About the Eyes

About this poem:

We live in times of great turmoil; worldwide, we are divided by power, greed, discord and famine. I think it is most important than ever to acknowledge that we live under the same sun, that we are all equal. Unfortunately, I don't speak as many languages as I would like to.

I imagined 4 different characters, with different languages, different eyes colour and different life experience. They are made by the different memories each of them carries.

The black eyes remember storms, wars and their mother, trying to find her children's next piece of bread. Even when they found peace, living in a different country, a country of blue-eyed people, the memories come back.

The green eyes remember different kind of storms and Spring nights. The brown eyes remember the enchanted forest of their childhood. The blue eyes have never known famine and they reassure the black eyes that they will never have to worry about the bread.

I have always considered myself a visual artist primarily. That is not to say that I am not serious about my writing. I always knew I want to write - there was never a doubt. I just always envisaged the two getting along just fine. I couldn't imagine myself doing one without the other.
Recently, I have been commissioned to write. A lot. And I am thrilled to say, "Stories from my Grasslands" will soon have a home, airing from a local radio station. (I promise, all will be revealed soon).

Meanwhile, I want to talk about writing and about what I have learned about writing . Last year, I was fortunate to take part in a series of "Mother Tongue" workshops under the guidance of the ever amazing Jacqui Malins and Lauren Klinger. I admired their courage of standing up and admitting they only spoke English; yet their workshops were truly mind blowing. They taught techniques and emphasis, they made writing exercises fun, they made me see languages and their fusion in a totally new perspective. Each workshop was enhanced by the contribution of a special writer as well as the contribution of the other participants - so many ladies brought their knowlege: Anita Patel, Niloofar Fanaiyan, Vesna Cvjeticanin and Dunja Cvjetićanin, Christiane Vivanco de Savaris, Melissa Gomez, Karina Palomita. Thank you. I have learned so much in so little time. And I made some friends too, in the process.
So I decided to try fusion for myself. Here is my first poem in all the languages I love.
I get this question so many times, why do you write in other languages than yours? And I don't really know what the answer would be. Perhaps because my biggest regret is that I cannot make music, even if my life depended on it. So I play with the words, instead. I find music in their rhythm. I am (by far) not an academic, and I am sure that my grammar is poor at times. Perhaps the sense of what I want to convey is lost in translation at times, just like me. But what a fun adventure, to dance one's way through all these words.

Stories from My Grasslands

Perspective

It is superfluous, perhaps to talk about perspective. But perhaps it's not. This morning, Mother Nature decided to remind me one of life's most important lessons, by putting things in perspective.
We get carried away and it's easy to forget this one,simple thing: always remember to see the whole picture.
We get to a point where we're stuck and we think we're going around in circles at a snail's pace,without achieving much. Look closely and it seems that way. But if you take a step back, perhaps your perspective will change. The snail is the most tenacious creature I know.
So, if you're ever feeling down, here is a timely reminder to please remember to look back. Always remember where you have started from and then you'll never overlook again how far you got on the way to your goal. You might be really surprised.

The Bird Fairy

 

She spent all night talking to the bird. “You’ll see: one day your wings will take you high up to the skies. And then you’ll never be afraid again. She told her about her own wings: once upon a time she was the tiniest fairy in Fairy Land. She spent years wishing for her special power to reveal itself - until one stormy day. The sun was just coming back and she was watching it shine through the leaves of the gum tree she was under. “- I wish I could have wings like that” she thought.

“- I’ll make your wings” – said a young sapling next to her. And ever since then, she never stopped flying. She finally found her special power and she was roaming, setting all the birds free. The little white bird said nothing. Her plastic blue wings were sad and listless. But she had the most amazing song. The fairy shook her head. She was too young; she didn’t know yet that some birds have never known freedom outside their cages. She cast a spell and set the toy bird free. After all, she was the Bird Fairy.

On 105

For the uninitiated, 105mm is the focal length of a macro lens. It is a lens that I absolutely love using to collect a few shapes and colours impressions.
While I had a bit of fun playing with movie maker, I am also slowly working on building up an images portfolio based on my eternal search, trying to better understand Synaesthesia.

