The puppet theatre scene from the film "La Double Vie De Véronique" (1991)

As a child we experience the world in a completely different way from adults. Our senses are attuned to even the slightest external stimuli. Our unbound, fertile imagination whirls and creates wondrous links and conceptions that exceed all logic and "common sense". Images and sounds are conceived like fractals that give birth to new infinite designs. For, at that young age, there are no boundaries and so many empty spaces to fill in. Later on in life, these empty spaces will become casts regulating behavior and understanding. 

A child can very easily relate to a puppet or a marionette because the puppet world is an airy miniature of the real world. The child, dwarfed in it's everyday existence by all things grownup, suddenly sees something small and familiar. Something that it can relate to by intuition alone, effortlessly. Imagination takes over and the child believes. It's whole being is in fact absorbed into the characters, into the story. 

In our adult life we sometimes get flashbacks of our childhood. But it's always a fleeting moment when you loose control and dive into the rabbit hole like Alice. Just a spark and it's gone. The shadow of a memory long forgotten. But in that tiny moment there is something magical in what we experience. A letting go of all the templates, the iron casts and the frames. A re-emergence of that innocence. The infinite contentment of re-living that instant of childish insouciance.  

These thoughts came to my mind when I first saw the puppet theatre scene in Krzysztof Kieslowski's " La double vie de Véronique" in 1991. The music, by Zbigniew Preisner, makes this magical scene a cinematic moment you will always remember. A shortcut to the rabbit hole.

Transient art on the walls of Athens - Summer 2013 - part 2

The walls of Athens are canvasses on which artistic freedom of expression runs wild. No need for galleries, no patrons, no intermediaries. Just pictures at an exhibition. 

Transient art on the walls of Athens - Summer 2013 - part 1

1. The drawing style and technique of this artist distinguishes his/her work from traditional graffiti. Drawn on large pieces of paper and then plastered on the wall, his/her themes mainly include beauty, innocence and hope in the face of ugliness, adversity and racism. 

2. The following artist uses a mixed technique of stensil and graffiti to create a pastel-like soft texture. Great use of light and shadow and attention to detail. Theme: Wind and flying hats. 

3. An imaginary world of monsters and strange creatures lurk in every corner of Athens. Some of these would make H.P.Lovecraft proud while others seem to pop out of comic books.   

And here is finally the most ferocious monster of them all. A perfect specimen of the "politician" creature. It sports a long Pinocchio nose and carries a knife and fork. It has sharp teeth and greedy eyes. Beware of it's many promises... 

Transient Art on the Walls of Athens 2013: 1. Graffiti

Athens, Greece.
Summer 2013.
In the midst of a suffocating crisis, when everything is falling apart and people are sucked into swirling black holes of depression; when most of us are transformed into casual observers of the deadening of our own senses and emotions; when our backs are against the wall... We, in Athens, we turn and look at that wall. And we get a grip on ourselves, we regain our footing, we loose the numbness. For the walls of Athens are alive. They are vibrating. They carry the thoughts and feelings of young artists who refuse to cower in front of that giant crushing wave that hovers above. They just surf effortlessly through it, cutting it in half with an image, a message, a thought.

Take the graffiti artist who signs WD for example. Irony is the name of his game. All you need is Joke... You could take it literarily of course. But then you hear from the television..."- The government may be optimistic about a recovery just around the corner...". Shiny happy people and politicians kissing babies all over again... It's all a joke. The joke is on us. And in the end we live by this joke. Inspired by the Joker character in the Batman comic book, WD "defaces" his own work sending a message that ultimately aims to make you think and make your own mind about the state of things, about ways to turn the tables and react. Take laughter out of slaughter. What a Killing Joke indeed...

Listen to:

Killing Joke - Colony Collapse

John Ruskin (1819-1900) on what constitutes a book

"... A book is essentially not a talked thing, but a written thing; and written, not with the view of mere communication, but of permanence. The book of talk is printed only because its author cannot speak to thousands of people at once; if he could, he would—the volume is mere multiplication of his voice. You cannot talk to your friend in India, if you could, you would; you write instead: that is mere conveyance of voice. But a book is written, not to multiply the voice merely, not to carry it merely, but to perpetuate it. The author has something to say which he perceives to be true and useful, or helpfully beautiful. So far as he knows, no one has yet said it; so far as he knows, no one else can say it. He is bound to say it, clearly and melodiously if he may; clearly, at all events. In the sum of his life he finds this to be the thing, or group of things, manifest to him;—this, the piece of true knowledge, or sight, which his share of sunshine and earth has permitted him to seize. He would fain set it down forever; engrave it on rock, if he could; saying, “This is the best of me; for the rest, I ate, and drank, and slept, loved, and hated, like another; my life was as the vapor and is not; but this I saw and knew: this, if anything of mine, is worth your memory.” That is his “writing”; it is, in his small human way, and with whatever degree of true inspiration is in him, his inscription, or scripture. That is a “Book.”..."

