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Just me.

Just me.

Sunday, 27 January 2013

My Beautiful Niece


I spent a few hours with my gorgeous niece today. Here you can see a few photos of her; however, my backdrop was all wrinkled and - as I truly hate ironing - I had to deal without it. 






















Listen to this and this



Saturday, 19 January 2013

She's Got Flowers!


"Are these tulips for me?" I wanted to know.
"No, no! They're for home," the sound bounced off the wall, landed on my left ear and crawled inside it.

This short exchange made me laugh. I decided to place the bunch by the lady I painted 17 days ago. And just look how the colours of the flowers and the leaves accentuate all the purples, yellows, reds and greens in my painting. What an incredible match! I love it! 


If you click on the photo to enlarge it, you'll easily notice that the focus is on the flowers, so my lady appears blurred. Just what I intended!

Thinking about different hues, tints, shades and tones often brings this old song to me. I always fail to grasp the meaning of the lyrics and trying to make links with 'The Canterbury Tales' (well, apart from the obvious) is just beyond me. And it's good to know your limits, I reckon. 

Friday, 18 January 2013

A Meeting

I've got a silly meeting
with my spiteful cells
at UHW next week

You told me I should 
ask 'em for a divorce or sumfin,
but I'm not that angry with them
I'm for a civilized chat
with my tiny enemies

I'll look into their eyes 
with forgiveness 
and 
understanding
After all,
it must be hard for them
to feel 
so unwelcome and unwanted

I'll listen to their tale
of unrequited love, 
just like I do 
when I pay attention 
to every word 
uttered by the elderly lady
no one wants to hear from

I'll admire the enormity 
of their strength and fight 
crushing my lungs 
and leaving me speechless

I'll accept them and hug them
I'll be kind


Tuesday, 15 January 2013


'Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.' (Hermann Hesse)


I'm not saying anything then. Back to translation or - more precisely - to what's lost in it. 



 Guess why I'm sticking to this cool instrumental tonight.

Saturday, 12 January 2013

I love photographing water droplets and crowns; it feels refreshing, clears my mind and teaches me patience. I took these pictures about two hours ago. They should enlarge if you click on them.







If you like these photos, here is my slightly different take on wetness from 2012 (and two pictures of the flowers that managed to dry).
                                                                                  Listen to this

Friday, 4 January 2013

My Wings

                            
With the bright green hedge clippers
you lubricated for me
five days ago, 
I cut off my wings 
and it didn't hurt


They damaged my spine
when I kept bending 
under their weight
and
it was too hard 
for my colleagues 
to pass me
in the narrow corridor


The doctor told me 
the wounds would heal
before spring
and
the raw scars 
(treated with the latest argan oil ointment
that smells so divine)
would pale 
to embellish 
my olive skin
and to complement it 


In an arctic airtight pocket 
of my favourite jeans
I keep the seven stem cells
that I extracted 
with my slightly webbed fingers
as an embryo
Just in case I need my wings back
in a new life


Check this song out


On the fourth of January
the sky is grey
but it can't be bothered to cry

I trip over your pride
and 
sink into 
the Kingdom of Oblivion 
failing to reach the bottom
and greet my forgotten friends

Poor memory of my impeccable manners
embraces me fondly
so I can swear
not so solemnly
but expressively and sincerely

Three hours later
unbearable lightness of being
stares at me 
insolently
from an empty bookshelf
and
fades away
to die peacefully 
with a bushy spider
in my arms


Listen


Mother,
He didn't want to see your pain
when 
             you
                         were 
                                       dying
and
danced on
ever so smoothly

I could smell his drunken breath
and feel the tiniest droplets
Of his salty sweat
falling on my 
T                    E                   B                   I                 G 
           R                   M                  L                  N                     knees

His laughter vibrantly echoes 
in my ears
to tell his story of
Betrayal
every evening


Mother,
Where was I?


Listen

Wednesday, 2 January 2013

I woke up quite early today and felt like painting... Well, this is what I've just created.



                                 Click on the image to enlarge.