... is the title of a service in London on 10th November 2010 in remembrance of the sacrifices made by those involved with reporting from war zones. The transcript below is given by the inspiring Marie Colvin.
Your Royal Highness, ladies and gentlemen, I am honoured and humbled to be speaking to you at this service tonight to remember the journalists and their support staff who gave their lives to report from the war zones of the 21st Century. I have been a war correspondent for most of my professional life. It has always been a hard calling. But the need for frontline, objective reporting has never been more compelling.
Covering a war means going to places torn by chaos, destruction, and death, and trying to bear witness. It means trying to find the truth in a sandstorm of propaganda when armies, tribes or terrorists clash. And yes, it means taking risks, not just for yourself but often for the people who work closely with you.
Despite all the videos you see from the Ministry of Defence or the Pentagon, and all the sanitised language describing smart bombs and pinpoint strikes, the scene on the ground has remained remarkably the same for hundreds of years. Craters. Burned houses. Mutilated bodies. Women weeping for children and husbands. Men for their wives, mothers children.
Our mission is to report these horrors of war with accuracy and without prejudice. We always have to ask ourselves whether the level of risk is worth the story. What is bravery, and what is bravado?
Journalists covering combat shoulder great responsibilities and face difficult choices. Sometimes they pay the ultimate price. Tonight we honour the 49 journalists and support staff who were killed bringing the news to our shores. We also remember journalists around the world who have been wounded, maimed or kidnapped and held hostage for months. It has never been more dangerous to be a war correspondent, because the journalist in the combat zone has become a prime target.
I lost my eye in an ambush in the Sri Lankan civil war. I had gone to the northern Tamil area from which journalists were banned and found an unreported humanitarian disaster. As I was smuggled back across the internal border, a soldier launched a grenade at me and the shrapnel sliced into my face and chest. He knew what he was doing.
Just last week, I had a coffee in Afghanistan with a photographer friend, Joao Silva. We talked about the terror one feels and must contain when patrolling on an embed with the armed forces through fields and villages in Afghanistan...putting one foot in front of the other, steeling yourself each step for the blast. The expectation of that blast is the stuff of nightmares. Two days after our meeting Joao stepped on a mine and lost both legs at the knee.
Many of you here must have asked yourselves, or be asking yourselves now, is it worth the cost in lives, heartbreak, loss? Can we really make a difference?
I faced that question when I was injured. In fact one paper ran a headline saying, has Marie Colvin gone too far this time? My answer then, and now, was that it is worth it.
Today in this church are friends, colleagues and families who know exactly what I am talking about, and bear the cost of those experiences, as do their families and loved ones.
Today we must also remember how important it is that news organisations continue to invest in sending us out at great cost, both financial and emotional, to cover stories.
We go to remote war zones to report what is happening. The public have a right to know what our government, and our armed forces, are doing in our name. Our mission is to speak the truth to power. We send home that first rough draft of history. We can and do make a difference in exposing the horrors of war and especially the atrocities that befall civilians.
The history of our profession is one to be proud of. The first war correspondent in the modern era was William Howard Russell of The Times, who was sent to cover the Crimean conflict when a British-led coalition fought an invading Russian army.
Billy Russell, as the troops called him, created a firestorm of public indignation back home by revealing inadequate equipment, scandalous treatment of the wounded, especially when they were repatriated - does this sound familiar? - and an incompetent high command that led to the folly of the Charge of the Light Brigade. It was a breakthrough in war reporting. Until then, wars were reported by junior officers who sent back dispatches to newspapers. Billy Russell went to war with an open mind, a telescope, a notebook and a bottle of brandy. I first went to war with a typewriter, and learned to tap out a telex tape. It could take days to get from the front to a telephone or telex machine.
War reporting has changed greatly in just the last few years. Now we go to war with a satellite phone, laptop, video camera and a flak jacket. I point my satellite phone to South Southwest in Afghanistan, press a button and I have filed.
In an age of 24/7 rolling news, blogs and twitters, we are on constant call wherever we are. But war reporting is still essentially the same - someone has to go there and see what is happening. You can't get that information without going to places where people are being shot at, and others are shooting at you. The real difficulty is having enough faith in humanity to believe that enough people be they government, military or the man on the street, will care when your file reaches the printed page, the website or the TV screen.
We do have that faith because we believe we do make a difference.
And we could not make that difference - or begin to do our job - without the fixers, drivers, and translators, who face the same risks and die in appalling numbers. Today we honour them as much as the front line journalists who have died in pursuit of the truth. They have kept the faith as we who remain must continue to do.
