View from my windows

Solid Life

I was studying at a café this morning, and there were some friends chatting at the table behind me.  I wasn't really listening to them, but I could here a constant noise from behind my back.  When they left I felt a silence, coming from the stop that just held four people.  And I thought, how crazy, for ten minutes, we were right next to each other, and now they are completely gone.  But I realized that they are not gone, they are still there, still doing something, still in the same body and mind, and with the same life, just not next me.  How nice it would be, to leave your own life for a little bit, just like that.  Just leave your body with your friends sitting there chatting at a table, and walk away for a minute.  Away from your everything that defines you, your name, your appearance, your history, and just exist without all that for a little.  If you consider it, life is a very solid thing.  Your life has to have an identity, a place, an activity, and even certain papers.  When you are with yourself, you are always with your life, and everything that your life was, is, and will be.  Even if there is nothing bad, nothing you want to change, wouldn't you want to be able to just wonder off sometimes?  Cut off some of those things that define your life?

I think that is why people who travel a lot are so attractive.  It's like their life is not so solid, it's more like air, it can bounce around from one place to another.  It's like they have less ties, they exist according to where they are.  That is also why traveling in general is attractive to people.  When you relocate your life, there are some things that you can cut, put a gap in, and start new.  But than it just builds up again, the gaps get filled, and you realize it's still that same life.

This is also the reason I felt so good when my purse got stolen in Madrid.  For once, I had no phone or phone number, no documents, no money.  The only thing I had that said, "this is me" was myself.  I felt light, I felt like all those things that tie me to that life are gone.  The only thing that existed was the moment, and whatever I was in that moment.

la verdad

os quiero decir la verdad.  la verdad es que no me gusta para nada el interfais nuevo de facebook. la verdad es que hay gente en el mundo por quienes daría la vida. la verdad es que hay alguna musica en el mundo que me hace seguir viviendo.  y de eso quiero escribir aquí.

Ok, sabeis de Pandora, sí?  Pues... la mejor, y no miento, mejor estación en pandora es la de Manu Chao.  Me encanta Manu Chao, no puedo decir cuanto, pero además, la estación es increíble.  Tocan de Gipsy Kings, de Bebe, de Emilliana Torrini (quien no he escuchado todavía) y muchos otros.

Pero quiero escribir de los cantores que me gustan.  No se si hay una palabra para describirlos todos, pero en verdad, creo que solo usando el adjectivo "emancipados" puedo tocarlos todos un poco.  Aquí hay una lista, primero en español; jarabe de palo, manu chao, gipsy kings; después ingles; joan baez, amy winhouse; después frances, pues, tal vez un poco patricia kaaz.

Se puede cantar del corazón, decir lo que quiere decir la alma, expresar lo que hay en el cuerpo.  Creo que la mayoría de nosotros queremos expresarnos así, pero no podemos.  Imagínate, si solo puedieramos siempre, siempre, sempre, levantar nuestras almas, en esa manera tan grande, estrechando las cuerdas de la guitarra, y dejar en el aire todo lo que queremos decir, apostar la verdad contra los nubes.  Toda la emoción para los que queremos lo más...

La Verdad es que extraño Madrid.

le gare SNCF

I love the trains in Europe.  They are a little expensive if you want to do it the fancy way.  But hey, 10 € Rome-Naples?  As long as the Italians who get on the train with nothing but a deck of cards and a piece of cardboard to play the cards on don't start flirting with you, you're in paradise, and even then, it's not so bad.

This summer I had a train pass.  It was for 2nd class, but I didn't realize it actually said that on the pass until I got on the last train of the summer, and nobody ever said anything, even when they checked.  So I would get by ticket, with a seat and everything, in the first class, on the fastest trains, slide into a huge 1rst class seat, squash my backpack into the one next to it, relax and enjoy the ride.

A picture I took out the train window on the way to Genova.

The trains are amazing.  They leave and arrive exactly on time.  The ride is so smooth, and the view from the window is beautiful.  Forests, fields, once you go around the Italy into the Southern border of France the railroad runs right along the sea.  Sometimes they stop at little towns, and you can observe the town people hustling at the station.  But the train from Avignon to Paris didn't stop a single time.  And in Paris it was cold, and raining when I arrived.  The trains get so cozy, by the end you don't want to get off.

a little on Men, if I may dare

I was reading an article on Marjane Satrapi's novel discussing the "veiled woman."  It viewed the veil as an object with two clear articulate functions; one is that it covers the woman's body completely, the other is that it makes the veiled woman a highly desirable exotic object.

Reflecting on my own experience... I got to thinking, that a man generally wants his woman to remain desirable and untouchable, and at the same time, wants to discover every centimeter of her body.  He wants the woman to remain perfect, but also wants to see how much of a mess he can make out of her.  He holds her gently with his arms, to make sure she's comfortable, but hopes that she doesn't protest when he turns on the rough edge.

Paul Gauguin "Spirit of the Dead Watching" 1892

And the more the man is interested, the more he wants to explore, the more he tries to find this sneaky balance between the veil and the exotic; or so I wish to think...  Think about those short drunken flings, it could have been good or bad, but maybe just not so interesting.

The woman, in turn, is just the same.  But the woman discovers her man by watching his reactions to her puzzles and treasures.  I don't want to call this a game, because a game involves pretense and a set time frame.  It is just some kind of feeling that exists in between these two genders, each alluring in its own ways.

