For Song Saturday today, a Greek song by singer/songwriter Dionyssis Savvopoulos, called “I Saw Anna Sometime Ago”.
I Saw Anna Sometime Ago
Quite unexpectedly, I saw my childhood friend Standing and looking at me. In her eyes, there were Broken statues, lost cities, Sunken ships in the deep.
Noon was hot, The blind was lowered, And the staircase in the light-well. The footsteps on the staircase Fade away and then nobody’s there. We’ll wander alone, Through seas, cities, Through deserted train stations.
All changes here, with a rush, How can we poor humans Understand it all?
Tell me, do you know who I’m talking about? Anna is her name. I see her descending, Hesitating at the last step, And then is forever lost In the madding crowd. Lai, la, la, la…
Είδα την Άννα Κάποτε
Την παιδική μου φίλη Την είδα ξαφνικά Να στέκει και να με κοιτά. Αγάλματα κομμάτια Στα μάτια της τα δυο, Λησμονημένες πόλεις Ναυάγια στο βυθό.
Ζεστό το μεσημέρι Το στόρι χαμηλό Κι η σκάλα στο φωταγωγό. Σβήνουν τα βήματα στη σκάλα – κανείς. Θα πλανηθούμε μοναχοί, Θάλασσες, πόλεις, έρημοι σταθμοί. Αλλάζουν όλα εδώ κάτω με ορμή Τι να καταλάβουμε οι φτωχοί, Τι να καταλάβουμε οι φτωχοί…
Για πες μου μήπως ξέρεις, Γι αυτήν που σου μιλώ, Άννα τ’ όνομα της το μικρό. Την βλέπω κατεβαίνει Στέκεται στο σκαλί, Και χάνεται για πάντα Στου κόσμου τη βουή. Λα λα λα λα λα…
“Don't brood on what's past, but never forget it either.” - Thomas H. Raddall
This day was no less busy than yesterday, but a pleasant interlude was lunch in one of Melbourne’s oldest and greatest institutions, the Athenaeum Club. The “club” is an essentially English institution, based on an exclusive and rather protective coterie, whose membership was originally reserved for gentlemen. Clubs were created with ideas of common law, private property, independence of the subject and the social position of gentlemen, in mind. Being a social club and its values decidedly conservative, these institutes cultivate among its members a mutual understanding of what it means to be a gentleman - code of honour, dress, conduct, speech and good taste. In order to preserve the exclusive nature of the club, membership admission is contingent on an invitation from an already established member.
The first gentlemen’s clubs were established in the 18th century London, where friends gathered to read newspapers, gossip, discuss politics and play board games. Amidst rich comfort, these clubs offered their members an intimate venue where friendships could be formed and maintained in comfortable café like surroundings. From officers to politicians to merchants, the next generation of clubs attracted members from a wide spectrum of social standing. This progress reflected a broader social change; a widening of the middle classes in England. In Australia, clubs were established in all states, with Sydney (1838) and Melbourne (1839) leading the way.
Clubs are still alive and well in Britain and its once upon a time colonies and remain to this day a stalwart tradition, a conservative and rather nostalgic dinosaurian preserved under glass, but nevertheless an oasis of quietude and stability to all generations; almost like a second home to their members.
The Athenaeum Club of Collins Street was established in 1868, and remains one of Australia’s oldest and finest clubs. The Club is housed in a magnificent Victorian building, beautifully renovated and decorated, a perfect showpiece for its heritage and traditions. There are reading rooms, games rooms with billiards and snooker, a gym and luxurious accommodation. One of the worthiest offerings of the establishment is the feature of several distinctive bars and restaurants where one may enjoy a leisurely drink or fine food. The Club has a diverse programme of social, sporting and cultural functions for the entertainment and edification of its Members. The Athenaeum’s location, service, facilities and first-class dining support its well-deserved international reputation.
We entered the club (and of course there is a strict dress code with gentlemen needing to be attired in jackets and ties) and we were directed upstairs by the reception staff. The surroundings were elegant and restrained, the paintings beautifully displayed, the furniture and decoration opulent yet tasteful. Open fireplaces with cheery fires burning were most welcoming on this Melbourne winter’s day. We had a drink at the bar and then went down to lunch.
The dining room was resplendent in it s elegant simplicity and the staff courteous and discreet. We were pleased with the menu that offered a beautiful selection of food classic in its aspirations and yet not pretentious in its extent or its scope. At our table we chose King George whiting fillets battered and fried served with salad, blue eye fillet grilled and served with a salad, roast chicken on a bed of roast vegetables, black pudding with vegetables. It was accompanied by two bottles of excellent wine. The purpose of the lunch was of course a business discussion, convivial enough but also quite purposeful and which achieved much. All gentlemen present comported themselves with great aplomb and enjoyed a most civilised way to conduct what could otherwise have been a rather ordinary and rushed discussion.
Clubs may be a vestige of a vanishing species. One may accuse them of snobbery and an old-wordliness quite out of place in the fast moving and technologically challenging 21st century (did I mention that mobile phone use is barred from the public spaces of the Club?). One may view these institutions in Australia as a peculiarly outmoded remnant of British colonialism, however, I think that they represent a wonderfully rich heritage and tradition, and they are a rich, living, historical establishment.
Today was a very busy day at work with several important meetings and some interstate visitors. On days like today, time passes very quickly and although I get to do much, there are so many routine tasks left undone as there are so many other things out of the ordinary that take their place. As I was invited to a formal early dinner this evening I had to wear a dinner suit, so here for word Thursday, are some interesting words (especially etymologically speaking!) relating to men’s attire:
cummerbund |ˈkəmərˌbənd|noun a sash worn around the waist, esp. as part of a man's evening clothes. ORIGIN early 17th cent: from Urdu and Persian kamar-band, from kamar ‘waist, loins’ and -bandi ‘band.’ The sash was formerly worn in the Indian subcontinent by domestic workers and low-status office workers.
tuxedo |təkˈsēdō| noun ( pl. -dos or -does) a man's dinner jacket. • a suit of formal evening clothes including such a jacket. DERIVATIVES tuxedoed adjective ORIGIN late 19th cent: from Tuxedo Park, the site of a country club in New York, where it was first worn.
cravat |krəˈvat| noun a short, wide strip of fabric worn by men around the neck and tucked inside an open-necked shirt. • a necktie. DERIVATIVES cravatted |krəˈvødəd| adjective ORIGIN mid 17th cent.: from French cravate, from Cravate ‘Croat’ (from German Krabat, from Serbo-Croat Hrvat), because of the scarf worn by Croatian mercenaries in France.
piqué |pēˈkā| noun stiff fabric, typically cotton, woven in a strongly ribbed or raised pattern. ORIGIN mid 19th cent: from French, literally ‘backstitched,’ past participle of piquer.