Extracted from "Sesame and Lilies. Lecture I.—Sesame: Of Kings’ Treasuries" by John Ruskin.

Listen to:
Belle and Sebastian - Wrapped Up In Books

Δύο ποιήματα και ένας ζωγράφος (Γιάννης Σταύρου)

"S/S TERRIFIED RETURN" του Τάσου Κόρφη (1929-1994)

Δεν ξέρω αν φταίνε τα μάτια μου ή αν έχουν μεταβληθεί τα λιμάνια,
αν κάθε τι καινούριο κρύβει κι ένα χωρισμό,
ή μόνο τα μάτια γερνούν, όλο και πιο πολύ ησυχάζουν,
ο χρόνος καταπιεστικά μας περιφράσσει στα χαρακώματα.

Κι όλο ζητάω να βρω καινούριες προβλήτες, καινούρια περίπτερα,
τόπους καινούριους, άλλους ορίζοντες, ξένα φανάρια,
γιατί φοβάμαι, τρομάζω την κάθε επιστροφή,
δεν αντέχω την επαιτεία σε χώρους που τόσο αγάπησα.

"Τα Εσπέρια" του Αλέξανδρου Μπάρα (1906-1990)

Βράδυ.
Ελαιώδη τα νερά του προλιμένος,
βαριά, σαν υδραργυρικά, με κάτι
κυανά σαξωνικά, με κάτι ιώδεις
αποχρώσεις, κάτι θαμπούς
μεταλλισμούς κι αποχαυνώσεις ρόδινες…

Ναι, κάτι τέτοιες
ευδαιμονικές βραδιές,
ανώδυνες,
περιπλανώμενες βραδιές
μέσα στα θέρη,
διστακτικές να σβήσουν,
διστακτικές να καταλύσουν
την ονειροκρατία προς δυσμάς
μετά το πέσιμο του ήλιου,
— ενώ μια θεία μεσοβασιλεία
χωρίζει πια το φως που μας δυνάστευε
απ’ την ερχόμενη του σκότους μοναρχία
ναι, κάτι τέτοιες βραδιές,

στα ελαιώδη νερά του προλιμένος,
μετακινείται κύκνεια
ένα μεγάλο πλοίο,
μετακινείται παίρνοντας
κατεύθυνση προς τ’ ανοιχτά,
μ’ εκείνο το περιφρονητικό του μεγαλείο
των μακρινών αναχωρήσεων…

— Κι ίσως δεν είναι πλοίο,
ίσως είναι το παν που φεύγει,
όλα που φεύγουν — Όλα.

"William Trubridge - Freediver". A video from the Avant/Guard Diaries

William Trubridge - Freediver from The Avant/Garde Diaries on Vimeo.

"Das Eckhaus" Revisited. The real story.

In 2008, I wrote in my blog about a house. A house that once stood in a certain corner in the old city of Dresden. A house that was painted by the great expressionist painter Ludwig Meidner in 1913. The painting was called "Das Eckhaus" or "The House in the Corner". I became fascinated by this beautiful and evocative painting of a villa that was no more. I learned that it had a name. It was once called Villa Kochmann and it was totally destroyed in the allied carpet bombings of February 1945 that left Dresden a city only in name. 

I wondered who lived in this house. Who were the Kochmanns? At the time there was little information and I decided to fill in the gaps based on my own imagination. One day, I was surprised and moved to find a comment in my blog by Joan who was the great niece of Franz Kochmann, the once owner of das Eckhaus. She had stumbled by chance upon my blog, saw the painting and decided to provide some more information about her great uncle that lived in this very house. The villa Kochmann suddenly seemed to be coming to life. Five years later, I was contacted by L. David Tomei and based on his personal research, I can now start to piece together the life of the owner of the house in the painting. 


Franz Kochmann
 - Copyright L. David Tomei
and the Kochman family

Franz Kochmann was born on 12 September 1873. From what we know, prior to World War I, he was a well known and respected citizen of Dresden. But he was in fact a lot more than that. From a very young age he became passionate about a new magical science that was also an art and a practice. It involved creating durable images by recording light and it was simply called photography. Kochmann possessed the vision coupled with the technical ability to make this vision real. He decided to improve, design and produce photographic cameras based on his ideas and patents. In 1921, he founded the Franz Kochmann Fabrik where a number of fine cameras were produced for the professional and advanced amateur markets. Among the most notable were the Enolde and Korelle model series. Perhaps the finest were the Reflex-Korelle models first introduced in 1935. They proved to be one of the most important cameras of the 1930's. 

Herr Franz Kochmann, the successful entrepreneur, eventually became the wealthy industrialist who could afford to live in a villa that was named after him. He could now commission works of art and even become a patron to unknown but talented painters such as Ludwig Meidner or Oscar Kokoschka. There is evidence that in the villa Kochmann in Dresden one could see many important works of art hanging on the walls such as the black ink over graphite drawing "The Bar" signed by Ludwig Meidner or the "Double Portrait of Trudl" by Oskar Kokoschka to name but a few. And of course somewhere in the living room, maybe close to the imposing fireplace, or was it in the library, the Kochmanns had hung Meidner's "Das Eckhaus". A painting found in a house, depicting the very same house that contained the painting.     

