paint a painting a day and so documnt the whole journey in a book. So people do not use maps, but rather reffer to his paintigs to know where they are. Sakari and I aranged to meet next october on when he returns to island Hvar. When he started making noises aobut how he may come late becosue of the fixing of his boat, i threw in a treat." But in october my friend form Mexico will be on Hvar." "Oh is that so? the sailior man eye lit up with stye " oh ohohohohoh well well well welllwellwell I shall have to be there than"

Tuesday 27 March 2012

A roasted hogg, Owen Wilson and Ginger.

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Owen Wilson I met During a 1920’ party just out side Rome. We we here in the garden of a castle. Charleston music was played by a band dressed in White summer suits. Ladies wore plumes, tassels, pearls beads and red lips. The party was attended by anyone that could invent a way to break the ranks of the securities triple name check , or was invited by the Count him self to his birthday.Everyone I knew in Rome was going to enter this party somehow, and it was a matter of pride to manage to do so weather they knew the count or not.

We had waited for that perfect moment of twilight on the roman roof top for Roberto to take photographs of me for his project. Consequently he offered his car to be my carriage that evening. It was feliniesque fate which had concocted the insides of the car hading for the party, for I was not accustomed to spent much time with the boys in it. The artist was an romantic obsession of my flatmate, wlist the other two where young film directors of which the ginger one I was convinced hated me.I had brought along a girl sent from London for the occasion. The car was tiny, we sat all ower each other ,the boys shared around liquor wrapped in a paper bag. We looked like a right bunch of 20's gangsters.

Alma had no invite but fortunately was really very black and managed to slip at the base of the seats and disappear into the darkness. I also had no invitation. Half man half machine with wires for ears, pushed his face and guest list into the car window “E chi e lei?” Torch was shone into my face Who am I?. “I sono Sunci” I looked straight in his eyes, and he let us trough.Most of the usual crowd that tried to gatecrash found them self shocked by being infiltrated and left outside this to be the party of the year. It gave me pleasure to receive the desperate phone calls of frustrated ex boyfriend and editor of art magazine, who was so used to being invited everywhere, begging of my to help use charm to let him enter as he spent hours waiting outside the estate. Never the less to irritate my eyes, his new flirt was at there, but than so was a baked hog with an apple stuffed in its mouth sprawled on a huge table and to me they belonged in the same kitch category which would add to the nights amusement..


Owen Wilson with his post modern nose flanked by two beautiful girls at all times like general Gaddafi's, was the only calm creature at the party, enchanted into a still monument. The rest where quite accustomed to the Italian romantic melodrama as a means of fun, and each and everyone was intent on having a melodrama of their own. I saw a wife trying to seduce her husband by peeing out of her beautiful dress, and trying hypnotise him with her bottom into forgetting the lover she knew, he had disappeared with into the castle, throughout the night. A 22 year old in a dressing gown proposed to a 37 year old countess and she accepted to marry him.The moment of entering the party I lost the girl I was hosting.My housemate was long lost hunting Roberto and .I danced all the big band had to play the whole journey of the moon across the sky and some of the suns to the DJ. What I was not expecting that night, was that Ginger form the car, would be set on dancing with me all night.

On arriving in Rome last Automn, I was straddled on the back of the vespa by the Raffaella and beeped across town to a party at a artist studio in the PastificioCerrere.Within moments of my arrival a boy spilled vodka into my eye. Being a painter the eyes are the most precious asset and I understood his move as a violation and deliberate attack. Furthermore the offender was ginger, and I had grewn up at a proper mocking all gingers school. At the time I did not pay a thought to consequences of my acts as I planed to stay a week not as long as I did. Rash I filled a glass with vodka and took steps to the dance floor where i aimed my vengance votka at Ginger's eyes. Theatrically, he screamed and jumped at me with fists intending to knock me down flat swearing all kinds of Italian which I did not understand, whilst his sister fought to stoping him beating me up. I forgot about the incident, but apparanltey the ginger boiled up such a hate for me that his sister had to warn me about it, and I spent the year avoiding him where ever we would see.

With rather altered atitude, Ginger dashed after me all evening inexhaustabley as I ran from him squealing making a spectacle of it.Whilst charming boys competed to lead me though swing and rumba, the ginger was infuriated each time it was not him. He at times leaned in to attampt a guerrilla kiss, from which I jumped away, enraging him more than when I had splashed him with vodka. “Sono inamorato di te” Was dismissed with giggles. He claimed to be inlove with me, agianst all the ods, and seemed to belive I belonged to him which he did not revert from saying.

He was in fact a very good dancer, had that slick boy from the hood style, tall, sweet freckles, pretty lips and blue eyes, dashing admitedley, but I had no intentions to let him know it especially as his romanicng made him into amusement of the party.

Dawn kicked in and high on adrenalin, riding on logic and magic of the moment I eneded up fully dressed in the pool. When the frolocking was milked of its charms and i found myself cold wet outside it.Raffaella pulled out the golden table cloth from beneath the roasted hog and insisted I wore it for warmth and put out my dress to dry on a tree. I wraped the cloth best i could around the body to make it look like a gown. Too encumbered to dance I stood warming up in a ray of sunshine.Ginger love fool should have by than given up, but he came over to say “sei belissima” ever so sweetly. Unarmed, touched, I kissed him.

.. Having recived the kiss he had wanted, and probalbey gave up on getting that day, Ginger walked away from me smiling and dizzy, swinging in a zig zag left to right . He was quite clearley off guard , so Roberto took advantage of the moment and in the name of spectacle threw Ginger into the pool .A roar of laughter exploded trough the garden. Everyone had watched the climax.Someone quoted a famous line about women being deadly for a man...

.Than it clicked, I had to do something to rescue his dignity, and did the thing no one expected. I threw off the cloth on to the grass, revealing breasts and all jumped into the pool to kiss ginger passionaltey on the lips wrapping my arms around his neck.. Crowd cheered and applauded. The photographers snapped photographs. When we emerged form the pool I had to face the change of situation, I now did belong to ginger and he now belonged to me somehow .It stopped being just theatre . Dazed left for Rome. Spent a few delirious days, swimming, and cooking, falling in love.Afterwhich I had to leave to do the first exhibtion in Split.

I just returned from the cinema. I ran there, raincoat flying trough the drizzle of the Zagreb Autumn night. I had to make it to Midnight in Paris. Two best friends from across the world told me so. The film is full of all the possible cliche's about the American writer wanting to move to Paris become a decent writer. Owen Wilson walks into a 1920’ party in Paris. Charleston music is played. Ladies wore plumes, tassels, pearls beads and red lips. Everthing in the film is so familiar .

