All the things you can't publish , are the best things you have written.

The Bard

The Bard

 

Do you remember that character from the Asterix and Obelix holding an instrument that would always get bound up in rope and tied to a tree? That was a bard.

 

 

I don’t know how Wikipedia would define them, but these creatures still exist among us, even today in this busy, internet, gadget , paradoxical bio, vegan, animal loving– never go out of fashion religious fanatic people killing- space race world.

 

 

A  bard walked in to my life. In to my field. On to my land, in the middle of the grand working on the land day. I recognised him instantly. Not because he had a black hat and a black guitar case – the instrument and the money collecting hat being the two quintessential essential belongings of a bard, a sort  of a functional uniform. But because I had heard him play the night before. He was young and fresh and happy as an apple. Playing some unusual for a street busker -up beat -music, and was really content, as if all his friends where there just around the corner.

 

I passed him three times, each time was delighted by his appartion,and just as he had packed up for the night I decided to drop some money into his hat- which he refused. He thought I was dropping it out of pity, as he no longer was playing. Having I explained that I had heard him earlier and considered him good- satisfied him enough to allow my to pay for his services and drop something into the  hat. Afterwards  I sort of pushed on, clumsily out of the public space, into the night, and away, slightly disappointed about not getting to know the busker.

 

 

The next day , with the noon sun high and hot, with the mountains as a background, he waded trough the tall summer grass into my presence.

 I knew it would be you, I said. I had just received a phone call out of the blue and from abroad, introducing the arrival or some friend who would look for me there miles  away from the city. And he , the bard from last night, had trekked with bus and on foot to come find, me.

 

It was spring / summer, that solstice moment when just the scents of nature make one drunk. He had that sun bleached thing, going on, like surfers do, long hair gone blonde form the sun, tanned skin, rosy cheeks and blue eyes. For instants I hated him. He was pretty much all a girl could want on a summers day in the nature. But he came into my field, on a grand working action day and just lied down like a lion in the shade, to purrr his days away. Did not even play music. What the kind of a guest was that? He helped a while, than criticised my disturbing the nature- which was by far prettier in all its meters of wild grasses and flowers ,that homed the awful snakesthat  scared me. But of course he liked the snakes.

 

Hmmm. To jump to the end. Bards like faries and elfes do exsist.

 

They are not registered in the books of births and deaths and because they float outside of what civilisation deems acceptable. They buzz on the edges of civilisation, in between cities, feed on the money they earn busking, live the life in between people may dream and wonder about but never have the courage or recklessness to live. He plays and sings and makes music about this life in the absolute freedom the un-belonging ness ,on having the stars as a roof, the coat as a house, the random friendships along the endless road. He revitalises  and inspires the souls of the people who for an instant stop, listen, and maybe put something in the hat. Or hungry to live the adventures of the bard, adopt him, grab him for a while to wash him, feed him, suck him dry of this freshness, of his philosophical thoughts arisen from the direct life in nature, anchor him with all the things he is running form, hoovers, set hours for meals, neighbours, the rubbish one has to deal with every day in the city, the human life, which he is not fit for ,which he does not cope in, and than he stumbles  out.

On to the road . safe, walking the eternal change. Safe with the short lived, instantaneous friendships, instant, and more importantly un-permanent. He is thrilled by every meal he eats, the fish caught and baked on a rock by the fire, because no meal is guaranteed. Not even salt is guaranteed. Each detail becomes a miracle. A god given blessing. Each thing which prolongs life, the journey is a wander, and all those comforts we live and do not even notice ,like a roof , like a glass found near a river , are a blessing. There are no plans. The plans are to keep moving somewhere. To eat. To play guitar. To talk to someone. To sleep. To be grateful for all the mercy life bestows. Then also , to run always, keep running, to not belong, but to have the feeling of belonging to all the stops, in many places, among many people, of different languages, and keep going, unable to stop.