May I bring up a man, named Paul, who, however romantic and bizarre his adventures in Tahiti really were, painted native women with a sincere interest.  He kept them at some distance, yet the way he searches for so many tones in their skin, makes it feel like he went over every molecule with a magnifying glass.

Klimt

I read a little book about Gustav Klimt; interesting life.  He lived at home with his mother and sister, never married.  He was a smart man, but quiet, and seemed to stay out of scandals, except of course those created by his original paintings.  He had a studio, where he worked most of his time.  He had lots of models, who spent the days with him at the studio.  He was a nice man, and the models were completely at ease with him.  They wallowed around all day, clothed or unclothed, and allowed him to paint them, whenever he caught them in a pose of interest or a moment of ecstasy.

Gustav Klimt Portrait of Eugenia (Mäda)Primavesi(1912)

He had a couple serious relationships, but not a lot is known about them.  Some of his models probably had children by him, and he accepted them.  One story tells that when a model didn't show up for work, he demanded someone to search for her; she reported that she did not show up because she was pregnant, Klimt had her come to work anyways, and she is probably the model in many of his paintings of pregnant women.  Interesting also, is that in most of his preparatory drawings and sketches, the women are naked, however, in the final works, their bodies are covered up with his delicate designs.

Klimt also painted many portraits, in which he kept very true to his style, even though he tried to adhere to the person's taste.  In these portraits though, we see more emphasis on personality, than in some of his leisure works.  This one, of Eugenia Primavesi, is a stark contrast to Klimt's relaxed females, but it strikes me with it's beauty and sense of confrontation.

Venezia

There is something not right about a city that is absolutely beautiful, absolutely romantic, and absolutely enchanting.  There is something not right because it is only one city, because there is only one city this absolute out of all the cities in the world.  When you arrive in Venice by train, you walk out of the station and see this, what is on the first picture.  No, this is not a postcard, nor did it take me twenty tries to take this shot.  It’s just there, it’s real.  Venice is just like the pictures except real.  That is what was going through my mind for my first half an hour in Venice.  This is in fact the Grand Canal.  I crossed it on the first bridge I saw, and immediately found myself in a maze of tiny streets and canals.  You can walk around Venice by foot, without a boat I mean.  But it is easier by boat, because the canals actually act like streets, going vertically and horizontally, and intersecting.  Streets are something else that winds around the canals by means of hundreds of little bridges (or maybe thousands?).

Anyways, I was walking through the streets at a rather quick pace, because I didn’t have that much time in Venice.  Running up and down bridges, bumping into dead ends and canals, touching both walls of a street as I walked down it.  I had a map in my hand although it was pretty useless.  Eventually I found street signs that pointed to the main tourist attractions and followed those instead.  It’s true that there are signs for the same place pointing in opposite directions; I don’t know if they do it to fool the tourists or to enchant the tourists.  I made it to St. Mark’s Square, which with my luck, was of course partly under construction.  But my mission was to go up St. Mark’s Campanile, or Bell Tower, which I did.  I called my experience, “8 euro to go up to heaven.”  The view from the top was unbelievable.  Imagine one of those times you were touring and climbed to the top of some building and admired the city panorama, and now imagine this in Venice.  All you see is red roofs and the sea, and the shining sun that reflects off the sea and lights up the roofs.  The bell tower is small, there are probably about ten windows on the top.  I circled around and around, and I think took a picture out of every window with every circle.  There was an Italian man who was also mesmerized by his own city, and he kept saying “Ah, Venice is so big! Ah, Venice is so beautiful!”  It only made the view more magical.

From the Bell Tower you can also see dock, shining with blue covered gondolas.  People sit on the steps of the dock, letting their feet in the water, to get a break from the day and the heat.  I found an empty spot and joined in – another beautiful Venetian moment.  The sun was warming my skin, but the breeze from the sea made the air perfect, and the waves hitting my feet were even more refreshing.  This dock is also interesting because it is very long, but like any other land in Venice, constantly interrupted by canals washing out into the sea.  So as you walk along the long large dock, every two minutes you have to cross over a small crowded bridge.  Sitting there on the edge, gazing at the waves, were my favorite few minutes in Venice.

I had heard many times that the most exciting thing to do in Venice was get lost.  I was very excited to learn this because that is what I usually do anyways.  So in between especially enchanting experiences I let myself and my thoughts wonder around freely.  Finally I bought a deck of Venetian cards for my collection and sat down to look at them, to decide what else I might like to see while here.  I made my next stop the famous Rialto Bridge, biggest bridge in Venice I think.  But before that, this is where I sat down with my cards.

Imagine if this was the entrance to your house, or your favorite restaurant…how beautiful.  Just the fact that there is a whole staircase that is meant for only one door!  And if this was your favorite restaurant, you better not walk out of there drunk!

I would like to see Venice at night.  Even as the sun starts to set the city becomes magical in a new way.  The air calms down, the water becomes quiet, all the vibrance and the rhythm of the day’s heat settle down.  You see a few last gondoliers finishing off their work day.  The people start to stand around bridges, and settle into bars and restaurants.  I watched all this from the Rialto Bridge.  The bridge itself, although the most famous in Venice, is not very big.  It spreads over the Grand Canal as if it could understand the importance of its purpose.  It’s quite spacious.  In structure it is similar the Ponte Vecchio in Florence with shops on either side.  However this one also has walkways on either side of the shops, so there is lots of room to pause and watch Italy’s hot sun sink into the soft waters of Venice.

