10 more days to go. Before a exhibition opens the body putts me trough a series of preparatory stages. all muscles ache. Nightmares about paintings haunt the night. mouth hets sores and big black bags settle beneath the eyes. Every time, every single time and i do not understand why. Its like post stress syndrome of the graduation show at st martins when i became allergic to coffee having to tried to use it to stay awake for a few weeks. The period before graduation from college I spent a few hours each day looking after two sweet and very energetic boys, working as a intern at Rove gallery and was trying to complete 3 large paintings and make something the annoying work books -retrospectively creating documentation ideas that happened before arriving at paintings. The day i handed in the works. Mot people form the studio went to Soho square with bubble vine to finally relax, and i continued on the drive to rove gallery where i continued to work.. But than fell asleep on bubble wrap on the concrete bloor beneath a Damian Hirst cabinet of crystals in the gallery to be discovered later by the manager. I have paintings on the wall on the floor behind the wardrobe. There are hundreds of st. Jaques shells full of paint . And the brushes them self's are tired and refusing to do their job half of the hairs having worn off in the last week. I sure hope they are not alive like objects in the beauty and the beast cartoon as i have treated them rotten and probably explaining why they are painting so bad last days. I keep circling from painting the hands on one painting to face in another to babies in the third. Aaaaaa I want to be somewhere other in another skin drinking martinis by the poolside of last century frecnh films and be something other than a painter. I want to be a on a horse in the wild west riding the plains for days .

a little magic would help

Fire of sage and pine and laurel and rosemary and seeds and garlick skin and oranges and mandarines holly and the ivy. Smoke the house. Brew of roses and cinamom sage rosehips mistletoe and ivy lemon . Drink . Open the windows let the winds in and watch the magic work.

Art-Uhoda

"Vidim ga na svim umjetničkim otvorenjima, ali ne razumijem, što on zapravo radi?

I

Prvi korak prema nastanku art-uhode, 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 pozvanik od projatelja- drugo-razredni pozvanik i bolna istina je da je on zapravo out-sider.

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

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



II

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



III

Treći korak je smješenje 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 se uspije uključiti u jednostavan razgovor autsajder će pokušati primijeniti sve tehnike sjećanja imena, te će ostatak večeri namjerno sljetavati druge članove tog dijaloga, kako bi vježbao govoriti naglas "Charles", i "oh da znaš Charles" i "Zapravo Charles" svo vrijeme pokušavajući hipnotizirati Charlesa da zapamti svoje outsidersko lice.

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



IV

Četvrti korak, je ciljani lov na Charlesa u redu " gostiju na popisu " koji čekaju da uđu u ekskluzivni umjetnički događaj.



V

Nakon što pronađe Charlesa Outsider će izračunati da ga pozdravi točno u trenutku kada Charles govori svoje ime 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 ramena.



VI-Verzija A

Ako nitko ne otkrije uljeza, on će se otarastiti Charlesa brzinom svijetlosti i prije neglo li stara budala imao vremena shvatiti kako je bio žrtva "Art uhode novaka".



VII

Nakon što je ušao u zgradu, ili aukciju, autsajder će uloviti svoju prvu besplatnu čašu šampanjca i popiti zasluženi tost u čast sam sebi osjećajući se kao pobjednik, te nastaviti raditi najbolje 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 nalazi. Najviše od svega on će usmjetiri posebnu pozornost na katering 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 neobrijanom i nedoličnoj gužvi.

Osjećajući se superioran u odnosu na te zadovoljane s malim stvarima i proletarijatu umjetnosti, lagati će kako je upravo bio "gost" na "popisu" privatnog otvorenja 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 sve dok ne upadne ili skuži odgovarajuću tehniku ​​koja otvara sva vrata.



X

Negdje na putu svoje ambicije u egzodusu prema obećanoj zemlji u kojoj će postati netko pozvan, autsajder će kad tad susresti netkog njemu sličnog.

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 važnosti, i svaki vjeruje da je superioran u odnosu na drugog, duboko u sebi priznati će 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 otvarača, od tog trenutka uvijek djeluju zajedno, pozivaju jedan drugog svugdje, traže izložbe i zabave, čitaju gdje se što događa, pridružju se svim društvenim mrežama koje postoje, ostavljaju svoje e-mail adrese svim galerijama, uključuju se u svako besplatno članstvo za aukcije, kolekcionare, i skupa jaše 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 koima pokušavaju izbjeći razgovor, no vjećno i svjesno šuljajući se u sjenu važnijih ljudi, te su spremi umjreti samo da bih se mogli nahvaliti da su sa 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-crashere. 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 upravo srušila. < br />
Oni su toliko uvjerljvo ozbiljni o svemu tome.



XIII

Nakon što održavaju 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 odjeći ili ljudima izbrisano je sa vida.

Ta osoba je sada izrasla u potpuno zrelu Art-Uhodu te Može ga se "vidjeti" kako leti svudgje po svijetu . Spreman je prijeći kontinente slijedeći svoju strast. Ide od likovne scene do scene, od umjetničkih sajmova, Biennala, u bilo kojoj zemlji i uvijek sljeće na noge.



No, ono što on zapravo, stvarno radi, uvijek će ostati zagonetka.

Coco Chanell (english)

Everyone speaks and remembers the legend of Coco Chanel as the great women, the notion of female success. The legend describes a Coco who ran away from the province, at 16 years of age, in the name of love, than worked hard, was talented and succeeded. If she could,so could you and so can I, a hundred and one girl thinks. We look up to her, and fight to achieve the dream career and simultaniousley search for true love, no compromises, with somone genious, wonderful, to love and lust for.

However the Coco wrote her own legend.Winnners always write histroy books .When speaking to firends and biographers, Coco used to deliberately entangle her own history, inventing always a more fantastic version and plagiarising incidents from novels and books which she claimed to be her own. She had been everything from a horse trainer, to a singer, dancer, nun, cared for daughter as well as an orphan, and the embodiment of love at first sight which had instantley resurected her form country life.

But actually Channel was a big tart. She socialised with tarts and prostitutes, who tutored her, with whom she romanced, and through who she entered the company of wealthy men who kept her. It was not seouly through the work and talent that she came to be known. Having lived in Paris for years, and nearing her thirties, she started making the hats which we thoguht was the begging of the story, whilst two men paid for her living expences and the first hat shop. She was an expensive cocote, and when her lovers died being much older, she became wealthy, expanded busines, and as such became a legend and an example of an independant women.

I am just reading last of several books about her and adding them up am realising how Coco Channel would not have succeeded in anything had it not been for the old sleeazes. Disappointingly typical, again the same old , hopeless story, of a female idol who was just another lucrative saleswoman of herself.

But then you stop and realize, witohut resorting to that system, insted working hard on the thing I belive in with my own means, I suppose actually I am doing better, as are a lot of women out there, who are as yet not aware of it. I am certian there exists hope for us realising our ambitions, truly independantley , despite having grown up with idols who's sucess depended on the dead body of a lover-grampa.

Coco Chanell

Svi se sjećaju legende Coco Chanell kao velike žene, pojam ženskog uspjeha. Legenda opisuje heroičnu Coco kako je pobjegla iz provncije sa 16godina u ime ljubavi i postala velika, radišna, talentirana i uspjela.Ako je mogla ona, možeš ti i mogu ja, sto jedna cura misli. Ugledavamo se u nju, borimo se za realizaciju karijere i tražimo pravu instinsku ljubav, za nekog genilanog, i ljubav punu požude.

No zapravo povijet pišu pobjednici i Coco je izmisila vlastitu legendu. Povjest je mrsila prijateljima i biografima, pričajući svakom drugu verziju više fantastičnu opisujući kao vlastite situacije iz novela i bajki kojih je čitala. Bila je ona sve, od trenerica jahanja, do pjevačice, plesačice, časne sestrice, zbrunuta kći i siroće, kao i dokaz velike ljubavi na prvi pogled. Coko chanell je bila velika kokota. Družila se s kokotama, prostitutkama, od kojih je ućila, s kojima je ljubovala i preko kojih je ulazila u društva bogatih muškaraca koji su je održavali.

Nije ušla kroz rad i talent. Imala je blizu trideset godina kada je tek poćela sa svima poznatom prićicom o šeširima a dva muškarca plaćali su njen život u parizu i njen prvi butik. Bila je ona skupa kokta, ljubavnica, a kada su njeni ljubavnici odumrli bijući mongo stariji, postala je bogata žena, i kao takva legenda i primjer samostalne žene?

Koji dio je prevara? Upravo čitam jednu od niza knjiga o njoj zbrojivši sve štivo shvaćam kako Coco Chanell nebi ništa uspjela da nije imala te stare bogate sponzore. Tako razoćarajuće tipično, opet isto i staro bez nadno,loše štivo, taj ženski idol je kao i sve bila samo lukriativna prodavačica same sebe.

No onda staneš i shvatiš, s obzirim da ne upotrebljavam taj sistem, a radim marljvo na onom u što vjerujem s vlastitim mogućnostima, pa zapravo ja sam za sad uspješnija nego ona, kao što su mnoge žene koje nisu toga uopče svjesne. Valjda postoji nada da uspijemo realizirati vlastite ambicije unatoč odrastanja gledajući idole koje su svoj uspjeh stekle preko mrvtog tijela starih djedica ljubavnika.

Avion

Luca. U Italiji je ime. U Hrvatskoj je morska luka. Pored Mexico Citya tako se zove je mala privatna zračna luka. Piloteboy je dao neke dokumente a barikada se podigla, ušli smo u aerodrom, "spremnik je pun gospodine" zacvrčao je čovjek koji je izveo zrakoplov iz garaže, pripremio ga za proljetno vrludanje, te je odvezao parkirati automobil.

Maštala sam i željela da me meksikanac izbavi iz klopke Monterreya s ovim zrakoplovom, po mogućnosti u letu, koristeći uže ili pojas na koje bih se ja bacila s krova zgrade..

Samo Englezi su toliko romantični, od onda sam shvatila, a zapravo sam bila ništa manje uzbuđena pilotirati avion prvi put u živtu u društvu vrlo zgododnog pilota. Francuz-meksikanac je primio posebne upute da se brine o meni, tijekom mog boravka, od svog rođaka i mog kolege slikara u Rimu. Podizao mi je raspoloženje putem razigrane korispondencije tokom svih poteškoća postavljannja izložbe u Moterreju, a sada kada sam se vratila u Mexico City jedina prepreka koja nam je stala na putu do neba je bio njegov strah da bi se ja prepala.

Otkada mi je mama kupila prvu igračku avion,i buduči tokom djetinjstva otac me je često za svoje kave vodio u zračnu luku, uvijek sam htjela voziti avion. Samo sam čekala pravi trenutak da mi se to dogodi. Eto, eventualno se i ostvarilo,zaglavila sam s najzgodnijim čovjekom koji je bio odlučan da me nauči letiti.

