The moon. Diakovo, Bulgaria.

                      ..............................................Rain......................................................

         Suspended in time. Like rain. Rain defines time with its fall. Each raindrop travels in time from a heavy cloud to its spot on earth that gravity determines.  The multiplicity of rain and its persistent behavior make it a whole entity. One raindrop does not make rain. The unified power of them all is what we care about. Rain’s endurance and its finite character make it an event, a situation. It happens. It works. It stops. It makes a mark. A temporal mark. When it is over it is only its materiality that is not present. Its essence stays within us. It is in language. It is in memory of sense. It is mythology. It becomes a human (related) event rather than a non-human (related) event. We study it, explain it, categorize it and manipulate it. It becomes highly humanized. We take material and intellectual possession over rain. And it is (actually) RAIN that allows US to exist. In its own sake rain has no demands, no needs, no purpose. It just is. What we make out of it is US, not IT.  The repetition of rain is what saves our sanity. If a mysterious phenomenon like rain does not repeat we cannot realize ourselves through it. The uncertainty and strangeness of possible one-time only physicality is hard to penetrate into language and logic. Human intellect is suddenly useless, pointless. Sensing and letting in an uncertain impression makes time a variable dimension…But rain repeats. It is the certainty of this repetition that give us the confidence to objectify it. But we cannot objectify this abstract cycle as such cycle is beyond our mental and physical abilities. Only our spirit can grasp the essence of rain as it does not impose itself on it.

         Nothing is ever the same. If our brains get stuck in securing physicality and confirming presence, they work against their own transitional and impermanent nature. There is a balance in the co-existence and coordination of all that exists. The rain is who we are. When it happens that means that we are happening. We realize ourselves, our humanness through it. We rain.

A strong memory of mine from years ago. Came to me the other day. I wonder why.
                               .....................................................................................

   A random Latino siesta my Puerto Rican roommate took me to. Nothing to do that afternoon so I said yes. A backyard- full of Spanish speaking people that took a second look at me realizing I am an alien there. Soon enough we were all eating rice and beans and dancing salsa together...  difference and awkwardness became unity and friendly curiosity. At the dance break I entered the house. There were only children in the  living room, mostly girls. A beautiful little girl was sitting on the big couch right opposite me. Her big eyes were staring at me from the moment I entered. Deep, quiet stare. I just said hi. She stared back more without saying anything for a minute or two. I smiled.

"Are you a magic girl?"- she suddenly asked me.

.....I never expected a question like that....

"Why would you think I am a magic girl?"- I truly wondered.

"Cause, you know...you have this big nose."

It seemed she was finally verbalizing her observations of me and was calmly and confidently sharing them with me as we needed to address this invisible connection we had established with each other.

"I do. Do you think it is bad?"

Throughout middle school I suffered immensely as all evil kids would make fun of my big nose. I never understood why they ever decided to pick on that. I had never said anything about them or their imperfect or perfect physical features. After graduating middle school the size of my nose was rarely ever mentioned by anybody- and never with a negative intention. Now, it suddenly became a topic once again. The girl did not take her eyes off my face the entire time. Her intense look was multiplying the power of her simple and short sentences. I was put on the spot. My nose was the focus. But I felt secure. She was wondering about what she was saying as much as I was. She was internally figuring out the meaning of all this as it seemed she had encountered something unconventional and curious.

Her final explanation was:

"No, it is not bad. Magic girls HAVE those big noses."

It was that simple. Simple and concrete. The truth was just there.

"You're right. I am a magic girl but don't tell anybody else." 

 Magic needs to be taken good care of. Magic is a secret.

       There is the Old House. That’s its name. The Old House is in the lower part of the yard. The yard spreads on a slope from its top to its bottom where there is a very small river. The new house was built at the upper part of the slope sometime in the late 70’s. Since then everything was happening only there. It was the end of the Old House. It was abandoned and became a storage and home of the chicken and sheep. I do not know how nobody cared for it to become that. It is a beautiful and strong building. I blame all of them. The Old House is a ruin now full of hay and random objects, goats live on the 1^st floor. Although the roof is still on and the traditional wooden balcony is still part of the façade it’s a sad place. A monument of abandoned history and a ghost of a time I do not remember and could not remember as it was not my time. I believe I witnessed only a year or two of the house’s active existence. Afterwards, as a ghost it had always been interesting. But always stuffed with hey and smelling like animal poop. I never noticed it for what it really is and what it must have been many decades ago. I was too young anyway. Some things are impossible to notice before you grow to deserve that. The eyes may see something but the brain does not carry it much further than the object and its casual physicality.

 Just a few years ago I started noticing. I started thinking and wondering. Constructing a story of my own. As nobody could tell me a complete and undisturbed one I began enjoying that. It relates to the present time, the random objects and all the hay. There is so much in between that is left to wonder. Or left to disappear if nobody wonders.

But one should wonder carefully and gently. Play with the hidden spirit with care and respect. Come and leave almost unnoticed since one never truly participated. Or so I feel.