Poste Italiane

My first post-modern art piece...

Milan

Milan is a beautiful quiet city. After a month in Rome, a city in my opinion even louder and busier than many world centers, this stop was the perfect break from the noisy Italian style. Milan is usually called an industrial city. In many ways it is. It is clearly business centered, with lots of navigable wide streets and clean stores. Nevertheless, Milan doesn’t lose its inherent Italian beauty, which comes out in the gardens, portals, and colorful balconies.

This photo was taken not far from Santa Maria delle Grazie, the church that holds Da Vinci’s “Last Supper”. I noticed that almost every church in Milan is called Santa Maria. When I was wondering through the old central part of the city, all I found was a web of small streets (following the traditional style) scattered with Santa Maria’s. Milan also has a wonderful trolly system, whose trains run almost soundlessly through the city. The trains have only one headlight, and my friend said they remind him of the ones in San Francisco.

When I walked out of one of the Duomo exits, I wasn’t sure where to look for the cathedral. But as I walked up I looked on the building in front of me, and saw the distinctive shadow of its many towers. I turned around and there it was. Il Duomo really has a strange structure. In general it is just a normal rectangular cathedral. However, the triangular roof and the towers look more like a magic castle and sometimes even remind me of Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia. Opposite the cathedral is a large horse statue, probably of Vittoria Emanuele, decorated on the bottom with a beautiful band showing a procession. It is also guarded by a large resting lion, looking over Il Duomo. During the day the piazza is covered with pigeons. But at night the arrangement creates a beautiful peaceful ensemble. 

Although unusual, the Milan Cathedral is still undoubtedly Gothic. This is even more visible when you enter inside. This is the prettiest Gothic Cathedral I had seen before finally walking into Notre Dame de Paris. It is extremely high. The arches around the main nave reach almost to the ceiling. There are numerous rose stain glass windows that are very interesting because of the decoration. As always, at first it seems like the windows are just a beautiful arrangement of colors. As you get closer, you see not only the size of the windows, but also the images, displaying hundreds of stories from the life of Christ. There is also a fairly large art collection displayed along the isles of the cathedral, however, it is hard to admire them, because they are not labeled, and visitors are not allowed to walk through all of the isles. 

To the side of the Cathedral piazza, you find the Galleria Vittoria Emanuele II, Milan’s famous shopping center. Overall, it is similar to any other large shopping mall, but the architecture makes it quite exquisite. It is arranged with two crossing galleries, connected with huge beautiful arches. Because the entrances to the Galleria are large open arches, sometimes when wondering through the center of town, you walk inside the mall without even noticing, then walk through it, and end up again on the Piazza del Duomo.

My last evening in Milan I was looking for a snack. I was walking down the main street next to my hostel and saw a Café Miró sign across the street. It wasn’t anything too special. It was a café with a large bar, but it was also decorated with Miró’s paintings. I ordered a glass of white and a slice of tiramisu. The place was cool and empty, other than the familiar loud Italian barmen.

Napoli

So much effort I had put into learning the Neapolitan Folk Song back when I sang in a children's choir, so many delicious chocolate Napolitanos I had eaten on lunch breaks in Spain, so many times I had heard Neapolitan this and Neapolitan that; and finally, I made it to Naples, Italy.

Now, it wasn't as good as it sounds.  We only had two days in Naples, and the first one was mainly spent dealing with accommodation and traveling problems.  We got to see a glimpse of the bay as the darkness fell over the city.  Other than that sight though, we spent most of the afternoon wondering around the train station and our hostel right next it - an area filled with dirty streets and tricky street vendors.  We got a clear view of the city's street life.  And although we were all worried about finding a place to sleep and making the most of the trip, I let myself feel the vibration that ran through these unruly streets, and the life, that is so much more vivid in a city where law is just a piece of paper.

My next and last day in the area I completely abandoned any thoughts from the previous day, and embraced the cares of a tourist.  By ten in the morning I was entering Pompei.  Pompei is too large and too strange of a place to understand in one visit.  I didn't get to see even half of it probably.  I kept staring at the preserved frescoes and jars and trying to understand how distant, and at the same time similar, those lives must have been to ours.  And still it was so long ago that Mount Vesuvius erupted and buried the city.

There are three theaters in the city.  I'm not sure which one we found, but that was the highlight of the day.  As we walked up to the theater it didn't look extremely promising: less grand than any Spanish bullfighting ring, just a curved wall with openings.  So many doorways are blocked off among the ruins, that I did not even think we could get in.  But I walked up to an entrance, and we walked through a long, dark, cool tunnel, that led us right into the center of a huge open air theater.  It was amazing, so many steps were still preserved, the whole structure was practically unhurt; but that wasn't all.  "I wonder if we can go up into the seats," my friend said.  I went back to towards the entrance and saw a partly broken fence.  I signaled to my friend and in a couple of steps we seemed to transform into the audience in an ancient theater...