 

 

 

 

Open studio night

It was alost woody allen-esque. A film cliche. No one at the door. I could not be bothered to put on my trousers, reclined by the sophorific lamp in the living room bare knees in a big flowery jumper, feeling sleepy.
And i know, the rules of the game, -we all know them really, subconciousey. I knew that if i just streched out my feet and lied upon the couch i would have fallen alseep, and would have been phisicaly conent, but not entireley mentaly.
So i dragged the legs into white trousers, and pushed me into the kitchen to rattle about, with the excuse of cleaning the house- but as all witches know all the magic begins in the kitchen. And as i threw spaghetti bolognese to the seaguls rim for their breakfast- becosue despite this being banned by the husband- i believe we there would be no waste if we shared with the animals and plants- what we are supposed to.. And i washed the last of the pots.. It all begin to stirr, the energy boubled up, the meassages flew hither and a single harry pottery type visit happened.
I wanted no more than that,
they wanted magic
they wanted magic to happen to them
and by some unexplained chance they seeked me out, looked for me, found me ,and despite all the building security , knocked directley at my door.
We where expecting pumpkins and canddles almost they said- as i lead them to my pumpkins, their arrival had prevented my lighting the candles , yet.

She had always wanted to be an artist, and has not  given up, and has needed, wanted , teaching teaching of skills, of techniques, she is in a terribile long lost agument wether to study for the third time in slovennia.. for the taskes of technniques!!!

and he is an inventor.

and i had rakiya, and vine and music and it seems somone needed my knowledge,  i had a lot to teach, tonight, to stop somone making ridiculous mistakes, and face very simple realisation of their desires.

I dont know if my work mattered, but comming to my studio, being here , i saw that woman change, and that man with her change by the time they left. And i am a bit like the woody allen hooker- making them feel like the world is theirs to have for the time they where here- self help now- and all that jazz- but i belived it as did they. Perhaps i ought ot teach, becosue what i teach is that all that rubbish every one hears aobutthe impossible things, goes down the drain, they leave me and do what ever the thing they fantasised was. :)

sorry aobut spelling, im too tired to spellcheck now
 happy halows eve

An artist coaching session with Marina Kurikhina

After many years outside of the London art buzz, I flew to London for the Frieze art fair, with intention to re engage in that old city of mine and make it into a working base again.

Before making the trip , I took a live coaching session with Marina Kurikhina. I trough that I could benefit from her expertise and opinions, from the other side of the art spectrum that of a dealer/gallerist/ curator and as of recently artist coach, to give me some advice on how best to use my limited time there.

The way the coaching for artists works is very simple, you arrange a time and date to meet up using live video trough the internet, and than you have a two hour session. Before your session Marina sends you a few questions to familiarize herself with your situation. And than you meet up and discuss. These sessions can be recorded and re played later which is useful .


Before our time together Marina sent me a few questions by email in order to familiarize herself with my situation and goals. During the session we aired many inter-connected topics. What I found useful , was the fact Marina made me focus on what I needed to realize, not in  a vague way which  I had planned, but rather to dig deeper and understand what is important for me to achieve,  and work out flatt how to do it with a plan, rather than leaving it all to my intuition and being unprepared.

Probably the most important result of my coaching session, is the fact Marina with her eagles eye view on my practice, from the position of a professional who has worked with art and artists, pointed out an integral element of my practice I had disregarded for years, and give it the attention I need to. I have for years worked with performance, performance precedes every painting I produce, and yet I had neither documented this element nor valued it despite the fact I can not make paintings without it. It is easy to get immersed in ones art and not see the whole picture- there are so many elements we must think about, art practice, art development art production, livelihood form selling art, marketing of art. Essentially for years I had miss represented my self, my work , and I feel compromising all my project with this bad, devaluating attitude of my live per formative process, which is actually amazing and the very crux and reason why I  make art .

Marina provided me with tons of useful tips and solutions, making little bridges between things I plan and their realization in an easy and factual way.

Its actually pretty awesome to be able to arrange a meeting like this with a professional whose opinion and taste one can trust, especially when you are an artist living outside the art world buzz places, and you do not have people who can advise you, or whose opinion you value,  in your vicinity. This way not matter where you are- good advice  is available  on how to prep your work, presentation, practice, and be ready for the international scene even if you live in the provinces, or at the sea side as I do.