22 February 2012
19 February 2012
Le Quattro Volte ...
... is a enigmatic poignant film by Michelangelo Frammartino. I do not think that I completely understood it but time did indeed slow down as if you were wandering alone in a slightly-forgotten small medieval Italian village. It reminded me of the cyclical nature of the universe; fallen leaves, snow covered landscape, birth of a goat, death of a man, fear of abandonment, festive joy, tree, log and smoke.
The title comes from Pythagoras and spoke of each of us having four lives within us; the mineral, the vegetable, the animal and the human. Maybe it is impossible to truly understand the universe and we can only participate in its internal clock, trying to walk in its pace ...
13 February 2012
David Hockney ...
... at the Royal Academy of Art was full of psychedically coloured woods, trees and flowers, awing me with the wonders of nature through the prism of memory while urging me to look at the world afresh one more time ...
‘We see with memory. My memory is different from yours, so if we are both standing in the same place we’re not quite seeing the same thing. Different individuals have different memories; therefore other elements are playing a part. Whether you have been in a place before will affect you, and how well you know it. There’s no objective vision ever – ever.’ (David Hockney speaking to Martin Gayford, 2009).
David Hockney, 'The Arrival Of Spring', 2011.
Woldgate Woods, 21, 23 and 29 November 2006.
"Every tree is different. Every single one. The branches, the forces in it; they are marvellously different. You are thrilled. This is the infinity of nature." (David Hockney speaking to MArco Livingstone, 2008).
‘We see with memory. My memory is different from yours, so if we are both standing in the same place we’re not quite seeing the same thing. Different individuals have different memories; therefore other elements are playing a part. Whether you have been in a place before will affect you, and how well you know it. There’s no objective vision ever – ever.’ (David Hockney speaking to Martin Gayford, 2009).
David Hockney, 'The Arrival Of Spring', 2011.
Woldgate Woods, 21, 23 and 29 November 2006.
"Every tree is different. Every single one. The branches, the forces in it; they are marvellously different. You are thrilled. This is the infinity of nature." (David Hockney speaking to MArco Livingstone, 2008).
06 February 2012
Lady with an Ermine
... by Leonardo Da Vinci is a beautiful painting I encountered recently at an exhibition ... The poem penned by Bernardo Bellincioni to accompany it sums up the sentiment of art, beauty and nature for me ...
Nature, who stirs your wrath, who arouses your envy?'
It is Vinci, who has painted one of your stars!
Cecilia, today so very beautiful, is the one
Beside whose beautiful eyes the sun appears as a dark shadow.
All honour to you, even if in his picture
She seems to listen and not talk.
Think only, the more alive and more beautiful she is,
The greater will be your glory in future times.
Be grateful therefore to Ludovico, or rather
To the talent and hand of Leonardo
Which allows you to be part of posterity.
Everyone who sees her - even if too late
To see her alive - will say: that suffices for us
To understand what is nature and what art.
Nature, who stirs your wrath, who arouses your envy?'
It is Vinci, who has painted one of your stars!
Cecilia, today so very beautiful, is the one
Beside whose beautiful eyes the sun appears as a dark shadow.
All honour to you, even if in his picture
She seems to listen and not talk.
Think only, the more alive and more beautiful she is,
The greater will be your glory in future times.
Be grateful therefore to Ludovico, or rather
To the talent and hand of Leonardo
Which allows you to be part of posterity.
Everyone who sees her - even if too late
To see her alive - will say: that suffices for us
To understand what is nature and what art.
27 January 2012
According to my iphone from March 2010 to Jan 2012, I
wandered along The South Bank ...
sang along very loudly at a Noah and the Whale concert ...
built some random magnetic bridge at the Science Museum with a little girl called Bryony
tried kayaking and was frozen to death down the Jurassic Coast ...
said helloooooooo to Sara's bunny ...
punted unsuccessfully down the River Cam ...
greeted the Beat poets at the City Light bookshop at San Francisco ...
ate a lot of ice-cream at the Ben and Jerry's Sundae Festival ...
collected buckets of pebbles at Devon ...
caught a beautiful sunset at the Itsukushima Shrine ...
contemplated in silence among the dazzling white snow at South London ...
made a cardboard reindeer at work (courtesy of Graze box) ...
danced at a Secret Cinema event ...
daydreamed at Rhode Island...
read lots and lots of books in the beautiful sunshine ...