We ran up and down the stairs, in and out of all the top entrances.  We tried to imagine emperors and their court having their own viewing areas in the shaded archways.  It was amazing to think how long that structure has been standing there, and how real it still was today.

We returned to Naples to wonder around the city and the National Archeological Museum.  What a fantastic museum!  I have never seen so many statues in one place.  It is possible that I have never been to an archeological museum before, nevertheless, I was mesmerized, quite truly.  I wish the Laocoon statue that I saw at the Uffizi was in this collection.  It would look even better among the leaning Hercules, the gracious Aphrodite and the numerous bronze athletes.

On the walk to the museum, we saw part of the center of Naples.  I held the map and guided our group through the streets to all the churches marked on it.  But between every two churches on the map there were three more on the street.  I have seen many colorful cities, but Naples might be the winner.  Every church is different; white, blue, yellow, red...  

Napoli is Napoli though, it's shining narrow sunlit streets are an inescapable net.  It's not as busy as Rome, but the city is so full and energized that one does not even notice the lack of tourists.  I tried to capture the sun, the moist air, and the playful atmosphere as best I could.

two hot days in Florence

I got to Florence at noon.  It was HOT.  I made it to the hostel (it was right next to the train station, but it was still hot), showered, and went out.  After a quick meal and a cold beer, I found the famous Duomo.  I did not go into into the main chapel part.  Il Duomo is beautifully decorated on the outside.  It is of an unusual green and white combination with countless statues and designs.  And next to it, of course, is the Baptistry, with Ghiberti's bronze doors.  I barely looked at the doors, because of the heat and tourists.

I walked around the historic city center, trying to match the buildings on the street with the pictures in my Eyewitness travel book.  There is a church on every corner.  Each one is different, quiet, and beautiful.  And you never know when you might come across a jewel, like Filipino Lippi's "Annunciation" or one of Giotto's frescoes.

Towards the evening I went onto the Ponte Vecchio, and admired all the jewelry shops.  The best part were the weddings though.  Couple after couple posed on the bridge with a photographer following them.  There was also a guitarist playing romantic Italian songs, who I saw the next day at the Uffizi Gallery.

The next day was much more productive, from the point of view of a tourist at least.  I had a reservation to the Uffizi at 10 AM.  Surprisingly, the line for people with a reservation was actually shorter than the line for those without one.  I finally saw the "Venus of Urbino," which was the most impressive.  From there I headed straight to the Palazzo Strozzi, which happened to be holding an exhibition of De Chirico, Max Ernst, Rene Magritte, and others.  Also an awesome exhibition, and it couldn't be more timely considering my spring class on Modern European Art.  Finally, after standing in a line (where the reservation side was longer than the non-reservation), in the heat, and damning everything in the world, I saw Michelangelo's masterpiece.

People say that there are two copies of "David" in the piazza's of Florence, but they do not even come close.  It is the most realistic and living statue I have ever imagined.  He seems to be relaxed if you look from the front.  But his neck and muscles have so much tension, that it is easy to forget that this is only a statue and is not about to move.  I must say though, that Michelangelo's women, which are said to look like "men with breasts" remind me of anti-war Soviet posters, where muscular working class women demand that their sons stay home away from the army.  I got a deck of cards from Florence for my collection, and you can guess which part of the David was close-up on the Jokers.

Finally, with two hours left, I made up my mind to go up to the Piazzale Michelangelo.  It's not really a long walk, but the heat and stairs, and standing up all day...  Anyways, it was well worth it; a view of the whole city from the top, of the Arno River, the bridges, and of course the Duomo marking the skyline.

Italia...

I arrived in Italy and waited for my pick-up by the meeting point, only to meet with the program representative half an hour later, who had been waiting be another meeting point.  I was not surprised to find out that different people knew of different meeting points in Italy, but I was surprised to run into this situation so soon.

After a nap, I left my cozy apartment to find the Piazza Navona and the Pantheon.  I walked through a maze of streets and walked up to the Pantheon from the back - a large circular old stone wall, sitting low in the ground, but that was it.  I felt like it crept up on me.  Unfortunately, half is under reconstruction.  Nevertheless, you clearly feel how old this building is.

Already I love the sunsets in Rome.  The sunlight is so tender as it falls on the buildings.  The sun doesn't shine as brightly as it does during the day, and sometimes you don't even notice it.  But it creates a very special atmosphere; quiet and soft.

After the sunset, however, it started getting dark, and I had not yet done any grocery shopping.  I saw a sign for a supermercato right off of my street, then realized I didn't have enough cash, asked a lady where the "bancomat" is, and made it by the time the shop closed.

Today I started of with the Colosseum - it turns out perfect in every picture.  The Colosseum is something absolutely majestic, it's huge, it's old; it is absolutely out of this world, and at the same time it is standing right there.  It was too hot to stand the line and go inside on a busy Sunday, but it was quite a site anyways.

I used both the metro and the bus, which turned out to be very manageable.  The metro is just like in Spain, and buses have clear stop posters on each stop.  I decided to go to the Galleria Borghese to get out of the sun.  It's not a huge place, but has a very nice Italian collection.  It houses some of the most famous statues by Bernini, including Apollo and Daphne, which really is remarkable, and many paintings by Caravaggio; at least those are what grabbed my attention.  I didn't have the strength to explore the Villa Borghese, the actual park, which is huge and beautiful, like the Retiro in Madrid, but I will certainly go back there soon.  Here is an image of the Piazza di Popolo and the Rome skyline from the park.

