Wednesday: Close your eyes

Lucian Freud. Girl with closed eyes (1986-7)

-Look at me

-'Everybody is looking at you'

-I am closing my eyes

-Look at them-don't close your eyes

-How many times do you close your eyes during a day?

-Why?

- Close your eyes. I want to break the circle

-What can you see?

-Naked..free..afraid

Sight is a geometry- like all other senses.

We look at each other-we make a circle, so hard to break

if only we could break the circle..

'αν αγαπούσαμε θα'σπαζε ο κύκλος

θα κλείναμε τα βλέφαρα για μια στιγμή

αλλά δε μπορούμε να αγαπήσουμε'

'if only we loved, the circle would break

we would close our eyes only for a moment

but we cannot love'

How many times do you close your eyes a day?

A Monday a la maniere de G.S.

British grown daffodils. A blind woman staring at the sun is reading:

"το ποτάμι δεν κυλά έχει ξεχάσει τη θάλασσα
κι όμως υπάρχει η θάλσσα και ποιος θα την εξαντλήσει;
οι τυφλοί κοιμούνται"

the sea
forgotten the smell
the breeze
the feeling of cold water on the skin

a weak melancholic sun
and the smell of wet soil
instead
blind people
dreaming

nothing more
enough for today
another (Mon)day gone
the river flows
towards the sea.

What do you (want to) see?

Look at the image on the left- what do you see?
Neuroscientists argue that if you want to perceive a visual figure, you need to focus your attention on it. There are certain cases of 'binocular rivalry' when the attention addressed to a certain image and, most importantly, the motive that drives someone perceive something in a certain way, can make two people see the same image in totally different or opposing ways.

I look at the image on the left: I can see a white vase, but then I look a bit closer and see two black faces. And here the confusion begins: I try to distance myself and see both, perhaps because I hate the idea that it is either a white vase or two black faces. Perhaps I can stand above this 'binocular rivalry' and see things neither as black nor as white.

But let's face the problem: why don't I take things simply at face value? Why don't I accept that it is either black or white? Why do I want to create a new (but non-existent) image? What kind of attention is this?

I guess this is the problem with many of us in our lives: we try to stand outside 'binocular rivalries' and create new ways of perceiving not only images but also things, events in our everyday lives. We want to escape from the 'black/white' binary, but eventually we are trapped in our own grey zones that are, sadly but truly, new forms of perception guided by our own motives. We analyse, we look closer, we come up with explanations, we rationalise, we give a second, third, or million readings of an image, an event, a person- but we miss the point: that perhaps, our initial perception of and reaction towards whatever is the focus of our attention was actually the least tainted, the more honest or perhaps even the right one.

Look at the image on the left once more- what do you see?
And then look at your life- what do you want to see?
But beware: you have to make a choice: black or white?

On a white background

I still cannot make up my mind whether I like white, winter days or not. And I don't mean white days, because of snow- I mean white days like today: when the sky is so white, that you think that you can touch the thick clouds. Sometimes, I love the melancholy of these colours, some others I feel that I am losing my breath in this white, dull landscape. And I miss the sun.
However, there is one good thing about such white skies: in a white background, the colours of the trees become stronger and more vivid. See, for example, the picture of the tree outside my window; it's getting more and more red everyday. It's almost like catching fire under this white sky and makes me feel alive and warm despite the dull and melancholic winter surroundings.

Unfortunately,though, I know that these are the last days of colour (or shall I say the last glimpses of hope?) before the tree's leaves fall and the white (winter) is no longer a background-but everywhere.

What about Breakfast at Tiffany's?

Last night, I saw it again after many years.
In Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961), a stunning Audrey Hepburn plays Holly Golightly, one of the most classy, stylish and obstinate characters in the history of cinema. George Peppard plays the writer Paul -call me Fred-, who first becomes her friend, then falls in love with her but things are not very easy. Holly thinks that she doesn't belong to anyone but he believes that belonging to someone is the only way to happiness.
But words are not enough to explain why I love this film. It is very much a girls' movie, funny, beautiful and romantic. Especially, the day that Holly and Fred spend together, doing things that they have never done before, is something!(and of course, what can I write about Moonriver, the film's classic song?)

Message of the Day: If some of you out there haven't seen this movie yet, I suggest you do. It will definitely make you go to bed with a smile and feel that nothing bad can happen to you; 'just like at Tiffany's'.

Flying Balloons

pause..rewind..play.
smell of lemon trees--springtime.
sleeping under Christmas tree.
forward..
black dress--a rose.
throwing paper plates.
forward..
September night.
first cigarette.
burnt.
sitting on the steps waiting.
no-not that one.

fast forward.
flavour of caramel ice cream.
tastes like summer.
'-leave the window open'.
'-but it's January!'
once more.
erase.

change the music.
break the rhythm.
this is it.
play.
green and white balloons.
flying in the sky.
running.
laughing and crying.
wet.
and then you said:
'in crossroads, the wind is always strong.
be careful, you might lose your way...'
stop.

Some moments are unforgettable- simply and inevitably.
The more I grow up, though, the more I realise how grateful I am to those who stay all the way, and don't become vague memories that are played in abstract time and space.
This is for my most beautiful and closest friends,
my 'flying balloons' that never leave me alone, no matter how strong the wind is..