Blanc

"Blanc" is about being blanc-minded, when you just want to let your senses make whatever they feel out of a particular moment in time, without you putting any cognitive effort into it. It's about detaching yourself from anything negative, about finding the love within.

First try at doing a slide show in a long, long while. It can do with some improvements but overall I have enjoyed working on this little project. If you know me personally, then you probably know how passionate I am about Synaesthesia and how much I love combining images, words and sounds.

El Bardo

Un pobre diablo sin zapatos
Ni los tiene, ni los quiere.
Pero su música a todos los tiene locos
Y ellos se olvidan de todo lo que duele.

Quiet Wakes

Just take my hand;
I'll hold your silences close to my heart. Forever.
Our souls make music in these quiet wakes
And we shall share this infinite together
For as long as it takes,
On this forgotten land.

Growing Roots

 

Many times a day I get these questions "where are you from"? Or "where is your accent from"? Or even put in simpler but more resonating words: "where's home from you"?

This is my favourite of the three, for it involves a careful introspection, lots of analysis and reminiscences. Even then, I am not quite 100% sure which one of the places I carry in my heart is my home, more than others.

Nowadays I call The Land Down Under my homeland. And I am even starting to grow roots, enjoying every single moment with my little family. They are the ones who taught me that “freedom” and “belonging” are equally important and that they don't necessarily have to hinder each other.
They are also teaching me how to grow these roots, in my personal quest to gift them their own.

 

The trouble with traveling around the world for so long is that many of the places will leave their mark on you and that you will carry pieces of everywhere within your being.

There are a few "home" fractions I carry with me - they are there to define who I am and it's important to acknowledge them as "me".

 

There is a land far away where I was born and from whose mountains I am still drawing strength. There is a village where I learned freedom, roaming the hills and mountains. Where life was simple and timeless. Where making bread was the existence centre of every household.

I learned meanwhile that "home" is made by more and more layers added on through one's life journey. So, if I had only a question to ask, it would be this: what is the taste of "home" for you? My home is definitely made of dough and baking.

It is now only a memory, clouded by the passing years; but there are fewer pleasures, to me, than the satisfaction brought by the baking day, back in my village. Times and times again I have been writing about what the making of the bread truly meant in those days. About the work it took, to feed the whole house on homemade bread. There were no bread makers, no mixers, blenders or kitchen aids. Just your palms, one big wooden trough and lots and lots of flour waiting to be turned into wonders.

(Click Here for an older writing about my Nana’s bread).

No doubt, that little village gave me great values too; for I have learned that labour is the price for any of the life's little pleasures. Wild strawberries mousse meant that we had to spend hours in the forest to pick the tiny little red dots; no supermarket was selling them. There was no supermarket either.
Much like Proust's little madeleine, the taste of the wild strawberries mousse will bring up vividly so many of my lost memories - the sounds of the woods, the mossy, earthy smells of the land...that delicious tiredness accompanying the happiness of bringing home a bucketful of fruit...the contentment of a job well done...

Beside the fresh bread and wild strawberries mousse, there is another particular taste of my childhood that I consider "home". Whenever my Nana and my Mom used to make this delicious traditional desert, it was a great day. The village was in a mountain area where plum trees and potatoes were aplenty; so plum dumplings were probably the most logical choice. Along the years, it has grown to be one of our main fare staples. I didn’t realise how much I missed it until yesterday, when I asked my mother to make some.

I made it myself before, but it didn’t taste the same. We followed the same recipe, but somehow, only my mother’s hands brought back that magic taste.

 

And just in case you wonder how the dumplings look when they are ready to eat, here is a pic. As for the taste, you'll really have to try it.

 

 

 

 

A Big, Warm Hug

 

A long time ago, when my beloved Nana passed away, I promised myself that I would never go to a funeral again – except mine.

Joke aside; it doesn’t take a Rocket Scientist to figure out that I really don’t deal very well with loss and grief.
A very selfish approach - I came to realise - but my birth day this year has changed it: this year, I chose to spend my 40^th birthday honouring the life of a very brave fellow mother who lost her battle with cancer.
We weren’t very close, but the friendship we struck during the school drop off and pick-up times has left such a strong mark. I feel very lucky to have known her, and maybe we did cross paths for a reason.