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young age, bye

When you're growing up, and especially when you're shy, you often find ways to stay in the background and follow what others are doing, when with lots of people.  And whenever you linger or look shy or confused you can just blame it on being young.  And you get used to it in any social situation, and no matter what you do, you think people will look at it as something you did because you're young and silly.  But at some point, you realize that you've grown up, and people around you, peers and not peers, see you as a person, not just a little girl.  So when you do something, it defines you, and not your age.

This Summer!

This might be my first blog, that will actually sound like every day life. I was extremely excited to see the new blogger design options the last time I logged on. It took me forever and I still couldn't decide on something I liked. Obviously I had just woken up and was still in bed while doing this, so eventually I had to get up and go and settle on something that seemed like it wouldn't at least ruin my blog. But the next time I got on there, oh god, it was perfect, it is perfect. It's green and beautiful, and has so much happiness in it. I wish I was one of those people who didn't care about the interface, but I do, I love it when internet looks nice and cheerful.

Well anyways, so now that I actually updated the design, I guess I should also update the blog. I'm not going to write about everything that is going on in my life, because that would just be one big mess. But I do want to say that I am happy because there are things in my life that are so beautiful, that I know that I cannot be sad while they are there.

I am also going to Italy soon, very soon. And I haven't been excited yet, but today there was something that made me think, "Hm, I guess I am excited." Don't remember what it was though. Well let's see. I might be living in Piazza Navona, a few minutes away from the Pantheon. New sights, new people, new thoughts, new things to add to my life. My goal and decision is to spend every second doing something. As much as I saw in Spain, there were so many days and weekends when I could have done something else. So now, when I am only in Rome for a month, I am planning to travel and visit as many places as possible.

And after Rome, I will be on the road for about 2 weeks. The most recent idea is to make to Paris, by bus, a few days in a city here and there. I am excited about seeing France, as well as just more Northern Europe in general. And then I will go back home to Russia, and spend the remaining time of summer break with my closest friends, and all the other wonderful things that make up homeland. So there's my summer plan.

And also, Happy Father's Day, to all the amazing men and father's in the world!

On Friendship

You know, friendship is not so different from love.  You don't know just make friends out of nobody.  You meet friends, and you like them, right off the bat.  And then you spend more time with them, get to know them, talk to them, and begin to need them in your life.  The most important people in my life, there was just a spark as soon as we met, that turned into friendship.  My closest friends and I, tend to call each other sisters.  Partly because we in some ways grew up together, and partly because we will always have each other in our lives.  But it's strange that I don't have any siblings, and they do, and I think for me it is even more important to save them as friends.

***

All I really want to do
is get you babe and hold
you tight
Never let you go
I promise you
To close my eyes and wait a while
And still find you there
Caring about me instead of
just wasting my time
I gave you my heary, ooh baby
Was that not enough?
There's a space in my heart
Waiting for you, yes there is
When you've found where you're going
I'll be there too, yes I will
I guess I never told you that I love you
But each moment was wrong
And I would die
If I never get the chance to
show you how strong
I gave you my heart, yes I did babe
Was that not enough for you baby?


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQBHVTXiT2s

Photo Report

It's always interesting to look at traveling pictures of people who have gone to the same places as you.  People have very different views of the same places.  And when you compare their pictures to your own, even if you followed the same typical tourist route, you find many differences.  When you know the person, you can often directly connect their pictures to their personality.  Sometimes you take the same picture of the same famous monument, but have different angles, which completely change the feel.  What is most interesting though, is that your pictures reflect your view of the city, and your knowledge of the city.  When someone takes different pictures, you look at them, and don't recongnize the city, even if you recognize every corner.  But you still feel that your pictures are more accurate, because that is how you saw the city...

Коты Петербурга

Cats of Saint Petersburg

sleepless night

It's three am and I can't sleep.  My alarm in set to eight twenty; class at nine thirty.  But not sleeping at all doesn't seem bad at all, seems kind of adventurous.  What is worse, and what will probably happen, is that I will fall asleep my about four thirty, and be very sleepy when that alarm rings.

These nights are a species of their own.  It's all dark.  I never turn on the light, unless I really decide to read.  But it's just the computer screen.  Cat rolled up by my side on the bed.  Charming cold breeze climbing in through the window above the pillow.  The ticking of the clock, as the night goes by.  Strange, I can't think of the clock ticking, without thinking of life passing by.

It would be comfortable, this night, had I only been more alone.  I am thirsty, but my water bottle is empty, and I will wake someone up if I go to fill it up.  I could go out for a cigarette, but again.  I could smoke on the roof if the cigarettes were not downstairs.  What else; eat?  But eating is to keen on reality for a mysterios night like this.

Why is it that I am not sleeping.  I am tired of facebook, nothing happens there anyways.  I can't find any adventures online.  Before trying to sleep I had a conversation.  Strange, half good and half bad.  But I don't think it has anything to do with the not sleeping.  Such a tiring day, maybe when you get too tired you can't sleep.