screen-printed Totoro with much help from my dear friend Aroushka ...
got completely confused by the famous tennis players at the French Open ...
tried to grow some sunflowers ...
discovered some stunning sunflowers at the Columbia Flowers Market ...
got completely soaked in a storm at a remote island off Dubrovnik ...
baked a chocolate hazelnut cake for a wedding which was never delivered by Cranston ...
greeted my birthday with an unexpected Egyptian chocolate cake ...
rode a very stubborn camel into the desert ...
walked through tons and tons of fallen maple leaves at Westonbrit ...
got slightly drunk (by mulled wines?!?) at a folky Christmas Carol concert ...
had long meandering conversations with friends over lots of cakes and cups of teas ...
ran barefoot on the sandy Gambian beach and ....
greeted 2012 with my sister's beloved Jacob while look forward to many more exciting adventures with my iphone in the coming years ...
22 January 2012
A beautiful letter from John Steinbeck ...
.. to his son Thom about love ...
New York
November 10, 1958
Dear Thom:
We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.
First—if you are in love—that’s a good thing—that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.
Second—There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.
You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply—of course it isn’t puppy love.
But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it—and that I can tell you.
Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.
The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.
If you love someone—there is no possible harm in saying so—only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.
Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.
It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another—but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.
Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.
We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.
And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
Love,
Fa
New York
November 10, 1958
Dear Thom:
We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.
First—if you are in love—that’s a good thing—that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.
Second—There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.
You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply—of course it isn’t puppy love.
But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it—and that I can tell you.
Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.
The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.
If you love someone—there is no possible harm in saying so—only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.
Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.
It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another—but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.
Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.
We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.
And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
Love,
Fa
18 January 2012
Proust ...
... And his Swann's way ...
"yet the moment it was past and a new week has begun, she would look forward with impatience to its return, as something that embodied all the novelty and distraction which her frail and disordered body was still able to endure. This was not to say, however, that she did not long, at times, for some greater change, that she did to experience some of those exceptional moments whet one thirsts for something other than what is, and when those who, through lack of energy or imagination, are unable to generate any motive power in themselves, cry out, as the clock strikes or the postman knocks, for something now, even if it is worse, some emotions, some sorrow; when the heartstrings, which contentment has silenced, like a harp laid by, yearn to be plucked and sounded again by some hand, however rough, ever if it should break them; when the will, which has with such difficulty won the right to indulge without let or hindrance in its own desires and woes, would gladly fling the reins into the hands of imperious circumstance, however cruel.
Among all the modes by which love is brought into being, among all the agents which disseminate that blessed bane, there are few so efficacious as this gust of feverish agitation that sweeps over us from time to time. For then the dice is cast, the person whose company we enjoy at the moment is the person we shall henceforward love. It is not even necessary for that person to have attracted us, up till then, more than or even as much as others. All that was needed was that our predilection should become exclusive. And that condition is fulfilled when -in this moment of deprivation- the quest for the pleasures we enjoyed in his or her company is suddenly replaced by an anxious, torturing need, whose object is the person alone, an absurd, irrational weed which the laws of the would make it impossible to satisfy and officer to assuage -the insensately agnoising need to possess exclusively.
"yet the moment it was past and a new week has begun, she would look forward with impatience to its return, as something that embodied all the novelty and distraction which her frail and disordered body was still able to endure. This was not to say, however, that she did not long, at times, for some greater change, that she did to experience some of those exceptional moments whet one thirsts for something other than what is, and when those who, through lack of energy or imagination, are unable to generate any motive power in themselves, cry out, as the clock strikes or the postman knocks, for something now, even if it is worse, some emotions, some sorrow; when the heartstrings, which contentment has silenced, like a harp laid by, yearn to be plucked and sounded again by some hand, however rough, ever if it should break them; when the will, which has with such difficulty won the right to indulge without let or hindrance in its own desires and woes, would gladly fling the reins into the hands of imperious circumstance, however cruel.
Among all the modes by which love is brought into being, among all the agents which disseminate that blessed bane, there are few so efficacious as this gust of feverish agitation that sweeps over us from time to time. For then the dice is cast, the person whose company we enjoy at the moment is the person we shall henceforward love. It is not even necessary for that person to have attracted us, up till then, more than or even as much as others. All that was needed was that our predilection should become exclusive. And that condition is fulfilled when -in this moment of deprivation- the quest for the pleasures we enjoyed in his or her company is suddenly replaced by an anxious, torturing need, whose object is the person alone, an absurd, irrational weed which the laws of the would make it impossible to satisfy and officer to assuage -the insensately agnoising need to possess exclusively.