U bazi smo prijavili let. Izveli mali Poljski ratni avion po dizajnu iz 1945 godine na pistu. I poletjeli u nebo.

Pilot-boy koristio je francuski i španjolski da mi pokaže što različite kontrole čine, botuni znače, te zbog stranih jezika sve se činilo kao nekekav san, te kada smo se našli dovoljno visiko u nebu , predao mi je joystick..

Upravljati zrakoplovom slično je upravljanjem gameboy-traktora, te istodobno je kao biti ptica. Nebo je svugdje, buka motora dere u bubnjiću vibrirajući kroz mene,a njegov savršen bijeli osmijeh i debele ružičaste usne, plutaju u kokpitu kao nekakva Dalijeva skupltura, dok ugodan ženski glas zračnog kontrolera pokazuje put kroz zračne džepove. Let je bio pun adrenalina, kada bi se avion naglo okrenuo ili zaronio na sekunde bih izgubila svijest,on bi iznova preuzeo kontrolu, moj trbuh bi se preokrenuo, gravitacijka sila je bila jača od svega što sam do tada osjetila. Pilotboy je naređivao da se dižem u visine, zaranjam dok nisam stekla samopouzdanje i mogla koordinirati let te simultano sve instrumente.

Preletljeli smo piramide Teotihuacan, šume i prerije, vidjela sam da Meksiko City zapravo leži na brdu iznad širokih prostranstava, što objašnjava oblake na njemu i popodnevne oluje. U stvari da nije bilo oluje trebali smo letjeti do obale, iznad ranča zebrea kako je prvotno predložo..

Obožavala bih njegvu majku izjavio je. Njegova francuska majka živi u Gvatemali pola godine, i kada joj postane dosadno ona uzima svoj helikopter te leti iznad oceana blizu valova uživajući uzbuđenje života u opasnosti,jer valovi mogu u bilo kojem trenutku srušiti ju ili bi sol mogla izgristi motor i uzrokovati pad. Pilot-boy je također bio pilot iz ljubavi a za dnevni posao je radio nešto mnogo dosadnije kao planirati i graditi cijele gradove.

Voljela sam letiti, a postoji i nešto neodjivo kod čovjeka koji uči djevojku nove vještine. Dali su djevojke koje žele naućiti te vještine njemu jednako privlačne ? Dva sata proletilo je poput sekundi. Pilot boy je sletio zrakoplov natrag u Lucu. Besprimjetno mi je ukrao meksičku kartonsku vizu zbog fotografije, bez koje sam zaglavila u zračnoj luci cijeli jedan dan i gotovo završila da se ne vratim u Evropu. Da nisam planirala izložbu u Veneciji slijedeći mjesec, ne bih koristila suze na carini da se ukrcam na sada manje zadovoljavajući komercijalni avion.

No, zov izložbe je bio jači od mene, ukrcala sam se u zrakoplov, izašla nazad u Rimu, gdje je Fiumicino bilo ime zračne luke a Luca ime novom poglavlju događaja.

Venecijanske Halucinacije

Izložba u Arsenale Nuovo je otvorila, mada tada nisam stvarno znala što Venecijanski biennale zapravo znači. Pjenušac se popio . Odana Marina je doletjela iz Londona kako bi me podržala kao što je bio njezin običaj za svaku inozemnu izložbu od kada smo se upoznale u Parizu, a upala je u oko zgodnom Meksikancu koji je došao na otvaranje i koji se nažalost izgubio odmah nakon .

Ostatak večeri smo se razbaciali po Veneciji, jahali vaporette, od večere do fešta, a kada je sat udario Pepeljuginu uru ili kao bi moj dide to opisao, virjeme kada bi svaka prava dama trebala biti kod kuće, krenule smo na mul gdje je u ponoć brod kupio art-babies i prevozio ih preko tamnog Jadrana u zemlju vječnog ljeta.

Plovili smo do jedong od manjih otočića naj udaljenijih od Venecije. Fantom kapetan nije progovorio riječ, samo je zaustavio brod a umjetnički majmuni koji su tokom plovidbe pili ukradeni šampanjac prolili su se iz broda kao zommbie mravi i otišli u potrazi za svojom kraljicom.

Otok je bio divlji i crn. Ništa se nije videjelo osim bodiljikavog grmlja , silueta drveća i traga crvenih podnih šterika što nas je postavilo na kilometar dugu stazu u visokim petama, popraćena histerićnim orkestrom zrikavaca. Nije se znalo što se nalazi na kraju staze, tako da smo nastavili hodati do kraja otoka. U luku od cigle prekrasna operna pjevačica pjevala je i svirala klavir. Iza luka bilo je crno more. Plesali smo na opernu pjesmu, te se se bacili u njuškanje uokolo, kako bi pronašli što se tu događa.

Eventualno smo nabasali na vrt dvorca u ruševinama, sasvim osvijetljenog, a divovsko šahovsko polje predstavljalo je plesni podij. DJ je svirao a elegantni zombiji su plutali po ruševinama penjali se po zidovima i stubištima koji su vodili nigdje,izgledalo je kao scenografoja filma Labirint. Samo toranj dvorca je bio čitav, a činilo se da su mravi upravo u njemu našli njihovu kraljicu, jer su svi krenuli penjati se po njemu, gdje ja penjajući se također, sam pronašla bar besplatnih koktela koji je sam po sebi objašnjavo svoju popularnost. Plesni podij se ubrzo napunio pridošlica moreplovaca, a glazba je bacila sve u trans. Ples ples ples, umjetnički bienali svi su samo tulumi i ples. I tako smo plesali i plesali satima ispod zvijezda, s desetcima partnera, vrtjeli se i razbacivali stiropol koji je padao odnekamo. Marina je ponovno otkrila zgodong mekskanca i nestala u svoju romansu.

U nekom trenutku iscrpljenost od pripreme showa i svih fešta me je zavela da napustim šahovsku ploču i pođem u vrt gdje sam naišla na veliku hrpu baluničica od stiropola, u kojoj su sjedili ljudi i smijali se. A kako se to činilo perfektno dobro mjesto za mali odmor, pridružila sam se u hrpi stiropola, čija me je toplina vrlo skoro uspavala.

Probudio me je Gabriele smijući se, oči su se nerado otvorile, da bih se pronašla usred skupine golih dečki. Izvodili su nekakvu vrstu plemenskog plesa u stiropolu, dok su im slobodni pišulinci skakutali uokolo, a ja u ružičastoj haljini sam spavla u sred njihove pozornice.

Cijela stvar je bila vrlo nestvarna. Pored nas kroz maglu su hodale žene noseći roze i plave perike. Zbunjena i pospana željela sam da me Marina odvede kući, no mada to ona nije priznvala, upravo se te većeri bila zaljubila, te nije bila spremna napustiti otok sve dok ne dobije prvi poljubac. Kada se zora prolila po javi,dosadilo joj je čekanje, te je Marina diplomatski informirala i inzistirala Meksikancu kako stvarno apsolutno ni na koji način, nije želila da ju on poljubi, i naravno putem obrnute psihologije uspješno ga je prisila da to učini.

Za nju je to bio početak velike ljubavne priče, dok za mene je to bilo veliko odgađanje odlaska u dugo očekivani mekani krevet, u kojem sam spremila cijeli incident u fragmentiranu memoriju snova. Tu je sve i ostalo dok se nisam vratila kući u Rim, gdje mi je prišao jedan novinar kako bi mi velikodušno obavijestio da postoje "Fotografije tebe u časopisima umjetnosi tijekom orgije s Gelitinom u Veneciji" " Ma to nisam ja " Argument odmah je ubio, točnim opisom ružićaste haljine... .

(Gelitin grupa austrijskih umjetnika)

I will soon start writing a new series of stories maby fiction, but I find until I eampy all of the past out I cant get on writing the future, the blog is a like therapy .

Venice Halucinations

The arsenale nuovo exhibition opened, I did not really know what the Venice bienniale actually meant yet. The champagne was drunk. Loyal Marina had flown in from London to support me as was her habit for every exhibition I had abroad since meeting in Paris, and caught the eye of a handsome Mexican who came to the opening and unfortunately got lost right after it.

Rest of the evening we swung about Venice,rode the vaporetti from diner to party, as clock struck Cinderella's hour or as my grandpa would say a time for all fine ladies to be at home, we headed out to a peer where midnight a boat was picking up art babies and transporting them over the dark Adriatic and into summer land.

It sailed to one of the furthest little islands from Venice. The phantom captain did not speak a word he just stoped the boat and the art monkeys who had been drinking stolen champagne spilled out like zommbie ants and went in search of their queen.

The island was savage and black. Nothing other than thorn bushes and tree silluetes where visible, apart from a trail of red floor candles which set us on a mile long trail trough the brush in high-heels, to the accompaniment of a hyterical cricket orchestra. There was no clue as to what lies at the end of the path so we kept on walking to the islands end. Under an arch of brick a dazzeling opera singer sang and played the grand piano. Behind the arch was the blackc sea. We danced to a operatic song than set about sniffing around, to find what ever was happening.

Eventualy we stumbeled upon a garden of castle in ruins, which where lit up , and in the midst of the court a giant chess borad represented the dance floor. DJ played music and elegant zombies floated in the ruins climbing walls and staircases leading to no where, of what looked like the Labyrinth movie set. Only the tower of the castle had remained intact and it seemed the ants had found their queen in it, for they where milling to the top of it, where I on climbing too, found a free cocktail bar which explained its own popularity. The dance floor quckley filled with newcomer boaters , music threw everyone into a trance. Dance dance dance, the bienales are about the parties and danceing. And so we danced and danced for hours beneath the stars, with dousens of partenrs, spinning and catching polystyrene bobbles thrown about. Marina re discovered her handsome Mexican boy and disappeared to her own romance.

At some point the exhaustion of preparing a show and partying wooed me of the chess board and into the garden where I came upon a great mound of polystyrene-bobbles and people sitting within laughing, and as it seemed a perfectley good spot for a time out, I joined them in the polystyrene, and soon its warmth lullabied me into sleep.

Awoken by Gabriele's laughing and calling, the eyes reluctentley opened to find my self amidst a group of naked boys. They where prancing about some sort of tribal dance in the polystyrene , willies a jangling freeley, and I in a bright pink dress had sleapt in the middle of their stage.

The whole thing was surreal. Women passed by wearing pink and blue wigs . Dazed and sleepy, I wanted Marina to take me home, but despite not admitting it yet, she had fallen in love that evening, and was not going to leave the island until she got her first kiss. As dawn spilled out Marina became bored of waiting and diplomatically informed and insisted to the Mexican that she really absolutely no way ,did not want him to kiss her, and of course by reverse psychology forced him to do it.

For her this was the beginig of a great love story, for me it was a great proscastionation before I got to long the awaited soft bed,and saved the whole incident into the fragmented dream memory. There it all remained, until back home in Rome an art jurnalist came out of his way to graciousley inform me that there are " Photographs of you in a magasine during the orgy with Gelitin in Venice"." It was not me" argument was imideatel beaten with his detailed description of the pink dress.