I would rather not be here right now.  Somewhere else.  Although I would like this night.  Wherever I go and who ever I see I would like this night to come with me.  With the breeze and the dark, and maybe the cat, but not the ticking.  No, not the ticking.  The breeze and the dark and the cat, but not the ticking.

bebe

me fui pa echarte de menos
me fui pa volver de nuevo
me fui pa estar sola
me fui...

One of those Thinking days

Today was one of those thinking days; when you just can't stop thinking about, or maybe even analyzing, everything and anything.  But one of the things that came to mind was directly related to classes.

I have two majors - Spanish, and history of art.  I noticed today that I have an completely different attitude towards the two subjects.  And let me generalize Spanish to languages in general.  When I learn languages, I enjoy the process of learning, grasping, and understanding it like no other.  I learn a word and I want to repeat it a million times.  I hear a word, and I love the anticipation of looking through a dictionary, about to find out the meaning.  I am fascinated by every new tense.  And even though, the ultimate goal is fluency, knowing a fourth of a language or half a language is no less exciting.

With art history it is different.  Art history is a subject that I want to know as a whole, with all its intricacies and implications.  I want to look at a painting and be able to tell all of its influences, imitations, purposes, ETC.  With every new artist, I want to compare it to all related artists.  There is always a discussion going back and forth between artists, and I want to be able to enter the conversation at any point.  Maybe that's just a characteristic of studying any history; you cannot understand all of it untill you know all of it...

love

Spring! - love is in the air...

I don't think love is ever the same twice.  I believe I felt love once, and I keep waiting for that same feeling to come back.  But I guess it never will.  With a different person there will be a different love.  But I believe in love!

hoy estoy...

feliz. simple. no se si es por la peli que acabo de ver. no se si por pasqua. no se si por chicos amigos y domingos. pero feliz. y punto.

y otra cosa:

-como te llamas?
-...depende

man's world

. this is a man's world . but it wouldn't be nothing . nothing . without a woman . or a girl .

summer in Rome?

сурганова и оркестр

Была мечта увидеть горы,
Взойти по ним на небеса,
Туда, где ветер синеперый
Рвет облака на паруса.
Мечта сбылась - я там, где светел
Снегов не тающий узор,
Но я бы мог прожить на свете,
Прожить без этих вечных гор.
Но я бы мог прожить на свете,
Прожить без этих вечных гор.

Была мечта увидеть море,
Где солнце зной дарует нам,
Где золотая на просторе
Скользит русалка по волнам.
Мечта сбылась - я там, где ветер
Уносит вдаль рыбацкий челн,
Но я бы мог прожить на свете,
Прожить без этих шумных волн.
Но я бы мог прожить на свете,
Прожить без этих шумных волн.

Была мечта увидеть радость,
Твое лицо, твои глаза,
В которых солнце отражалось,
И отражались небеса.
Мечта сбылась - рассветной ранью
Твои глаза нашли меня.
Мне не привыкнуть к их сиянию,
Мне не прожить без их огня.
Мне не привыкнуть к их сиянию,
Мне не прожить без их огня.

Была мечта увидеть горы...
Была мечта увидеть море...
Была мечта.

"Depende" Jarabe de Palo

Que el blanco sea blanco

y que el negro sea negro,
que uno y uno sean dos
porque exactos son los números
depende

Que aquí estamos de prestao
que el cielo está nublao
que uno nace y luego muere
y este cuento se ha acabao
depende

depende ¿de qué depende?
de según como se mire, todo depende

Que bonito es el amor
mas que nunca en primavera
que mañana sale el sol
porque estamos en agosto
depende

Que con el paso del tiempo
el vino se hace bueno
que to lo que sube, baja
de abajo arriba y de arriba abajo
depende

depende ¿de qué depende?
de según como se mire, todo depende

Que no has conocido a nadie
que te bese como yo
que no hay otro hombre en tu vida
que de ti se beneficie
depende

Y si quiere decir si
cada vez que abres la boca
que te hace muy feliz
que sea el día de tu boda

depende
depende ¿de qué depende?
de según como se mire, todo depende

Il Sole Esiste Per Tutti

Al perderte yo a ti

Al perderte you a ti tú y yo hemos perdido:
yo porque tú eras lo que yo más amaba
y tú porque yo era el que te amaba más.
Pero de nosotros dos tú pierdes más que yo:
porque yo podré amar a otras como te amaba a ti
pero a ti no te amarán como te amaba yo.

-Ernesto Cardenal

Miniatures

Maestro

Lonely Guitarist

Tower Guards

Slavery

Temptation

In the Pasture

modern art quiz

This is from the moma.org page (Museum of Modern Art).  It's a little quiz to see if you can identify the six works.  I only figured out the artists for 3, 4, and 5, although 2 is very obvious too.  Do you know what they are? :)

 

These look like the right answers (they haven't posted them yet):

1. Dive Bomber and Tank – José Clemente Orozco
2. Hope II – Gustav Klimt
3. The Starry Night – Vincent Van Gogh
4. Campbell’s Soup Cans – Andy Warhol
5. The Hunter (Catalan Landscape) – Joan Miro
6. The Persistence of Memory – Salvador Dali

On Illusion

We were walking through a park, and noticed a grey fox sitting far away.  It wasn’t a grey fox sitting.  It was a tree stump.  It was shaped like a sitting animal, about dog size, with pointy ears and a pointy medium length nose.  It had a tail from a tree root sticking out of the ground.  Such were the colors of it that it looked like light was shining in through its front and rear paws.  And as we got closer, there was even light in between the two front paws.  We kept walking towards it, and it looked more and more real with every step.  Then suddenly, with a few steps, the grey sitting fox disappeared; all we saw in front of us was a tree stump.