11 January 2012
Lucky Jim ...
... is a short novel by Kingsley Amis. Its main protagonist may not be the cleverest person in the world but below is some sensible-albeit-dispassionate advice from him;
People get themselves all steamed up about whether they're in love or not, and can't work it out, and their decisions go all to pot. It's happening every day. They ought to realise that the love part's perfectly easy; the hard part is the working out, not about love, but about what they're going to do. The difference is that they can get their brains going on that, instead of taking the sound of the word "love" as a signal for switching them off. They can get somewhere, instead of indulging in a sort of orgy of emotional self-catechising about how you know you're in love, and what love is anyway, and all the rest of it. You don't ask yourself what greengages are, or how you know whether you like them or not, do you? Right?
People get themselves all steamed up about whether they're in love or not, and can't work it out, and their decisions go all to pot. It's happening every day. They ought to realise that the love part's perfectly easy; the hard part is the working out, not about love, but about what they're going to do. The difference is that they can get their brains going on that, instead of taking the sound of the word "love" as a signal for switching them off. They can get somewhere, instead of indulging in a sort of orgy of emotional self-catechising about how you know you're in love, and what love is anyway, and all the rest of it. You don't ask yourself what greengages are, or how you know whether you like them or not, do you? Right?
02 January 2012
Carl Jung ...
wrote in Psychology and Alchemy , "We simply do not understand any more what is meant by the paradoxes contained in dogma; and the more external our understanding of them becomes the more we are affronted by their irrationality ..."
Yet, the search of meaning and understanding continues (for me anyway) ...
Yet, the search of meaning and understanding continues (for me anyway) ...
31 December 2011
Things that makes me smile ...
... is a slightly random list but it will be interesting to have a record (or I am just a data junkie!).
- warmth of sunshine on my face
- snow falling silently
- catching up with
books/films/TV/articles under a massive duvet when unwell
- good ice cream/frozen yoghurt,
even if it is freezing outside
- cups and cups of green teas
- Japanese food, especially at
Sakana-Tei
- travelling; the excitement of
seeing the world for the first time ... sunrise at Mount Sinai, the
reflectiveness of Mount Fuji, the vastness of Great Ocean Road, a stunning
monastery in Portugal, early morning at Taj Mahal, the mist over Sans
Francisco, fallen leaves at NYC, the energy at Chicago, thick thick snow in a
little town in Russia, dim sum in China, European bridges, stars in Sahara
Desert, singing/chanting in beautiful empty Swedish
cathedrals, renaissance painting at Florence, the humidity at Vietnam
... this can be endless ...
- anticipation of a secret
cinema event
- random, full-of-tangents
conversation with friends and loved ones
- love in its various forms
- psychiatry; especially when
they are reunited with their loved ones/at peace/smile again
- discovering poems/beauty in
unlikely places
- wandering in galleries
aimlessly
- being so engrossed in a book/play/ballet/film
that it becomes the sole reality (albeit briefly)
- reading the weekend paper at a
cosy coffee shop in winter and on the green green grass in summer
- snorkelling and greeting Nemos
in crystal blue seas
- walking barefoot on a sandy
beaches/lush green grass
- the first bite of a fresh red
apple
- boat trips in the sun
- the smell of cookies baking in
the oven
- chatting away in a pub with
mulled wine/winter pimms
- receiving text messages on a
super busy day/when unwell
- having long text conversations
with my sister
- writing cards for no apparent
reason just because I want to
- finding forgotten love notes
- unexpected kindness from a
stranger
- watching films outdoors
- writing illegible postcards
while on holiday
- the smell of fresh flowers; in
the kitchen, windowsill, garden or countryside ...
- the dawn of finally
understanding something after much struggles: be it a solution, a concept, an
interpretation, even a mathematical formula ...
- meeting and talking to
interesting people at a party
- cello recitals at Wigmore Hall
- a favorite tune playing
unexpectedly on the radio
- the sense of relaxation after
a facial/massage/exercise
- doing something that makes
someone smile; be it stopping the bus while they are running for it, trying to
give them some directions by using my iPhone, calling/skyping a friend ...
- the smell of rain on freshly
cut grass
- looking at photos, especially
holiday snaps of other people with a running commentary on the side
- a sparkling clean flat after
spending hours cleaning it (I love cleaning - strange but true ...)
