The best aspect of ending is the little adrenalin of what may be and what is to come when this familiar sequence of rituals and routines ends. What a thrill.
Strange joy is provided by the arrival of a certain Hamletian stalemate. To do or not to do, what do do, options are so wast and can be absolutely irrational and this is the reason for the thrill.
Been so long standing and squawking with trimmed wings which suddenly have whiteout announcement grown out, to their full length without anyone around being aware. To go Belgrade, or Spain or London or Berlin or Zagreb or Mexico or anywhere but this island, away from this island of the eternal summer.Repeated squawking of history in every language possible at a press of a button, like a plastic toy with plastic buttons for eyes. Have paid debt to the rational secure needs of mothers and now will finally shackle free leave slave ship, rowing in sameness week in week out.
The days are passing now illuminated by sun and reflections of the sea passing trough clouds. Autumn is coming. God bless the rains. The storms. Even the sun is fresh again some how, palm and olive and cypress trees are head banging in joy. Yes the end of summer.
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Monday 24 September 2012
Saturday 22 September 2012
Sunday 16 September 2012
the siren
I arrived at dark,
having tuned into the piano sounds at the garden I followed them into the building. Territorial glances belonging to people speaking seuly in German, passed my body, of whom none responded to my offers of a greeting. To set the scene the hotel was dimly lit as if by David Lynch, the darkness was broken only by a yellow light of desk lamp in a glass cabin, and a room at the far end of the lobby in which ball shaped lights metamorphosed from green to red to pink and blue to the rytham of the what obviously was the heart of the Siren, as was the name of the hotel.
The synthesizer fairy was playing the grand piano in the hotel lobby. Behind her in a small amphitheater of chairs sat people of all races, clothing inspirations and numbly absorbed her music as if enchanted. I touched her shoulder just as she felt my gaze and turned to embrace me, she gave me to drink from her glass of cranberry votka and continued to play.
Laura Wilder plays music which has the effect of the flautist on the mice and children in that old brothers grim story. Her piano music guides the listeners into a trance and a long journey of stories which she tells trough music constantly changing, flowing further, never repeating it self. She tells stories of the astral bodies, and of people and dogs around her, or she uses it with a purpose and plan as of how to affect people around her.
The amfihtheatre had over filled. People where appearing from dark craks and rooms and staircases to be near her, listen to her, and than in one moment she dropped her votka cranberry on the floor and shut the piano and re opened it. Instantley everyone snapped out of their rapture and walked away.
" You made them leave" I noted. " That was my intention" She replied. " Let me show you the Siren"
The music has been on for 3 weeks every day all day, the bass going trough me. It became too much. Aaaaah. She snapped her fingers around here ears. The bam bam bam of the base. One night I slept on the balcony to avoid the music. One night I decided to sleep on the bass amplifier so I get over it with it. I bring the people down. When the techno got too much I made everyone go to sleep with the piano. And than we voted for a music free day. You should see the DJs they dont know what to do with themselves when they are not playing its funny. But than I also miss the music. It was the silent day yesterday. I cant wait to dance. Let me show you the hotel.
I still did not understand what was going on in the siren but walking around of what must have been a trendy hotel in the 80s, and had somehow become a miniature Berlin i started to form a story.
The octopus synthesizer fairy came riding a wave or rather a van full of Berlin DJ tribe. They rented the hotel, hang plastic bottle flowers, fir cone decoration threw memorizing light patterns on to the surrounding trees, and connected lights which changed color in rythm of the music. Food and drinks where sold by themselves to them self. The DJ decks where in the dining room and the pool balcony and a room at top the hotel with the largest balcony. The hotel it self named the mermaid lie on the furthest bay away from Hvar city going west. I suddenly recognized the bay above which it stood as being the one to which police had brought my self and Gaffney years ago when we had camped illegally, I had never managed to figure out where it was until this night.
.. to be continued.. She took me trough and out of the hotel telling me of the soul journey she had passed during preceding days and her attempt to sleep on the mountain across the bay alone, not noticing perhaps how we where walking together now, barefoot towards the same mountain . We sat down on the cold stone next to a small port and the fairy told me of her adventures. Every word was a companied by the jingles of many bronze talismans. Her words where excited. Fingers flying about and surrounded by some blue light. Describing her own and friends misadventures of different substances with which they explored and tuned into the invisible world, in which nor love nor the sea felt as thez usualz do. They where exciting and lonley and full of people.. It seemed they where all stuck to the siren however and could not leave, most of them missing planes, buses, living in this warped little world sepertate to the reality of the island on which it stood. Her firends had seen deamons. She did not exclaimed the fairy she only saw the beauty. But she managed to speak to her body parts when they got cold or tired and heal them thus.