Pique front A pique front shirt is a man's formal shirt normally worn with a white tie. It usually has a wing collar and a strip down the front of the shirt that is topped with a section of pique weaved cotton: a tight weave with small, interlocking strips of cotton. Normally, the strip of pique weaved cotton is wide enough to cover the chest and stomach, so that when the shirt is worn with a vest, only the pique section appears.
“If Being Left Handed Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right!” – Anonymous
August 13th is International Left-Handers’ Day. This was an initiative of the Left-Handers’ Club which was formed in 1990 aiming to keep its members in touch with the left-handers’ world, make their views known to manufacturers and others, provide a help and advice line, to promote research into left-handedness and development of new left-handed items. Since its formation the Club has gone from strength to strength with members all over the world and is highly regarded as the foremost pressure group and advice centre on all aspects of left-handedness. On 13th August 1992 the Club launched International Left-Handers Day, an annual event when left-handers everywhere can celebrate their sinistrality and increase public awareness of the advantages and disadvantages of being left-handed.
This event is now celebrated worldwide, and many events are organised to mark the day including left-v-right sports matches, a left-handed tea party, pubs using left-handed corkscrews where patrons drank and played pub games with the left hand only, and nationwide "Lefty Zones" where left-handers’ creativity, adaptability and sporting prowess were celebrated, whilst right-handers were encouraged to try out everyday left-handed objects to see just how awkward it can feel using the wrong equipment! These events have contributed more than anything else to the general awareness of the difficulties and frustrations left-handers experience in everyday life, and have successfully led to improved product design and greater consideration of our needs by the right-handed majority - although there is still a long way to go!
If you are left-handed then you are in very good company. Throughout history left-handers have excelled as leaders, sportsmen, artists, musicians and in many other fields. For example, here are a few famous lefties: Leonardo, Michelangelo, Rubens, Dufy, Escher, Fred Astaire, Pierce Brosnan, Robert De Niro, Rock Hudson, Faye Dunaway, Demi Moore, Oprah Winfrey, Lewis Carroll, James Michener, Mark Twain, Franz Kafka, HG Wells, Drew Carey, Harpo Marx, Jean-Paul Gaultier, CPE Bach, Enrico Caruso, David Bowie, Celine Dion, Bob Dylan, Natalie Cole, Annie Lennox, Cole Porter, Paul Simon, Tiny Tim, Uri Geller, Goethe, Tim Allen, Jeremy Beadle, Winton Marsalis, George Michael, Niccolo Paganini, Mozart, Rachmaninoff, Sting, Schumann, Ravel, Beethoven, Glenn Gould, etc, etc…
The left hemisphere of the brain where the RIGHT hand receives its instructions controls Speech, Language, Writing, Logic, Mathematics, Science - this is the linear thinking mode. The right hemisphere giving instructions to the LEFT hand, controls Music, Art, Creativity, Perception, Emotions, Genius, this is the holistic thinking mode. So I guess you can say left-handed people are in their right mind!
No-one has come up with a definitive reason for WHY some people are left-handed, but about 13% of the population around the world are, and it is thought to be genetic - it definitely runs in families. Researchers have recently located a gene they believe "makes it possible to have a left-handed child " so if you have that gene, one or more of your children may be left-handed, whereas without it, you will only have right-handers. Stuttering and dyslexia occur more often in left-handers (particularly if they are forced to change their writing hand as a child, like King of England George VI).
So in honour of the oft forgotten and maligned brethren of the left handed persuasion, I have composed this little ditty especially for today!
Ode to the Left Handed
Oh, much maligned appendage, Dubbed of unkind aspect, sinister. Amongst all of the limbs assemblage, The one that’s said to be the evil minister.
Oh, you dejected and despiséd member, You are in so many of our species dominant! But always we should all remember, In such people there is talent prominent.
Left handers are in their mind so right, And even if they are sinistrally inclined, Sinister not, and much is their might; (Even if non-dexterity is so maligned).
Rejoice you band of molly-dookers, Today is your day of celebration; Fire up your nifty left-hand cookers And concoct a cake of sinistral elation.
Enjoy your own peculiar modality, Display without fear your laterality. Left handedness is to be lauded, fêted, Your gift from providence no longer hated.
However, it’s not all art and creativity, fun and games being left-handed - right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people…
“Age does not protect you from love, but love to some extent protects you from age.” - Jeanne Moreau
Today is the United Nations International Youth Day. The General Assembly on 17 December 1999 in its resolution 54/120, endorsed the recommendation made by the World Conference of Ministers Responsible for Youth (Lisbon, 8-12 August 1998) that 12th August be declared International Youth Day. The Assembly recommended that public information activities be organised to support the Day as a way to promote better awareness of the World Programme of Action for Youth to the Year 2000 and Beyond, adopted by the General Assembly in 1995 (resolution 50/81). International Youth Day gives the world an opportunity to recognise the potential of youth, to celebrate their achievements, and plan for ways to better engage young people to successfully take action in the development of their societies. It presents a unique opportunity for all stakeholders to rally together to ensure that young people are included in decision-making at all levels.
This year, Youth Day is devoted to the theme: “Youth and Climate Change – Time for Action”. A major focus of the Day is practical action to further encourage the empowerment and participation of youth in the processes and decisions that affect their lives. The media have especially important role to play in support of the observance of the Day to promote public awareness of youth issues.