- sleeping-in without setting
the alarm, then with nothing planned for the rest of the day
- skinned milk porridge with
granola, berries and almonds
- noodles with all of its
glorious garnish; be it Japanese, Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Taiwanese, soup,
fried, sauce ...
- a long bath after a hard day
at work
- the feeling of having survived
after a set of night shifts with no one dying/being hurt
- listening to love stories,
especially the difficult complex ones with happy endings
- being recommended an unknown
book/film which turns out I love
- opening the post box every
morning (before discovering the bills within)
- beautiful sunflowers at the
forensic psychiatric wards (these are grown and cared for by the patients)
- walking in central London late
at night when it is bathed in Christmas lights
- slightly chaotic Christmas
with family
- an article being finally accepted
for publication
- a good therapy session after a
hard week
- coming across little things
which are perfect for someone
- sitting by a river on a clear
summer night
- the smell of my mama's cooking
- emails from my papa
- kicking a pile of fallen leaves
(sorry, street sweepers!)
- looking at flickering candles
- Tapping the extra hot crumbles
from Le Pain Quotidien
- Making extra thin pancakes in
the morning
- falafels at Camberwell
especially after a hard consultation
- lobster at Big Easy with my
best mate SK
- browsing at Whole Food/farmers
markets
- reflecting in a church alone
- the hilarious
comments/laughters at The Ritzy
- holding a hot cup of coffee
when the morning is cold and way too early
January 2012
- Floating in the ocean with the
sun shining
- Collecting seashells
- Trying a new dish and it is
simply delicious
- Finding a new cool band
- Watching sunset on the beach
- Binging on sweet, cold
watermelons
- Blowing bubbles and watching
them float
- Learning new words and finally
being able to pronounce them
- Finding a still open
M&S after a very late flight
- Finally getting into bed after
a hard long day
- Clean sheets on bed
- My friend SAK's amazing baking
- The sense of overwhelming
relief after a tricky presentation
- Exploring the wonderful food
selection at Japan Centre
February 2012
- Munching on Leon's baked fries
- Stumbling onto some silly but
philosophical cartoons/photos/drawing on the world wide web
- Realising that my friend is
slowly but surely on the road to recovery
- Being given a ticket to a
brilliant exhibition by a complete kind stranger
- Finding the last portion of
Wakame Chuka seaweed salads from Japan centre
March 2012
- Waiting for departure as in a
few hours' time, you will be wandering in a magical, fairytale liked European
city
- revisiting old holiday haunts
and recalling some fond memories
- Retrieving my lost
iphone because of the goodness of a stranger
April 2012
- Twittering and blogging random
information of little interests to others, but myself
- Sending back-and-forth
catching up texts with my friends in NYC/DC/Sydney
- Opening my beautiful Fortnum
and Mason Easter Egg (and having the best sister ever!)
May 2012
- Booking a city break out of
the blue, just because it is raining in London and I want ice-cream
- Receiving my favourite
chocolate (Montezuma) unexpectedly
- Being Elmo (the title
explains it all)
- Discovering the creative power
of art in the midst of suffering ... a group painting of David Hockney by
patients at the end of life ...
- Stealing a Top Hat from an
awesome party
- Wearing my battered
Birkenstock to work
- Drinking fruity pimms under
the lights by Southbank
- Picnic-ing on goodies from the
Whole Food store under the beautiful sunshine
June 2012
- Wandering at the ancient
Pantheon
- Savouring Italian ice-cream
... (not the men ...)
- Holding a big bag of ice on my
face at Sperlonga during a pretty dramatic nosebleed ...
July 2012
- Meeting someone who makes you
laugh unexpectedly ...
- Finding a second handed
raincoat at the Oxfam shop when the sky broke at Latitude 2012
- Singing along to my favourite
indie bands
- Lying down in the sunshine on
a massive field with Ed Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros playing
"Home"
- Discovering a beautiful
poetry/dance/play at Latitude 2012
- Having a poem written just for
you
- Having a hot shower after 5
days of antiseptic wipes existence ...
- Introducing the amazing Pimms
to an Italian (who kind of liked it!)
- Waiting for cello music to be
played at the British BBC Proms
- Drinking at a pub late at
night with friends from everywhere
August 2012
- Trying to finish the
never-ending courses of a Swedish tasting menu
- Learning the letter cubes at
Southbank changes throughout the year ...