(Gelitin- a group of Austrian artists)

mmm zelena trava

Nije li njam skupiti bocu rose vina, tiramisu i sendviče, jagode, masline ili što god, a onda se odvesti do parka raširiti deku, leći na leđa i gledati oblake, te tražiti životinje u njihovim oblicima? Možeš toj kombinaciji dodati knjigu, neke prijatelje, igre, ili samo jednu osobu.

Nešto nevjerojatno fantastično postoji u valjanju po travi. Ovo je idealno vrijeme između proljeća i ljeta trava je bujna i miriše a svo cvijeće se probudio i koketira s pčelama i leptirima. Blesavost proljeća udre ti u glavu i ti također završiš bosonog, ošamućen, sretan, počemeš se zaljubljivati i biti glup. I nije li to najbolji osjećaj?. Sve se to događa zbog zelene boje trave.Dan počinje u podne, a vi ostajete na travi do mraka ili dok više ne možete snositi hladnoću i biti naježeni sve jedno nerado odlazeći.

Volim: Lichfield parkove u proljeće, vrtove ruža, Elford park i kriket polje, Wem park, žitna polja i jezera kod Elforda, zeleni brežuljak oko Tvrđave u Sinju, upad kroz ogradu u zabranjene vrtove princa Charlesa u Glousterchire pored jezera, Hamstead park u londonu noću ljeti za vrijeme punog mjeseca, Botanički vrt u Rimu, i subote u zagrebačkom Maksimiru .

mmm green grass

Isnt it lush to pick up a bottle of rose , tiramisu, sadwiches,strawberries, olives or what ever and than take it to the park where you spread a blanket, lie on your back and watch the clouds go by naming their shapes in animals? You might to that combination add a book, some firends, a game ,or just one person .

There is something incredible about rolling on the grass. This is the perfect time in between spring and summer grass is lush and smells delicious all the flowers have awoken up and are doing their flirting with bees and butterflies thing. The corniness hit you and you too end bare feet, dazed, happy or falling love, being silly. And isn't the best feeling. It all happens because of the green of the grass. The day starts at noon and you drag it out until darkness or you can no longer bear the goosebumps and cold reluctant to get off.

I love: Lichfield parks in spring,and the rose gardens, Elford park and cricket field, the Wem park, Elford wheat fields and lakes ,the green hill of Tvrđava sinj, the forbiden and broken into gardens of Prince Charles in Glousterchire by the lakes, Hamstead heath summer nights during full moon, Botanical gardens in Rome, and sturdays in the Maximir park ,Zagreb.

Potoniti u Venecijanski biennale

Bio je to party tokom zalaska sunca pored arsenala, pun ljepih cura u haljinama i štiklama, kustosa, galerista u elegantnim odjelima i onim tipičnom prada crnim naočarima, svi su žedno napadali automatizirane konbare koji nisu uspjevali probiti se niti do sredine rulje prije nego li bi se čaše šampanjca koje su upravo donjeli zamjenile praznima. Ja sam imala sliku u izložbi Arsenala nuovo koja se nalazila točno preko kanala ovog partija, a kako sam postavila rad ranije bila sam spremna slaviti,obučena za prigodu, sudjelujući u nazdravlju čašama.

Austrijski umjetncici Gelitin također su imali radu u arsenalu nuovo te su u svrhu bržeg transporta preko 200 metara vode od starog do novog arsenala napravili drveno plovilo. Plovilo nije ličilo na brod već više na neku stračaru na vodi, sa nekavom vrstom jedra koji je prevario hrpu ljudi da se usude popeti i pokazati ostatku fešte kako ovaj umjetnički rad se može koristiti za prijeći vodu. Nijedna cura naravno nije htjela sudjelovati u ovoj očitoj glupariji pa je Elena kustosica izložbe navalila na mene pilajući, dok nisam pristala pridružiti joj se u djevičanskom putovanju nakaradnog splava.

Šest nas se upustilo na jedrenje u zalazak sunca.

Ljudi na obali na tren su stali komentirati zvukvima uuu i aa a zatim se vratili lovu na konobara. Kada smo se udaljili 40 metara od obale splav je počeo toniti. Da ,drvo je upilo vodu i unutar par sekunda bili smo do gležnjeva mokri skupa sa kožnim cipelicama, a uskoro smo bili u vodi do kolina. Počeli smo se derati za pomoć. Tek tada smo u istinu postali zanimljivi gostima fešte koji sugledali, simjali se, vjerojatno kladeći se kojom brzinom ćemo skroz potonuti.

U tom trenutku, tonući, na obali ugledala sam njega. Pilot-boy za kojeg sam malo igubila glavu u Meksiku koji je došao u Veneciju naći se samnom, nakon što tjednima već umirem da ga vidm . Bilo me previše sram ćak mahnuti. Nadala sam se da me nije uopće uoćio. Brod nije prestao tonuti i Elena je tad skrikom natjerlala gliser da nas skupi iz te mizerije i vrati nas na obalu sa aparatima i telefonima neoštećenima. Do tada pilot-boy je nestao. A splav je potonuo.

Aeroplane

Luca. In Italy is a name. In Croatia it is a sea port. Out side Mexico city it is a small private air port. piloteboy gave some pass and a barrier was lifted to alow us in. The tank is full sir, chirrped the man who had brought the plane out the garage and reddied it for a sprigtley frolock, than drowe off to park the car.

I had fantasised and wanted the mexican to come rescue me from the prison of Monterrey with this plane, picking me up preferably in flight, using rope or harness to which I would have thrown my self at from the roof of the building.

Only the English are that romantic, I have since realised, and actually I was none the less excited about going to pilote a plane for the first time in the company of an extrodinariley handsome pilote. The frech-mexican had recived specific instructions to look after me, during my stay, from his cousin and my firend in Rome. He had done his best lifing my spirits with playful corrispondance troughout the tribulations of the Moteray exhibition and now that I was back in Mexico city the only thing standing in our way to the sky was his, fear that I, would be frightened.

Since mother had bought me the first toy plane, and seeing father took me for his coffees to the airport when I was a child, I had always wanted to fly a plane and just waited for the right moment for it to happen, and there eventualy it had, I was stranded with the most handsome man who was set on teaching me to fly.

. We reported our flight. Drowe the little 1945 design polish war plane on to the piste. And took off into the sky

Pilote boy used french and Spanish to show me what the different controls do, buttons mean, making it all sound so dream like,and once we where in the sky he handed me the joystick.

Flying a plane is a bit like driwing a game-boy tractor and being a bird at the same time. There was the sky everywhere, hammering of the engine in the eardrums and vibrating trough me, his perfect white smile and fat pink lips, floated in the cockpit like a Dali sculpture and a sootihng female voice of the air traffic contorl took us trough the air pockets. It was an adrenalin filled reverie for as the plane dowe or span I would for seconds loose consciousness, he would take the rein agian , my tummy would turn, the G force was stronger than anything I had encountered before, and pilotboy kept pushing me to soar, dive until I gained confidence and could coordinate the flight and simultaniousley mointor the instruments.

We flew ower the Teotihuacan pyramids, ower forests and prairies, I saw that Mexico city lies in fact on a hill above long stretches of flat lands, which explained the clouds on it and afternoon storms. In fact had it not been for the storm we where going to fly to the beach and above a ranch of zebras as he had originally proposed.

I would love his mother he promised. His french mother lives in Guatemala half the year, and when she becomes bored she gets out her helicopter and flies it above the ocean close to the waves loving the thrill of her life in danger as the waves could at any point bring her down or salt could rust the engine and make her crash. Pilote boy also was a pilote out of love he did something much more boring for his day job like build cities.

I loved flying, and there is something irresistable about a man who teaches a girl new skills.Are men as attracted to the girl eager to learn the skills he wants to teach? Two hours flew by like seconds. Pilot boy landed the plane back in Luca. Unoticed he flinched my mexican visa card becosue of photograph without which I got stuck in the airport for a day and almost ended up not returing to Europe. Had I had not planed an exhibition in Venice the folowing month, I would not have used tears at the customs to get on a now less satisfying commercial plane.

But the exibition thing was stronger than me, I embarked a plane, got out back in Rome where Fiumicino was the name of the airport and Luca was the name to another series of events.

St Marcos

We where walking beneath St Marcos belfry. Than the mexican looked into my eyes said " Shall we go to Las Vegas right now and get married?" I replied "But we are in Venice now." Some sort of missunderstanding did happen. We walked in odd mouring to the pier, holding hands. Behind us bellboys pulled at luggage. He was wearing a linen shirt and I a red dress. Full gonodolas of chinease tourists snapped photos of the candy colored mooring posts and our last kiss.

Sinking in the Venice bienale

-- There was a sun set party at the asrenale, lots of pretty girls in dresses and high heels, curators and galerists in smart suits and those Prada black spectacles thirstily attacked the automated waiters who could not even get half way into the crowd before all the champagne flutes they had just brought out would be replaced with empty ones.

I had a painting in the Arsenale nuovo exhibition which was located exactly across the canal to the party, and having set up my work earlier that day was ready to celebrate and dressed up for the occasion, joining in the clinking of flutes.

The Austrian artists Gelitin also showing their work at the arsenale nuovo had for the purpose of quick transport from our exhibition in the arsenal nuovo across 200 meters of canal to the old arsenal created a wooden vessel.This vessel did not resemble a boat, really, it was more like a shack on water, with some sort of sail attached which fooled a bunch of people into daring to mount it and try prove the rest of the party how this art piece can be used to cross the water. No girls wanted to attempt this obvious folly, so Elena the curator of our show pestered me, until I consented to engage along side her in the maiden voyage of the rickety raft.

Six of us set sail into the sun set. People on the shore gooed and oohed at us for a moment, and than returned to hunting down waiters. As we where 40 meters from the shore the raft began to sink. Yes the wood soaked up the water and withing seconds our ankles and pretty leather shoes where in water. Soon we where in water up to the knees. Than we started to holler for help. At this point the party suddenly did find it interesting to watch, point, stare, laugh at and probably make bets on how fast we shall sink .

In that moment, whilst sinking, on the shore, I saw him. The pilote-boy I had fallen head ower heels in Mexico city who was coming to meet me in Venice and who I had been dying to see for weeks. I was too embarrassed even to wave. I hoped he did not see me. The boat did not stop sinking. Elena screamed down a speed boat which picked us up out of them miserious situation and returned us to shore with our cameras and phones intact. By than the pilote boy had left. The raft had sunk.

Istambulska uspavanka

U Istanbulu smo zbog izložbe. Kako je ovo izvela neznamo ali Raffaella je organirizala grupnu izložbu kao dio Istambulskog bienala. To znači da uobičani osumljičenici iz Italie Raffaellini najdraži umjetnici su pozvani izlagati te iako svi znamo da ovo da sami moramo postaviti prostor, raditi ilegalne stvari u napuštenim zgradama, stari smo prijatelji, ovo je pravi susret talianske art mafije.