Monday 26 March 2012

rim dan jedan

vlak je sitgao u kolodvor Termimi. Putovala sam iz Hrvatske preko, Venecije i para dna stanke kod meksičkih arhitekate na bienalu arhitekture. U rim sam stigla s torbom punom odječe, i ruke pune velikih rola papira i tjela mladih muzaa koje sam slikala u bikinijma preko ljeta.Nazvlala sam dani broj. Raffaellu nikako nisma mogla dobit. Ako je ne dobijem, neznam ni gjde ću stati, a kamoli kako imati izložbu morat ću nazad da vlak za hrvatsku. Jedinin drugi broj bio je njegong prijatelja producenta. On također nije bio u rimu ali je bar digao slušalicu iz hon konga gdje se nalazio. Da ona kaže da me raffaella očekiva, opiše mi kako busom doći preko rima do mjesta gdje me je raffaella smjestila u neku ludu kuću punu njenih prijatelja, ali njega nema dali želim njegov puno bolji stan? Ne? Ok, galerija je odmah ulicu do stana. sjedi na bus i pitaj da te iskrcaju na Chieza Nuova. Ruke pune ušla sam u buz koji me prekotrljao preko Rima i pljunio kao kakvog turista kraj bijele ckrve. Kuća je bila na 5 katu tekakota zgrade. Da očekivali su me svi stanari Bettyine kuće. Bettiyina kuća bio je dom Grupi budista. Teenage kćerima Južno američkog ambasadora u egzilu. Umjetniku. I svakojakim putujućim piscima, glazbenicinma, svjetskim putnicima. Raffaella također bi katdaka iznajmila svoj stan turistima za velike svote i zauzlea krevet kod Betty. Stan je bio veliki gospodski stan kakvi su se nekić gradili s tekakota podovima, visokim stropovima, zidovima punih knjiga i putnih karata, sa stropa su visjeli chandilijeri , paučine i suveniri svih država svijeta. Sve sobe osim kuhinje imale su sagrađene velike drvene krevete na kat. A centar te kuće bila je kuhinja i stol dug 5 metara. Svi su me isčekivali. Raffaella im je kazala da sam poseban gost,ostavila mi je broj njene galerijske asitentice. Po londonskim pravilima se ne čeka. Nzvala sam astitenticu koja je srigla na skuteru i otvorila galeriju. Brbljala je nešto nerazumljivo na talijanki i otvorila mi prortor pretrpan stvarima. Prostor u kojem sam ja trebala napravitit izložbu bio je pun mrtvih biljaka, kutija starih cipela, časopisa, knjiga, odjeće na hrpama. Izgledalo je to sve kao dubiki buvljak a mirisao je na vlagu i potrebu da se sve to baci ča. Očekivla sam da če asitentica to sve očistiti , no ona je mi je jedonstavno ostavila klkjuče i sjahlala skuter pa nestala. ako moja izložba treba biti u tom prostoru odlučila sam, onda če taj prostor biti prilagođen. počela sma nostiti sve te stare cipele u konjtenje, stotine pitarta i robe. Kada sam očistila prvu prostoriju pojavila se asistentice, skrikajući na mobilkte, i signalizirla mi da nesmijem ništa bacat. Pokazala mi je da postoje podrumi koji se zavijaju duboko ispod galerije u obliku puževe kićme. Pomogla mi je raznostiti svo to smeće u crne utrobe zvijri bez struje. Kada sam očistila nekiliop orostorija, kupila sma bijeje piture i dala se u bojanje zidova. A kada su oni bili čisti, počela sam slikati. Prvi modlei bile su cure egzikle.

Friday 23 March 2012

Raffaella i pozivnica u Rim

Cijelu srednju školu maštala sam kako ću poći živjeti u iz Engleske u Italiju. Učila sam talijasnki memorizirajući riječi iz riječnika. Dan mature i kraj srenje škole moje kolege su se odmarale od ispita po ljetnim livadama parkova, a ja sam bila na avionu za Italiju. Mjesec ipo dana čuvanje djece u zamjenu za jezik po meni je bila mala cijena. Želja mi je bila studirati umjetnost u Firenci, ali me je odbila firentinska sporost, studiranje po 10 godina pustu birokraciju za koju nisam imala strpljenja, dok u istov vrijeme sam upala u St. Martins college i sve što sam im trebala slati je odgovor da prihvaćam.

Četiri godine studirala sam u Londonu ali to zadnje proljeće, kada više ništa nije bilo garantirano, nisam znala gdje ću se zaposliti kao slikar, kako ću preživeti, jedino logično riješenje bilo je raditi za akcujsku kuću Christies u Dubaju. No duboko njegdje u meni kuhala je nelogična želja za ići u živjeti u Rim mada nije bilo jasno kako tamo opstati i što raditi .

Vlasnik dizajn studija u kojem je Marina volontirala Ron Araad izašao je u debeloj žutoj knjizi svijetskih dizajnera, a predstavljanje te knjige bilo je u Conrad design shopu u Londonu. Dučan je bio pun dijaznera, pisaca i njhovih obožavatelja. Nisam znala nikog osim Marine i njenog šefa, pa eto sam jednom rukom držala šampanjac a drugom listala tu knjigu.

Preko mog ramena ,u knjigu koju gledao je vučji pogled crnog čovjeka..
"Ron araad" kaže strananc praveći se važan kako poznaje dizajn i da bi mene tako mladu i neznalu podučio. "obožavam njegov rad"
"Ah da to Vam je čovjek trenutno s desna" Odgovorim.
"Ti ga poznaješ?" Odgovori iznenađen vučji pogled. "Gdje je?"
" Da hočeš da te predstavim?" Pitam igrajući se sa strancem iz dosade.
I tako je počela zamjena informacija i razmjena ljudi. Ja sam njega upoznala sa Araadom a on mene s Raffaellom. Ta Raffaella je organizirala nekom fotografu izložbu u Camdenu koja je otvarala te iste večeri. Marina i ja bile smo pozvane. Izložba je predstavljala kolekciju crno bijelih velikih fotografija Beatlesa, Jeggera,uobičajana dosadna kolekcija kojem se fotograf pravi važan.

Nastavile smo na after party u stan talijanske arhitektice. Zapravo svi ljudi tamo bili su iz Italije, s bazom u Rimu, a vuk i Raffaella su u Rimu imali vlastite galerije. Prijateljstvo smo sklopili u crnom taksiju ispod velikog punog mjeseca.

Par mijeseci kasnije Raffallea se vraćala poslom u London, pa sam ju ponudila ugostiti bijući začarana svime i sivma koji su poticali iz Rima.

To je upravo bio moment pripreme zadnjeg inajvažnijeg ispita akademije. Trebala sam napraviti izložbu, knjige pripreme obrazloženja, i dokumentacije , i predati pisani rad. Raffaella za doručkom je promatrala kako se u kuhiji mučim sastaviti knjiga debljih od starih bibija. Uvjiek sam dolazila do stvaranja slike s jasnom idejom u glavi i bez pripreme a pripremu za moje slike uvjek sam slagala naknadno za profesore. Kupus jedino meni čitak kakve su te knjige su uistinu bile, Raffaella je izjavila da može stvoriti jedino luđak ili genialac. Otišla je u koledže vidjeti moje slike. Nakon toga smo se pozdravile i ona se vratila u Rim bez komentara.

Od njenog odlaska do kraja školske godine više nisam noću spavala. Zadnji ispit akedemije nosio je sa sobom veliku količinu adrenalina. Uz pripreme ispita radila sam čuvajući dva dječaka, te volontirala sa postavljanjem izložbe galeriji Rove. Bila sam više nego isrcpljena ali hvatala me je panika što ću raditi kada predam ispite, završim fakultet, i svo to volontiranje mora stati. Gdje ići. Kuda početi? Hvatao me užas moguće praznine.


Konačno je svanuo dan kada smo radove morali predati examinatorima fakutleta. Prostorije smo pripiturali sto puta kako bi nam radovi izlegali što urednije, kao i podove fakulteta, da budu bez iti jedne mrlje. Ovbjesili slike, predali knjige i tekstove, te napustili radove da se bore sami za sebe. Bilo nam je zabranjene uopče ući na fakultet tokom egzaminacije. Kolege su kupili pjenušavo vino i valjali se po soho parku, svi kao jedan iscrpljeni. Mene je bilo strah stati, otišla sam raditi u galeriju Rove.


Tada me je nazvao nepoznati broj. Raffaella zove iz Rima. Pitala je kako izgleda izložba? Jesam li zadovoljna. Zatim kaže
"A kako bi ti voljela imati Solo izložbu u mojoj galeriji u 9 mjesec u Rimu ?


Osječaj spasa bio sličan onom koji je Mojsije doživio kada mu se rastvorilo Crveno more. Prva izložba nakon faksa tako brzo bila je riješenje svih mojih strahova. U gradu snova. Odrgovorila sam "Da, doći ću napravit izložbu u Rim"


Zatim sam se sklupčala na omotnoj plastici sa balunčićima, i zasplala na podu galerije Rove ispod kredence kristala Damiana Hirsta.