 

Sunčica Kuzmanić (Perišin-Tomljanović)

http://suncionstage.blogspot.com/

http://themarinerandtheocean.blogspot.hr/

 

 

a litle trip put of the quoditien

My breasts are about to explode.
I have not fed little boobie monster  today,
 I had left the baby to her nanny and father and spent the day as an adult, an artist, a mother to the four year old child and a toursit in my most favurite city, Hvar, on hvar island.
Today i had no need to shout.
 I have figured out why. Being with adrenalin loving toddler , is so stressfull, its constantley living in phisical strain and expectation and stress aobut the continuous dangers. The older child is trained to be less dangerous and one can relax a little, and even have a dinner in a restourant with them. So having exited the baby who on my arriving home i find happiley asleep with father(also asleep ) at 8pm. I had the most amazing day.
Having understood the four year old too, to be a little child- not simpley an enormousley big and must be faster, independent, giant in comparison to his sitter, i gave him more patience and understanding than usual, for which i feel better as well. As once one is holding a baby learning to walk- you can not simultaniousley give a hand to the four year old climbing some tree.

So today we played in the playground on Hvar, and ate at the amazing Passarola restourant twice and talked business, and took our first swim of the year quite properley and even supped - sub boarded a while on the emerald waters of Hvars shore.

That island for me is like pure magic. The second I place my foot on to its stone streets is like i enter a fammiliar stage setting, and a theatre play i know so well. The sun there is always shining, the sea is always emerald and wonderousley transparent. Mediteranian plants are in bloom, air smells of lavander. I some how encounter all the friends i want to encounter by pure chance and no prior telephone arrangement, just so in the streets, and often i incounter international friends from all over the world literarley . Today my son wanted to go on the sup board- and as i lie on  the beach a firend appears from by gone years, and gives me a sup board to use- without my asking for it .. Its this kind of very direct magic that occurs on that island.

Last night at midnight i had a desire for a pasta or rizotto with sea food and vine, it was too late to eat at the time but today bam, i am treated to three versiones of that story at the restourant i am entering a project with . I mean of all their many many dishes- they give me- what i imagine and fancy witohut my having said a word, and that was nice. ..

So I am on a new project with this restoruant. I will be painting a series of portraits in the large dimensions and my old monument project style for their interior. Which is amazing. as i have for years sort of avoided that project despite it being one of my favurites, i have not developed it to the end, to its furthest possibilites just becosue i had felt here that the portrait is not an apriciated thing in geografic setting. So this gives me a boost, to go play, again, in materials and style and subject i love, develop it a little further, and i am so gratefull for this boost. It takes me away form all the sail boats in watercolor, and oil landscapes of small fishing town which i have made my living form reecentley, and puts me back on to my own page, portraits of men and women, god damn monumntal beautifil portraits women, go, do!

Thank you universe.

This restourant having for a few years harboured one of the best, most talented chefs in croatia and  internatonaley acclaimed Hrvoje Zirojević , is one of those celebrity trappinng spiderwebs for those fine expensive booties entering the island form mega yachts. Being there agian made me get in touch with the chef after a long time, i laways love jamming with talented progressive people, who make me feel like everything is possible and who boost our self confidence and open up the limits so that put a smile on my face 

Some years back Hrvoje treated me and my dear firend Tatiana, mexican artist to dinner under the stars at Passarola, and just to surprise him back, i gave him an enoromus oil painting for that dinner that same evening to say thank you, just becosue he is super talented, and i feel talent should be apriciated. But he is internatonal and more traveled than i. The restoruants fight for him for be theirs for a year, as he sets alight  every place he goes to like a super nova, his enerrgy with his kitchen team, marvelous inventiones for the palette and the eye, make him a magnet for internationals who swarm to where ever he cooks.  An ode to a chef this is turning in to, of course i will have to paint him.

Exhausted. Must sleep. good night

Painting rainbows

Duje my son is getting old enough for my to be able to work beside him. Or at least I am more relaxed about  him possibly falling into the sea, and or getting wet, to take him along when he wanted to come and paint the sun set with me.

It was actually quite fun. I paint at the waters edge, where the tide meets with my feet, and where I can dip the old paper right into the sea and reach out and keep dipping my paintbrush when I need. Duje too ,did all as mother does. He primed his paper in the sea, let he pigments drip, shook te wet paper to spread the colors. He knows my stuff . To the point that the firenledy passers by came up to me and kept asking- ah how lovley here you are painting rainbows youth your son?. Yes. Yes and for the passers by his paintings made sense, and my paintings where no better than the kids.