Siturana u super dekadantnom hotelu Londre gdje svo pokućstvo i sav dekor je crven, zlatan i kič bez kontrole sjedim između dvije papige koje mjauču kao mačke tražeći pažnju i dečka iz Brooklina koji pila iz usamljensoti. Kasnim poslati članak za tisak, i simultano pripremam ulogu. Dali možeš vjerovati ovo? Sinoć je turski filmsi ređiser došao na otvorrenje izložbe jer želi da ja gumim protagonisticu u njegovom taliansko-turskom filmu! Sve je ovo Raffaellino maslo!

Ali samo polovica mene trenutno ovdje sjedi a ta polovica je cijelu noć vodila bitku. Jeste li pročitali Huis Clois od Jean Paul Sartre? ako ne, ta knjiga opisuje pakao, sobu u kojem prekrasna žena, lezba i čovjek moraju provesti vječnost da otplate grijehove koje su počinili. Nemogu spavati jer je pre vruče, nemogu se seksati i zaboraviti gdje se nalaza niti za tren zbog društvene dinamike...

Moj istanbulski stan je jedan od najljepšigh i elegantnijih arhitektonskig izdanja koje sam ikada vidjela, sve je ultra moderno, a krevet je ogroman, kraljevske veličine, koji sam po sebi navodi deluziju komfora, jer bijući najmlađa sam prokleta spavati između Raffaelle i Katarine. Ako uspijemo zapsati od umora i vina, u 2 sata u jutro, počme abzurdni cirkus. Teče se mlate od teče ispod našeg prozora. Pakao lupajučeg metala naravno uspješno nas trzne iz sna. Zapravo ti zvukovi i jesu dizajnirani probuditi žene kako bi one kuhale mužjacima prije zore, jer je Ramadan.

Kada se tako sasvim razbudimo u 2, tek tada poćne prava mora, zvana komarci. Milion i jedan komarac preciznije. Tako da tri cure u postelji u vručini Istanbulskog ljeta moraju se sakrtiti ispod jedinog pokrivača kojeg imamo- debele zimske perjanice. Glave su nam zamotane u šalove osim nosova koji usamljeno strše u crnu noć. U odvojenom krevetu spava honandska umjetnica koju smo upravo upoznali i koja je lezbijka te koja nas je pitala dali se i ona može pridružiti u našem komunalnom krevetu, i bila je rastužena negativnim odgovorom. Provodimo noći triskajući same sebe i kuhajući se u vlastitom znoju. Shvatile smo da nije zbog muškaraca da se Arapkinje oblače u robe koje ih prekrivaju od glave do pete već zbog krvoločnih sisavaca samo da znaš prestanu gristi s dolaskom prve zrake svijetka, a ukoliko bi se ponadale zaspati tada, nemožemo jer to je točno ura kada uđu u sobu tri debele slonovske veličine muhe koje se glasaju kao helikopter i razbacjuju po prostoru..

Oh, Dıo. no uz to monogo toga se događa svuokuda. Kazati ću ti posli.. trenutno idemo na večeru. Puno prijatelja je ovde i talijanski je glavni jezik u Turskoj osim kod ovih papiga koje pričaju jezik mačke i tjeraju nas svih da pričamo mačka.

U trbuhu majke zemlje

Odučivši ilustrirati malo poznatu Slavensku mitologiju za sljedeću izložbu, počela sam čitati nedavno izdane knjge Radoslava Katičića u kojima je zapisao mitove pjevane u narodnim pjesmama, otkrivši tako da zapravo da StaroHrvatska mitologija ima mnogo sličnosti sa Keltskom, Grčkom pa i čak i dijelom Egipatske mitologije o kojima već godinama čitam.

Potsoji hirearhija bogova, svaki sa vlastitim moćima, i ulogom u ciklusu života i promjeni godišnjih doba. Glavni bog je Perun bog neba, a žena mu je Mokuš božica zemlje i vode.

Na zapadu danas Majka zemlja vuče konotacije prirode, reciklaže i zelenih protestima, ali kopajući stare mitove osoba mora kada tad otkriti kako ova božica je doslovno čuvarica vrata podzemlja. Prestane zvučiti kao majka čim shvatite da ona simbolizira smrt, i postane popriločno strašan lik, to jest dok ne istražite dalje. Smatrala sam da su suvremene vještice izmislile "Majku Zemlju" no u startim mitvoma sam otrkila kako je ona uvijek postojala. Susreli smo ju kroz stoljeća umjetnosti i iliterature kao Grčku Demertu, Keltsku Moganu, Slavensku Moranu ili Mokuš, Hekatu, a druge zemlje su je zvali različitim imenima. Ona simolizira smrt, i polodnost, rodnost, paradoksični miks.

Slavenki i Kelski predci nisu vjerovali u konačnu smt, vjerovali su kako odlaze drugdje nakon ovog života, u stvarnu zemlju, sa stvarnim ali drugim nebesima. Živiš, a kada se od živta umoriš odlaziž na praznike u ladanjsku zemlju vejčnog ljeta, prije nego li se rodiš u novo tijelo iznova. A ta zemlja oviseći o razlićitim mitovima može se naći ispod jezera, ispod mora, ispod trave, izpod zemlje. U Irskoj prije par milenija ljudi su gradili kamene domove u zemlji, vjerujući da će se u njih preseliti kada umru i gdje će živjeti u drugom svijetu. Sada se te građevine smatraju grobovima ali bile su sagrađene kao kuće.

Kada stigneš k jednom od mnogih vrata majke zemlje, ona te osobno odvede u sigurnost i utrobu zemlje , pokaže ti put u taj novi svijet i čak te predstavi ostatku djece koja već tu žive, osigura da češ biti uredu. Majka Zemlja također ima ugolu kao gazdarica na vratima, koja zaustavlja ljude da ulaze u podzemlje prije nego li smiju. Neki mitovi opisuju kako cure posjećuju podzemlje noseći kruh kao dar onima koji žive unutra..

U proljeće majka zemlja koristi ključeve s kojima otvori vrata zemlje i pusti rosu i vodu na trave i tako oplodi zemlju, polja, bilje. Ona osobno zatvori hladnoću zime u zemlju i pusti van ljeto. Nekoć su postojali festivali plodnosti na početku proljeća kada bi ljudi imitirali trudan hod Jarila mladog plodnog boga koji je izdaleka došao noseći sa sobom plodnist. Ljudi bi hodali po poljima imitriajući Jarila, pili bi, veslili bi se, te vodlil ljubav, slaveći proljeće i plodnost .

U jesen Majka Zemlja bi uzimala žrtve za poldnost sljedeće godine. Postoje mitovi koji opisuju tri žene razlićitih godina ili tri vile, ili tri žene u bijelom kako uzimaju živote mladih muškaraca koji su već očevi, ili majki, kako bi ostalo dovoljno vode za djecu koja su se upravo rodila. Malo je čudo no ipak ima jako mogo smisla, jer postoje limitirani prirodni resorsi na planetu, jedna generacija mora presati da bi sljedeća i mlađa imala dovoljno za život.

U zadnjem mileniju otkada je vjerovanje u majku zemlje odpalo, unutrašnjost zemlje je asocirano sa paklom, moždazato što zvuči tako trajno, usamljeno, svi smo vraćeni u zemlju, a bez znanja o toj drugoj zemlji, posjeta k njoj, bez kulturne introdukcije ideja ulaska u zemlju zvuki strašno, i kaustrofobično . Majka zemlja koja je osiguravala da sve što se dogodi u zemlji je udogno i dobro je zaboravljena i izgubljena, njeni razlozi također su zaboravljeni, i plodnost za koju se borila, u suvremenom svijetu ima manju vrijednost, to jest do trena kada se više nemože postići. Ladanjska zemlja, se premjestila, Raj gore u nebu ju je zamjenio, te lebdi negdje u kraljevstvu Boga Neba.

Na više svakodnevnoj noti, večina ljudi su experimentirali sa nekakvom formom meditacije. Naišla sam na mnoge recepte za meditaciju koje vode osobu da zamisli puteljak, što vodi u vrt ili dolje ispod kuće u zemlju, niz stepenice duboko dolje. Meditacija uvijek vodi do vode, zatim nekog svijtla gdje kao trebali bi susresti vlastitu bit, podsvjest, pronaći podsvjesna riješenja, reprogramirati našu svijest i tako unjeti promjene u stvarnost. Čini mi se kako meditirajući na ovaj način možda mi ulazmo u taj drugi svijet, u koji su predci vjerovali. Jer to je zemlja zakopna duboko, sa sa vlastitim nebesima i vodama. Ideja odlaska tamo jednog dana nije ni strašana toliko ako je čovjek već posjetio i navikao se na to mjesto u ovom životu. No ipak zar nije malo makabre odlaziti u taj svijet dok živ? Gdje sežu korjeni takve meditacije? Dali su postojali u nekoj formi od dana opisanim u slavenskim mitovima kada su djevojke podsjećivale podzemlje noseći darove kruha- kako bi bile iznova puštene van ?

U svakom sliučaju dosta razmišljanja o mitovima za danas, moram ih nastaviti slikati.

today i am not going to write

i am painting

a Turkish audition.

It was the opening night of our group exhibition "How to" in Istambul. We dolled up . Alike the workers who had not been eating because it was Ramadan , we had no time to eat ether. By the time guests began arriving we had allowed for vine to enter the veins and the result in high pitched giggles and silly dances was begging to show.

A bunch of Turkish men where looking for some girl called "sully". I sent them into the exhibition where like in a car wash they where pushed from person to person asking for sully and when they after an hour decided to leave Raffaella brought them over to me.

"Sully?" The bold headed man with an earring accused me of not admitting I am that. " No I am Sunci. Suncica. Never ever Sully!" "you speak italiano?" he asked. " Si." I answered and so the rest of the conversation carried on in Italian. He was a young up and coming Turkish film director. Raffaella had told him I would be the right girl for his film. So he came to arrange an audition with me. I was bewildered but seeing it was all a big oriental adventure, of course I said I am ready to act in a movie. I had acted in plenty of plays at school after all .He arranged to email the script and told me where to meet him in Taxim the following day.

When the next day dawned, the phone battery had died and I became a bit worried about the rash promise to audition.However Caterina and the rest of the Italian mafia where convinced I would be making a tremendous mistake if I pulled out of my one in a life time chance of becoming a Turkish move star they all egged me on, and Raffaella confirmed my meeting.

We met by a hotel which looked decedent enough and as it had started raining hard I was rather disappointed that on seeing me he indicated I follow his rushing elsewhere looking for the Turkish film production house. We sped walked down steephilled streets with houses of varying heights stuck to one another in a pure disorder, walked between buildings garages shops, up and down until I pretty much lost my orientation and realised I am somewhere out of my own depths. If raffaella did, I too could trust this man, though the whole time I was very suspicious and on alert.