While grieving is still a very raw issue to me, I now understand that here are so many other heartaches out there. Like how do you say good bye to your loved ones, especially to your children? How can you keep positive, trying to make some great last memories for them? How do you hide your tears, knowing you will not see them growing and that you will be missing out on everything we otherwise take for granted?

I keep thinking about her randomly. This morning, she popped in my thoughts while I peeped outside, over the grasslands and I was greeted by this view.
I don't easily believe in signs, but fog is very unusual at this time of the year and during the entire period we have been living here, I have only seen this particular type of sunset only once before. today, it really felt like the Universe was sending down a big,warm hug. I thought I'd pass it around to everyone in need of one.

The Second Sun

It was that second sun who stole my heart;
It wrapped my soul in love and set it free
Embracing me and guiding from the start
Although its shining light was never meant for me.

A ball of orange rays so subtly lit
Shining through dandelions on a knoll
T'was lost to me before I even found it
But it's that second sun who has my soul.

 

 

 

 

About Choices

Today is the last day of this year. I have no idea whether I am going to pick up my camera and snap a shot or two. But whatever I choose to do, I am going to be content.
The one thing I learned about making a choice in art is this:  - in most cases - there aren’t such things as good choice/bad choice. It all reduces to what makes one happy.  Go with what you feel that is right for you. For instance: colour or black and white? It is all a matter of taste.  And of considering the finality of your artwork.

If you are a close friend & family, or if you are following my work, you probably know that I have started a big project, getting people to talk about following their own dream, about ideals, aspirations and what keeps them motivated when the going gets tough.  (You can find about it here: A Hat of Many Dreams)

In my case, I want to use minimal props and interventions because my project is meant to be a social experiment: an honest incursion into people’s souls, witnessing their own dialogue with themselves. I just guide them from the sides, with a couple of questions.

I chose to devoid my setting of any colour, because I want to “see” my sitters through their emotions. Therefore it is going to be black and white all the way. Again, if you know me well, you’d know that I am fascinated with people and their ways of life. I find surprising and strong characters from all walks of life on daily basis, just by chatting to people. Which is a wonder in itself, because deep down I am quite the introvert.

But I have to admit, in certain cases, my sitters are beyond fascinating and I find myself facing the dilemma, whether I want to preserve the colour, maybe change the brief of my project and allow those bright colours to take over and shine. The answer is no. Much as I’d like it, I think it is important to keep my brief consistent. I have already made one concession from the initial brief, allowing myself to a wider range of portrait sizes, erring from my initial close-up portrait set up.

Luckily, digital photography makes it easier for me to have my cake and eat it. Recently, I have had the privilege and honour to photograph and meet in real life a lady whom I have admired from the sides for quite a while. She proved to be more interesting than I could have ever dreamed of. We got to know each other a little. We found lots of things in common. We had a giggle or two. We shared a spectacular sunset over my beloved grasslands.

She is unique, intelligent and fun. She has a great sense of humour,

magnificent eyes and a custom-made shade of red hair.

Seeing how the 3 primary colours worked so remarkably well in defining her portrait, how could I not take these gorgeous shots? And incidentally, doing this series of portraits gave me the best of both worlds - I got to work in one of my favourite places in the world and we literally were photo bombed by the kangaroos, who are so used to see me with my camera that they started to run towards us and lined up behind Tara.

(You can also see the black and white series by clicking here)

Until a year ago, I wasn’t much of a portrait photographer; not in a true form anyway; as I was too busy chasing the kangaroos and the light around the grasslands. But one time, in a discussion forum over a National Geographic Assignment, Marie McGrory, one of the National Geographic photo editors gave me one of the best advice ever when she challenged me to take more portraits. Sure, I always liked people and their stories but what if I started to go more in-depth and do more portraits? So this year I have challenged myself and I have worked really hard to find out just how good I could be at unearthing their stories through my images. I had some failures but I think I had quite a few great experiences too. The most rewarding thing about pushing my boundaries and doing portraits is forging new friendships, learning new things and finding extraordinary stories in the most ordinary places.