Thursday 22 March 2012

Večera u Ibizi

To je bilo prvo i zadnje ljeto koje sam provela u Londonu. Bilo je teško s obrizom da prije odlaska sam vidjela boje Jadranskog mora i početak ljeta. Na sjeveru dočekala me kiša, džemperi, perjanice i konzumacija kobasica. Zaposlila sam se u butiku prodavajući kristalne lampe, vinske čaše i kušine a zvali su me Sunny. Provela sam taj mjesec čisteći prašinu i pamteći njemački iz riječnika skrivenog u jednom od odmarića. Malo je reći da je bilo depresivno i repetitivno. Zatim jedan portuglaski kolekcionar izbaci ponudu." Večera sa Sunći u Ibizi? Želim da me slikaš za tvoj projekt. Kupit ću ti kartu za sutra"

To je bio siguran početak kraja, karijere u dućanu. O da, sljedeću većer bila sam na avionu sa bojama u ručnoj prtljazi. Na aerodromu me dočekao portuglaski celebrity ortodont, koji je upravo bio u relizaciji njegovog prvog Rock albuma, odvratno zaljubljen u englesku odvjetnicu plave krvi koja mu je svake večer satima preko mobitela repala njenu ljubav kroz crnačku rimu.

Moje ime nalazilo se na kartonu, a ja sam bila u đipu. Pokupili smo prekrasnu Laviniju koja je stigla s pariške revije, momka pola njene visine i jurnili u noć Ibize, po ulicama optočenim palmama.

Noć je mirisala po Dalmaciji i cvrčcima. Gradska svjetla su nas ostavila, uspeli smo se po brdima čempresa uz suhozid, i naglo zakočili ispred kocke od betona i stakla.

Svi su bili tu. Zapravo , nitko koga sam ja poznavala, tulum je bio pretrpan španolskim zvjezdama iz filmova, glumicama, manekenkama, ređiserima, vlasnicima klubova i nogometašima, jedina stvar meni vrlo poznata bila je flamenko muzika koju je sviralo, meni vrlo poznato lice gitarista, njega sam odmah prepoznala. Paco de Lucia. Ipak jesam vlasnica flamenko cipela.

Kada se sviralo svi gosti su pljeskali u flameko ritmu. Bazen je bacao plavu vodenu pozadinu. Nakon drugog ruma govorila sam Španjolski, čudno kako sječanje radi nekada, i svima sam bila predstavljena kao Sunći, umjetnica. Koje oslobođenje, nisam se odavno osječala kao ja . Definitivno više nije postojala mogućnost da se vratim biti pepeljuga u dučanu nakon što sam se počela sječati vlastitog imena. Prije nego što sam uopče se upustila u uživanje ideja španjolske arhitektrue, skinula sam braziere dodala modru haljinu. Večer je bila vruča. Bilo je pravo ljeto van londona. Sutra, sam naslikala Laviniu i Manela.

Dinner in Ibiza

The first and only summer I stayed in London. It was more than a challenge as I had seen the colour of the summer hit the Adriatic sea beofre leaving . To pend a horrid summer of rain, jumpers,down bed covers and eating winter sausages. I was working in a shop selling, lamps and vine glasses and tassles where everyone called me Sunny. Spent a month dusting. And memorising German from pocket dictionary hidden in a draw. Depressing to say the least and repetitive. Than a portughese art collector popped the question.”Dinner with sunci in Ibiza? I want you to paint me. Il buy you a ticket for tomorrow.

This was the begging of the certain end of a shop career.Oh yes the next night I was on the plane with paints in the hand luggage. At the airport I was greeted by a celebrity portughese tv dentist with a dream of releasing a rock record in the works, grosley in love with a blue blood English lawyer who spent each night rapping her love to him in black rhyme. My name was on a card. And I was in a jeep. We picked up a beautiful lavinia arriving from a Paris cat-walk, her half sized boyfirend and sped trough Ibitha streets adorned with palms. Night smelled like croatia and crickets. City lights left us and we limbed up cypress filled hills and dry stone walls to jerk park in front of a beton and glass cube.

Every one was there. That is to say no one I knew as the party was filled with Spanish film stars, actresses, models, directors, club oweners, footballers, the only thing very familiar to me was flamenco which was played by a very familiar faced guitarits, him I knew. Paco de lucia. I do own flameco shoes.

When music was played everyone clapped in rytham. The pool cast a blue water background. After another rum I spoke Spanish, amasing how memoery works sometimes, and I was introduced to all as what I am artist, Sunci, ah what a relif hadent felt my self in ages. There was definaltey no way I could return to the doom of being a shop cinderella after I had started to remember my own name. Before I had even let my self enjoy the Spanish architects ideas, I had slipped off the bra, added a navy dress . The night was hot. It was a real summer out of London. Tomorrow I painted Manel and Lavinia.

Steeve i svjetionik. Korekt!

"Steeve! Korekt! Mucho gusto."

Prosjedi, duboko osunčan, i ponešto suh čovjek sa pilotskim cvikama , čeličnom pločicom s izrezbarenim imenom i krvnom grupom na prsima, obućen u vojničke bermude i mornarske cipele poljubi zrak poviše Tatjanine ruke i nastavi razgovor na španjolskom.

Njegov također prosjedi pas, ženka po imenu "hombre" (muškarac na španjolski) i nadimkom "Vi" lajala je njen Esparanto pozdrav svakom od četiri putnika, te je limeni brod odgurnuo od obale skakutavši sa vala na val kao stari dupin vibrirajući cijelim putem.

Odlučila sam da sukladno događaju, bilo bi prikladno odjenuti dugu plavu i upravo kupljenu sirena-haljinu. Ispostavila se odviše transparentna, i romantično uglavnom zametena s vjetrom.

Stigli smo na maleni otočić koji sumljam da je imao diametar od 100 metara, no unatoč tome bio je otok sasvim samostalnan stojeći u dostatnom obujmu mora. More uz obalu bilo je čarobni prozirni tirkiz.

"Dobrodošli kući" ponosno je najavio Steeve.

Na otočiću skuplio se mnogo prašine, suhe trave, i sjajnih znojnih radnika zadubljenjih u rad polu goli. Pogledavši upitno kao nke domače beštije na paši, sinkronizirani i tiho radnici su digli pogled, pitajući se kako su Steve i Zoran uspjeli dovući mlade žene na tu stijenu,zatim su nastavili rastezati crni katran po podu zgrade koja je izvana izgledala kao kamena štala za domaće beštije.

"Jupi" Zahikotao se Steeve" Ovo dragi prijatelji je morska kuća" povućevši nas u praznu unutrašnjost. "Ona postoji za momente kada bi se netko zaželio živjeti uz more! Korekt! A ovo je kino! I Morska kuhinja! Korekt! Sada pogledajte ovaj prozor, ovdje zamisli sebe kako se tuširaš i gldaš prekrasan zalazak sunca u more. Jupi!"

Prešli smo teritorij u procesiji, prateći poglavicu našeg plemena koji je hodao ponosno kao da upravo nosi krunu sastavljenju od perja. Uhvatevši naš pogled novi graditelji su nam poslali pozdrav pokeretom glave , kojim je Steve odgovorio s objašnjenjem .

" Mi smo svi umjetnici, dame su slikarice, oh kako ja mrzim umjetnike, toliko su egocentrični, teatralni, pre emotivni i melodramatični.

Nastavio je s objašnjenjem kako on zapravo tu ne radi ama baš ništa. Zajedno s Hombre nadgleda radnike kako rade i pleše na zvuk mješalice cementa.

"4 ovce su živjele prije mene na ovom otoku. Kao što vidite nijeda biljka nije ostala. Sve su prožderale. Živjele su ovdje 50 godina i neće više nikada dok ja ne umrem"!