After half an hour, he pulled me into a portal belonging to some tall communist-style residential block, trough its dark interior and into a lift. I was feeling all the less reassured. Somewhere on the 15th floor above Istanbul he opened an apartment door an lead me in to a space decorated with white feathers, sheep skins, silver mirrors, glitter, palms, where a pretty woman with long black hair wearing silver stilettos and zebra stripes kissed both of us on the cheeks whilst a Persian cat wrapped itself around my ankles. Although it did look like a pimp den, her presence reassured me somehow.

On the balcony outside the tiny apartment sat two men around the table drinking Turkish coffee. " These are famous Turkish theatre actors" The director introduced them " The lady runs the production house " " And where is the production house I enquired" "this is the production house" " Oh" was my response. But I was rather pleased at the extent of kitch as it placed Istanbul which I had got used to in the previous days back into the genre of exotic.

The balcony towered above a chaotic haphazard mix of buildings sprawled over several hills down to the sea. The houses where personified with millions of antennas, satellite dishes, corrugated metal, ribbed plastic, clothes drying, people had free styled into the buildings with additions tailored to their own needs and in a design for which they would have beed arrested in England.

The man named Khan seated opposite me at the table had a fantastic black moustache and a big belly. He looked like a character from thousand and one nights. I asked him if he can fortune read from the coffee. No one apart from the director spoke anything but Turkish so using hands and exhaggerated expressions the actor confirmed he can read my fortune and I was made a coffee to enable him to do so. We ouued and aaaaaahd, he made hand gestures of birds, and bears ,which at the time I seemed to understand .

When Khan had gesticulated my future, it was time for my to be auditioned, and I was lead to an apartment on the floor beneath.

The film was going to be a big hit. The same director and production house had filmed many successfully films before. The plot was set in a house of an Italian old lady who was living with her niece and who had decide to host a Turkish young man during his studies. At first the Turkish man was mistrusted by the lady to eventually learn Italian with her help and of course fall in love with this Italian niece who by and by broke his heart. Bust the reason I was interested in doing the film was that it was going to be filmed in Itlay which since my departure the year before I had began to miss.

I had not managed to learn the script before hand so he gave me the computer and bade me read it out to him with no rehearsal alone. I was of course going to be the niece.After a few minutes he set to shoot my interpretation.

He opened the balcony door and sat me at the table. Right in opposite of me on a balcony sprawled on plastic lied a hairy man in his underwear watching the whole a-do. At the balcony next to him a family clanked spoons eating broth. Ship horns and neighbour TVs added their own noise to the cacophony but the director was not distracted. He took out his mobile phone- as there was no real camera in the production house at this moment and told me to say the script. I read the script. He walked about me, moving chairs filming me, a bird landed on the balcony he filmed it too, the man in underwear opposite burped, he filmed him too.When the director was content with the footage we goodbyed the rest of the production team and left the building.

The director than started saying goodbye to me, but than in the last moment offered something he apparently he has custom to do, take his actors on a tour of Istanbul. Riding the thrill of the unknown i jumped onboard. Once we emerged out of the wacky part of town and on to a main road, the director hailed down not a taxi, but a dodgy brown van . The van was full of people heading to the east side of the city, and dropped us of at the Bosporus sea crossing. We jumped on to a boat and entered the choppy drizzle sea. The director accompanied the whole journey with a speech about the history of Istanbul and a great emphases to Ataturk military hero and creator of the new republic of Turkey to whom many buildings and roads in Istanbul are dedicated. By the time we where on the Asian side of Istanbul, night had fallen. A huge queue of people where waiting in line with plastic containers in hand for the free meals given to the poor during the Ramadan. Once again with a tempo of the running bird we sped along the dark coast, into another boat and where delivered to a lighthouse in the middle of the Bosporus.

The lighthouse once was a place the emperor had made to keep his daughter virgin, where she had died from loneliness. From the lighthouse balonices one can see where Europe meets Asia over the Posphorous sea, which is rather cool, and can see most of Istanbul from it. Now days the interior of the lighthouse has been turned into a restaurant with live Turkish music and waiters wearng fez hats. We had a great dinner. I Finlay tried some Turkish food and vines as the Italians had kept me eating in the Thai restaurant all week . Painted a tiny moleskine portrait of the director as a gift and was all ready to end the night.

The director accompanied me to the centre of town where i thanked him for the eventful day and asked to be told the results of the audition. He insisted on walking me closer to my lodgings. I let him walk several hundred meters, and thanked him again, trying to get rid off him, but his politeness was rather ower bearing, and he insisted to walk me closer still to my apartment. I had on purpose stooped the taxi about a kilometer away from where I was staying, just in case, out of gut instinct which appeared to have been in the Right, for it became increasingly obvious that this bold short man who thought him self big shot director was not going ready to let some amateur actress to shed him like an old snake skin. Whilst I had on purpose been walking in circles trough streets of restaurants trying to weave some sort of web in which I could stick him, I was becoming all the more uncomfortable but did not want to show it, and than when I could no longer bear his gentile walking me to my door, i broke all codes of good manners and I did what a girl in that situation should, I legged it,using my legs which where as long as his entire height and there for could not be caough up with, sprinting all the way home. .--

Istanbul lulaby

We are in Istanbul to do an exhibition. How she did it again we don't know. But Raffaella has organised a group show as a part of the Istanbul Biennial. This means that the usual suspects from Italy, Raffa's favourite artists have been invited to show. Despite knowing this means we have to set up the space, do illegal things in abandoned buildings, we are old Friends, its like an Italian art mafia reunion.

Situated in a super decadent colonial hotel Londre ,where all furniture and decor is red gold an kitch beyond control, I am of now sitting between two parrots who are miaowing like cats at me to get attention and a Brooklyn boy who is hassling out of loneliness. Late writing an article that I should have sent to the press last night, and simultaneously preparing my character for an audition at a Turkish movie production house later on. Can you believe this? Yesterday a Turskh film director came to the exhibition opening, because he wants me to act the protagonist girl, in his Italian-Turkish film.! Its all Raffaella's cooking!

However ıs only half of me sitting here, and that half has had a nıght long battle. Have you ever read HUIS CLOS by Jean Paul Sartre? If not ıt, the book descrıbes a hell, a hot room ın whıch a beautıful woman, a lesbıan, and a man have to spend an eternıty to pay for crımes they comıtted. They can not get to sleep because ıts stıcky and hot, they can not have sex and forget the situation they are in, because of the socıal dınamıc....

My Istanbul bed is, a huge kıngsıze bed, whıch leads to a delusıon of comfort, as being the youngest I am doomed to sleep between Caterına and Raffaella. If we do fall asleep form exhaustıon and vıne, at 2 am, begıns thıs absurd cırcus. Pans hıttıng pans beneath our window. The metal bashing hell from the street successful jump wakes us. The sounds are in fact designed to spcıfıcaly to wake up women , to start cookıng for men, so that the machos can eat a huge meal before dawn, as ıt ıs Ramadan.

When we are fully awake at 2 am, begıns the real hell. Mosquıotes. Mılıon and one mosquıtoe. So there are 3 gırls ın bed together ın the heat of stuffy Istanbul summer hiding beneath the only cover provided, a feather duvet. Our heads wrapped up ın scarves with only noeses stıckıng out ın the black nıght. In a separate bed of comfort sleeps an artist we only just met and who is a lesbian and who actually has asked if she could join us in the communal bed, and was saddened by the refusal.There mayorıty non lesbıan means that no one can get freaky and fall asleep. So we spend the nıght slapıng ourselves and cookıng ın our own prespıratıon. We have decıded that ıs was not because of the men that the Arab women wear those head to floor covers but because of the blood suckıng vampıres whıch by the way , stop bıtıng at the arrıval of thee fırst rays of lıght. And if we even hopes as to fall asleep than, we can not because 3 bıg fat elephants sıze helıcopter sounding black fıles enter and bash about the room.

Oh, Dıo. However so many thıngs are occurıng besıdes

tell you later.. we are now goıng for dınner. Lots of frıends here and ıtlaıan ıs them maın language in turkey apart form thıs parrot who communicates to us in cat, and is making us all speak cat. --

Regata propasti.

Iz cijele Europe i svijeta ljubitelji jedrenja okupili su se u slovenskom gradu Portorožu. Amerikanci, Rusi, španjolci, Englezi, Australci, Slovenci, Hrvati, Austrijanci, Švicarci, Belgijanci, Norvežani, Francuzi, bili su ugosšćeni u najljepšem Portorož htelu. Vikendje započeo s govorima od dizajnera plovila, pobjedničkih svjetskih jedriličara, popračenosvijetskim jedriličarskim časopisima. Taman sam počela raditi za tvrtku koja dizajnira, i proizvedi najljepše karbonse jahte na kojim sam bila u ovom životu. Moje kolege, bili su ponosni mladi dizajneri iz cijele Europe, i radili su na proizvodnji brodova koje su izgledale poput morskih Lamborghini-a , napravljei sa najskupljim materijalima. Naša tvrtka raidla je sve od drveta tikovine, hidraulike, karbona i cool faktora.

Prvu noć, dogildila se velika večera i bal. Drugi dan smo rasporedili goste na brodove koji su bili prevezeni od strane njihovih vlasnika sa svih kutova Europe k matičnoj luci u Portorožu, kako bi vlasnici tih rijetkih vrsta plovila-sportske jahte mogli se natjecati protiv iste pasmine brodova unutar regate, te kako bi oni koji su htjeli postati vlasnici mogli doživjeti i naručiti vlastiti brod . No sunce se bilo raširilo van, vremenska letargija je pretvorila regat u klizanje po bonaci između Italije i Slovenije. Nije bilo vjetra. To je popratila živahne večeru, a tim na brodu na kojem sam plovila odlučio je da ćemo pobjediti uregatu sljedeći dan.

U jutarnjim satima oštri južni vjetar se razbacao. Kiša i oblaci digli su more i zatamnili nebo a vjetar je dao gasa čineći vremenske uvjete idealne za regatu. Puno dama su odustale od natjecanja, ali kako volim adrenalin i vjetar, uzbuđens vremenskim uvjetima kupila sam šampanjac sigurna da moja momčad će osvojiti regatu. Brod je pripadao austrijskom gospodinu, koji bio sav za sport i prilagodio je dizajn unutrašnjosti broda za ekstremne vremenske uvjete. Tim je bio sastavljen od prvaka samačkog jedrenja prek svijetaMichael Desjoyeaux, proizvođačia jedara, dizajnera interijera jahti iz Londona, hobi jedriličara i mene. Ekipa je bila dovoljno jaka da pobjedi. Beijući jedina djevojka na brodu, dizajner interijera mi je sjeo i upozorio me o držanju prstju i nogu dalje od užadi i hidrauličnih vinčeva.