But the dawn of one of the darkest hours of humanity was breaking. The rise of the Nazis to power changed the status of the Kochmann family overnight. Herr Franz Kochmann was targeted by the Nazi regime and became Franz "Israel" Kochmann (men were forced to add the name "Israel" and women "Sarah" so that they would be easily recognized as Jews). His company was taken away from him by force and nationalized. It is not clear precisely when he finally departed the family home in Dresden though late 1938 would appear to be accurate. He was refused a request to emigrate but was given permission to move to Utrecht which was at the time under Nazi control. He appears in the records (die Rijksinspectie van de Bevolkkingsregisters) as having registered in Utrecht on 26 March 1942. Such a registration was required of Jews who arrived in Holland at the time. 

The Kochmann art collection was seen to be comprised of mostly decadent art when the Nazis entered the villa. The greatest part of it was confiscated immediately and never returned to the family.

Following World War II, Herr Kochmann got a job with the Dutch camera company Vena and contributed to the design of several successful cameras such as the Venaret. These cameras were simple and inexpensive and did not come near the quality of his earlier designs produced at his own Dresden "Fabrik". 

Franz Kochmann's life came to its tragic end on 25 June 1956 when he was struck by a car in Utrecht. His wife, Clare Cleve Sprotte Kochmann died on 15 April 1971 at the age of 96.

So, here I am looking at the Meidner painting once again and it's late afternoon. It's just oil on canvas one can say, but then it's also so much more. It was a house, it was a family, it was a life and a history that should not be forgotten. 

My thanks to Joan and L. David Tomei.

You can visit David's vintage camera site right here

"Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day" by Delmore Schwartz (1913-1966)

Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day

Calmly we walk through this April's day,

Metropolitan poetry here and there,

In the park sit pauper and rentier,

The screaming children, the motor-car

Fugitive about us, running away,

Between the worker and the millionaire

Number provides all distances,

It is Nineteen Thirty-Seven now,

Many great dears are taken away,

What will become of you and me

(This is the school in which we learn...)

Besides the photo and the memory?

(...that time is the fire in which we burn.)

(This is the school in which we learn...)

What is the self amid this blaze?

What am I now that I was then

Which I shall suffer and act again,

The theodicy I wrote in my high school days

Restored all life from infancy,

The children shouting are bright as they run

(This is the school in which they learn . . .)

Ravished entirely in their passing play!

(...that time is the fire in which they burn.)

 

Avid its rush, that reeling blaze!

Where is my father and Eleanor?

Not where are they now, dead seven years,

But what they were then?

No more? No more?

From Nineteen-Fourteen to the present day,

Bert Spira and Rhoda consume, consume

Not where they are now (where are they now?)

But what they were then, both beautiful;

Each minute bursts in the burning room,

The great globe reels in the solar fire,

Spinning the trivial and unique away.

(How all things flash! How all things flare!)

What am I now that I was then?

May memory restore again and again

The smallest color of the smallest day:

Time is the school in which we learn,

Time is the fire in which we burn.

"A Monster Calls" A novel by Patrick Ness (with illustrations by Jim Kay)

When the monster called after midnight it was completely unexpected. As unexpected in fact as the appearance of this extraordinary children's novel by Patrick Ness on the bookshelves. Based on an original idea by Siobhan Dowd and with the help of the truly magnificent expressionistic illustrations of Jim Kay, Patrick Ness has managed to create a book that is both frightening and emotionally charged. He adeptly balances different genres of traditional storytelling with difficult subjects and concepts such as childhood, truth, dealing with serious sickness and loss, pain, guilt, confronting and eventually overcoming your worst nightmares and fears by finally finding that inner strength which makes the difference in times of trouble and adversity. 

This is a powerful and exceptional book that will equally touch children and adults. When you read it as an adult, you re-establish the connection with that atrophied part of yourself, that lost forgotten time when you were a child and the world was very much defined by the power of your imagination. It re-awakens memories that made you stay up at night when all the grown-ups were fast asleep. Memories that had to do with your struggle to understand the adult world that you found yourself in. A world that was so unimaginatively lucid when compared with the world that you knew and understood. That was the time when your antennas were still up there receiving and transmitting below all grown-up frequencies. They had not yet been brought down to be "serviced and adjusted" by adult considerations according to society's norms.

The beautifully haunting graphic work of Jim Kay contributes a lot in giving an almost definitive gothic visual appearance to the written word, pulling you into the dark recesses of Conor's mind. These images are almost archetypes that will not be forgotten after you close the book. They existed in the past and they will continue to exist. The Monster is a pagan giant, a wicker man stuffed with the sum of all your fears and the darkness that you refuse to confront. His roots and his branches will tangle your soul and will not let you put this book down. I challenge you to try...

Listen to:

Electric President - Monsters