Šetnja od morske kuće do vrha brijega trajala je dvije minute , a vrh brijega bio je svijetionik. Na vratima je pisalo : Sagrađeno u 1827. Prošli smo sa sjevera na jug svjetionika, i našli se na polukružnoj taraci. " Ovo dragi prijatelji je najbolji dio! Celestialna platforma za obzervaciju sunca kako izlazi iz mora na istoku i zalazi u more na zapadu, ovdje se može pratiti putovanje sunca preko neba tokom cijelog dana.

Kada smo pregledali mnogobrojne sobe svjetionika, i zamislili sve tuševe u kojim se može tuširati također prateći kretanje sunca, i koji će se uskoro sagraditi. Steeve nas je odveo do njegovog sadašnjeg tabora. Mreža za komarce visjela je obješena u kamenoj kučici ispod smokve. Poprilično Indiana Jones. Košara od Hombre stajala je u blizini. Prstom je pokazao prema naj-zgodnijem od građevinara kao ponosan kolekcionar, nudeći nam ga u slučaju da ogladnimo za mlađe meso. Zatim nas je pozvao da sjednemo, i objasnio da betonski krug će uskoro biti laboratorij. Krov će biti okrugao i na dodir botuna će se otvarati prema nebu , tako da se može slikati pod zvijezdama ili suncem.

" Ovdje je toliko prekrasno da je absolutno nemoguće slikati nešto ružno. Korekt! I to je bio moj plan! Jupi!"

Zoran je šapnuo smijajući se kako Steevov originalni plan je bio sagraditi Heli-drom, ali kada je malo razmislio, shvatio je da zapravo nema prijatelja koji posjeduje zrako-mlat.

"Kada rusi zavežu brodove na moj otok, obučem ostatak stare Švicarske vojne uniforme, Hrvatsku kapetansku kapu, i počmem odbrojavati trenutke koje dopuštam da ostanu zavezani za moj otok prije nego što ih upucam. Prijetnja uvijek upali. Smiješno je kako su ljudi spremni vjerovati u ono što vide"

Hombre je počela lajati agresivno na Steeva, koji po peti put je poslušno spustio bosu nogu i koju je mali brkati pas zaskočio i nastavio ševiti bez manjka entuzijazma.

" Ah" Steve je izdahnuo polu zasramljeno-polju ponosno. " Pa dobro je što to samo radi meni a ne strancima. Tako čistim cipele, kada ih imam na nogama"

Steeve je odpio guc vina i počeo sa " Dakle što sam vam ono htjeo ispričati? Oh, zašto i kako sam postao umjetnik , unatoč toga što sam znao da umjetnici žive u naj-strašnijoji horifičnoj mizeriji? Pa jednostavno je, nisam htjeo raditi"....

Recept za Crni rižot ala Krivi

2.Za početak nabavi čašu vina vlastitog izbora

3.Popij guc vina

4.Smanji operu Karmen da možeš razmišljati

5.Sada trebamo razbiti predrasude o sipi koja liči na svemrica kada ju susretneš u ribarnici. Sipa svima koji žive uz more i među ribarima je delicij. Što je veća to je bolja, a bolje je što je friškija također.

Crni rižot jedna je od glavinh Dalmatinskih delicija. A crn je prirodno zbog crne tinte od sipe.

Ja sam naučila raditi crni rižot na brodu, tokom zalaska sunca, od ribara zvanog Krivi. Da možete vizualizirati Krivi nije imao jedno oko a imao je bijelu bradu . Volio je žene skoro koliko i alkohol ali malo manje nego more. To popodne Ivana s, Ivana H, Zrinka, tuta drui dečki te ja smo bili na brodu. Krivi je uvatija sipu od 2 kila i odlučio nam napraviti rižot. Cure su pod negovim naredbama rezale povrće a on je bio nadređen sipi.

Ovo je njegov recept, i vrsta je recepta kojeg želiš napravitit puno i kada imaš društvo , a i da ti ostane malo za sutra jer je fantastičan.

Dalmatinska kuhinja neznam dali znaju ovo sjevernjaci, unatoč toga što je blizu Italije ne obožava pomu, u Dalamtinskoj kuhinji Poma je kontessa a kapula je Kraljica kuhinje. Također talijanski recepti su svi bazirani na dodavanje što manje svih sastojaka, dok Dalamtinski moto je dodaj što više svega dobroga da jelo ispadne dobro,(što mi je stvaralo konepcijske probleme u Rimu kao što znaju svi tamošnji prijatelji) stoga primjetit če te da ovaj recept ne prati uobičajne recepte za minimalistički rižot .

Ovi recept hrani 4 hrvata, 8 talijana ili 3 amerikanca. Po-duplaj-tega ili smanji-tega po veličini ekipe na večeri.

Sastojci:

Oko kilo kapule (crveni luk)

Čuperak ili dva petrsimula

Cijeli luk (bijeli luk)

2 lista lovora

Velika žlica konšerve ili 3 velike pome (raćica)

Pola litre bijelog vina ( ne naj goreg)

Maslinovo ulje

Sol

Oko kilo sipe

Sipu kupite frišku na pazaru i zamolite osobu koja vam čisti ribu da vam sačuva nepuknutu kesicu crne tinte te nju stavite sa strane u osvojenu kesu. (nikako kupovati sintetično crnilo!!!)

oko pola kila riže za rižot 400-500 grama

Žlica masla ako hoćete

Mala Žlica vegete - to svi ribari koriste pa nek i mali mujo ali ako mali mujo je snob protiv vegete i netreba

Pot vruče vode (dodavanje hladne vode u rižot- prijeti da riža ostaje tvrda)

Za toč: Izrežite svu kapulu, luk, petrsimul u najmanje komadiće za koje imate strpljenja, i bacite ih na zagrijano ulje u teču debelog dna. Ubacite listove lovora.

Sada izrežite sipu u komade dovoljno male ili velike za jedan ugriz u kocke, uključujući i sipine pipke. Sipu bacite u teču zajedno s kapulom te mješatje na srednjoj toplini dok kapula ne postane zlatna.

Dodajte pola vina, i dostatno vode da poviše sipe, ima palac tekućine.

Kuhate ovo poklopljeno na lagano oko sat vremena i svako malo promješajte. Samo vrijeme kuhanja će natjerati sipu da prestane bit žilava i gumena, i posane mekana. Svako malo dodajte vruće vode i vina da ima jednako tekućine kao i na poćetku, te promješajte. Dodajte vegetu i sol.

Kada je sipa mekana u ustima, toč će imati slatko-slan ukus. Tada dodajte u toć rižu, i kesicu sipinog crnila. Špaker mora biti na vrlo lagano- naprimjer 2, te konstantno morate sada mješati rižu sa drvenom žlicom da se ne zaljepi i izgori.. Dodajte vruče vode kada riža upije sav toč, i nastavite dodavati malo vode i mješati dok riža nije skuhana al dente.

Ako želite da rižot bude kremast ubacite veliku žlicu masla i zamješajte. Zatim ostavite rižot da malo se zgusne 10 minuta. (rižot je još najbolji hladan ili stura dan)

Sad nek vam netko dolije vina u žmul, i zasjedite ekipu za stol , pa uživajte!
Taj dan Krivom je "prsnilo oko od sipe" po gačama i morao je kući u mudantama.. Svaki put kada kuham njegove recepte osječam špirit kako me gleda . A vov danas pišem jer sam jela jučerašnji rižot od sipe za doručak hehehe

Wednesday 21 March 2012

Cuttle fish risotto

-- To start get a glass of vine of your choice.

2. Sip the vine.

3.Turn down Carmen the opera so that you can think

4.Now we need to break all prejudice against cuttle fish . Despite the fact cuttle fish look like aliens hung from front of restaurant in Chinatown. Cuttle fish to all those living near sea and amongst fishermen is a delicacy. The bigger the better, and same goes for fresher.