- Finding fellow Miyazaki fans
- Discovering an apple at the
bottom of my bag after a 12 hours shift and I was starving
- Reading lovely messages from
my friends/family after my beloved phone was snatched
- Having Sachertorte (my
favourite cake in the world!)
- Realising that Hundertwasserhaus is as magical as I have always
imagined
-
Outdoor-swimming in a random canal in Vienna
- Bathing in
the golden wonders of "Der Kuss" by Gustav Klimt
- Catching a
cab in a torrent of rain
- Opening boxes
after boxes of wonders at Edible cinema while watching "Spirited Away"
- Knowing that my instinct is
kind of right afterall ...
- Enjoying the luxury of working
from home
- Staring at disbelief of my
feeble attempts at life drawing
- Heaping feathery snow in the company of Les Studio de
Cirque angels
September 2012
- Having meandering,
sometimes hilarious, text/what'sapp conversation
- Being engrossed in an
unusual grand round at Granta Magazine launch
- Swirling Framboise Lambic
beer at the Dovetail
- Jumping on the train, going
somewhere for no apparent reason but only you can, and finding a little country
pub along the way with the perfect summer Pimms in the sunshine ...
October 2012
- Discovering graffiti in
an unexpected corner (Haus Schwarzenberg)
- Immersing in the
poignant art of Kathe Kollwitz
- Receiving a text greeting of
"Happy Birthday" at exactly at midnight ...
- Being baked the Sachertorte
(the ultimate chocolate cake)
- Dragging my ever-so-patient friend
in the rain to find a dancing place
- Standing in the cold in a magician
outfit for the elusive 344
- Magic tricks by someone special at WaterPoet
- Magic tricks by someone special at WaterPoet
November 2012
- Looking at West Egg,
where Gatsby lived for his beloved Daisy
- Playing the piano at a
gallery at the Chelsea Market NYC and encountering ELMO cupcakes!
- Reading beautiful poetry at the massive Strand
bookshop
- Twinkling glass sculptures
by Jean-Michel Othoniel
- Co-freeing a car from frozen sand at Rockaway Beach
- Laughing all the way on a train journey from Colchester to London
- Helping two very sweet children with their piano exams
- Admiring the rain in the rain room at the Barbician
- Admiring the rain in the rain room at the Barbician
30 December 2011
Why we must struggle ...
is a poem by Kay Ryan, a perfect backdrop for the end of a difficult 2011, while 2012 welcomes us in hope and dreams ...
If we have not struggled
as hard as we can
at our strongest
how will we sense
the shape of our losses
or know what sustains
us longest or name
what change costs us,
saying how strange
it is that one sector
of the self can step in
for another in trouble,
how loss activates
a latent double, how
we can feed
as upon nectar
upon need?
If we have not struggled
as hard as we can
at our strongest
how will we sense
the shape of our losses
or know what sustains
us longest or name
what change costs us,
saying how strange
it is that one sector
of the self can step in
for another in trouble,
how loss activates
a latent double, how
we can feed
as upon nectar
upon need?
25 December 2011
Hector and the search for happiness ...
... is a book by Francois Lelord chosen by my sister for me to read over Christmas ... Hector does indeed think like a a psychiatrist (especially the part about not being a real doctor and not knowing what to do when someone is ill on a plane). Hector summarised his search for happiness as "the five families of happiness":
- joy, celebration, traveling, being in bed with a woman you desire.
- doing a job you like, wanting to attain a goal.
- feeling contended and wanting that to last ... by comparison with others or with your own past. Or when you don't compare yourself with anything at all!! (I think I agree more with the latter; comparison is a difficult road to take).
- certain way of seeing things. Cultivating your serenity and keeping hold of it whatever happens.
- friendship, mutual love, caring about other people's happiness or unhappiness, feeling useful to others.
I think I need to work on serenity ... well, meanwhile, Happy Christmas 2011! (The radio is now playing East 17's "Stay another day", reminding me of a gorgeous Carol I went to this year).
- joy, celebration, traveling, being in bed with a woman you desire.
- doing a job you like, wanting to attain a goal.
- feeling contended and wanting that to last ... by comparison with others or with your own past. Or when you don't compare yourself with anything at all!! (I think I agree more with the latter; comparison is a difficult road to take).
- certain way of seeing things. Cultivating your serenity and keeping hold of it whatever happens.
- friendship, mutual love, caring about other people's happiness or unhappiness, feeling useful to others.
I think I need to work on serenity ... well, meanwhile, Happy Christmas 2011! (The radio is now playing East 17's "Stay another day", reminding me of a gorgeous Carol I went to this year).