Oko 9 jahti je bilo u moru kada je rog najavio početak moja momčad se ubacila u vjetar i odmah preuzela vodstvo. Mi smo jahali vjetar zapadno niz slovensku obalu, prošli prvu bovu, vrlo uzbuđeni zbog vlastitog uspjeha. Iznad naših glava helikopter je snimio događa, a gliseri nas pratilu po moru. Brodovi su se gurli za vodstvo i mijenjali jedra lijepih boja. Svatko je čupao na neki konop ili navijao vinč.

Spremili smo se izvadit i spinaker jedro kako bi ubrzali spuštanje niz vjetar kada sam potrčala na provu broda kako bi pomonlga izvuč jedro iz čarape. Brodski dizajner izlačio je spinaker a ja vukla čarapu. Spinaker je izrađen od 390 četvornih metara tkanine, koja pogođena golemom snagom vjetra i može podignuti čovjeka u zrak kao da je mrav .

Spinnaker se zapleo, izgubili smo brzinu, muškarci na palubi počeli su vikati naredbe a dizajner je skočio do jarbola da oslobodi konop koji je gušio jedro. Dok je odomotavao konop poviše glave, stavio je nogu u svitak konopa ne primjetevši, a kad je jedro bilo oslobođeno ispunilo se monstruoznim silama vita, vučevši konope kroz vinč velikom brzinom. Vrlo brzo dizajner je osjetio kako mu nogu vuče užad. Počeo je mlatiti botune hidrouličnog vinča da zaustave potezanje konopa, ali snaga vjetra je bila tolika, da je hidraulika prestala slušati naredbe. Čovjek je počeo vrištati u panici i boil, svi na brodu su urlali neznajući kako da se zaustavi hidraulika. Iznenada usred te galame, zvuk pucajučeg drva proreže zrak. Bio je to je zvuk kidanja noge ispod koljena. Krici čovjeka bili su najgori što sam ikada čula. Dizajner jedara skočio je s nožem i otkidao konop od spinakera oslobodivši čovika od smrtnog stiska.

Izplovili smo sa regatne staze. Dizajner je krvario na palubi s nogom odvojenom od njega. Pao je u šok i počeo se gubiti u nesvjest, gubeći mnogo krvi. Ja sam bula u šoku,trebala sam povraćati, ne znajući kako da pomognem, stvarno ne želeći biti u blizini umirućeg čovjeka, ali želeći mu pomoći.

Profesionalna medicinska sestra je primijetila da je nešto krenulo po zlu s drugog broda i skočila je na brodu uzimajući situaciju u ruke. "Donesite nešto za nogu vezati s zaustaviti krv. Donesite nešto čisto da se spremi noga pa da se može spojiti kasnije." Jedinu stvar koju sam našla za zavezati nogu su bile najlonke koje sam skinula ranije. A za staviti stoplao poslužila je vrećica u kojoj sam donila šampanjac napunjena ledom. Vjetar se digao pa se ostak posade borio preuzet kontrolu nad brodom koji bez jedra je bio bačen po valovima s nama u njemu.

Medicinska sestra pitala je njegovo ime "Jhonathan" i stalno ga je ponavljala, razgovarajući s vrlo utješnim tonom "Jonathan nije vrijeme za spavanje now.Jonathan koja su imena tvoje djece?" Ona ga je pokušavala zadržati budna, jer da se onesvijestio bio bi mrtav. Rekla mi je da učinem isto. Na koljenima pored Jonathana miloval sa mu kosu, pitajući ga o djeci i ženi saznavajući tako o njegovom životu, moje oči pune suza. Ostalie posade nisu znale što se događa i nastvila su uturku prolazeći pored nas.

Vezali smo brod u najbližu luku i dali Jonathana prenijeti helikopterom u ljubljansku bolnicu. Preživio je , ali nisu mogli spasiti odsječenu nogu. Moj šef se našalio kako čemu pokloniti najbolje karbonsku protezu . Plastični kirugrg iz drugog broda je skočio u pomoć nesreće, uvjeravajući nas da će Jonathan biti u redu, ali oni koji su vidjeli nesreću se nalaze malo bliže srčanom udaru.

Nisam znala što raditi do kraja dana. U šoku sam postala histerična i smijala se kao hijena besciljno. Šef me poslao da pogledam dodjelu nagrada od regate. Australski kapetan je pobjedio. Svi su žederali kod sa bufea. Nitko zapravo nije znao što se dogodilo. Mislili su da nteko ima migrenu. Svakakkve vrste falših priča su curkulirale kroz regataše, direktor marketinga mi je naredio kako nesmijem ni pod kojim uvjetima reći istinu o tome što se dogodilo. Bilo je prisutno previše novinara. Nisu htjeli doputiti novinaarima da stvore loš press. Osjećala sam se stvarno mučno, i jednostavno nisam mogla biti sama taj dan. Dok me je šef stalno tjerao da se oslobodi od mene, savjetovao mi je da idem spavati, da uzmem slobodan dan, ja sam ga molila da nastavim raditi. Provela sam ostatak dana sugerirajući interska rješenja ženi koja je bila šarmer zmija i htjela je saunu i yoga sobe u muževoj budučoj jahti.

Kasno navečer sam susrela Australskog i Američkog kapetana, te hrpu dobrih starih engleskih mornara, koji su slavili pobjedu,a nakon inzistiranja da saznaju što se zapravo dogodilo, uzeli su na sebe da me opiju i smijemo se dok šok ne prođe iz mog sistema. Do toga dana nisam ni znala da jedrenje može biti opasno.

The regatta of doom.

From all ower Europe and the world lovers of saling gathered in Slovenia's sea town Portoroz. Americans, Russians, Spanish, English, Australians, Slovenians, Croats, Austrian, Swiss, Belgians, Norwegians, French, the guests where hosted in them most beautiful of the Portorsz hotels. The weekend opened with speeches from boat designers, from victorious world sailors, and was followed up by sailing magazines. I had just started working for the company who designed, constructed, and produced the most beautiful carbon sailing yachts that I had been on in this lifetime. My colleagues where proud young designers from all ower Europe, working to produce boats which looked like Lamborghini's on water ,made with the most expensive materials. Our company was all about teak wood, hydraulics, carbon and being cool.

The first night, there was a dinner and ball. The second day we spread out the guests on to the boats which had been transported by their owners from all ower Europe to the matrix Portoroz port, as so that the owners of this rare species of cruising-sporting yachts could compete against the same breed ships within a regatta and so that owner wanna Be's could experience and order a ship of their own. But the sun was out, a lethargy of the weather made the regatta into a pretty glide about sun taning on the flat waters between Italy and Slovenia. There was no wind. This made for a cheery dinner that evening, and a team build up in which the team on the boat i sailed with decided that we will wind the regatta next day.

In the morning harsh southern wind had picked up. Drizzle and clouds and wind charged about the waters darkened the sky and picked up speeds making the weather ideal for a regatta. A lot of ladies backed off, but as I love the adrenalin of riding the wind i was all the more excited for this boost of weather and picked up champagne determined my team would win this regatta. The boat belonged to an Austrian gentleman, who was all about sports and had made sure that the interior of his boat was designed to take extreme weather. The team constituted the man who had won awards sailing the world by him self, Michael Desjoyeaux, carbon sail company producers,yacht interior designers from London, hobby sailors and my self. It did feel as if there was a team strong enoguht to take the award.Being the only girl aboard, the interior designer sat me down and warned me about keeping my fingers and toes away from ropes and hydraulic winches.

There where about 9 yachts in the water and as the horn announced a start my team sped into the winds and promptly took the lead. We rode the wind westward down the Slovenian coat, took the first boa, very excited at out own success. Above our heads a helicopter filmed the event live, and speed boats flowed the journey by sea. It was all very exacting. Boats where pushing for the lead and changing sails of beautiful colors. Everyone was puling at some sort of ropes, winding winches.

As we prepared to take out the spinnaker sail to speed our descend down wind I rushed to the front of the boat to help with the release of the sail from its giant sock. The boat designer pulled at the sail and i held on to the sock. The spinnaker is made out of 390 square meters of cloth, which is hit by an enormous force of wind and can propel the weight of a man holding on to a line high into the air as if he where an ant.

Our spinnaker got tangled, we where loosing vital speed, the men on deck started shouting commands and than the designer jumped towards the mast and attacked the lines which where choking the sail. As he pulled at lines above his head to free the sail he placed a foot into a coil of rope without realising, and as the sail filled with monstrous forces of the win the coil of rope was pulled trough the hydraulic winches to catch the force. Very quickly the man felt his leg being pulled at by the ropes. He started smacking at the eclectic winch to try stopping it, but the force of the wind was such and hydraulics stopped listening to the commands, they just pulled at the rope regardless of all pressing of buttons. The man began screaming in panic and pain- Everyone on the boat was screaming not knowing how to stop the hydraulics. suddenly amidst the screams a sound of wood snapping an moisture cut trough the calamity. It was the sound of the mans leg being snapped off beneath the knee. His screams where the worst i had ever heard. The sail designer jumped with knife ad cut of the ropes holding the spinnaker and freed the mans from the deathly grip.

We veered off the race course. The designer was bleeding on the deck his leg separated from him. He was falling into shock and started to fade out, losing a lot of blood. I was shaking, in shock my self, needing to vomit, not knowing how to help, not really wanting to near the dying man but needing to help him.

A professional nurse had noticed something going wrong from another ship and jumped aboard taking charge of the situation. Bring something to tie his leg with to stop the blood. Bring something clean to put the served foot in so it can be put back together later. All I had to help tie his leg where nylon tights I had worn earlier. And for the foot the was only the bag in which the champagne was brought, which I filled with ice, to put his foot in it. The wind had picked up and the other men where fighting to take control of the boat which with a served sail was being thrown about with all of us in it.

The nurse asked for his name "Jonathan" and kept repeating it, talking in a very sootihng voice, " Jonathan it is not time to sleep now.Jonathan what are the names of your children? " She was trying to keep him awake for if he fainted he was going to die. "she told me to do the same. I kneeled by Jonathan stroked his hair talking to him, finding out aobut his children and wife and life in this way inbetween sturrets, my eyes filled with tears and I shook all ower. Other ships where unaware of what had happened and carried on racing past us.

We tied up the boat in the nearest port and had Jonathan transferred by helicopter to the Ljubljana hospital. He lived,the doctors where unable to salvage the severed leg. My boss joked after how he was going to make him the best carbon prosthetic available. A plastic sergeant from another ship also jumped into help with the accident assuring that Jonathan was going to be fine, but the those who saw the accident happen are a little closer to having a heart attack.

I did not really know how to finish the day. In shock I become hysterical and hyena laugh aimlessly. My boss sent me off to see the award giving of the regatta. The Australian captain had won the award. Everyone was eating from a buffay. No one really knew what had happened. They thought some had a headache. All sorts of false stories where emerging, and the marketing director told me i am not under any circumstances allowed to tell the truth of what had happened to any one. There where too many journalists around. They did not want any bad press. I felt really sick and simply could not be alone that day. Whilst my boss kept trying to get rid off me, telling me to go sleep, take the day off, I begged him to keep me working.I spent the rest of the day suggesting interior yacht design solutions to a women who was a snake charmer, and wanted a steam and yoga rooms in her husbands future yacht. .