Black risotto is one a favourite Dalmatian delicacy. It is literally a black risotto made black with the natural cuttle fish ink.

I was taught to make this risotto , on a boat, at sun set by the fisherman named Krivi. To help you visualise ,Krvi kad one eye missing and a white beard. He also loved women almost as much as alcohol, and a little less than the sea. That afternoon, Ivana S. Ivana H, Zrnika, Tuta, and I where on the boat. Krivi had just caught a 2 kilo cuttle fish and set to making risotto for us all, which meant that the girls cut up vegetables and stirred under his orders, and he was in charge of the fish.

This is his recepie and it is the kind of recipe you do want to make a lot of, and invite friends to, or if not you certainly want to have some left for tomorrow as it is delicious.

Dalmatian kitchen despite it being geograficaly near Italy, unlike the Italian kitchen does not worship the tomato, in the Dalmatian kitchen the tomato is a countess and the Onion is the Queen of the kitchen. Also contrary to Italian recipes, Dalmatian kitchen is based on the idea you should put a lot of everything good to make a good dish, whilst Italian is all aobut tiny bit of this and tiny bit of that (I found it hard to adjust to this ideology in rome as all my firends there know).. So this risotto will not follow the usual Italian risotto minimalism.

This recepie will feed about 4 croats or english , or 8 italians, or 3 americans. Double it or half it according to amount of people at dinner. :

Ingredients:

About a kilo of onion

A big bunch of parsley or two

A whole garlic

2 laurel-bay leaves

a table spoon of tomato pure or 3 big fresh tomatoes

A half- liter (pint) of white vine

olive oil

About a kilo of fresh cuttle fish.Get this Fresh from a fish market and ask the person who cleans the fish in front of you on the market to not break and to separate the cuttlefish ink sack and put it a separate plastic bag to the side.<

salt

3-4 teacups of rizotto rice/ a pound/ or 400-500 grams />
a spoon of butter optional

hot water

br />
To cook: Chop all onion and garlic parsley in to smallest pieces that you have patience to cut, and throw them on to heated olive oil into a big thick bottomed pot or casserole.

Throw in the bay leafs.

Chop the cuttle fish into chunks including legs and throw into the frying onions. Add chopped tomatoes or puree. Stir until the onions turn golden.

Add half of the wine and few minutes later cover with water so that all of the cuttle fish is covered. Alow to simmer on low heat for aobut an hour or more every now and than stir .

Adding vine and water as so there always a finger of sauce above the cuttle fish. Salt to taste.

When the cuttle fish becomes very soft and breakable in the mouth- and stops being rubbery this only happens with enoguh cooking time. The sauce will by this time have a sweet-salty taste. Add the rice and get used to stirring until the rice is cooked. Keeping the heat very very low as it burns easily.

When the rice gets too dry add some hot water.. The rice ought to soak up all the sauce but still you ought to be able to move it around the pot. Now add the cuttle fish ink sack to the risotto, breaking it with the spoon, to make it turn black.

Keep stirring until the rice is a little bit al dente. If you wish for it to be creamy add a spoon of butter and stir. Than let the risotto set 1O minutes.

The risotto will be even more delicious the next day.. Take of the heat, try salt.. Eat with a lot of friends and drinking a lot of wine. You have to be able to have a laugh as when you east the risotto will momenteraly turn your teeth black :)


Enjoy!



The day Krivi made this last, he popped the cuttle fish eye out whilst cleaning it and hit his trousers it was hilarious. Krivi had died since having awoken up on his boat, at sunrise, drunk a shot of Grappa, and had a stroke in a moment of contentment. Every time I cook his recpeies he haunts me..

The Dave

The name it self is enough of a warning. Dave.

Daaaayyyyyve. What kind of a name is that? Everyone must have had a Dave in their life at some point. This story I now write to make sure that on recognising the Dave signs you do not pat him on the head, you run swiftly away. .

A Dave is a person of not many friends, in fact usually he has none. Naturally he is insecure. When girls got their first periods, Dave got his first anti depressant. For him that was the moment of entering a physical maturity. He than had an excuse to hide behind to get out of any thing that was asked of him " I cant I am depressed and have pills to prove it". Why Dave was allowed out of physical education so he could instead wallow in his depressive burrow of a room I never understood.

The problem with Dave is, one does naturally feel sorry for him.When you see him so lonely, he automatically becomes a personal mission. You want to become his friend, you want him to have friends ,you encourage him to do sports an feel better about life. So you drag him everywhere trying to make life better for him. And just when you think your effort might sprout cntentment, they always start to cry out of self pity, or retrospect.And than you snap.

I have encountered dozens of Dave's, which is how I became allergic to them.

We had to revise for months to pass end of school exams. For some reason Dave chose that moment in time to start calling me every day. He asked if I mind, which of course I did not. Poor thing just needed to talk to someone . The conversations at first lasted half hour, than days later for two hours, eventuay they would streech ower a whole day from morning to night, which I could not spend revising for the exams . He would call, and if would so much suggest I needed to hang up he would snivel. I coud not hang up. I would get head aches. My phone ear would get hot. I would want to vomit from the samness, of conversation and complatins, but I thoguht I was helping Dave, and so I would spent half the night writing essays instead. Ben had felt sorry for him. He had taken on and introduced the Dave mission.Poor thing. Nice chap. Needed friends. Dave was sweet everyone agreed. Ben made sure people accepted him at school, and soon Dave would come home from school at holidays and stay with Ben and all his friends. The group of friends adopted Dave. He went to the band practice and concerts and hung out in a town million miles from his own home.Dave became a mascot.

But when he got back to school he would call me.The girl fired of his new best friend. Oh he loved Ben so much. The way Ben looked. The way he talked. The way he just was. The way he dressed. Dave would borrow Ben's clothes to look like him more. Than he would buy off Ben's clothes. He would purchase the clothes Ben tried on and liked in the shops, despite it all looking wrong when Dave wore it. I wondered if he was gay. But no he was not in love with Ben,he assured me he just saw Ben as his alter ego. Ben was everything he was not and everything he wanted to be. And than it came out, amidst tears.

He had a fantasy. He did not know if he should tell me. He did not know if i ould mind. He wouldn't do anything about it it was just a kind of a dream. But..

He really wanted Ben to be dead.

Tuesday 20 March 2012

painting diary

I am not leaving the house deep in some odd fairy tale of my own, in the centre of town, on the second flor communicating to birds in pictures. On one wall I have painted a spring forest. It is comming to life each day with inertia I can not control. The more I paint the more deatails I know I have to add, the forest is quite alive, the birds in it are engaged in their own activity and even the canvases are falling off the walls when they need to speak to me. On the opposite wall are paintings of sea and sailing boats all blue. Even the huge portrait is blue. Last night I took every painting off the blue wall and turned day sky into night sky. There is something aobut painting the sea, its like painting the deep inside of my self there is no need to look at photographs. The sea is alive and moving in me, colored by the sceens i have breathed in and colors I have heared speak. I can hear it agian, the magnet which pulls at sailors, pulls them away from cities and people pulls at me, like some haunting melancholy love affair, making one leave everything just to be near it . Here the coffee is fhinished, mut get back to the forest, some new white trees grew last night, must go help the others to come out.

Monday 19 March 2012

Bepo the pigeon and Ivana

Dedicated to Ivana who has a historical love of pigeons.

Bepo the pigeon loves yogurt.

Yogurt to him is something exotic alike caviar is to people. Exploring Kaštela as a tourist, Bepo had once found himself in the midst of a battle between mafioso Mario and the fisherman named "Wrong" , in which a spray of yogurt had splattered his wings.