19 December 2011
Many of Horror ...
… is a song by the rock group Biffy Clyro, with many not-so-good cover versions, but he wrote it for his wife, and there is something magical about the inevitability of “when we collide we come together, if we don’t, we’ll always be apart”. It does sum up a lot of difficult decisions one has to make about a relationship.
You say "I love you boy"
But I know you lie.
I trust you all the same
And I don't know why.
'Cause when my back is turned,
My bruises shine.
Our broken fairytale,
So hard to hide.
I still believe,
It's you and me
till the end of time.
When we collide we come together,
If we don't, we'll always be apart.
I'll take a bruise i know you're worth it.
When you hit me, hit me hard.
Sitting in a wishing hole,
Hoping it stays right.
Feet cast in solid stone,
I got Gilligan's eyes.
I still believe,
It's you and me
till the end of time.
When we collide we come together,
If we don't, we'll always be apart.
I'll take a bruise i know you're worth it.
When you hit me, hit me hard.
You say "I love you boy"
But I know you lie.
I trust you all the same
And I don't know why.
'Cause when my back is turned,
My bruises shine.
Our broken fairytale,
So hard to hide.
I still believe,
It's you and me
till the end of time.
When we collide we come together,
If we don't, we'll always be apart.
I'll take a bruise i know you're worth it.
When you hit me, hit me hard.
Sitting in a wishing hole,
Hoping it stays right.
Feet cast in solid stone,
I got Gilligan's eyes.
I still believe,
It's you and me
till the end of time.
When we collide we come together,
If we don't, we'll always be apart.
I'll take a bruise i know you're worth it.
When you hit me, hit me hard.
09 December 2011
The marriage plot ...
... by Jeffrey Eugenides is liked "One Day" for those living in this broken world ... It is about loving someone who is difficult to love and one of questions being asked is ...
"From the books you read for your thesis, and for your article - the Austen and the James and everything - was there any novel where the heroine gets married to the wrong guy and then realises it, and then the other suitor shows up, some guy who's always been in love with her, and then they get together, but finally the second suitor realises that the last thing the woman needs is to get married again, that she's got more important things to do with her life? And so finally the guy doesn't propose at all, even though he still loves her? Is there any book that ends like that? ... But do you think that this would be good? As an ending?"
My answer would be a resounding NO! My patient today told me that her second husband died from heart failure two months ago. Her heart is absolutely shattered but the time they had together was, and still is, the most important thing for her. That, for me, is the real marriage plot.
"From the books you read for your thesis, and for your article - the Austen and the James and everything - was there any novel where the heroine gets married to the wrong guy and then realises it, and then the other suitor shows up, some guy who's always been in love with her, and then they get together, but finally the second suitor realises that the last thing the woman needs is to get married again, that she's got more important things to do with her life? And so finally the guy doesn't propose at all, even though he still loves her? Is there any book that ends like that? ... But do you think that this would be good? As an ending?"
My answer would be a resounding NO! My patient today told me that her second husband died from heart failure two months ago. Her heart is absolutely shattered but the time they had together was, and still is, the most important thing for her. That, for me, is the real marriage plot.
26 November 2011
Life in a day ...
... is a documentary by all of us, with its mundaneness, its eccentricities, its brokenness, its joys, in our gloriously dazzlingly colourful world ... I was talking to someone about culture the other day, and she did not think that it can ever be a barrier for us to understanding someone wholly as we are all humans at the end of the day, with its hopes, dreams, fears and disappointments ... An interesting finding from "Life in a day" is that there was a lot of clips with watermelons being sent in, even food unites us too ...
13 November 2011
1Q84 ...
... is the latest offering from Haruki Murakami, the Japanese author for adolescent me. It has been nearly a decade since I last read any of his books, partly because of the potentiality of being disappointed. I am incapable of revisiting beloved people/places/events after a period of absence, but therapy has slowly taught me the beauty of memories and the expansiveness of human capacities. As Haruki Murakami said in "1Q84" - "That's what the world is, after all, an endless battle of contrasting memories" ..
04 November 2011
Grey ....
... as described by Gerhard Richter in "From a letter to Edy de Wilde" ,,,,
" Grey. It makes no statement whatever; it evokes neither feelings nor associations: it is really neither visible nor invisible. Its inconspicuousness gives it the capacity to mediate, to make visible, in a positively illusionistic way, like a photograph. It has the capacity that no other colour has, to make 'nothing' visible.