The deterioration of the natural environment is one of the principal concerns of young people worldwide as it has direct implications for their well-being for both now and in the future. The natural environment must be maintained and preserved for both present and future generations. The causes of environmental degradation must be addressed. The environmentally friendly use of natural resources and environmentally sustainable economic growth will improve human life. Sustainable development has become a key element in the programmes of youth organisations throughout the world. While every segment of society is responsible for maintaining the environmental integrity of the community, young people have a special interest in maintaining a healthy environment because they will be the ones to inherit it.
Youth symbolises vitality and good health. It comes with energy and vigour and transcends all nationalities and borders while uniting young members of the world’s society in a single bond. International Youth Day is the perfect tribute to the contributions youth make to improve health in the developing world and health of the environment. Healthy people living in a healthy environment is something we all must aim towards.
“A star on a movie set is like a time bomb. That bomb has got to be defused so people can approach it without fear.” - Jack Nicholson
At the weekend we watched Agnès Jaoui’s 2004 film “Comme une Image” (“Like a Picture”, or to give it its English title: “Look at Me”). The film was co-written by the talented Ms Jaoui, who also has one of the lead roles in this interesting French film. One of the other leads Jean-Pierre Bacri is her co-writer and the tension in the film is maintained admirably by these two actors, even though it is very much an ensemble piece and a complex character study. The film received a prize for its script in the Cannes film festival.
Bacri plays the villain in this film, an utterly detestable and egotistical man, Monsieur Cassard, who is a famous and successful novelist and publisher. Cassard has a daughter from a previous marriage, the 20-year-old Lolita (Marilou Berry), who is a plump woman with a good voice. Lolita has tried to become an actress (unsuccessfully) and is now taking singing lessons, wishing to become a classical singer. To this end she is helped by Sylvia, a singing teacher (played by Jaoui), who is married to an up-and-coming but insecure writer, Pierre. The other player in the drama is Cassard’s young new wife, the slim and attractive Karine, who loves him and has given him a young daughter.
The film is essentially the story about the seriously flawed father-daughter relationship between Cassard and Lolita, with various sub-themes, all relating to Cassard’s interaction with others in his circle, and his poisonous, malign influence on everyone he interacts with. Pierre, who approaches him through the efforts of Sylvia (via Lolita), becomes rotten too. As the world seems to be falling around Lolita (who thinks she is being used by all as a means to get to her father – including her boyfriend), she meets a young man, Sébastien, who seems to be the only innocent and pure person in the film, someone not motivated by selfishness, and without a secret agenda.
The film has gentle humour, drama, much witty conversation, and situations that make the viewer feel uncomfortable, moved, irritated, sympathetic, tense, perplexed all in quick succession. The themes explored include family relationships, body image, trust, egotism, discrimination, assertiveness and of course, love. An enjoyable movie, although a little on the cerebral side…
“All your dreams can come true if you have the courage to pursue them.” – Walt Disney
A single painting for Art Sunday, today. It is by Australian artist, Doug Sealy. He was born in 1937 in the Australian outback town of West Wyalong in central New South Wales. He recounts how he always wanted to become an artist, something he realised from a very early age. As he was growing up he didn’t know how to make his dream come true. While his father was away at war, he discussed it with his mother but art was not on the curriculum for boys in New South Wales at that time. There were no art classes available and even artists’ paints were not for sale in his town. He used to walk an extra mile on top of the six he had to walk to school in order to admire some paintings in hotel verandahs, but he felt that it was worth it.
Over the next 12 years, he picked up bits and pieces of information from correspondence courses and tried to produce pictures himself. He then had the good luck to meet established artist Reg Campbell who was exhibiting some of his paintings in a Department Store in the nearby regional centre of Forbes. The exhibition was a dream come true of young Sealy and he began an acquaintance with Campbell, which was to become that of Master and Student and finally that of a 33-year friendship.
Sealy has held many successful exhibitions and has been teacher, judge and art critic. He has won many awards, many of his paintings hang in renowned museums, as well as in private and corporate collections.
This is a very Australian painting in the tradition of the 19th century impressionists of the Australian Heidelberg School. It is called “High Country Gums, Razorback, Sofala” and is 66 by 91 cm.
“Peace is not a passive but an active condition, not a negation but an affirmation.” - Mary Roberts Rinehart
The world has its eyes turned toward Beijing, watching the brilliant displays of pyrotechnics from the Olympic Stadium. A magnificent spectacle, an ancient civilisation showcased, thousands of people giving their all to present to the world a culture and a power worthy of any of the great empires that have been and gone on earth. A cavalcade of the Olympic ideals of noble competition, peace, culture and humanity at its best. The bright lights, the spectacular dancing, the songs, the fireworks, the wild shouting of the bewitched crowds all so infectious. The wild exhilaration draws attention away from the world’s problems. People are willing once again to rush towards circuses and bread in an attempt to forget…
The huge expanse of the Square of Heavenly Peace – are there any traces of blood still remaining on the pavement or have the shuffling feet of the dancing multitudes expunged every trace? The gaols of the regimes that have been – how many people were tortured, killed, forever vanished as though they never existed? Further to the West, Tibet an open wound… Georgia and Russia have their own games to play as soldiers ignite their deadly versions of fireworks. The Middle East with its incessant suicide bombings, the maimed and injured mingling with the dead. Africa and its painful sores, where internecine warfare robs its lifeblood, ill-afforded waste as deadly disease is a more powerful enemy. Shaky world economies and uncertain futures as global climate change threatens a whole planet, are all forgotten as we enjoy the show that cost $8,500 per second!
Folly of follies, as steroid-enhanced athletes break records as if they were crystal goblets. Madness, as people are carried away by the nationalistic pride that swells as gold medals are claimed. Gross stupidity as overweight couch potatoes consume take-away pizza, drink beer and shout encouragement to athletic heroes they vicariously live through. Idiocy of athletes who live a false life chasing elusive fame and fortune in the stadium, the swimming pool the track. Empty heads and beautiful, well-trained bodies living the life of easy pleasure and drinking the heady wine of success…
Oh, if only each of us had what we each lacked!
Here is François Villon’s Prayer as set to music by Bulat Okudzhava and sung by Zhanna Bichevskaya.
The Prayer of François Villon
While the world is still turning, and while daylight is still broad, Oh Lord, please give everyone what they lack. Give the timid man a horse to ride, give the wise one a full head, Give the fortunate one some money, and don't forget about me.