It was just an illusion, and it was all gone.  It had felt so real even though there was nothing there.  We had started believing in it, when there was nothing there.  And you think about it, the illusion that exists between two things.  About how it feels like it’s right there, about how much imagination you put into creating the illusion.  But illusions seem to break down when you get too close…

sí señora

Che lengua?

I speak English and Russian.  I also speak Spanish, not quite fluently, but working on it.  I've started Italian and am not giving up on it untill it also reaches a very high level...  What next? :)

I have tried a litttle of French and a little of Portuguese, from both I remember practically nothing.  I am not sure why I didn't manage to learn them when I had the chance.  Maybe it was too fast of a pace, maybe a lack of interest.  However, I do want to speak both.  I have become more interested in Portuguese after a class on Portuguese post-colonialism and also, possibly mainly, from my recent discovery of bossa nova jazz.

French I find very entertaining, I love repeating the few phrases I know, like "je m'apelle Sonya" and "voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"  It's also true that I constantly encounter French somewhere.

I learned Spanish because of a soap opera, Italian because I find Italian men quite attractive, so don't be surprised at my reasoning.

And then there's German.  I was very interested in German for a long time, but never got anywhere and forgot about that fascination.

But then finally I find my mind traveling outside of the western world, into Asia, and Asian languages.  Why not learn Japanese?  At some point learning Latin languges isn't really learning a new language anymore.  It's time to challenge myself.  I've never even learned a new alphabet (at least not as an adult).  Japanese entices me because everything I have heard about Japan seems absolutely mysterious, and frankly different and unusual.

Chinese is important as the next global language, and also as something equally mysterious to Japanese.  I don't imagine myself ever in a field that requires the knowledge of a globally expanded language though, so that is a silly reason.  I read a book about the Chienese recently, and was quite interested...  A class of Asin art has not helped in distinguishing between the possible languages.  India?  No, further east!

What about Korean?  What do I know about Korean?   Nothing!  But there is such a languages, why not?  Really, the far east is so interesting, that speaking any one of those languages seems like a jewel of knowledge.

And then I've considered northern european languages.  I saw a photo of Norway one time.  It had green hills and looked peaceful and beautiful.  I've seen a few Norwegian words...I liked them.

Отрывки из детского дневника

Нашла свой дневник с 9 до 11 лет. В то время я ходила в 4-6 классы, жила с родителями и котом Тишей. Ещё пела в русском хоре, ходила на уроки сольфеждио и на музыку, т.е. уроки фортепиано. Лучшая подруга у меня была Соня. А свою фамилию я писала так: Афанасива. Вот самые смешные моменты, ошибки все из дневника.

11/4/98 Сегодня в школе я спрашивала своих одноклассников у кого есть что нибудь продать на деньги которые мы сделали. Всё хорошо только Тюля летала плохо. <-- [У меня были тапочки в форме тюленей, их звали Тюля и Муля, и я любила спускать их с лестницы что бы они летали.]

5/12/99 Сегодня было сольфеджио. Ольга как всегда ленилась. Когда учитель играл то я очень хорошо пела и он сказал что не зря мы с тобой едим хлеб.

Маме я не буду говорить что что то не сделано. Она очень растроиться.

10/15/99 Сегодня нету школы уж я не знаю почему но всё-таки нету.

Утрам как проснулась я играла в барби. Я их одела как мусульманок, но выглядели они очень красиво. Я натянула верёвку на два стула и хотела попрыгать но не могла вспомнить как надо прыгать.

Вот позванила мама и сказала что едет домой. Сказала, значит едет.

Сегодня у меня была музыка и я получила 4, 4+, и 5-.

Сегодня когда я мылась я набрала в мачалку очень много мыла. Потом давила её чтобы мыло выжалось из мачалки. Потом у меня были горы мыла на животе. Когда я их смывала я забрызгала всю ванну! Вобщем было очень весело.

У меня сей час примерно 10 доларов. Я надеюсь набрать больше.

Я там вертелась примерно час потом мы пошли к Соне домой.

Тиша как всегда вечером начал кусаться. Теперь мы все идём спать к маме на кровать.

[следующий день] Сегодня я проснулась с мамой.

[после концерта фортепиано] Я сыграла довольно плохо и не в том порядке.

6/4/00 Сегодня мы с мамой одновремено проснулись но мама стала жаловаться что не выспалась и опять заснула.

Потом мы пошли играть в футбол. Счёт был 4:3 в конце игры. Наша комманда выграла.

Я залезла в детские качели и потом ели-ели вылезла.

6/5/00 Сегодня утром я очень не хотела вставать. Потягивалась, но потом всё-таки встала, поела и пошла в школу (где ничего особенного не было).

[в лагере] Нам расказали про птиц а потом мы танцевали. Потом нам расказали немного историю и ещё что-то говорили.

Я выиграли в червяков и у меня даже осталось 178 жизней!!!!!!!!!!!