To me, grey is the welcome and only possible equivalent for indifference, noncommitment, absence of opinion, absence of shape. But grey, like formlessness and the rest, can be real only as an idea, and so all I can do is create a colour nuance that means grey but is not it. The painting is then a mixture of grey as a fiction and grey as a visible, designated area of colour."
In his exhibition at the Tate Modern (Panorma), his "Seascape" and "Betty" are two paintings which resonate with me a lot ... The latter reminds me a lot of "Christina's World" by Andrew Wyeth at the MOMA.
" Grey. It makes no statement whatever; it evokes neither feelings nor associations: it is really neither visible nor invisible. Its inconspicuousness gives it the capacity to mediate, to make visible, in a positively illusionistic way, like a photograph. It has the capacity that no other colour has, to make 'nothing' visible.
To me, grey is the welcome and only possible equivalent for indifference, noncommitment, absence of opinion, absence of shape. But grey, like formlessness and the rest, can be real only as an idea, and so all I can do is create a colour nuance that means grey but is not it. The painting is then a mixture of grey as a fiction and grey as a visible, designated area of colour."
In his exhibition at the Tate Modern (Panorma), his "Seascape" and "Betty" are two paintings which resonate with me a lot ... The latter reminds me a lot of "Christina's World" by Andrew Wyeth at the MOMA.
23 October 2011
Tolstoy ...
... said that "The aim of an artist is not to solve a problem irrefutably, but to make people love life in all its countless, inexhaustible manifestations".
So let's paint, sing, write, read, act, dream, or simply think on this cold winter day ...
So let's paint, sing, write, read, act, dream, or simply think on this cold winter day ...
21 October 2011
Incedies ...
... is a Canadian film made by Denis Villeneuve, based on the play "Scorched" by Wajdi Mouawad. It is about family, love, hatred, irrational anger, broken promises, obscenity of war
Letter 1
I speak to the son, not to the torturer.
Whatever happens, I'll always love you.
I promised you that when you were born, my son.
Whatever happens, I will always love you.
I looked for you all my life.
I found you.
You couldn't recognise me.
You've a tattoo on your right heel.
I saw it. I recognised you.
You are beautiful.
I wrapped you in tenderness, my love.
Take solace, for nothing means more than being together.
You were born of love.
So your bother and sister were born of love too.
Nothing means more than being together.
Your mother, Nawal Marwan.
Prisoner no. 72
Letter 2
My loves, where does your story being.
At your birth? If so, it begins in horror.
At the birth of your father? If so, then it begins in a great love story.
But I say your story begins with a promise,
to break the chain of anger
Thanks to you, today I have finally kept it.
The chain is broken.
Finally I can take the time to cradle you
to greatly sing a lullaby to console you.
Nothing means more than being together
I love you.
Your mother, Nawal
Letter 1
I speak to the son, not to the torturer.
Whatever happens, I'll always love you.
I promised you that when you were born, my son.
Whatever happens, I will always love you.
I looked for you all my life.
I found you.
You couldn't recognise me.
You've a tattoo on your right heel.
I saw it. I recognised you.
You are beautiful.
I wrapped you in tenderness, my love.
Take solace, for nothing means more than being together.
You were born of love.
So your bother and sister were born of love too.
Nothing means more than being together.
Your mother, Nawal Marwan.
Prisoner no. 72
Letter 2
My loves, where does your story being.
At your birth? If so, it begins in horror.
At the birth of your father? If so, then it begins in a great love story.
But I say your story begins with a promise,
to break the chain of anger
Thanks to you, today I have finally kept it.
The chain is broken.
Finally I can take the time to cradle you
to greatly sing a lullaby to console you.
Nothing means more than being together
I love you.
Your mother, Nawal
16 October 2011
Invisible man ...
... By Ralph Ellison is a complex novel with multiple layers but its overarching theme for me is our individual identity in the midst of societal demands and the chaos of day-to-day life. I wonder how often I am invisible to others and even to myself ... Are others also invisible to me?
"And my problem was that I always tried to go in everyone’s way but my own. I have also been called one thing and then another while no one really wished to hear what I called myself. So after years of trying to adopt the opinions of others I finally rebelled. I am an invisible man."
"And my problem was that I always tried to go in everyone’s way but my own. I have also been called one thing and then another while no one really wished to hear what I called myself. So after years of trying to adopt the opinions of others I finally rebelled. I am an invisible man."
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