While the world is still turning, Lord, You are omnipotent, Let those striving for power, wield it to their heart's content. Give a break to the generous, at least for a day or two, Pray, give Cain repentance, and remember me too.
I know You are almighty, and I believe You are wise; Like a soldier killed in a battle believes he's in paradise. Like every creature believes, oh, my Lord, in You, Like we believe, doing something, not knowing what we do.
Oh Lord, oh my sweet Lord, my blue-eyed Lord, You're good! While the world is still turning, wondering, why it should, While it has got sufficient fire and time, as You see, Give to each a little something and don’t forget about me!
"The ambition of every good cook must be to make something very good with the fewest possible ingredients." - Urbain Dubois
Do you ever get the days when you feel like having a nice meal, you couldn’t be bothered going to a restaurant, you dislike fast food that you get at the take-away places of phone for and yet you don’t have the energy or inclination to cook a meal from scratch? We do, and it is those days that “Cheaters’ Cuisine” comes to the rescue. I call “Cheaters’ Cuisine” the kind of food that looks and tastes as though you’ve spent ages cooking it, yet it is very simple to prepare, provided you cheat a little and you buy some ingredients ready cooked, processed or packaged. Here is a winter warmer, perfect for the weekend…
CHEATER’S CHICKEN CASSEROLE
• 1 supermarket roast chicken (with stuffing)
• 1 can of mushroom pieces in butter sauce
• 1 small can of corn kernels (optional)
• 1 sachet of French onion soup
• 350 mL of cream
• Chopped rosemary, thyme
• Ground nutmeg, mace
• Pepper and salt to taste
Let the chicken cool and remove the skin and bones. Take the meat and chop it in small bite-sized pieces in a casserole pot, shredding the stuffing over the meat. Add the mushrooms, corn (if you like it – I’m not very partial to it) and the cream. Dissolve the soup in some water and add it to the casserole. Season with the herbs, spices, salt and pepper. Stir well, cover the casserole and bake in a preheated oven at 180-200˚C for ≈30-45 minutes until well cooked.
Serve over boiled rice, cous cous or polenta. Sure it’s not lo-cal, but it’s winter and we need the energy! Have a great weekend!
“Travel makes a wise man better, and a fool worse.” - Thomas Fuller
I am in Adelaide, South Australia today for work and it has been a good day full of negotiations, meetings and discussions, which all went well. Travelling for work can leave one a little drained, but I enjoy the fast pace and as I am a good flier and pack light, travel is quite satisfying for me. It pays to be organised and make every little bit of time count. One can then enjoy the business part of the trip and have some time available for some shopping, sightseeing or other personal time.
I always enjoy my trips to Adelaide as it is a gracious city, well planned and of a slightly slower pace than Melbourne or Brisbane. One of the great things about Adelaide is that the CBD is completely ringed by parks and gardens, effectively separating the centre of the city from the suburbs. There are wonderful 19th century public buildings and there are several beautiful beaches and sea-side suburbs, such as Glenelg, with a lively cosmopolitan feel to them. The suburbs are also attractive with the signature stone houses surrounded by gardens on tree-lined streets.
A delightful area is by the river where there are numerous parks and gardens as well as the Adelaide Performing Arts Centre. Adelaide is sometimes described as the City of Churches, but one does not often see this nowadays except in travel articles where the journalist writing it has used “Adelaide” too many times in the same paragraph…
“It's time to renew our commitment to the world around us.” - Christopher Dodd
Well, I’m back with a new logic board and replaced firmware that had somehow got fried in my computer. This is the first serious hardware malfunction that I have had with my computer and considering it’s over 30 years that I have been using computers, I am considering myself very lucky. The other piece of luck was that the data on my hard disk had not been affected in the least, so it’s back to business, as usual. The need to constantly back-up data on one’s computer was highlighted by this little episode and I was thinking of whether I had lost the previous three weeks or so of work on it. I think from now on, a regular back-up is in order.
Poetry Wednesday today is dedicated to new starts, renewals and regeneration. It was a glorious Spring day here in Melbourne, a promise of the season well ahead and a sunny reaffirmation of September’s approach, even if rain and cold is promised for tomorrow and the day after.
Renewal
Even if Winter’s cold will burn the blades of grass, The roots beneath the soil abide their time, Their sleeping juices waiting for the call of Spring. Grief and black melancholy may overtake us, But if the heart still beats strong, there’s hope And life will ease the sorrow.
Even if flesh is cut and blood is lost, The living force within the tissue swells, It heals, it scars, regenerates the damaged parts. The cheap betrayals, all the petty squabbles, Will wash over a generous soul that still believes In human goodness, kindness, love.
Even if leafless twigs look dead, covered in snow, The swelling buds throng with hidden, green energy And the promised flowers await the beckoning of longer days. Separation, long silences, lost intimacies and misunderstandings Will all evaporate, as the renewed bonds are forged, Now stronger than before.
A painting by James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834-1903) today: “Portrait of the Artist's Mother Arrangement in Grey and Black” 1871 - Musee d'Orsay, Paris (144.3 x 162.4 cm).
James Abbot McNeill Whistler was born in America, yet he spent much of his life abroad. Early years were spent in Russia and then in London, only moving back to America with his family out of necessity when his father died of cholera. While a child in Russia, Whistler had attended drawing classes, but it wasn't until 1855 after dropping out of West Point Military Academy that he embarked on an artistic career. He moved back to Europe from America, settling in Paris.
This was the beginning of a lifetime commitment to art. He quickly made his presence felt due to his flamboyant, eccentric ways. He would go about Paris wearing a straw hat, a white suit, highly polished black patent leather shoes and a monocle. Whistler first achieved critical and commercial success as an etcher, producing meticulously drawn prints of working-class life in rural France and London. His earliest important oil paintings evidence Courbet's influence, featuring the commonplace subjects and vigorous brushwork characteristic of the older artist's work.
