“Love is the enemy of love,
The thief that shortens
All our golden hours.
I have never understood then
Why lovers count their happiness
In days and nights and years,
While our love can only be measured
In our joys and sights and tears”
Time is the enemy of love by V. J. Rajadhon
Love is at past tense. Only when broken leftovers found their way out trying to move on and feel one again then love is being called on its name. Why lovers cannot feel and say it out loud without being afraid when it truly happens, only after years of attempts, in and outs, we can articulate our love…at past tense but never in the present moment. I loved you and maybe I still do…
Do you feel rejuvenated and fresh in this glorious day over the fog or you’ve lost your mojo?
I went to the park in my neighbourhood to enjoy the fresh crisp biting air of this winter day, the light of the sun victourious in the battle with the gloomy and foggy day. Remainder of autumnal leaves, misty grass and naked trees rising their arms in the clear sky. Shadows and silhouettes of people celebrating nature. I charged my batteries walking on the alleys of the park and felt a child joy when witnessing the splendour of the colours in the sunset.
There’s no freedom or bliss in anything like the one I feel when spend time in the middle of the nature, the miracle of life.
XIX century style interiors of London Savoy Hotel lobby and restaurants have been decorated in a frost themed atmosphere, a trend of the celebrity parties I’ve recently watched on TV as well, starting from dress code and make-up to home designs. Cold is the new warm.
My experience at Kasper’s Seafood and Grill Restaurant, Savoy Hotel was overwhelming in terms of luxury and fairytale set. People experienced minimalist dishes in gourmet traditional contents. I smiled when I saw mature persons were taking pictures of their plates and of the setting-out of the facility.
I no longer want meaningless gifts but unique experiences and people that no doubt change me for the better.
It was a time of sins, it was the time of truth, a time when we were more in love with our lovers than with our boyfriends, a time of despair transcending to transformation.
It’s been pre-Christmas stressful and anxiety time, when people are hurrying to meet deadlines and leave for the holidays break until next year. Pressure, traditions, agitation and festive gatherings. So was the evening when I met you. The pub was full of people trying to get into the holiday mood but not entirely released from their work duties, but I was. My last day at work came and I freed myself by submitting my resignation at a job that was no longer fulfilling me, going to work became a painful duty and burden and sometimes ended up in tears in the train that was taking me back home. It had started for quite some time but allowed myself time to digest the information my depression was sending to me. I had never had the luxury to quit a job without really knowing where I was heading myself next. But now, at 38 I did it, just take a break and change my career, allow myself to indulge with a sweet drift and float, explore new horizons and figure out what is it out there that can work for me. Lessons learned, writing down my projects, my intentions, my projections and rediscover lost skills or just turn things for the better. Standing at the bar to order some drinks for my collegues, I caught sight of you, looking at me. Needless to say how many times this happened that night. I was relieved, no stress, but a sort of calm, maybe lowered my guard. When I left the pub you followed me and I accepted to talk to you, to get acquainted and had another drink at the casino where you kissed me and I let myself kissed by you. I didn’t feel anything and seemed in control. We said good night and left home. You continued to contact me in a haressing manner, insisting in flirting although you had known I was living with someone. I liked my new excitement and accommodated your behaviour. You insisted to meet the next day despite the fact that you knew I was going to the Xmas due with the company I worked for 2 years, my last party with them. You expected me to come even to your place but obviously that didn’t happen. You continued to chase me until I gave you a clue I intented to have sex with you the next day. It was primary desire, passion debut and very painful for me. Guilty pleasures. You took me to a nice gastro-pub where I ate the best steak in UK and couldn’t find myself again, my vibes were low and totally dominated by you. The atmosphere was festive and xmassy with fireplace, New Zealand Sauvignon blanc wine, cannot come to my senses mood. You said you want to see me again but didn’t want me to break up with my boyfriend because of you as you had no plan. That hurt. The passive-agressive time followed, soul struggle, pain, restless and desperated, longing after a sign of you eventually.
I forget (forgive) myself for coming blind into your pathway.
A pre-Christmas detox of all wastes along the year with an infusion of home museum walk and lunch at Geffreye Musem, Hoxton.
We all have a Dorian Gray’s portrait in our lives. Could be our partner, work environment, parents, friends, a mirror that is reflecting our scars, what we hate, how we behave, our vanities, fears and flaws. A portrait that is showing to us who we really are. We are what we attract. We are what we think.
I strongly recommend this novel written by Oscar Wilde in 1890 about the human condition. It’s full of wisdom, aphorisms and aesthetic lifestyle. If you are more into films watch the screening of the novel. The one that I watched made in 2009 with Colin Firth in the role of Lord Henry Wotton, it really gave a horror turn to the story and wasn’t very faithful to the Victorian era novel.