Late the evening I bumped into the Australian and American captains and bunch of good old English sailors who where celebrating their victory,and after insisting on knowing what had happened they took it upon themselves to get me drunk and partying and get it out of the system. Until that day I had never though of sailing as dangerous at all.

American Sailor boy and the pirate escape

.

I am in Marina Portoroz - Slovenia. The glass of golden wine is full of reflections of boat masts. It's, six o'clock, the sun sets, a working day is over, for now. Captains to the docked boats , open a beer, light a cigarette, but once they sit down to rest, they begin to notice how the neighbor's lines are neater than those of their own ship, so by the nature of male ego, they begin to compete.

They wrap the ropes, organise them into geometric perfection, the yachts are of the same lengths so it is important each captain maintains his boat as elegant as he can. I do not know whether this is because there is a lady watching. Sailors who spend a lot of şolitary time on the oceans love to hear sounds of female giggles back on land. When the ladies are present they stop swearing and folowing the sailor code always tell stories which bid the ladies bat their lashes, raise their eyebrows, enchanted by heroism's and adventures of the alpha males who are at that moment most probably thinking about breasts.

For dinner, an Australian Capetian whose father a vestern film style bank robber and who has sailed all the seas, re-introduced me to my peer from Rhodes Island also a captain.

"Did you tell her the story about the pirates?" He asked the American.

"No," replied the young man.

Actually,he had not had time to process that particular subject, as he had been busy showing movies of underwater swimming with sharks in BoraBora, photos from Galapagos, Antigua, New Zealand's snow-capped mountains ,and caves which explode with natural waterfalls, as well as those of green South American jungles, him surfing the gigantic waves of Hawaii, and snowboarding.

The most unusual of all was a movie he filmed in Ethiopia of the locals using a crane to pick up camels from the ground and transport them trough the air and on to a ship, set for Mecca. The camels where mooing and pooing from the sky on to the people who where hitting them with sticks..

The american captain had also had played several songs on the spanish guitar, cooked up a pasta, and did not fail to explain the symbolism of the tribal tattoos on his muscular shoulder, all without his friend being aware of how the seemingly shy boy, progressively advanced unoticed .

"Well, I won't tell that story now," - answered modestly the young Capetian who survived the Somali pirates, but he did recount it after all.

"I was transporting this boat through the Gulf of Aden. The attacks were so mediatised at the time on TV , we thought that the pirates had retreated. Night fell. We had the radio tuned on, and after dusk the drama began . All night trough the darkness we heard the screams of people whose boats where atacked. Sounds of machine guns. Saw bursts of light in the immediate vicinity. We kept sending coordinates of the attacked ships to the American forces. We sailed the darkness with our lights off .The blood froze in the veins out of fear.

When dawn came, we were relieved, happy to see the sun feeling saved. At the horizon appeared a silhouette of a black speedboat. Deep in the ocean where there is nothing, it was clear to whom the boat belongs. They rushed towards us, and we full steam headed for the opposite direction. But from that direction a second speed boat headed toward us. Via VHF MAYDAY we sent our coordinates the U.S. warships that are hiding in the bay, but noone responded to our call. Full speed we targeted the direction between the pirate speedboats, but speed-boats came up so close we could make out the faces of men with machine guns. The moment arrived. There was no where to run. We gave up the struggle, and faced being kidnapped and sold for a great sum to our homelands.

Two U.S. military planes appeared suddenly out of no where. They began shooting into the sea around the speedboats, all the while circulating around our ship. Plane wings almost dug into the sea as they turned abruptly and almost brought down our mast. The planes circulated around us, preventing the pirates from getting closer. They guarded us until we made it to our destination. We were lucky. "

My steak got cold, I had not had a bite. The second plate of shrimp arrived to the Australian captain. News reports on the restaurant television replayed reports of Somali pirate attacks, I got goose bumps, horrific television images where much more frightening than the fairy tale I've just heard from the sailors at dinner. The boys did not even notice,they where engrossed in exchanging recipes of a rainbow colored tropical fish from distant ocean called mahi-mahi .

Marinas are types of kinetic cites which change shape and population from hour to hour. New people with salty hair and skin, hungry for some human companionship, quickly make friends, and just have enough time to exchange stories of distant shores , check the weather, before having to answer to the wind that comes to take them away.

It is the morning after now, i am writing this, on a russian boat, registered in London, with an English captian and his lady, a head full of new stories, sailing south east down the Adriatic

Mornar Amerikanac i bijeg od gusara

Nalazim se u marini Portorož - Slovenija. Moja staklena čaša zlatnog vina puna je refleksija visokih jarbola. Šest je sati, sunce zalazi, radni dan je gotov, za sada. Kapetani privezanih brodica otvaraju pive, pale cigarete, no čim su sjeli da bi se odmorili, primijete kako su susjedovi konopi složeni elegantnije nego konopi na vlastitom brodu, te po prirodi ega muškaraca, natječu se. Motaju konope, nižu pajete po geometrijskoj perfekciji, jer s tim da su brodovi iste dužine, važno je biti ljepši. Ne znam dali je to zato što je prisutna dama. Pomorci koji puno dana provode na oceanima pate za zvukom ženskog hihota. Kada su dame prisutne prestanu psovati i garant uvijek pričaju priče kako bih dame treptkale očima i dizale obrve od čuda začarane njihovim pustolovinama. (A kapetani vjerojatno maštaju o sisama.)

Za večerom Australac čiji otac je u zatvoru zbog krađe banke i koji je sva mora plovio, uvodi mog vršnjaka iz Rhodes Islanda također Kapetana.

»Jesi li joj ispričao priču o gusarima?«

»Nisam« odgovori mladić.

Zapravo, jednostavno još nije stigao obraditi tu temu, jer je pokazivao podvodne filmove plivanja s morskim psima u BoriBori, slike s Galapagosa, Antigue, novozelandskih snježnih planina i špilja koje eksplodiraju s prirodnim vodoskocima, Južnoameričkih zelenih džungli, surfanja po gigatničnim valovima Hawaja, snowbordanja, i film koji je snimio u Etiopi kada je gledao kako se dizalicom transportiraju urlajuče deve u brodove koje, su iz neba kakale po crncima što su ih tukli štapima.Također je odsvirao nekoliko pjesmama na gitari i uspio razjasniti simbolizam triblaske tetovaže na njegovom mišićavom ramenu, bez da je njegov prijatelj Kapetan i suparnik u ovom zavodničkom plesu bio svjestan koliko je sramežljivi dečko progresivno napredan.

»Ma neću pričati tu priču sada« - skromno ogovori mladić koji je preživio Somalske gusare, ali ipak je ispriča.

»Dovodio sam ovaj brod kroz Adenski gulf. Tada su ti napadi toliko bili u medijima da smo pomislili da su se gusari povukli. Pala je noć. Radio nam je bilo upaljeno, a nakon sumraka počela je drama. Cijelu noć kroz mračinu slušali smo krikove ljudi. Zvukove mitraljeza. Gledali svjetla rafala u neposrednoj blizini. Krv nam se smrzla od straha u žilama i molili smo za spas. Kada jer svanula zora odahnuli smo od oslobođenja misleći da je gotovo.

Ali na horizontu se pojavila crna točka silueta glisera. Duboko u oceanu gdje nema ništa i ničega bilo je jasno kome gliser pripada. Jurili su prema nama, a mi smo punom parom okrenuli u drugi smjer. No iz tog smjera drugi gliser je krenuo prema nama. Preko Vhf-a slali smo MAYDAY i naše koordinate američkim ratnim brodovima što se skrivaju u zaljevu i ciljali u pravac između motornjaka punom parom, ali gliseri su nam se približili toliko da smo vidjeli lica muškaraca s mitraljezima. Došao je tren. Odustali smo s borbom, i suočili se sa sudbinom da ćemo biti oteti i prodani za veliku cifru našim domovinama. Kada dva američka vojna aviona stvorila su se odnekud. Pucajuči u more oko glisera počeli su kružiti oko broda. Krila su im orila u more kada su se okretali naglo i samo što nisu srušili jarbol. Kružili su tako oko nas, prevetirajući gusare da se približe. I pratili nas sve do naše destinacije. Imali smo sreće.« Moj steak se sasvim ohladio bez da sam ga zagrizla. Stigla je već druga plata škampi za razmaženog Australskog kapetana kojem prvi slovenski nisu bili dovoljno oceansko friški. Vijesti na televiziji prikazu izvještaj o brodovima koje su somalski gusari napali, naježim se, slike djeluju više stravično nego bajka koju sam upravo čula. Oni i ne primijete, pričaju o receptima tropskih riba boje duge iz dalekih oceana koje se zovu Mahi-Mahi i koje nisu oslikane u Kraševom albumu »Životinjsko Carstvo« .

Zanimljive su marine. One su vrsta kibernetičkog grada koji mijenja formu i stanovništvo iz sata u sat. Novi ljudi slane kose i kože gladni za ljudskim društvom, brzo se sprijatelje, samo što izmjene priče iz dalekih obala eventualno i vremensku prognozu, i već se moraju odazvati vjetru koji stigne po njih da bi ih odveo dalje. Jutro poslije, puna glava novih otkrića, putujem i pišem ovo na brodu…

Indiana Jones nastavak.....

Indiana Jones je trenutno na avionu putujući ovamo danas.Red je mene, da iniciram indianu u istraživanje na Dalmatinski način, mislim da će to ukljućiti hektolitre vina, dvije ili tri ili 4 vrste broda, skok u more, njuškanje po brdu, pasa ovčara, nekoliko zmija, ribu na gradele, šta još, upravo čemo saznati. Točka polaska biti če jedna kamena kuća uz more u centru svita zvanih Kaštela.

Indiana Jones continued..

Indiana Jones is on a plane and on his way here today. Its my turn to initiate him to exploration Dalamatian style, me thinks this shall involve hectoliters of vine, two or 3 or 4 different types of boat, a dip in the sea, a rummage in the mountain, a sheep dog, some snakes, grilled fish, what else, we are just about to see. Our point of departure will be a stone house by the sea in the centre of the world called Kaštela.

Scottish Vita Bella

In words of Maggie Thacher."Just days after I was elected photographer I came to Scotland and I shall never forget the warmth of that reception. " The theme of the photography was the a wedding of a beautiful Roman girl and a Scottish gentleman who had a painting of mine and believed I would know to catch the fairytale they where about to realise.

Alas the journey to Scotland commenced in London, after a several days of partying at the Frieze art fair, yet on the morning travel was to begin, I discovered that the camera I was to use, simply vanished. We had stayed in S. Kensington with the family I was nanny to during the last months of university, in exchange for paintings of the boys, to our luck. For when the boy's father saw my shedding a tear of desperation at being photographer whiteout a camera, the dear old gentleman, came to the rescue, offering to lend me his black stallion, the family analog camera, along with several lenses and a bag of film. On the horse we where.