Whistler's art changed dramatically in the 1860s. Influenced by Greek sculpture, Asian porcelain, and Japanese prints, he rejected the idea that the success of an art object could be measured by its accuracy as a representation or the effectiveness with which it told a story or suggested a moral. Instead, he became convinced that an art object was best understood as an autonomous creation to be valued only for the success with which it organized color and line into a formally satisfying and therefore beautiful whole. Abandoning the idea that paintings should create the illusion of pictorial depth, he developed the flatter, more purely decorative style for which he is best known.
In 1863 Whistler's mother moved to England to be with her son. In 1871 his style moved towards greater simplicity when he painted “Arrangement in Grey and Black: Portrait of the Painter's Mother”. The figure sits in profile on a light background. The horizontal lines of the skirting boards are what holds the elements in place. The only decoration seen in the light dabs of paint defining a pattern on the curtain. The great expanses of black and grey make this portrait an extremely formal one, something re-enforced by the stiff pose of the sitter. The portrait perhaps hints at the relationship Whistler had with his mother. He paints a woman who gazes straight ahead and who sits stiffly and inflexibly. Her face still has vestiges of beauty, although her age has tempered perhaps her once joyful mien. Her son was a roué and his life of pleasure and wastrel ways could hardly find approval with this woman, one would think. Whistler paints a conservative, cold portrait of a woman he perhaps respects more than he loves…
“The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life.” - Richard Bach
My Very Own Strangers My very own strangers, the most distant ones, Are those who live with me. I look at them, I touch them, I speak to them, I open my heart to them. But each one travels alone, In his own unknown soul; Each one fights for his life, In his own foreign land. My very own strangers, the most beloved ones… My very own strangers, the most beloved ones…
My very own people live far away, And love from afar. Thus the world grows, but so does the heart, And we remember thus, wherever we may go. But each travels on his own, Searching for his soul mate. And on the pieces of his crystal heart, Carves his own truth. My very own people, my heart’s places… My very own people, my heart’s places…
Οι Δικοί Μου Ξένοι
Οι δικοί μου ξένοι, οι πιο μακρινοί, Είναι αυτοί που ζουν κοντά μου. Τους κοιτάζω, τους αγγίζω, τους μιλώ, Τους ανοίγω την καρδιά μου. Μα καθένας ταξιδεύει μοναχός Μες στην άγνωστη ψυχή του Ο καθένας στη δική του ξενιτιά Πολεμάει για τη ζωή του. Οι δικοί μου ξένοι, είναι οι αγαπημένοι…
Οι δικοί μου ανθρώποι ζούνε μακριά, Κι από μακριά αγαπάνε. Κι έτσι μεγαλώνει ο κόσμος κι η καρδιά, Και θυμόμαστε όπου πάμε. Μα ο καθένας ταξιδεύει μοναχός, Κι αδελφή ψυχή γυρεύει. Και στα κρύσταλλα κομμάτια της καρδιάς Την αλήθεια του λαξεύει. Οι δικοί μου ανθρώποι της καρδιάς μου οι τόποι, Οι δικοί μου ανθρώποι της καρδιάς μου οι τόποι.
“Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go by any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald
“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.” - Charles Dickens
Merry Christmas! Yes, it’s Christmas in July in Australia. It is a typically Australasian tradition and it is being celebrated increasingly “as a bit of fun”. The beginnings of the tradition are sometimes attributed to an Irish tourist group that enjoyed the winter snow in Sydney's Blue Mountains and decided to party. However, the precise beginnings of Christmas in July is not known, nor does it need to be, as it is a simple idea that has been enjoyed by many here who remember the northern hemisphere's snow blanketed Christmas.
Australians too love a traditional Christmas dinner, however, the typical midsummer heat here on Christmas Day, means that many families are forced to focus on a BBQ by the beach, salads and ice cream cake, because it is just too hot to get enthusiastic about a traditional big roast, ham, turkey and pudding. So over the years many Australian families and organisations have opted to have an addition Christmas dinner in July, in the middle of winter when it's nice and cool and great for tucking in to a sumptuous big feast. A Christmas in July dinner usually includes Christmas decorations Christmas candles, colourful streamers, bonbons, Christmas hats and whistles.
This Christmas in July tradition is so well entrenched in Australia now, that most restaurants, clubs and dining halls, have an official advertised annual catered menu for Christmas in July, and are often booked well in advance. It's always a great excuse for work teams to get together and party, and at a time when they don't have to battle to reserve a table and pay premium prices.
It is in the Australian snowfields that Christmas in July traditions are really celebrated. July is the peak season for the snowfields they all have special events connected with their Christmas in July celebrations. The main Australian snowfields resorts are at Thredbo, Perisher Blue, Mt. Buller, Charlotte Pass, Mt Selwyn, Falls Creek, Hotham, Baw Baw, Mt. Buffalo, Ben Lomond and Corin Forest. Of course all of the young revellers love to build a snowman when they are in the snowfields, Santa skiing on the slopes is a quite a treat and, since everyone that is there, is on holidays, the nights are full of dining and cheer and merriment, so it is a perfect scene for Christmas in July celebrations. Many families make the brief excursion to the Australian snowfields just for the Christmas in July celebrations.
So what better than a Christmas Cake recipe for this Christmas in July Food Friday?
CHRISTMAS BRANDY FRUITCAKE
Ingredients 500g Raisins 500g chopped Pitted Dates 125g Sultanas 125g Currants 200g Glace Cherries 1 Cup Brandy 250g Butter Cut Into Small Pieces 2 Cups Dark Brown Sugar 1 Tablespoon Vanilla Essence 4 X 60g Eggs 200g Dark Chocolate 1 Cup Plum Jam 2 Cups Plain Flour 1⁄2 Cup Self Raising Flour 1 Tablespoon Cinnamon
Method Mix the dried fruit in a bowl and add the brandy, leaving it marinate for 1-2 hours. Line a 23 cm deep round cake tin (or 2 x 18cm tins) with a double layer of baking paper on sides and base. Wrap outside of tin with a double thickness of brown paper and tie with string or secure join with a paper clip. Heat oven to 160°C.