At first Bepo was furious, for the feather's where stuck with the yogurt, and one knows that in the Kastelan wild west killer cats prawl everywhere. To launch himself into the air again Bepo had to clean the feathers with his beak, and so became enchanted with the taste of the diary wonder. Since that day on, back home in Split, Bepo hunts for yoghut and never plans to quit.

Ivana hates yogurt.

Her mother on coming home form work each day since chilshhod would place the runny snack in its plastic cup, and a spoon ,in to Ivana's hands, who every day afreash would be outraeged becouse of it. Whenever a chance would appear she would throw the cup of yogurt off the balcony. Than proceed to wash melodramaticly and old cup, for hours pretending she had just eaten the milkey goo .

Ivana lived in an apartment. She did not have a pussycat, nor a puppy, the only living pet she ever had was a branch.

And that branch cheered her immensely, for on it in winter, autumn and spring days would perch choirs of pigeons. Oh yes, Ivana and her teady bear would sit on the balcony and throw crumbs trying to befriend the pigeons, cooing them to land on their hands as they had seen parrots sometimes do. It had never succeeded. The pigeons would land on the balcony only when Ivana and Teadybear would be hiding behind the curtains. Despite this the pigeons made Ivana happy, she even learned to goo-goo like one.

One stormy and ugly day, a lighting passed ower the building where Ivana and mother lived, and broke off a branch from a tree. It happened to be exactly the branch from exactly the tree from which for years the pigeons had entertained and made Ivana happy. Very sad and not so little Ivana hid in her room, did not leave for days, eating chocolate, hugging teaddy and reading books about places far away.

Such a display of bad mood, made the mother worried, seeing her child grouchy and maybe sick, and she placed in to Ivana's hands a wholsome yogurt. She even added honey. But Ivana enraged by this smothering act , spun her arm as she had seen hillihibly athletes do with a rock, and jerked the yogurt off and ower the balocny right in front of the mother..The mother crossed her self, her face turned white, unable to speak she pointed to a spot behind Ivana.

Ower the balcony, a pigeon was rising, creaking from effort and waight, for its leg was stuck in the aluminum lid of a half kilo yogurt cup. In agony it tryed to flap its wings all the while squealing like a little pig.

Ivana concerned acted at once. She jumped towards the fence, took hold of the yogurt cup, and in it trapped pigeon. Finlay her wish had come true. Holding the pigeon in her hand she sung the practiced pigeon song goo-goo- goo -goo, and than with a heavy heart freed the feathered friend from its binds, and set it free>
The pigeon rose into the air creaking much less, and than like a mig plane , with the speed of light it speed head first into the joghturt cup. It slurped and slurped until there was no yogurt left. That yogurt to him was more wondrous than usual, firstly there was more than ever before and secondly it was wondrously sweet, fantastic, Bepo had found himself in heaven and he did not care for life any longer. The sated and contend pigeon was overtaken by slumber, and so rounded it fell asleap on Ivanas palm.

Ivana's hair at once turned blond form happiness. Slowly moving around the flat in leopard slippers, and not disturbing the pigeon on her palmm, using one the one free hand she made a bed from wool and cardboard. She now understood the fateful purpose of yogurt, which she had until this moment seen only as a punishment, and she realised yogurt had many uses after all.

The box bed she placed on a chair, which she surrounded with all sorts of fruit yoghurt's, and into the bed she placed Bepo the pigeon.

No longer sad, to the contrary very very glad Ivana kiseed her mother and read a fairytale to the sleeping pigeon. Though she did replace the protagonist frog by a pigeon, which turnes into a prince, this story is to be continued so who knows how it will turly end--

Thursday 15 March 2012

Easter Panatone

We are getting towards the end of lent. In Kastela the mothers are buying up bunny and duckling serviettes and putting them away in the credenzas. The annual cleaning of all things living and dead has started . Walls are being re-painted, carpets are being scrubbed on the balconies, and great grandmother's teeth are removed from the beer jug and polished as everyone is reluctant to throw them out despite the fact great grandma is already living up there on a cloud.

When all is clean and tidy, fresh cheese and cured prosciutto will be ordered form the country, whilst the crescendo of the pre-Easter operation will be the production of Pantone.

Learning to make Pantone, is not like the learning how to ride a bike, where once you learn, you know for the rest of life how to make them . No. Let me tell you I have witnessed once how a woman taking a bit of Pantone as hard as bone, lost her tooth. Indeed the fluffiness ,the sponginess, the smell of a good pantone is a thing one can only arrive at trough practice, exercise and the right genetics.

All women are borne with a natural competitive spirit, but the older they get the more they start to show it through their cakes, and they relish a good holiday-sporting occasion.

In England before Easter, women in high heeled- shoes meet in the centre of town, at a running course marked for such occasion. At the shot of a gun, the hoards of women run through as fast as their legs will carry them, with frying pans in hand and pancakes on the pans. All in order to prove who is the fastest and thus best.

The church from time to time invites women to bake cakes for charity events. Of course many women respond, by investing time, money, and good intentions to make the cakes. But there is no woman amongst them who does not secretly compete with the rest in the quality of her cakes. When they add their tart to a table top full of cakes, they stretch out their ears and listen out for sounds of mastication, chomping, slurping and coughing. The sounds are a type of idiolect which they can translate into compliments or insults. When a complete cake has been eaten the maker is never quite sure whether to be ecstatic about it or annoyed at the fact they had not managed to try a piece of their own design. The one thing they all love to hear is compliments and flattery.

Pantone belongs in the heavy duty category of cakes. The dough needs to be boxed with fists and this can not be achieved adequately by thin young girls, which is why pantone is a job for the mature Kastelan woman. A kastelan woman she liked it or not will at some point inherit the genetic grand-arms. At a certain time in her late thirties over night the upper arms will podge up and can never again become thin, but they enable her to be able to bash out the yellow pantone pastry.

This is the moment in the life of the Kastelan woman when she grows out of being just girl who knows nothing of life and into a mature woman who knows absolutely everything there is to know, and is not afraid to insist on it. The first pantone to a Kastlean is a ritual of maturity or as the tribes of Africa and Papua New Guinea call it „a rite of passage. When she succeeds at making her first pantone, the kastelanka will renounce colouring of Easter eggs for the rest of her life. With a king kong like glance at little bags of pigment she will frighten her young to automatically start dying hard boiled eggs and decorating them with stickers of bunnies and chicks. The scenes of fluffy animals will soothe her and she will relax into creating the traditional plait,goose, and circular formations out of the dough.

All women put their pantones in a basket on the Easter Sunday, surrounding them with coloured eggs, and crocheted serviettes, they will basket in hand, drag their neatly brushed and ironed children to church to get blessed. Along they way the will not fail to sneak a glance at the pantones’ of the other women placing them into an automatic mental hierarchy of cakes, which they will at some point later comment on. Ambitious girls are better off not taking on the tradition until they grow the adequate equipment to be able to do it with,and until that day dawns stick to painting their mothers eggs . As for the poor women who had never managed to make the million egg dough rise, they might as well poach a pantone made by the bakers wife as the Easter breakfast everyone here awaits for a whole year, despite all the other delicacies, simply would not be compete without the pantone to dip in to the sweet vine.





Info: Panantone made in Kastlea is called Sirnica and is only eaten or sold at Easter.

Kaštelanske Sirnice

Dolazi kraj Korizmi. Bračani koji su se poženili tokom ove Korizme su se poženili, nema više pireva za Bračane do sljedeće Korizme, kad će previ opet bit najpovoljniji . U Kaštelima matere već kupuju salvete s na zečiće i pačiće te ih spremaju u kredence. Počima godišnje čišćenje svega živoga i neživoga, pri-pituraju se zidovi, fregaju se tapeti po štradi, vade se pra- babini zubi iz pivskog bokala i poliraju jer ih je svima žaj bacit, mada pra-baba već odavno gleda s oblaka.