Потом мы играли в червяков. В какоето время все начали нажимать на пробел и их мама разозлилась и выключила компьютер. Она всегда так злится по вечерам.

Соня долго пыталась сделать домик но никак нимогла. Теперь она его всё таки сделала!!!! Сей час нам будет весело!

language facts in the midst of a novel

   (So it could be said that the Luandans, a classical people, understand their word for work, trabalhar, in its original sense, from the Latin tripaliare, that is, being martyred on a tripaliu.  Which reminds me, did you know that the English work 'slave' comes from 'Slav', as the Slavs were the first Roman slaves?  And of course there's also the Russian word rabota, which means 'work', and has as its root the word rab, 'slave'.)

-Jose Eduardo Agualusa, from Creole

winter weather

Winter weather can be very nice sometimes.  It freezes up your emotions, so all you care about are the pretty snowflakes...

but really: Why Not?

Then Marusya found herself in his bashed-up car, coming back from the Del Monico restaurant, with Lyova asleep in the back.  And the hand with the fake diamond ring wa petting Marusya's hand.

"No," Marusya said.  And she put his hand back on the hot seat.

"Why not?" the Latino asked.  And tenderly touched her rounded knee.

"No," said Marusya.  And put his hand on top of hers.

"Why not?" the Latino asked.  And reached for the top of her blouse.

"No." She put his hand back on her knee.

"Why not?" He put his hand back on her hip.

"No." Marusya pulled his hand up.

"Why not?" One of his hands was pulling at the buttons on her blouse.  The other was pushing her knees apart.

Marusya had time to think, How is he driving the car?  With what?

The car, neverthelss, moved smoothly, though they did scrape a Mercedes once.  The Latino didn't take his hands off her, even then.  He merely moved his knees arounds.

"You're crazy," she said, trying to speak loudly.

Rafael, without stopping the car, took a blue felt-tip pen from his pocket.  He brought it to his bulging chest, which was dressed in a nylon snit shirt.  He quickly drew an enormous heart.  And started kissing her.  Now he was facing Marusya completely.  He turned the wheel (according to Marusya) with his not ver skinny rear end.

Marusya didn't want to invite him to her house.  She was embarassed by the empty apartment.  Lyova slept in a caved-in vinyl armchair, Marusya on a creaky cot (we had dragged all that in from the street one day).  There were only bluish chicken legs in the friedge.  That's all.  How could she have guests?

The Rafael opened the trunk and took out a rolled-up mattress in a plastic bag, a bottle of rum, a six-pack of Pepsi, four oranges, and cookies.  The mattress was brand new.

By then Marusya had stopped being surprised.  She said, What's your name?"

He replied, "Rafael Jose Belinda Chicorillio Gonzalez."

"Short and sweet," Marusya said.  "I'll call you Rafa."

"Rafa," the Latino said in confirmation.  Then he added, "Musya!"

He stuffed the food and rink into his pockets.  He carried Lyova on his shoulder.  The mattress (and personally I believe this!) rolled on its own.  With his free hand the Latino caressed Marusya.  And he smoked and gallantly opened the doors.  Suddenly Marusya heard a strange ripping sound.  It was the Latino's trousers tearing under the pressure of lusting flesh.

Another detail must be noted.  as they were coming out of the elevator on her floor, the boy unexpectedly woke up.  He looked at Rafael with irrational eyes, like those of a month-old puppy, and asked, "Who are you? My papa?"

And what do you think that Latino answered?  The Latino said, "Why not?"


Sergei Dovlatov, from "A Foreign Woman"

On Patriotism

Watching the Olympics, I am once again reminded of how patriotic I am, and how much I sometimes feel for my home country.  How tense I become when the Russian competitors step out onto the ice, how happy to here them exchange Russian words with their coaches while waiting for the marks, how proud when I see the Russian flag going up to our national anthem...
I can't hide it, and even if I could I probably wouldn't.  And people see this in me; and they laugh it off uncomfortably, "Oh, you're so Russian."  But am I wrong to feel this way?  Am I wrong to want the Russians to win?  Am I wrong to be proud of the fact that Soviet and Russian figure skaters have dominated the sport for nearly half a century?

Highschool Poetry

Василёво (Vasilevo)

The waves of oceans
The peaks of mountains
The sand of desserts,
All that will never
Compare to my home.

My home is Russia
With birds and birches,
And endless fields
Each in a different,
Gorgeous shade of green.

And then the rivers,
Little shiny streams,
With soft calm water,
And underground springs
Hidden here and there.

Forests full of pines,
Soothing rustling leaves,
Berries to be picked,
Mushrooms to be picked,
Moss covers the ground.

And then the village
Of course! The people,
Wooden cottages,
Dirt roads, no cars, dogs,
Gardens with fresh food.

Around seven
During the evening
The cows come back home,
Cup of fresh warm milk
On a wooden bench.

The fresh air, the peace,
The nature, the trees,
The quiet, the wind,
The sun, the sky, the clouds

What more could I ask?


--12th grade

Still-life

De Sousa

How long did it take you? :)

Viene!

One of my favorite scenes from Bertolucci's movie.  It is beautiful and humorous, and immitates the structure of the whole film.  More than anything, I love the gorgeous dance of Anna and Julia.

tulips on the table

The camera happened to be sitting on the table during dinner; and so did the tulips...