Beat the butter and sugar, until creamy. Add the vanilla and then the eggs one by one, beating well. Add to the fruit and mix well. Melt chocolate in a small saucepan over simmering water, or in the microwave for about 60 seconds, and then stir in the plum jam and pour over the fruit. Fold in the flour and cinnamon, and pour the cake mixture into the prepared tin. Smooth off the top and shake the pan to settle contents and remove air pockets. Bake for 2 1⁄2 - 3 hours (2-2 1/4 hours for smaller cakes) until a skewer test comes out clean. Remove from the oven, leave in the tin, wrap in tea towels and rest overnight before serving. Preparation Time: 30 minutes (plus marination) - Cooking Time: 2-3 hours
“I don't believe in astrology; I'm a Sagittarius and we're skeptical.” - Arthur C. Clarke
Astrology is a controversial subject. Most people will not readily admit that they believe in astrology, but nearly everybody will cast a glance at their horoscope in the newspaper. Astrology has its firm adherents, also, and many a scholarly treatise has been written on its merits, its scientific basis and on the numerous way in which the planets and stars influence our lives. There are many astrologers that earn hundreds of thousands of dollars and their clients include the rich and famous. In some countries, astrologers are consulted before marriages, before beginning new business ventures and before any important decision is made. Today, the heavens shift and the sun moves into the royal house of Leo, the Lion.
LEO THE LION: July 24th - August 23rd. Ruled by the Sun. A fixed, masculine, positive, fire sign. Polar or opposite sign is Aquarius. Fixed Star: Regulus.
The Leonian may be summarised with the verb: “I create”.
These individuals are the kings and queens, they act part of the lawgiver but often they may be represented as the divine child. A Leonian quote: “When I walk out, I am a great event. I do not have to think or even rehearse.” Sylvia Plath.
The Sun in Leo marks one who has a strong will and great ambition. These people usually enjoy being the center of attention and desire others to think well of them. Their creative accomplishments generally put them in the spotlight, usually outshining co-workers who may become jealous of their proud attitude. Leonians are more concerned with the “big picture” than with the numerous small details in life. As such, they tend to enjoy being in authority and using whatever means are available to achieve their desires. Tact should be developed when dealing with those the Leonian finds “inferior”.
The Leonian is clever, artistic and creative, often succeeding in the entertainment industry. Many a successful actor, dancer and entertainer is a Leo. As the Leonian is cheerful, good-natured, enthusiastic, optimistic and so good at organising things, he is often a company director, publicity manger, media presenter or show business executive. They love organising shows, events, productions and even other people’s lives.
In their personal relationships Leonians can be very unlucky. This is because although superficially very confident or brassy and seldom depressed, they are easily hurt and very sensitive. The Leonian can reach rock bottom and suffer a devastating despondency, which however, will not last long. In fact, the Leo character is never more evident than in adversity and the positive side will shine through. The negative aspects of Leo are snobbery, pomposity, encased in dogma and they can be frustratingly patronising. In most cases the charm and positivity wins. Extrovert a Leonian may be, but inside the bold and brassy exterior there is a loyal heart and a good and generous nature.
The Leonians are generally very successful in their lives and although they can be very generous and liberal with their money, their pocket is always full. Free-spenders they may be but they are rarely without money.
astrology |əˈsträləjē| noun The study of the movements and relative positions of celestial bodies interpreted as having an influence on human affairs and the natural world. Ancient observers of the heavens developed elaborate systems of explanation based on the movements of the sun, moon, and planets through the constellations of the zodiac, for predicting events and for casting horoscopes. By 1700 astrology had lost intellectual credibility in the West, but continued to have popular appeal. Modern astrology is based on that of the Greeks, but other systems are extant, notably those of China and India.
ORIGIN late Middle English: From Old French astrologie, from Latin astrologia, from Greek, from astron ‘star.’ The term (in full natural astrology) originally denoted the practical uses of astronomy, applied in the measurement of time and the prediction of natural phenomena. The current sense (in full judicial astrology, relating to human affairs) dates from the mid 16th century. + From French -logie or medieval Latin -logia, from Greek, denoting a subject of study or interest.
“The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand.” - Frederick L. Knowles
Night
THE SCENE: Deserted streets; Cold lights; Fogged up windscreen. The street cleaners (pity them!) Go hither and thither like wraiths. Neon signs, cheap, inhospitable Advertise dives that stay open the whole night long. The taxi drivers (pity them!) Earn a night’s living – barely awake.
The traffic lights: Green, Amber, red, Amber, green. Quiet streets, Cars parked in rows like gravestones. A thousand dark windows of houses, Inside which loud snores, you think, resound.
The leaves, falling constantly As if of silver, lit by the cruel street light. A thousand leaves, Swept by the wind In waves, huge billows Of silver, dead leaves.
PROTAGONIST: And I. I who drive alone in the frigid night. Betrayed, rejected, forlorn. And I who drive, seemingly, a thousand miles. And I’ve forgotten – some stars that jeer As though embroidered with silver thread on velvet sky, A suitable backdrop to the impersonal high-rise apartment buildings, Each hiding a thousand miseries.
CHORUS: O night, enchantress, You bewitch in your dark veils, Night of a thousand secrets! Dark goddess, obscure peri Who conceals a thousand mysteries. O night, child abductress Beguiler, stealer, who In your cloak’s deep folds corrupts unstoppingly.
Night of a thousand songs, Moonlit and strange, silver-black You give us without pity A thousand flimsy dreams, Only for to reclaim them each dawn As the cock crows…
“Like all great travellers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.” - Benjamin Disraeli
Greetings from Brisbane! I am here for work for a couple of days and as usual the weather has been lovely for this time of the year. It is always pleasant to visit Brisbane between June and September, as it is relatively warm and fine (compared to Melbourne) and while temperatures in Melbourne hover around the 12-13˚C mark, Brisbane enjoys 22-24˚C. However, with the amount of work I had to get through I did not enjoy the great outdoors much…
The picture is part of Brisbane’s Southbank district. Southbank is adjacent to the City and along the Brisbane River. About 17 hectares of riverside recreational parkland within a 125 hectare precinct that lies across the waters of the Brisbane River from the high rises of the central business district, it is a place for visitors and the people of Brisbane alike to sun themselves, shop, dine and enjoy the arts. The best way to reach Southbank from the City is across the Victoria Bridge. Once across, one can see Melbourne Street which is flanked by the Old Museum and Art Gallery on the right and the Old Performing Arts Centre on the left, behind which one can see the curving shell of the Convention and Exhibition Centre.