Kada je sve čisto i uredno , početi će se naručivati mladi sirevi iz i pršuti iz Zagore, a krešendo pred Uskrsne operacije će bit proizvodnja sirnica.

Sirnice nisu kao vožnja biciklom pa kad jednom naučiš znaš za život kako se one peku. Ne. Da vam pravo kažem vidjela sam jednom kako žena ugrizavši u sirnicu tvrdu kao kost, izgubi zub. Dakako prhkost, mekost, spužvanost i miris dobre sirnice su stvar vježbe, prakse i genetike.

No sve žene rođene su nadarene natjecateljskim špiritom, koji što su starije se sve više iskazuju kroz njihove kolače, te uživaju u blagdansk0-sportskim prigodama.

U Engleskoj pred Uskrs, nađu se žene u štiklama u sred grada, uspostavi se staza , trka se započne s pištoljem, na čiji pucanj krda žena s tavom u ruci i palačinkom na tavi trču što ih brže noge nose da se vidi koja je brža i bolja. Mada je uvijek upitno dali iti jedna od njih zna radit išta više od palačinka.

Crkva s vremenom na vrijeme pozove žene iz zajednice da naprave kolače u dobrotvorne svrhe. Naravno mnoge žene se odazovu, ulože trud, novce, i dobre namjere. Ali nema te žene među njima koja se tajno ne natječe s ostalima, što se tiče kvalitete njenih kolača. Kad pridonesu svoj stolu pun kolača, one načule uši, i slušaju za zvukove mljackanja, žvakanja, ili kašljanja. Ti zvukovi vrsta su idiolekta koje one prevedu u kompliment ili uvredu. Kad im se sve pojede nisu sigurne dali su presretne ili ipak jidne jer nisu uspile ukusit ma niti komadić vlastitog kolača. A naj milije im je čuti komplimente.

Sirnice upadaju u tešku kategoriju kolača. Tijesto sirnice se treba boksat šakama, a to ne-mogu postići nikako mršave mlade cure, zbog čega je Sirinca isključivo posao za Kaštelanske zrele žene. Kaštelanska žena, htjela to ili ne kad-tad iz gena naslijedi ruketine . Priko noći, same od sebe ojačaju joj gornje ruke, koje više nikada neće smršaviti i ona postaje spremna mlatiti žuto tijesto sirnice. To je moment u životu Kaštelanske kada ona izraste od obične ženske bez ikakvog pojma o životu u zrelu ženu koja zna ama baš sve i ne boji vam se to pokazati. Prva sirnica Kaštelanki je zapravo obred zrelosti, ili „rite of passage“ kako ga to na Engleski zovu divlja plemena Afrike i Papua Nove Gvineje.

Kada Kaštelanki uspije sirnica , nema više tih okova koji nju mogu zadržati. To je tren kada ona za ostatak života prestaje bojati jaja, i samo jedan king kong pogled prema jajima i kesicama praška za bojanje tjera njenu mladunčad u automatsko miješanje kvasine i praška u vodi te ljepljenja naljepljica po tvrdo skuhanim jajima. Smirena scenama zečića, pačiča i točkica tada Kaštelanka se opusti u tradicionalno formiranje, pletenica, gusaka i okruglastih sirnica.

Sve žene a Uskrsnju nedilju , postave njihove sirnice u košare, okružene jajima i merlom, te ih s počešljanom i ispeglanom dicom odvuču u Crkvu na blagoslov. Usput kradom pogedaju kave izgledaju sirnice drugih žena i zaključe brzinski hirearhiju ispečenih kolača informaciju koju će kad-tad prokomentirati. Ambicioznim djevojkama bolje se ne miješati u komplicirana posla tradicije dok ne sazrije adekvatno oruđje, i bojati doma materi jaja. A bidnima kojima nikad nije ta sirnica s milijun jaja uspila se dignut, nek pro-krijumčare u koficu sirnicu pekarove žene. Ajmo bit realni svi jedva čekamo taj najbolji doručak godine, Uskršnji doručak, a priznajmo, to uopće nebi bilo to bez sirnice.

Wednesday 14 March 2012

Uhoda umjetnosti

"Vidim ga na svim art otvorenjima, ali ja ne razumijem, što on radi? "



Ja

Prvi korak prema nastanku art-stalkera, je pozivinica za na neku art-stvar, od strane prijatelja ..

Biti pozvan od strane nekoga tko je dobio ispisanu pozivnicu - kako bi činio društvo onom pozvanom, znači da je taj drugo razredni pozvanik i bolna istina je da je on out-sider

. Shvativši svoju poziciju, na tog austajdera odmah napade nagon zavisti i želja postane in-sider.

To pokrene kemijski proces u mozgu i započinje ciklus aktivnosti kojima taj lik naknadno pokušava ući u druge "Važne" i "događaje" i zabave, na svoj račun.



II

Drugi korak za postati art-stalker je provaljivanje u privatna otvorenja i art paritje, upotrebljujući prevare svih vrsta.



III

Treći korak je smiješenje se preko besplatnog pića i pokušavanje uhvatiti okom i ući u razgovor s bilo kim. To obično uključuje izgledati kao pudlica željna pažnje koja maše repom svakom prolazniku moleći da ga se primjeti.

Kada uspije uključiti se u jednostavan razgovoru autsajder će pokušati primijeniti sve tehnike sjećanja imena, te će ostatak večeri namjerno sljetavati druge članove dijaloga, kako bi vježbao govoriti naglas "Charles", i "oh da znaš Charles" i "štp ja mislim Charles" sve pokušavajući hipnotizirati Charlesa kako bi zapamtio outsiderovo lice.

Oni će dalje progoniti Charlesa sve dok je njegovo ime i lice nije sigurno betonirano u vlastito dugoročno pamćenje.



IV

Četvrti korak je namjerni lov na Charlesa među redu " gostiju na popisu " koji čekaju da uđu u zgradu i ekskluzivni umjetnički događaj.



V

Nakon što pronađe Charlesa Outsider će izračunati da ga pozdravi točno u trenutku kada Charles govori svoje vrataru, koji provjerava guestlist te uljudno odobrava godpodinu prolaz u unutrašnjost zgrade.

Tijekom tog vremena autsajder će morati brbljati o nekoj nevažnoj temi Charlesu koji ne sluša, te će se znojiti od tjeskobe i adrenalina u neizvjesnosti dali će zamišljeni plan upaliti , cijelo vrijeme skrivajući se iza Charlesovih ramenima.



VI-VERSION

Ako nitko ne otkrije uljeza, on će se otarastit of od Charles brzinom svijetlosti prije neglo li stare budale imao vremena da shvati kako je bio žrtva "Art stalker novaka".



VII

Nakon što je ušao u zgradu, ili aukciju, autsajder će uloviti svoju prvu besplatnu čašu šampanjca i popiti tost u zasluženu čast sam sebi osjećajući se kao pobjednik, te nastaviti raditi najboljie što zna da se "uklopi".

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VIII

tokom večeri autsajder će pokušati prikupiti što više novih Charlesa što je moguće, uredno spremajući njihova imena u memorijske banke, a osobne iskaznice u svoj novčanik. Upregnuti će napore kako bi sprijateljo umjetnike boeme po čijim izložbama se nalazio. Najviše od svega oni će umjetiri posebnu pozornost na ugostiteljski bar, i pokušati sve besplatne koktele ponuđene.



VI-verzija B

Ako je osiguranje uspjelo primijetiti uljeza iza Charlsa, posramljeni autsajder će se odšunjati na drugu izložbu za koju ne postoji ekskluzivni popis gostiju i pivo se djeli na ulici ispred galerije neobrijanim i nedoličnom gužvi.

Osjećajući se superioran u odnosu na te zadovoljane s malim stvarima proletarijatu umjetnosti, lagati ti će kako je upravo bio "gost" na "popisu" privatnog otvorenje izložbe u koje se nije uspio probiti, te će izjaviti kako je izložba po njegovom mišljenju bila "smeće" i reći će kako nije "vidio ništa zanimljivo".