When all the stories where let out and our skin was covered with goosebumps we ran inside to dance.
I was glad in a way i had come in the last day of the strange hotel. The air was seductive, the dance ,the idea of the spiritual guest and talking to trees, but when emerged to the electirc bright light one by one the people seemed more and more like zombies. Chilldren on strange concoctions. Somewhw the synthesiser fairy did not belong in that, as one. She was so warm, her music so enchanting.
The synthesizer fairy was playing the grand piano in the hotel lobby. Behind her in a small amphitheater of chairs sat people of all races, clothing inspirations and numbly absorbed her music as if enchanted. I touched her shoulder just as she felt my gaze and turned to embrace me, she gave me to drink from her glass of cranberry votka and continued to play.
Laura Wilder plays music which has the effect of the flautist on the mice and children in that old brothers grim story. Her piano music guides the listeners into a trance and a long journey of stories which she tells trough music constantly changing, flowing further, never repeating it self. She tells stories of the astral bodies, and of people and dogs around her, or she uses it with a purpose and plan as of how to affect people around her.
The amfihtheatre had over filled. People where appearing from dark craks and rooms and staircases to be near her, listen to her, and than in one moment she dropped her votka cranberry on the floor and shut the piano and re opened it. Instantley everyone snapped out of their rapture and walked away.
" You made them leave" I noted. " That was my intention" She replied. " Let me show you the Siren"
The music has been on for 3 weeks every day all day, the bass going trough me. It became too much. Aaaaah. She snapped her fingers around here ears. The bam bam bam of the base. One night I slept on the balcony to avoid the music. One night I decided to sleep on the bass amplifier so I get over it with it. I bring the people down. When the techno got too much I made everyone go to sleep with the piano. And than we voted for a music free day. You should see the DJs they dont know what to do with themselves when they are not playing its funny. But than I also miss the music. It was the silent day yesterday. I cant wait to dance. Let me show you the hotel.
I still did not understand what was going on in the siren but walking around of what must have been a trendy hotel in the 80s, and had somehow become a miniature Berlin i started to form a story.
The octopus synthesizer fairy came riding a wave or rather a van full of Berlin DJ tribe. They rented the hotel, hang plastic bottle flowers, fir cone decoration threw memorizing light patterns on to the surrounding trees, and connected lights which changed color in rythm of the music. Food and drinks where sold by themselves to them self. The DJ decks where in the dining room and the pool balcony and a room at top the hotel with the largest balcony. The hotel it self named the mermaid lie on the furthest bay away from Hvar city going west. I suddenly recognized the bay above which it stood as being the one to which police had brought my self and Gaffney years ago when we had camped illegally, I had never managed to figure out where it was until this night.
.. to be continued.. She took me trough and out of the hotel telling me of the soul journey she had passed during preceding days and her attempt to sleep on the mountain across the bay alone, not noticing perhaps how we where walking together now, barefoot towards the same mountain . We sat down on the cold stone next to a small port and the fairy told me of her adventures. Every word was a companied by the jingles of many bronze talismans. Her words where excited. Fingers flying about and surrounded by some blue light. Describing her own and friends misadventures of different substances with which they explored and tuned into the invisible world, in which nor love nor the sea felt as thez usualz do. They where exciting and lonley and full of people.. It seemed they where all stuck to the siren however and could not leave, most of them missing planes, buses, living in this warped little world sepertate to the reality of the island on which it stood. Her firends had seen deamons. She did not exclaimed the fairy she only saw the beauty. But she managed to speak to her body parts when they got cold or tired and heal them thus.
When all the stories where let out and our skin was covered with goosebumps we ran inside to dance.
I was glad in a way i had come in the last day of the strange hotel. The air was seductive, the dance ,the idea of the spiritual guest and talking to trees, but when emerged to the electirc bright light one by one the people seemed more and more like zombies. Chilldren on strange concoctions. Somewhw the synthesiser fairy did not belong in that, as one. She was so warm, her music so enchanting.
Friday 14 September 2012
The fairy who playes the synthesizer
Millions of little round suckers stuck to my skin and pulled me in. Heads of decapitated revolutionaries followed me with their eyes. Queen octopus sat at the piano smiling vaguely at her story having tangled me in to her jelly fish hair and tentacles, pulling the fresh game to her black and white alter.
And this is how I met the fairy who plays the synthesiser. Within my own exhibition, one summer midnight. She had seen the piano from afar and barnacled herself on to it.
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