Time never stops for the Old House. It embodies time but it disowned time at some moment. It did not matter anymore. Its body and soul stay timeless.

To interfere is difficult and maybe not appropriate. But one should dare and look for oneself in such difficulty. It will take many tires.

My view of the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin. I was truly fascinated by the multiplicity of the rectangular cubes spreading over 19,000 sq m (204,440 sq foot) of land between the East and West Berlin of the Cold War...As controversial as it was for not mentioning any names and not referring to familiar symbolism, Peter Eisenman's creation is striking and fully engaging. Heavy. Stripped to the essentials. Monumental but encouraging communication and interaction. Depressing but hopeful. Strict and straight but lively. Repelling but inviting. Problematic as it should be.

Went to an opening of the exhibition of a friend of a friend in Sofia. They said he's a sculptor. We all expected sculpture. The huge gallery was empty. White and empty. There was a 7" in diameter hole in the left wall, 1.5 yd high, blowing air. A strong flow of air was coming in the gallery space blowing off every person who went close to it. A really windy day, on the deck of a ship, before a storm, biking down the road. Or just strong air flow into a gallery space-to be experienced, liked or disliked, understood or not. I bravely told the artist he is an interesting type of a minimalist. He shook his head and confidently responded this is more like surrealism. Not that it matters or it helps anyhow...

It is about what happened and how and about the feeling and impression that appear. It is about the fact that it keeps my thoughts going...

             His name is Kiril Kuzmanov: http://kirilkuzmanov.com/ and his art is remarkable.

Been raining in Berlin. If I could weave rain...

                  Call me romantic if you wish. Uncertainty and open ended- ness. Jeremy Blake.

This past week I had to read extensively about US Feminist art of the 70's....so after embracing the radical artistic approach of artists like Cindy Sherman, Carolee Shneeman, Judy Chicago and  Ana Mendieta I definitely felt empowered but totally overwhelmed by body art and gender transfiguration. Also, a few weeks ago I went to see !Women Art Revolution- a movie any female artist or non-artist should see. So, now I'm sitting here feeling absolutely boring and needing to achieve something revolutionary because these fearless remarkable women once fought for my current rights and carefree existence. Although, it is true that we still live in a man-dominated society even in this fast-forward 21st century...Just recently I questioned my mother (who has always been extremely independent, demanding and achieved woman, a professional, a mother, and a wife) about Feminism in Bulgaria. It seems to be even more complicated there as Socialism and Communism seemingly brought equality through cooperative labor but actually that managed to only double the female responsibility as a traditional housewife and a full time worker.... Such a shame (!!!)since historically Feminism followed Marxism as a doctrine...plus one of the most acclaimed contemporary feminist writers was born Bulgarian-Julia Kristeva (of course-currently living in France since the mid-60's).

Anyway, today while trying to overcome my insignificance in the historical female world I thought I should just have fun. And there it is (laugh at me if you want): two iconic songs that both could be considered soft-core feminist:

Lili Ivanova "Bez Radio ne Moga" (I Can't Live without Radio) 1969- the whole point of the song is really how girls just want to have fun...Honestly, I have no idea why there are all these chickens in the video!
Lili has been singing since the 60's in Bulgaria and internationally...today she is 72 and looks like a suspiciously glamorous human being who needs to accept the fact of aging...

Cyndi Lauper- Girls Just Want to Have Fun, 1983. Well- the title says it all here and pop culture helps to make it a lot more colorful and crazy...

One of many songs I sang at multiple locations in Savannah, GA trying to establish a daily practice. This particular one is called Trugna Racho Kapitana (Capitan Crab Went Sailing). It is a Bulgarian children's song and this is a rough English translation:

So went on Capitan Crab to sail over the ocean
on a ship, on a ship                                                                     x2

Chorus:   Capitan Crab went with 300 crabs
               With 300 experienced sailors                                       x2

Suddenly they saw something big moved in the ocean
Before their eyes appeared a shark, a shark
It flapped his big back fin
Then held Crab the Capitan's mustache:
"Where are you headed you bold capitan?"

Chorus:   Capitan Crab went with 300 crabs
               With 300 experienced sailors                                       x2

So went back Capitan Crab
Fear took over him
He looked back again for his land
Sailing are 300 crabs, 300 crabs with mustache
Capitan Crab- with no mustahce!