Sunday morning fresh salad made of carrot, celery and beetroot with a dash of horseradish sauce
Ever since the banishment from Paradise, from Neanderthal man to modern civilization, people are trying to reconstruct it. Moreover, once individuals attained to create their own Eden in their private spaces, their homes, systems managed to take it away so that they could re-sell it in exchange of money and time. If in the past centuries opera music and balls were held in one’s private house nowadays this sunken world is being revived in public institutions and provided to everyone for a certain price.
Spaces and time used to be at discretion and now they are considered luxury. Culture access has become more and more a priviledge. Retail shops and hospitality industry are selling to the large public a piece of one’s dreams, the ultimate products in terms of comfort provided by technology and services offered. Dreams come true and magic comes into our lives. Time gets another meaning and dimension. The illusion of Eden is planted in our minds. The dolce vita of past times is brought back. The lack of worry of Adam and Eve is sold for the price of a year’s work for just two weeks of illusions. Eden has transcended from truth to dream and from status quo to the perfect escapism from the everyday struggle for survival. Holidays are perfect times for Eden reconstruction. People needed to believe in something and they invented totemism before inventing religion. Now we want fairy tales and invented occasions to celebrate, be merry and bring the perfect environmnent in our houses and lives. Aesthetically speaking, mankind needs beauty to endure the ugliness of live. It invented art to celebrate and salute perfection. Eden is back into our lives through different aspects. It was stolen to be given gradually and portioned in order to be an ongoing lust. Once we had it all and didn’t know how to be grateful for it. We wasted it for cheap thrills. Then decadence followed, occasion to lock it away and re-invent it for later, another concept Paradise, expensive and never to be taken for granted, never to become a possesion but always to be a pupose in life.
In The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde envisages that the jewels once were visible on allegorical beasts heads and worn later by proeminent characters of the history in abundence. He exclaims: “How exquisite life once been! How gorgeous in its pomp and decoration! Even to read of the luxury of dead was wonderful.” What has happened to these visible and touchable wealthy lives? Are they locked somewhere? What’s in store for us in terms of Eden? Bad news is that we are no longer free and in possession of our precious time and wealth. It’s just an illusion. Everything has become an illusion. We are in a continuous search for the absolute truth, perfection and beauty. They have been taken away since the original sin and given only to the ones that are restless to find them paying the price of never ending quest.
As I recently discovered and read life means also nothingness not only important things but who feels like dealing with them when everyone wants a meaningful life?
Albert Einstein when travelling to United States met James Ensor and asked him what he was painting and the latter said nothing. How is it to paint nothing?
What impressed me at the exhibition Intrigue curated by Luc Tuymans was Ensor’s subjects and the surreal in his painting. From vegetables to self portait skelton, from maskerade characters to grotesque ones, from evil to falling angels and chinoiseries observed in his childhood maybe in the shop his parents owned in Ostend.The collection is vivid and dressed in masked ball accessories, ostrich feathers and colourful jack pudding like faces to blurred dark flemish portraits of relatives, dead catch of the North Sea catch and gross sequences of life.
The poster and the name of the exhibition was given by the painting with the same name, Intrigue. For me represents this particular period of time of my life when I’m intrigued as well by the clowns and masks on peoples’ faces and thinking that we all want to get meaning out of life. Our efforts sometimes make us ridiculous and our struggle make us look clowns of our own attempts in trying to draw attention and impress. We try to streghten a position in our company or impose ouselves in front of an audience, the excess of enthusiasm is transforming the surplus into a maskerade. The saturation with growth and exuberance sometimes leads to decadence of a trend or society. When too much becomes striking and banishes the natural it becomes unatural. When comic exceeds the norms it attires the satire, laughter brings buffonery and grotesque.
Vegetables on a canvass, skeletons in masked ball costumes are creating a surreal world with fantastic characters.
I really enjoyed this exhibition held at Royal Academy of Arts, Burlington House.
The brutalist architecture is a movement in architecture that flourished from 1950s to mid 1970s descending from the modernist architectral movement of early 20th century. The term originates from the French word “raw” in the term used by Le Corbusier to describe his choice of material beton brut. British architectural critic Reyner Bangam adapted the term into “brutalism” to identify the emerging style.
So, if this is the definition of brutalist architecture and if I compare the comunism times reminiscent block of flats constructions made out of raw concerete levels, then I don’t get it why they are mocked about and derogatively talked about when brutalism is saluted into western architecture culture. Is it only because a comunism country had been independent and autarchic. And now, because of the political circumstances led ex-comunism countries to have adhered to EU, actually the population is the one who sold its soul and possessions to the devil for getting in exchange modern slavery. I really don’t understand how the same reality and concept is appreciated in one geographical point and pejoratively conotation given in another part. Is it a marketing issue, I guess, isn’t it? In one part is considered modern whilst in another is considered sad or poor…I guess only the money would transform the ordinary into extraordinary and ugliness into beauty or a campaign led to undermine the traditional values and to promote the anti-values.