Most of Southbank spreads off to one’s left, and is reached by the Clem Jones Promenade. Southbank was built on the World Expo 1988 site, and at that time was filled with pavilions and displays from around the world. The pagoda, a symbol of peace, was a gift from Nepal and one of the few things retained when the area was transformed into Southbank. A few steps past it, turning right, a boardwalk takes one through a shaded rainforest section filled with jungle noises and vegetation. A stream gurgles and the greenery refreshes the soul. Beyond this is an amphitheatre-style piazza that hosts regular performances, and at weekends the whole place becomes a market.
Back towards the riverbank, is a beach patrolled by professional life guards. This borders an artificial lagoon surrounded by palm trees and rocks. It is a wonderful site for City dwellers to enjoy a beach-style environment on their doorstep. Adjacent to it is an arbour (picture above), which is a meandering bougainvillea-covered path running the length of Southbank. A kilometre of blazing magenta, it is made of more than 400 slim, curving pillars linked by cables along which the bougainvillea is trained. In the evening it glows with mood lighting.
Numerous restaurants, cafés and bars make Southbank a mecca for the bon viveur and last night I dined in Kapsali restaurant. This was a friendly, Mediterranean restaurant with quite good food and ambience. The waiters were pleasant and the service fast. I had the grilled Barramundi fillet with lemon butter, creamed potato and wok tossed vegetables.
"Artists create out of a sense of desolation. The spirit of creation is a excruciating, intricate exploration from within the soul." – El Greco (Domenikos Theotokopoulos)
We watched the 2007 film “El Greco” at the weekend, by Yannis Smaragdis starring Nick Ashdon, Juan Diego Botto, Laia Marull and Dimitra Matsouka. The film had received some rather controversial reviews and it was interesting to see it and make up our minds about it. Looking at it critically one easily finds fault with it and it can be dismissed as biofiction, which lacks any real depth or true characterisation. On the other hand if one changes one’s perspective, and approaches it without any expectations (and more importantly without prior knowledge of the artist, his work or his times), this film has several saving graces and one can see why it can appeal to a very large number of people.
Firstly, let me put on my tall, silk stovepipe hat of the harsh film critic who is well-versed in the life and times of Domenikos Theotokopoulos, the 16th century artist born in Venetian –occupied Crete, but who through Venice finally made a home for himself in Spain and became one of the most famous and well-regarded artists of all time. Remarkably little is known about he life of El Greco and there a few pieces of documentary evidence that will shed light on his travels and life. The film makes quite a few assumptions and is quite inventive as far as personal details are concerned, so as a biographical work it is closer to fiction than fact. The few indisputable facts about El Greco’s life are surely shown, but around them the tissue of fiction does more to obscure them than to clothe them.
The script is platitudinous to say the least and the two major themes that run through it are freedom (on a national as well as a personal level), and the belief in one’s abilities and personal credos versus on ones imposed by convention or people in power. The struggle of El Greco to establish himself as an artist through his controversial art is counterpointed with his personal relationships. A noble Venetian woman who loves him in Crete become a nun (who later saves him in true deus ex machina style) and the Spanish noblewoman who loves him and bears his son sees his struggle with the church and the establishment as too risky an undertaking and opts (at least initially) for abandoning him (however, to preserve the happy ending, they are reunited, at the conclusion of the film). El Greco’s relationship with Cardinal Niño El Guevara (who portrait he painted in magnificent red robes and rather fetching spectacles) is made much of. On the one hand, there is an almost passionate and perverse courting on the Cardinal’s part (although the homosexual undertones are never explicitly stated), while on the other, El Greco remains aloof and committed to his art, unwilling to compromise on sexual, religious, artistic or ideological grounds.
The Spanish Inquisition comes in, and in what is supposed to be the climax, El Greco is accused of heresy and blasphemy – his punishment for rejecting the advances of the Cardinal, however, a vision of angels chastens the Cardinal and El Greco’s impassioned (but rather trite speeches) end the film on a joyous and triumphant note. This is more soap opera than a work of art and the costumes and settings look a little more theatrical than realistic.
The music by Vangelis is good and the cinematography OK, but the script has let this production down. No character development, no thoughtfulness about the potentially conflicting situations that could have provided some very powerful scenes between the leads and a rather poor last appearance by Greek veteran actor Sotiris Moustakas (through no fault of his own), who delivers some very mind-numbing lines as El Greco’s teacher, Titian.
Rather a scathing review, wouldn’t you think? Let me take my high hat off and put on my layman’s cap (rather worn and with no pretensions of high-brow aspirations). In this incarnation I could view the film as an enjoyable introduction to a great artist’s life and his art, made approachable by engaging, instantly familiar situations and emotions, one that any person could relate to in an easily ingestible and digestible form. It is colourful, engaging (because of its lack of assumptions about the viewers’ prior knowledge or education) and one that gives a simple direct message. Besides, the good guys win and all is resolved happily in the end.
I must say that I was more harsh than lenient with my personal criticism because of all the hype that I had heard about the film before I saw it. I was expecting much more than the film delivered and besides I knew something about the life and art of Domenikos Theotokopoulos before I saw the film. As my expectations were very high, I was rather disappointed. However, don’t let me put you off seeing, although, be warned and don’t have high expectations. This is a biofiction, costume drama, better suited to a Sunday afternoon DVD session, rather than a special trip into a cinema.
It should be noted that there is an equally flawed 1966 “El Greco”, yet another version of the artist’s life, starting Mel Ferrer in the title role. In this one, the action concentrates on the artist’s Toledo period and his later years. I think overall, one is more likely to be satisfied by a visit to Spain and a view of the master’s incomparable masterpieces in some of the galleries…
"When you start a painting, it is somewhat outside you. At the conclusion, you seem to move inside the painting." - Fernando Botero
It is Max Liebermann’s birthday today and he was a German impressionist painter. He was born in Berlin, on the 20th July 1847 and died in Berlin, on the 8th Feb 1935, the son of a Jewish businessman. His activities encompassed painting, drawing, printmaking and art collecting. He dominated the German art world from the 1890s to the 1930s. At the beginning of his career, he was a highly controversial figure, but after the turn of the century his art was regarded as “classic” and he was showered with honours. His Naturalist and Impressionist works have been consistently admired, despite being banned during the Nazi period. Liebermann's approach was that of a liberal cosmopolitan, and his work is distinguished by its honesty and commitment to social reform. Influenced by Dutch and French painting, he led the modernist movement in Germany away from the literary art of the 19th century.
