Each of us lives in own small world. But there are other worlds… about which we might not know.
how do we know that told story is truth…
One day he decided to make a very long sailing trip
in search of the miraculous
*he was the fourth element
(Bas Jan Ader)
my dear maria,
how are you?
i’ve been trying to keep life quite beautiful. by now we are making wooden furnitures by ourselves. flowers and herbs flourish in the garden. it makes the house so lovely! from time to time my son and i glimpse a butterfly with its tiny and colored wings. and my son runs to take his little camera. most of times the small insect flies along the air before he can picture it. and he starts laughing. *butterflies and children are easy images, don’t you think so?* it is delightful anyway, children and butterflies. it’s the end of the winter and the days are pretty cold. i can’t sleep well. nights have been so long. actually i could never sleep well. i belive that is why i started reading, and after some time writing. i’ve written far less than i wish, though. when we start living things it becomes difficult to write about them. such as love. it is essential its abcence to write about it. by now, my sweet, i’m just thinking about men and women working day by day, about this unusual wolrd around us. that is why i still walk with bare feet. it is my resistance.
eden is that old-fashioned house
we dwell in every day
without suspecting our abode
until we drive away
how fair, on looking back, the day
we sauntered from the door
unconscious our returning
discover it no more
nigh on winter
you hold my hand tight
and life took place again
if you could know how many shadows
will remain amongst us
in the very moment of your dreams
even when we cannot reach it
we know it is still there – so white –
looking on men and their secrets
as it always has been
from which direction it will come?
coordinates of the corner
i wish i knew them
tell me a unique word
and if you look that close
you will see simply
a deep square of blue
…and this leap from age to age,
from the order of a child to that of an old man,
will not diminish us.
– paul eluard-
… and, as ancient times,
i could sleep in the sea.
[2:44:03 PM] Ana: everybody was asking me about you
[2:44:07 PM] Ana: how you look like
[2:44:11 PM] Maria: really?
[2:44:13 PM] Maria: hahaha
[2:44:16 PM] Maria: what did u say
[2:44:22 PM] Ana: if we have ever seen each other
[2:44:34 PM] Maria: 🙂
[2:44:43 PM] Ana: i told you were from the east europe
[2:44:56 PM] Maria: haha
[2:44:57 PM] Ana: and that you have short red hair
[2:45:03 PM] Maria: yes i have eastern europe look 😉
[2:45:09 PM] Ana: do you still have red hair?
[2:45:12 PM] Maria: nope
[2:45:17 PM] Ana: hahahaha
[2:45:27 PM] Maria: its first time in my life since i was 18, i have my own colour of hair
[2:45:48 PM] Ana: oh!!
[2:45:50 PM] Maria: i have forgotten already what my color was 🙂
[2:45:55 PM] Ana: and what colour it is?
[2:45:59 PM] Ana: is it?
[2:46:06 PM] Maria: i cut all coloured hair since
[2:46:21 PM] Maria: we called in as a joke “mouse grey” 🙂
[2:46:36 PM] Ana: that’s my hair colour also!
[2:46:39 PM] Maria: !!!!!
[2:46:49 PM] Ana: yep
[2:46:49 PM] Maria: hehe
[2:46:54 PM] Ana: hahahaha
[2:46:55 PM] Maria: so you know then what i mean:)
[2:47:02 PM] Ana: yep
[2:47:07 PM] Maria: i hated it, that’s why i was colouring since 18
[2:47:22 PM] Ana: i used to colored mine as well
[2:47:34 PM] Ana: but then i got pregnant and i had to stop
[2:47:54 PM] Ana: so i decided not to colour them since then
[2:48:03 PM] Maria: but recently i started to think that most of my friends have grey hair and they are still young. they have to colour to feel they are still young. but i dont have grey ones. i am lucky, so i need to stop color and show my natural color then:)
[2:48:20 PM] Ana: and now they are long…
[2:48:46 PM] Ana: i use very short hair since my 13
[2:49:02 PM] Maria: i am always with short
[2:49:10 PM] Ana: i love then short
[2:49:17 PM] Ana: but now they are really long
[2:49:30 PM] Maria: i have now 70% of my head is with hair 2cm long 🙂
[2:49:45 PM] Ana: wow!!!
[2:49:52 PM] Ana: that’s great!
[2:49:59 PM] Maria: i was thinking to try to grow them longer. came last time to hairdresser and they cut me…2cm…so…:)))
[2:50:19 PM] Ana: when i was in boston, people always asked me if i was from east europe
[2:50:33 PM] Ana: because of my accent and skin and hair’s colour
[2:50:33 PM] Maria: really? why? did you asked them why
[2:50:56 PM] Maria: so if we meet up, we gonna look like from one country 😉
[2:51:04 PM] Ana: they told me i talk as a russian
[2:51:09 PM] Maria: really?!
[2:51:19 PM] Maria: so i am russian. then you talk like me?!
[2:51:27 PM] Ana: and one day i was in the russian neighborhood
[2:51:40 PM] Ana: and i listened some people talking
[2:51:55 PM] Ana: and it really sounds as brazilian portuguese
[2:52:04 PM] Ana: i don’t know why
[2:52:12 PM] Ana: it has to do with fonemas
[2:52:16 PM] Ana: fonetica
[2:52:21 PM] Maria: maybe
[2:52:31 PM] Ana: phonetic
[2:52:31 PM] Maria: but interesting that you felt that similarity
[2:52:47 PM] Ana: i imagine, but i’m not sure
(our conversation on skype, 10 September 2011)
Trying to fix words up
a big hole inside of me
full of emptiness
no a filler either
you are free to fly
up to you to decide
who holds the line
It’s so often happen to me that I see an image, I am passing it, but I keep it in my minds only, not on the film in my camera.
Sometimes I regret about it. Sometimes I enjoy the fact that this image belongs to me only.
Sometimes I wish to write down what I saw but I forget. Sometimes I do write down it.
I am sure lots of people have such kind of pictures…which were seen but never taken.
Let them describe it for us. Let them tell us.
Responses from other people are here: NO PICTURE THEME
Only silence remains.
Achieving the horizont, you open a new one for yourself.
All love ends in a deep sea, at last.
(Mumbai, India, 2011)
Mumbai. To reach it, you have to write it. The photography could not. (I could not)
you are going to the places where i was.
you are going to meet people who i know.
i am happy and sad
but with hope
you find something special in them as i did.
when you are back, tell me your story.
My dear Maria,
What to do with the canvas you once offered me? Especially me, my sweet, the one who never knows what to do in front of a white surface, a white landscape, in front of any possibility to come? Meanwhile I look at things, not the invisibles ones, but the ones we can touch, even if briefly, with our eyes and hands. All these things without value. Minor things. A piece of a handwritten paper, for an example. The sunflower next to the window. Some book passages. Or remembering the sea. Everything is so tiny. You would say that memory is not touchable. And I disagree. Have you ever tried to lay your body over a memory. It is almost unbearable, but, oh!, how to live without it? I have an inclination towards memories and things with no value. For me, they have said enough.
it’s hidden flow there. swim and vanish.
feel the sea everywhere.
through a grief on her face
i can see
a new canvas to paint
She has only one child. She calls him: my little grasshopper. He doesn’t know, but she is about to cry.
there are more than fifty teapots on her shelf.
she has a big family.
On the shelf lays a picture of her child.
Sometimes just a small thing makes us feel different, or helps us to feel balanced.
“It happened suddenly. One day I looked in the mirror and I couldn’t recognize myself.”
‘Mr Palomar…asks himself why he is so interested in giraffes. Perhaps because the world around him moves in an unharmonious way, and he hopes always to find some pattern in it, a constant. Perhaps because he himself feels that his own advance is impelled by uncoordinated movements of the mind, which seem to have nothing to do with one another and are increasingly difficult to fit inot any pattern of inner harmony.’ (Italo Calvino)
this photo was taken by my mum 25 years ago.
this book was published 25 years ago.
i am reading now.
and i love giraffes.
don’t wake me up.
in the midst of your dreams
two or three swift-flying
I came back from the trip.
I wanted to tell you all the stories happened with me.
It’s always strange to come back home which is not my home.
Or it is home indeed?
What is your home?
we are just shadow creators.
One day every single room will be taken by its arms. And from the men who once lived there will rest nothing but the dreams they whispered in the very blue night.
loosing her track
in the sand
flinging across the sea
“There is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparision. We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? That is why life is always like a sketch. No, ‘sketch’ is not quite the word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereis the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture” (Milan Kundera)
*i like number 7 by the way
i need a new stitch.
and bruise on the left leg.
touching the clouds
with the tip of feet
* i wanted to write something to you. your letter came to me first.
How weird is it – I thought of you and I came to write a letter for you.
But I noticed that at the same time, you came here and are writing me.
Which word starts from C is the answer?
Have you ever heard that the periods of women who share the house since some time of living together become run at the same time. This physiology is sort of magic for me. I even don’t want to know the answer on it. The same as the answer on why we both came online at the same time.
I like to play in magics.
I shot it yesterday.
I send it to you today.
It’s the dry season
The city has become
A lonely desert
As my heart
* the taste of the sea on my lips *