33 years later

Τα πολυβόλα σωπάσαν

οι πόλεις αδειάσαν και κλείσαν

ένας βοριάς παγωμένος σαρώνει την έρημη γη

στρατιώτες έρχονται, πάνε, ρωτάνε γιατί πολεμήσαν

και συ σιγάζεις, το δάχτυλο βάζεις να δεις τη πληγή

Μην με ρωτάς

δεν θυμάμαι

μην με ρωτάς

μην με κοιτάς

σε φοβάμαι

μην με κοιτάς, μην με ρωτάς

Στη πολιτεία βραδιάζει

το χιόνι τις στέγες σκεπάζει

ένα καμιόνι φορτώνει και κόβει στα δυο τη σιγή

περιπολία στους δρόμους και κάποια φωνή που διατάζει

και συ σιγάζεις, το δάχτυλο βάζεις να δεις τη πληγή

In memory of 17 November 1973, Polytechnic school, Athens.

For the students and their passion, for making the difference and leaving something to remember.

Sounds of the city

At the end of a long 'in-yer-face' weekend, I found myself walking towards one of my favourite places in London, the South Bank. When I walk where I have walked so many times before, in different seasons, daytime or night, alone or with others, I rarely expect a surprise or a revelation. I almost know what kind of sensation I will get when I see the Embankment Bridge and the river..and this element of predictability is perhaps what drove me there at the first place..to feel comforted through habit.
But here is the unexpected..Outside the Royal Festival Hall, a wall full with photographs that you can touch..photographs of people and places in Trading Places.

And sounds emerge from the photographs, they reach my ears, and then get blurred ..how does the city sound like now? I close my eyes, the sounds of the city grow inside me,and then I..

listen with deep emotions
but not with the whining, the pleas of a coward
listen-your final pleasure- to the voices
to the excquisite music of that strange procession

Like the sounds of a city that I've never been to before, like the memory that I can't really recall,like the sensation of a surprise that lingered for a moment in the cold November night.

A Rare (Blasted) Sensation

hotel room, double bed,silver and wood, glasses for champagne,TV
large windows with white curtains-outside the world
no sound inside
day or night?doesn't matter
man and girl-older, sick-
helpless-is she?
'I love you'-'I don't'-a moment
he will give her flowers-she will bite him--they will make love

next morning comes--sound of water falling
'city is ours now'-blast
bare stage-- bed left-no wood, no silver, no curtains
world inside,a dark morning-it smells
want to cry, throw up-don't runaway
man and man-facing- helpless-is he?
angry and abandoned-remembers-a moment
she will come back,eat sausages and say 'no' all the time
a language I dont speak-- yet stabbing me inside

'this is not a story everyone wants to hear'
this is a production everybody must see
'stories must be personal'
now this is personal

no pictures-scattered words
rare sensation
the world outside
walking in the City late
waiting for the train
people running
angry
helpless
rain falls
clean-is she?
a moment

reconciliation
no- no other choice
nowhere to go
need
'I don't'
abandoned
selfless
stay
thank you

Waiting for Blasted

I am waiting impatiently, I am almost counting down hours until tomorrow evening when after five years of waiting I will have the chance to see Sarah Kane's Blasted in performance. The German production of the play (Zerbombt) is directed by Thomas Ostermeier,artistic director of Berlin's Schaubuhne and is on at the Barbican until Saturday.
Blasted, the first play by Kane written after more than 20 drafts, was initially performed at Royal Court theatre in 1995 (the photo is from that performance) and saw the outrageous response of British critics, due to its violence and, I would add, the hypocritcal morality that critics know so well to protect and advocate. Unfortunately, even now, very few people are referring to Blasted or even the rest of Kane's plays without mentioning how notorious a writer she became after her debut. Eleven years later, it's time for a serious re-appraisal of her work-beyond the scandal and her suicide.

When the sound is gone and everything has fallen apart, a feeling of reconciliation grows while the rain starts falling and goes on until lights fade out.
But can you hear a voice whispering 'thank you' while the sound of the rain becomes more and more loud?

I wish it rains tomorrow and I walk in the rain..again, like almost six years ago.

True men Part 1

Carry me down the stairs, Cary...

Moonlight

-In a night full with colours and fireworks,

fall in love with the light of the moon.

Surprised at its beauty.

Feel its bright coldness.

Fly away.

A rose is waiting up there...years now.

-But will you show me the way back, when the sun rises and you're gone?

Deceptions

Round

like a circle in a spiral

like a wheel within a wheel

never ending or beginning

on an ever-spinning reel

like a snowball down a mountain

or a carnival ballon

like a carousel that's turning

running rings around the moon

like a clock whose hands are sweeping

past the minutes of its face

and the world is like an apple

whirling silently in space

like the circles that you find

in the windmills of your mind

Why time is never enough?

Why some days go on forever?

Why things always come too early or too late?

Time deceives.

A summer night or a winter morning is here,now.

Then, the moment is past and gone.

But why here and now is never enough?

Always looking behind or forwards.

And time flows like sand from your hands.

Time is a trickster.

Or maybe not?

Instead of goodbye (small dedication)

Sadness is burning my eyes but the warmth of your blue eyes will stay with me.
Today I lost you and I was not even there to say goodbye.
But it's not goodbye for me.
The universe is vast. Somewhere there, someday we will meet again.
I look at the skies and know you will be following my journey, as you did for the last sixteen years.
Thank you for being such a loyal companion and friend.
And for reminding me that life (and love), no matter whether they are for humans or animals, are gifts.

Goodbye my dear.