His “Old Woman with Cat” was painted in 1878, and depicts an old woman sitting alone with a cat in front of a rough wall. Her head bowed to the side and her large coarse hands gently embracing the cat emphasise the emotional bond between the woman and her pet. Through such gestures, Max Liebermann filled the subject with his own understated and affecting humanity. He depicted the woman in bright light and wearing a richly colored skirt, thus omitting obvious signs of poverty and avoiding an unnecessary display of sentimentality.
Influenced by the Dutch Masters of the 1600s, Liebermann became fascinated with themes that concerned contemplative states. He also absorbed the lessons of French painters; his richly worked execution of this painting reflects the painterly style he learned in Paris in the 1870s. The Old Woman with Cat was painted in 1878 in Venice, where Liebermann went to recuperate after breaking his leg. He captured that city's famous golden light to harmonize the rich and disparate colors and textures of the woman and the setting.
“He does not need opium. He has the gift of reverie.” - Anais Nin
I had some rather startling and very sad news today. From an old acquaintance I learnt that one of my university friends whom I had not seen for years had lost his job, got a divorce and in a few months time had lost everything and had become hooked on drugs. He had always been a bit of a loner, a rather withdrawn and introverted individual, quirky, sometimes acidly pessimistic. We all liked him nevertheless and whenever he drank (always whisky) he became morbidly facetious, quite brash. When we graduated he had become quite successful as an academic, then started his own business, finally to move interstate, where he got married. I had not heard form him for many years. And now this second hand news and what a melancholy lot it was too…
Apparently he’s been in and out of gaol, he’s tried to give up the drugs, but he’s been unsuccessful in his attempts. The last time anybody heard of him he was living in a disused factory with some fellow squatters. The factory has now been demolished, making way for apartments and so our old fellow student disappeared.
One hears about drugs, sees the news reports, reads the papers and magazines, even hears of it around one. Until it hits closer to home, until it is someone one knows, one does not realise how drugs destroy lives so completely…
For Song Saturday today, Greek song dedicated to my old fellow student
For My Own Good
I saw my world get demolished in front of me I saw my neighbourhood become dilapidated For my own good, I saw the trees I used to climb on cut down, I saw my dreams all loaded in a removalist’s truck For my own good. I saw the teacher beat me with zeal, I saw my hands swollen from the strapping, I saw my nerves become slowly shattered, As they beat me with compassion and affection.
For my own good For my own good, Until my mind couldn’t take it any more, It took backward turns, for my own good, And now I’m in room number nine, for my own good, In its serenity, hoping to find myself.
I saw them share their bread with me, I saw them making clothes out of my old clothes, I saw my mother weeping hopelessly, I saw my old man emigrate, For my own good, I saw my friends trying to help me, I saw them telling me to give you up. I saw myself one dawn being dragged to the police station, And so as to be set free to say whatever I needed to say…
For my own good For my own good, Until my mind couldn’t take it any more, It took backward turns, for my own good, And now I’m in room number nine, for my own good, In its serenity, hoping to find myself.
For my own good, For my own good, There, where my brain and body become numb, Injections, pills, electroshock treatments, for my own good, Today they took away the man next to me, dead; While I struggle to find myself, And I have a hidden knife with me, for my own good… Για το Καλό μου
Είδα ένα κόσμο να γκρεμίζεται μπροστά μου Είδα να γίνεται γιαπί η γειτονιά μου, Για το καλό μου. Είδα τα δέντρα που σκαρφαλώνα κομμένα Στο φορτηγό τα όνειρα φορτωμένα, Για το καλό μου… Είδα το δάσκαλο να με χτυπάει με ζήλο Είδα τα χέρια μου πρησμένα απ’ το ξύλο, Είδα τα νεύρα μου σιγά-σιγά να σπάνε Με καλοσύνη και με στοργή να με χτυπάνε.
Για το καλό μου, Για το καλό μου. Ώσπου δεν άντεξε στο τέλος το μυαλό μου, Πήρε ανάποδες στροφές γαι το καλό μου Και είμαι στο θάλαμο εννιά για το καλό μου, Στην ηρεμία, για να βρω τον εαυτό μου.
Είδα να κόβουν τη μπουκιά για τη μπουκιά μου Ρούχα να φτιάχνουν απ΄τα ρούχα τα παλιά μου. Είδα τη μάνα μου να κλαίει απελπισμένα Είδα το γέρο μου να φεύγει για τα ξένα Για το καλό μου, Είδα τους φίλους μου να σκίζονται για μένα Είδα να θέλουν να ξεκόψω από σένα. Είδα χαράματα να με τραβάν στο τμήμα Για να γλιτωσω το κελλί να πω το ποίημα.
Για το καλό μου, Για το καλό μου. Ώσπου δεν άντεξε στο τέλος το μυαλό μου, Πήρε ανάποδες στροφές γαι το καλό μου Και είμαι στο θάλαμο εννιά για το καλό μου, Στην ηρεμία μήπως βρω τον εαυτό μου.
Για το καλό μου, Για το καλό μου, Εκεί μουδιάζει το κορμί και το μυαλό μου Ενέσεις, χάπια, ηλεκτροσόκ, για το καλό μου. Σήμερα πήρανε νεκρό τον διπλανό μου, Ενώ παλεύω για να βρω τον εαυτό μου Κι έχω κρυμμένο το σουγιά, για το καλό μου…
I have been blogging daily on this platform for several years now. It is surprising that I have persisted as the world is changing and "microblogging" is now the norm. I blog to amuse myself, make comment on current affairs, externalise some of my creativity, keep notes on things that interest me, learn something new and to surprise myself with things that I discover about this wonderful, and sometimes crazy, world we live in.
I sometimes get the impression that I am on a soapbox delivering a monologue, so your comments are welcome.