Ipak nastaviti će napadati ekskluzivne umjetničke događaje s gerila taktikama i sve dok ne upadne ili naučiti odgovarajuću tehniku ​​koja otvara sva vrata.



X

Negdje na putu svoje ambicije u egzodus prema obećanoj zemlji u kojoj će biti netko pozvan, autsajder će kad tad susresti netkog njemu sliučnog.

Još jednog autsajdera koji je spreman žrtvovati sve da postane insajder. Susret uvijek započinje razgovorom u kojem se hvalisaju jedni drugom imenima poznatih osoba s kojima su se našli u istoj prostoriji . Iako su obojica pokušavaju stvoriti iluziju osobne raskoši i važnosti, i svaki vjeruje da je superioran u odnosu na drugog, duboko u sebi priznati sami sebi da se nalaze na istom zadatku. Tada veza između tih ljudi je formirana. Ova vrsta prijatelja se zove «otvarač konzervi».

Udružujući snage ova dva -jedan drugome otvaračia, od tog trenutka uvijek djeluju zajedno, pozvaju jedan drugog svugdje, traže izložbe i zabave, čitaju gdje se što događa, pridruju se svim društvenim mrežam koje postoje, ostavljaju svoje e-mail adrese svim galerijama, uključuju se u svako besplatno članstvo za aukcije, kolekcionare, i skupa jasš val otvorenja širom grada.



XI

Tada već poćimaju prepoznavati lica na sceni . Nisu više tako očajni da razgovaraju gotovo sa svima te su ćak naučili kako predstaviti jedne drugima ljude s koim pokušavaju izbjeći razgovor, no vjećno svjesno šuljajući se u sjenu važnijih ljudi, te bili spremi umjreti samo da bih mogli se nahvaltit da su stim važnim ljudima progovorili.



XII

Nakon nekog vremena ti se ljudi trebaju oblačiti drugačije. Ozbiljnije, više službeno, više profesionalno. Oni se ne trebaju nastojati "uklopiti" jer oni izgledaju kao dio svega toga.

Oni tada govore drugačije. Oni nisu prostačko oduševljeni sa svim više, u stvari sada ćak polažu pravo izraziti kako im je odvratno dosadno. Oni također nemaju vremena za trošiti na bezveznjake wannabes i gate-crashers. Njihova lica sada su poznata. Oni dobivaju klimanje glava pozdrava i priznanja od važnih ljudi. Odabiru ignorirati "Oh opet tog dosadnog Charlsa", kada ga uoče "unutra". Oni također poćimaju davati vlasite kartice, sa svojim imenima i imenima nekakave vrste umjetničkog, projekta,organizacije, carstva, u kojme su oni kustosi, vlasnici, direktori, mada nitko nije vidio dokaz njihovog rada a njihova web stranica se jr upravo srušila. < br />
Oni su toliko uvjerljvo ozbiljni o svemu tome.



XIII

Nakon što uzdržavaju takvo ponašanje neko vrijeme, ti ljudi počimaju primati pozive. Pozivnice koji dolaze na njihovu adresu u pisanom obliku te sadrže njihovo ime otisnuto na kartonu.



XIV

Tada odlaze na privatna sagledavanja i kolekcionarske večere. Počinju se oblačiti stršajuću i jedinstvenu odjeću kao bi ih se bolje vidjelo. Nemaju više vremena za umjetnike, jer oni razumiju više o umjetnosti nego jednostavni umjetnici. smetaju ih ega kustosa. Gade im se smješne male ribe i vulgarni galeristi. Oni mogu jako dobro raditi bez svih njih. Oni također bi bili mnogo bolje bez prijatelja otvarača za konzerve koji krade njihovo svjetlo, tako da se prestaju dogovarati zajedno.



XV

Autsajder prošlost sada je zaboravljena i svi dokazi o tome u odjećui ili u ljudiima je izbrisano iz vida.

Ta osoba je sada izrasla u potpuno zrelog Uhodu umjetnosti ili "Art Stalker". Može ga se "vidjeti" kako jeti svugdje u svijetu. On je spreman prijeći kontinent slijedeći svoju strast. On će ići od likovne sceni do scene, od umjetničkih sajmova, Biennala, u bilo kojoj zemlji i uvijek će sletjeti na noge.



No, ono što on zapravo radi, uvijek će ostati misterij.

Mountain Fashions

.

This weekend the sun had stretched over all the 7 castles *, it put its feet to soak in the sea with a relish, and threw its back on to the mountain .

The sun had the effect of an alarm clock and shook the Kastelans out of the winter hibernation. With an explosion they surfaced from the dusty cocoons of home, shooting mothballs out of spring sleeves, natural inertion pulling them like a compass needle in the direction of north, and onto the mountain Kozjak**.

They spread out over the mountain like hunting hounds, all as one wearing mountain galoshes, and proceeded to goat-skip along rocky paths, sniffing out violets.

On Kozjak one can encounter mostly the descendants of old Kastelan families who still recall the family roots in the ruins of villages named Pear and Liar located on the slopes. Once those families had escaped from the mountain to live by the sea running away before the invasion of Turks. To the contrary they now run away from the sea to the mountain, to try escape their own families.

Apart from those jouncing about the mountain, a number of them had started to construct stone cottages and huge fire places.

The mountain hit was not started by those form Kaštela. On them mountain live two men from Imotski*** , each has built himself a ranch, or better said they had brought Imotski to the sea

Alongside cottages they planted olives, and set loose ducks and chickens, donkeys and pheasants, cats and cocks , and every true lover of the mountain has at some point wondered on to a ranch. The men from Imotski proved to be of the merry sort, thus each wondering visitor was invited to taste fish, cured and barbecued meats, vine and cakes. The curious would watch the sunset from the mountain over the Kastela bay, Split****, and islands, they would warm up by the fire place ,join in a few songs, leaving for home quite enchanted. They would not fail to return once and than a hundred times to the ranch, naturally becoming apostles to the gents from Imotski, with a heart set to to spreading the fatih and an intention to build their own mountain ranch.

The sold off family heritage lands are now being bought back agian, brambles are being cleared, the olive trees are trimmed, hoards of goats are ordered and deep reflection is dedicated to making a decision on the purchasing of a jeep or a transport-donkey . Everyone wants their own sweet ranch and Kozjak iz back in fashion.

Even Split's gentle folk who turned their noses away from Kaštela for decades suddenly want to plant them self’s here .One can notice them like drunk snakes slithering from one Mountaineering home to the next, readying their dowry of beef-stew, vine and cakes, offering themself up for marriage to the natives, all in order to remain on Kozjak.

Indeed, not so bad in Kozjak, it is. And who would not return after sliding on their bottom and a washing machine lid down the cement ore slopes screaming in adrenalin and delight?. On Kozjak there are many secret spots concealed by the bushes, sources of sweet spring drinking water, brooks filled with chameleons and frogs, spots of edible mushrooms and the possibilities of encounters with animals, available to all who answer to that call of spring, tennis shoes, track suit, a bottle of vine and the wild.









Info point:

* Seven Castles built next to the sea in the period from 12th century to 16th century on a natural bay, between Split and Trogir and now are all known as Kaštela. People eventualy spread out to live out of the castle grounds and now the 7 casltes have merged into a long riviera seaside town. The Split air-port is located in Kaštela. People living in Kastela are caled Kaštelani or Kastelans.

**Mountian Kozjak is part of the Kaštela and rises to the north of the town. Kozjak means Goat mountain.

*** Imotski is a farming province north-east of Kaštela, known for village life, small farms, beautiful lakes, and the votka Akvila is produced there.

**** Split city is few km south-east of Kaštela, second bigest city in Croatia, and can bee seen from the mountain.