An Italian lawyer picked us up with a car and a mission to deliver the artist-curator package on time, to a castle near Edibrough following an order form the bride herself who feared we would have otherwise remained in London for just another party too long. The journey lasted treacherous hours, hundreds of miles of traffic jams, during which the improper lawyer recited volumes of nauseating seduction lines, which Raffaella enjoyed as a spectator for the first few hours, eventually bored ,teamed up with me to insult him to the core, by which time it was deep night and we drove up the estate of the most delightful castle.

The bride surrounded by her roman crew, sat on the veranda in slacks, smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey.

In fact making the groom smoke cigarettes too, had been, probably among the last of the trials and tribulations the bride had to undergo before this wedding was on the road. It had taken patience to teach her husband to be, to smoke and persuade him to allow decades of short army hair, to grow into locks, and was evidence that, a, she was able to change him, b, he knew it was for his own good, c, he had began to learn to live a more relaxed life, or as the Italians say live the Vita Bella. This made her confident, relaxed and ready for tomorw.

Whilst Paris contrary to the conotation had never been much romantic for me, Scotland turned out to be wild and full of comico-romantic situations almost as if it had been directed from the clouds by Fellini.

Bride had placed a bunch of her friends in rooms at a bed and breakfast, where we where among the few girls, amongst hungry for a holiday Romance Italian men. And everyone knows what those are like. No werewolf howling at the moon can beat an Italian romantic howling for a female.

It just happened that a bold, fat, DJ, who looked like Uncle Fester of the Adams family, had for his mate fancied me, whilst a more decent fellow set about realising the curator girls's fancies, inappropriately, in the very room she and I shared. I swear it was night of full moon. For whilst Uncle Fester pestered incessantly, riveting from trying to be funny, to crying out of that potato shaped owersized body, the chauffeur lawyer every so often materialised in a white dressing-gown, flapping it outraged like a misshapen Dracula wanting to be invited to join the party. When I tired of appreciating the funny side of the situation, I slapped Uncle Fester across his gummy face and shouted at Raffaella, found antoher another room in which I eventually fell asleep whiteout having been bitten by any of the horror film wackos.

The wedding begun during the earley afternoon at the most perfect setting. The castle was situated at the end of a long drive trough trees, upon a wast green lawn nestled on a sunny day with a few perfect clouds passing just ot be pretty. I crept into the brides room and photographed her the whole duration of the metamorphosis form the tears of excitement, to stockings and suspenders, and into the fully blossomed and enchanting bride. Guests began arriving. Champagne was served to all. And than a purr of a 1930's engine belonging to a beautiful Roles Royce brought the groom on to the scene. They where where elegant and beautiful. The guests hopped about with their colored bonnets excited for the couple, gobbling strawberries ,making acquaintances and downing champagne.

A train of automobiles lead to the local gray stone traditional church, beyond the hills.Raffaella reminded me that I was not simply a guest, so as the service closed into the point of the " Do you take her to be your wedded wife tough sickness and health".I tiptoed as silently as I could with with my yellow stilettos up to the alter, and stood behind the priest be able to shoot the crucial photograph of the putting on the rings. Just as the groom was saying " I do" I lost my balance rocked for a monent and than pushed over and iron-and flower installation, which magnificently launched it self at the groom, sending flowers a' flying. There was total silence in the church. Every body's eyes instantly zoomed to attention at the shameful slip. However the best man, trained soldier, caught the missile mid air and returned it in to place. I managed to catch the mounting of the rings onto fingers and the ceremony went ahead as if noting had happened.

Outside of the church plenty of kissing, congratulating went on, smiles where stuck to all the faces whilst a field next door two orange painted sheep estaticley humped away. Photographs of this blessing of fertility for the newly weds was obligatory. The wedding parade returned to the castle and proceeded to be one of the prettiest and loveliest weddings I had ever attended. A string quartet played from the balcony and Uncle Fester played dance music the rest of the evening. Everyone ate, danced, mounted chairs played some sort of Scottish clapping game. Influenced by the unification of love of this was celebration too, various characters who in Rome where just friends started romantic escapades beneath tables and all ower the place . The next day we where fed tea, and jam sandwiches, than sent to occupy an entire plane, and sober up on the way to Rome.

Photographs captured the Scottish romance and where projected couple weeks later at the cool Roman version of the wedding in a palace I belived once belonged to Bonito Mussolini.

Ilustration: Melissa Brown 2 die 4

An invitation to all readers

Dear all . ..

I have decided to start a blog with a purpose to store and exchange great food recipes my firends and I have tried making and think are delicious, to inspire one another's cooking escapades. ..

The recepias are going to be simple, delicious, for people with a busy life , who love to eat or socialise with food however corny that may be. ..

I love to cook, and to host dinner parties, when I am always in search of new exciting recipes from all parts of the world....

I would like invite you to share any recipes you like to make and reccomend to others , to be published on this blog ..

If you wish send along a description of where you learned to make it or any introduction or story which will make the food even more appealing . Send all to my email address : sunci.on.stage@gmail.com with your name which will I will publish in the title of the recipe. If you have a photo of the food great, send that too, if not I shall sooner or later get down to illustrating all the recipes...

Here is a rough begging of the food blog . Please excuse the spelling ..

http://octopussalad.blogspot.com

Mucho love !

Indiana Jones Hrvatski Jezik

Sabaah el kheir ljudi!

Neznam šta ovo znaći više ali sam zaista ovo zapisala u dnevniku na dan koji upravo namjeravam opisati.

Jesi li ikada imao-imala želju biti Indiana Jones? Ako je odgovor ne, nije da nastojiš lagati meni nego varaš sam-a sebe. Sveta istina je da ti, kao i ja, kao i svako djete koje je ikada gledalo Indianu Jones je podsvjesno vjerovalo da je on sam Indiana i da će kad tad to i dokazati.

Da bi se dokazao kao istraživać misterija života, jedan se mora uputiti na putovanje, negdje gdje do sada nisi bio, "istinski egzotično".

Ovaj blog čitaju u Saudijskoj Arabiji, Južnoj Africi, Sjevernoj Africi, Sjevernoj Americi i Malaziji slično mislioci Evropljani koji su čvrst dokaz moje teorije.

Da bih oslobodila Indianu Jones u sebi , jedno sam ljeto prihvatila pozivnicu Gospodina R u Egipat, gdje su mu starci radili u ambasadi. Cijela obitelj zapravo je utjeljenje "Britanske idealne obitelji istraživaća" koje smo pratili sjedeći na rubu kauča doma, oduševljeni i nervozno znojeći se, s nadom da se da će oni uspjeti izvući se iz džunge, preživjeti susrete sa divljim plemenima i lopovima piramida, te pobjeći sa strašnih terena skrivenih unutar kutije naše televizije.

Ben sam, je fakultetske zime preživljavao od energije koju bi nakupio ljeti osnivajući novine kuće u Južnoj Americi i iskopavajuću kosti u Jordanu, te kada me je pitao da mu se pridružim u zemlji gdje umjesto ovaca imaju deve, vratila sam preskupu svilenu haljinu upravo kupiljenu, i upotrebila te novce da kupim avionsku kartu.

Unatoč velikog broja prijašnjih istraživaća koji su tu kročili , piramide su ostale među najpopularnijim točkama polaska za sve koji žele biti istraživači, zbog čega je Mr. R, pravi Indiana Jones ne glumac, upravo tamo me i odveo.

Put iniciacije je započeo u selu zvanom Milla blizu Giza piramida. Transport koji smo upotrebili bili su crni arapski konji (malo šugavi ali sve jedno arapski) I to je bio prvi put kada sam se bacila u otkrivanje svijeta u šest sati u jutro.

Kako se selo sastavljeno od blata i cigla budi, tako se može udisati mirise friškog kruha, ugljena kako gori u glinenim pečima,vidjeti zamotane žene kako okreću kruh, i dječake koji ga nose na glavi nudeći ga onima koji žele ugasiti glad. Mirisi hrane potiču trbuhe u brontulanje, a pozdravi dobrodošlice bacaju se prema jahačima. Svi se kreću vrlo sporim i ugodnim tempom kroz vlažnu tamu prateći ritam izlaska sunca.

Zatim odjednom. Ka boom! Pojava sunca u nebu djeluje kao pucanj pištolja na trkama i projektira svih u spektakularnu aktivnost. Žene se utkrivaju s đipovima i pale gume. Jedna pametna čak proleti među našim konjima kao da su plastični čunjevi. Tovari se muče ispod hrpa trave i civječa koje prenose. Djeca na quadovima voze između noga od deva. 300 konja po cesti su izmješana s autima. Bićevi pucaju po zraku, smijeh se miješa sa urlicima bezbrižnih Egipatskih žena koje kaskaju bosonoge kroz gužvu skrikaajući "Jallah" , duga crna kosa prateći ih u pozadini.

Korak po korak, ja sam učila jahati, sjediti kako treba da ne padnem, uzdizati se sa konjem, po njegovom ritmu. Moment kada sam shvatila da mogu,mi također smo se bacili u juriš, galopirali, kaskali uz piramide i kroz pustinju.

Osječaj je nevjerovatan. Nikada nisam osjetila ništa jednako uzbuđujuće. Teško je uopće opisati trenutak kada nemaš kontrolu, juriš velikom brzinom , na leđima nečeg živog sa vlastitim umom i koji voli raditi po svom, doživljavaš čisti adrenalin i oduševljenje.

Pozdravili smo staru damu sfingu, pogledali gore u njene sci-fi prazne oči strahujući samo malo de če se otvoriti i te če nas u tren spržiti sa očnim laserom , pa smo bili i razočarani što nije. Pronjušklai smo uokolo piramida da vidimo što osim starih hrpa kamenja tu ima jer u njih nismo mogli ući. Naišli smo na tisučljeća star brod nasukan na pjesku otkriven nakon milenijuma što je bio ukopan pored piramida kako bi služio makabre zabavama i putavanjima kroz podzemlje kada bi mumificiranim faraonima postalo dosadno.

Ostvarila su se obečanja svih turističkoh brošura, tad smo naletili na deve koje su ishlapljavale na suncu pored piramida, te smo ko svi dobri turisti i istraživaći prisustovali u tom ritualu, popeli se na ogromne deva-boje mukajuče beštije, pa dokumentirali događaj sa fotografijom.

S dokazom obreda zrelosti tokom kojeg je Djeva postala Indiana Jones u aparatu, i istekom strpljenja mnogo iskusnijeg Jonsa koji je nestrpljivo čekao da započmemo neku manje kliše pustolovinu, zajahali smo iznova konje i zagalopirali prema stražnjem dijelu piramida, preko odvratne ceste i test svakom istraživaćkom debitantu, koja je bila sastavljena od leševa krepanih pasa.