Chorus:   Capitan Crab went with 300 crabs
               With 300 experienced sailors                                       x2

    It has been my passion to look for four-leaved clovers since I was a child. I was and still am very successful in finding them. My grandmother, whose name I carry, is too. I have an album full of four-leaved clovers from all kinds of places. Just recently for the first time I analyzed my pleasure of spending time on a clover field. I thought it might be worth writing it down:

                                                                              *      *      *

You  pick an area of the clover field and concentrate on it. Your eyes run through the clovers easily and happily. It is pure meditation. It is sweet delight. It is a reward. Just looking at these beautifully rounded leaves and their subtle vein pattern…Clovers are so quiet. They just stay rooted in the soil and you hardly ever realize when they move, grow and even bloom. You want to possess that treasure field of thin, soft, green coins. Poetic possession. A clover field is inviting. It is seducing. It is romantic but truly realistic. You are in charge of your own actions, you are in charge of your own success but the clovers make the spectacle possible. They are the basic component.  They subordinate you; they make you obedient, they make you want them more and more.  When you choose to look for a single four-leaved clover in a field of hundreds three-leaved clovers, you put yourself in a minor position. It is this pleasurable masochistic act that you can never give up. The endless amount of three leaved clovers is the most interesting phenomenon. They are simply magical. You dive in the field of three-leaved clovers as it is the eternal ocean. You want to get lost in it. You want it to be stronger than you. You want it for a long time and you want it denser. Only because your hopes grow with time. You wonder how the three-leaved clovers feel like.  Are they happy they are so many and identical? They can communicate on equal basis; they share the same need for nutrition.  Are they miserable that they are so many and identical? They probably feel pathetic.  Either way they are delightful. The asymmetrical set of a three-leaved clover has been planned and executed by nature with spectacular mastery. You wonder why you would ever choose to look for a four-leaved clover if the three-leaved ones are so many and so unique even in their multiplicity. You can easily convert the aim of the process in your head and look only for three-leaved clovers. You will always find them. They are just as good. They just happen to be many many more. Maybe you can find one that you somehow prefer from the rest. That would be a real find.  No bias.

Time and thoughts. Tempting new beliefs rising only because you are fully devoted to the tradition of the old belief. Finding a four-leaved clover is your goal. It is why you started this odd act. You will be disappointed if you walk away from the field without your trophy. Or you will part the clover ground quietly with the firm decision to continue another day. You leave with hope instead of the thing you were really looking for. The search is never over. Once you are a four-leaved clover searcher, you stay that way. It is a continuous process that is always the same no matter where, when and how you do it. It is always purely and quietly delightful. You know you will find that four-leaved clover as you have done it before. There is always one. It is there among the many three-leaved. It requires extreme attention. It requires respect. It is special. You probably scanned through its exact location but you skipped it. You need to spend time, to get better for it. You need to deserve it. It is rare so you can’t just have it fast and easy. You don’t want that anyway. Time passes, no results. That section of the field must be weak on lucky clovers. You move to the next one. New enthusiasm. You beware for false four-leaved clovers as the three-leaved once sometimes tangle up and create illusions. You know that you should not get too excited when you think you have found it as it may be deceptive. You don’t want to feel like a fool. You know very well what you are looking for. It is simple. So simple. You get anxious. It has been too long. Maybe this is a three-leaved colony and they kill the four-leaved once of jealousy. Maybe the soil is not good for the development of the extra fourth leaf. You blame time. You blame matter. You blame conditions. Maybe you are not good in this. You blame yourself. But you actually do not. You know by fact that there is a four-leaf clover there. You will find it sooner or later. You probably should try tomorrow. Now is not a good time. Time is of great importance. It relates to the mysterious variable called chance. Chance is nothing permanent or secure. Chance happens by chance. But chance is a fact. Facts are what we hold onto. Since you know about facts you know that you will find a four-leaved clover. There are variables in the process but there is no impossibility. There is no concrete failure. That suggests that there is no concrete success either. Since your goal is something symbolic your success is also only symbolic. You could leave this action with the material reward on hand but with nothing substantial in promise. You could walk away satisfied realizing how your satisfaction is a myth. Therefore your success is only a myth. You have always known that looking for a four-leaved clover is a deceptive act since the belief it is based on is truly deceptive. Still, you choose to do it. It is pure pleasure. Honest delight. Even if you find that clover, it would go into your album for ‘lucky’ clovers and you will forget about it. If you choose to frame it and be proud of it you are a hopeless poser. Such thing is cynical. The four-leaved clover itself is useless. But with all its uselessness it will exist till its matter completely dries out and dissolves. You may have believed that it brings something special when you were a child but now you know for fact that it does not. But you will not stop looking for more four-leaved clovers. You don’t even care about them. But you have grown to care about symbolic uselessness. You surrender in it. You lose yourself in symbolic uselessness and you enjoy it. You have made it a realistic ritual. Maybe it always was one but people never said so. But they knew so. People put abstract belief before knowledge. It’s fascinating. It is fascinating because they are right. There is no firm knowledge. Something is as much a symbol as it is not. You make things symbolic as you put yourself in action to find them and understand them. But you cannot possibly understand things. You only can keep wondering. You can choose how to maneuver between symbolic uselessness and symbolic usefulness. It is a creative uncertainty. It is a divine moment when the four leaved clover appears before your eyes. You know you are the deity and you know that you are mortal.

                                                                      Fabric vs. Fabric

Being back.

Meeting an old friend.

Late like usual.

He and  a book.

Small coffee shop. Small table.

Illustrations. Decoration. Music. People.

The moment of recognition. Private second. Quick surprise.

Hi. Hey. Smiles.

Generic questions.

A drink. