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Thursday, 4 December 2014

Writing to make sense of the world

I was reading on what forgiving a person means, on how I can truly forgive and move on. Why would you do this you ask? Because, I have more often been the one to ask for forgives, growing up my life has sometimes become riddled in events which have put me in a place were other people have been hurt by my actions. This was not a bad thing entirely, asking for forgiveness, was something that once I got the hang of, I understood what the true implications of it is and furthermore to do sincerely, to look at your own actions and feel remorse, to have that drive to get up and ask for a second chance.To know that while I may have hurt other people, I had good intentions, although these don't always pan out. To then look at someone in the eyes, and say, I am sorry. Once I understood this,   I began thinking more about how to prevent having to be in this situation and went through making amends to truly treasuring that second chance you are given. To be given a second chance is a beautiful thing. This also set a mark for future relationships, where I am aware that we are human and I could hurt someone. Ironically, once I learned the importance of an apology, I needed to make to make less of them. Carefully treating people with love and commitment. Then yesterday night, after a difficult conversation, I heard the words, I am sorry and it was for me. This was strangely unexpected, the word sorry spread through my body like fire and tears rushed to my eyes, I was at the other end of the spectrum this time, and for the first time in my life, I felt the pain of an apology. I am sorry, I was wrong, it was selfish of me. Words that echoed in me, still do, now as I write this. My eyes, feel like a damp holding a big gush of water, I want to scream and shout. But I am not angry, the apology swept the anger away. An apology has made the suffering real, what I felt, was real. Sorry is a companion during a difficult time, something you can hold on to.

The words you were not expecting

The pain you thought you had to deal with alone

Measures you took

Decisions you made


Made you

You chose who to be 

To be free from the  place where you thought you were trapped


When who you were made no sense

When you were so alone


Alone with your thoughts

And your pain and love


You struggled with yourself

your years, your life


You asked to the world.

Why did this happen?

How did we get here?




Sorry, you heard

One night, in darkens

You heard the pain in voice

The desire for change

For a chance to once more

Make things right again


And you knew it was real

You knew it was true

You knew that the things you believed had happened for sure

And here was you token

In one only word


Sunday, 3 March 2013

An Image of You

I have always been intrigued by portraits of people, because, while almost anyone could for example, take a picture of a person an capture a great portrait, the artist achieves this by consciously applying his or her skill, which grants them the ability or gift even, of seeing the essence of the person and capture this in an image to tell us something about them. It is this three way dialogue between the sitter, the artist and the viewer which I find intriguingly complex and interesting.

Hence while portraits have been around since creativity itself, which first appears arguably in cave art.  When the pre-historic men and women depicted the world around them inside their living quarters, these can be said to be portraits of their lives, early representations of who these people were. As the notion of the self begins to develop, we seem to become increasingly interested in images of ourselves. Much later, during the Renaissance we see Italian and Dutch portraiture really picks up as genre, the stakes of portraiture were raised and primarily reserved for social elites, this were now images made to denote power and social stance.

Today while portraits of powerful and "important" members of society are still increasingly more likely to enter our most prestigious institutions and hang there for many years,  more "common" members of society have also had their chance to be celebrated trough the artistic vision of painters and photographers, who deem these ch characters recognition.

Below I gathered a small collection of my three favourite photographers, Don McCullin, Steve McCurry and John Keny, these portraits work through signifiers to give us a short biography about the person that we looking at. These works allow us to recognize culture traits and emotions about the characters we are seeing. I can think of a few things which are so profoundly moving.
Steve McCurry "Pul i Khumri, Afghanistan"

Portraits from Africa by John Kenny

By Steve McCurry

Don McCullin "Shell Shocked Soldier"

Portraits from Africa by John Kenny

Sunday, 13 May 2012

The Fall of the Rebellious Angels

The Fall of the Rebellious Angels[1] (1554) Frans Floris (1517–1570)

On entering the Cathedral of Our Lady in Antwerp I was struck by this (see above) painting, its energy is truly captivating and also quite frightening, I knew this work would be a challenge. Contemplating it appeared as if the battle was unfolding before me.

Frans has demonstrates a strong 15C Renaissance influence and he would have been familiar with Michael Angelos work in the 16th Chapel as the bodies in this work bear some resemblance to Michael Angelos nudes, but his treatment of this subject offers us a captivating narrative.

Floris has created a cycle, our eye travels across and around the canvas guided by the events that are taking in the battle, we see the moment of fight but also what is about to happen. You can make your way across the painting many times each focusing on new details and becoming more involved within the story with new revelations with in the image, it is full of details, expressions and movement.

What captivated me was the appearance of the subjects and how "good" and "rebel" angels how they are engaged in a rather ferocious fight, yet the good angels appear to be fighting gracefully and wining as they crush the rebels almost effortlessly. I am impressed by the contours of the bodies and how they are entangled, the treatment of the work seems to be successfully life like, this painting has been executed with great skill appearing to mesmerise with all the action which it encompasses.

If you allow your eye to wonder the battle seems to gain life and there is an illusion of movement with in the painting, this to me represents the work of a great master. I hope that you will enjoy it too. My favorite point of reference is the angel of the left corner which has lifted his sword to cut the dragons tail, through out this painting is full of moments of furor which are imminent, engaging us in expectation and excitement.

More works by Floris can be found here:

Saturday, 17 March 2012

An Al Dente Experience.

Dear Blog,
"you could be happy or you could be right" could this be the best advice to cooking pasta? -  This is my story of how today I waited 20mins for freshly (in front of you) made and cut pasta at the food market.
It sounded as if - when you put the pasta in boiling water, the pasta then sinks, after some moments it raises to the top and then it’s ready to mix in your sauce/s in the pan, you then let cook for some seconds and serve it.
As the water would not boil, every time the cook put the pasta in the sauce pan, we saw it turn back to dough! I was cold and standing next to water, I didn’t feel much heat either. He offered me it free at one point - I was keen to eat it as it started drizzling rain.
I gave him a 3rd chance, he admitted he was embarrassed, I told him – “don’t worry about getting it wrong” he replied “it’s kind of my job to get it right” I agreed in silence.
So again he made the pasta and this time it worked! – It was fabulously tasty with three chesses and spicy tomato sauce.
Now the cook was right and we both were happy. Which means before you can be happy you have to be right – but in any case you can be both happy and right.

Saturday, 3 March 2012

Self Portrait with Death, by Arnold Bocklin

A Happy Poem

I would write about being alone,

About, finding yourself and or falling apart.

Making mistakes and starting again.

At some point, I stopped.


I sat at my desk

And I very seriously thought -

Where is my pain?

I must need to write it?

Put it on paper

Read it.


I realised....

I sat, and I thought and then

I saw that, I am no longer alone.

There was nothing to write,

No feelings came.

No one is there.

Alone is not there.