And we had fun.
he discovered a "witches broom" in the marina and tried to fly on it- but it did not work- so he threw it into the sea- but than pulled it out scared by my threaths of what the witch may do to him.. Even though today he said that that witches broom does not work and is rubbish and probably belongs to an old witch and it may -even -be just a normal broom for sweeping the marina! The witches broom in the park is by far more magic( I lifted him up on it ).

The sky was quite dramatic and beautiful and changing very fast as it does before the sun sets. Colors turn on off and go, Big drama after a strom. Rain fell upon our paintings and watered them down. Had to hide the paintings with teenagers smoking the reefa in the fishemans hut so that they would not wash compleatley off. Though what ever I paint at the sea- changes by the time I get home. The air at sunset is always too moist to dry the paintings- so I walk with them drippig and smouldering and changing all the way home.

An enormous rainbow turned up and above Duje and I. I think he had invoqued it having drawn them again and again.
Lovley evening with Duje, quite rare during the reign of the baby sister- little possesive monster.

Ah. The are bot sleeping with the father right now. Im going to steal my self a whole bed of legs wide apart , hands spread out, deliciousness, until the first one cries me awake.

good night

The sailing boats.

 

You may be wondering why and how the heck did I make that leap from tons of portraits to painting sailing boast and why?

Hahah. Well to somone who knows me, its makes perfect sense. To somone looking form afar- it makes no sense at all, possibley.

The first time i stepped on to a sailing boat, it was love at first sight, I was 20, and I was debating giving up St. Martins art college and becoming a skipper- or marrying a sailor.

Some year later, after living in Rome, a life full of adrenalin in art, art parties and travel, I came to a cross roads with the optiones to go to a New York art residency or to a Robinson Crusoe type island residency in the Adriatic Sea.

Well I thoguht the island will be a than or never opportunity, when will I be mad enough to go to a almost deserted island , again.. So I packed me off to the island named Palmižana. There all my gadgets died. Phone, camera, computer, it all died reapitedley until I had no contact with the exterior world.

All I could do on that island was paint, swim and eat. I eneded up destroying most of my clothes with the paint, and I pretty much become the wild thing, one becomes on a wild island. I painted topless in the heat of the summer, half covered in thick oil paints all over my body , looking like some tribal woman with tribal markings. I could only get the paints off when I would visit the mailand and get a hot waxing removing, hair, paint and sand stuck to my skin.

Being stuck on a tiny island in a painting ,eating swimming, routine in the sun, makes you become like all robinsons, greedey for any boats and any changes. I like all natives of my island would see arriving sailing boats and stare at the new arrivals as if they where alians , and soon started leaving Palmizana with any boat that would take me sailing as if they where saving me form enprisonement. I'd see a boat, sail off the island in my swim suit, and than have to find a ferry back some days later.

There was a lack of adrenalin which I love and connect and need in art making on that island. In need of adrenalin that same summer I started surfing and became a windsurf journalist, following the regattas around the coast. And as winter hit- I wanted to get our of the water and started to learn to sail on boats.

The next spring having seen the most beautiful boat of my life- the Shipman carbon yacht at Split on the Boat show- I came up to the sales director an procured a job- at the factory of the Shipman Yachts in Slovenia- just becosue I love sailing boats so much, no other reason. I was in love with that boat.

So Sailing boats for me are this constant attraction, love, which I somehow ignored in my art making for all these years, as that love for the boat was private, and art is something that ultimatley is an expression that ends up wievewd by the public.

This show “ All the sister want to kiss sailors” is a fragile dare to paint this beautiful thing, the sailing yacht, which I expirence as being so gorgous, perhaps I have been frightened of painting them badley in the past so did not dare. But I feel that the paintings I have produced are not so bad, the more I paint the less stiff my boats become.

And as for tha sea and sky- well I cant fake it at all, I must paint those whilst at the sea, looking at the waters and heavens, and in this instance with the watercolor pigments I use sea water to move the colors , I dip the paper into the water, the wind lifts my papars and changes the color flows. But also I makes such a mess at sea I am free to splat and shake and dont have the constraints of the studio. Only in this way do I manage to catch the colors and movements of the nature which than are a decent stage for the boats.

Any way , I fear this has been a can of worms, opened, with my painting thise series of sailing boats- I have suddnely ignored all my portrait projets and put them on hold, completley engulfed in this boat painting, sea going, wind swpt hair, drinking the grappa, whilst hnging out with fishermen and painting at their dock thing.

Oh yeah.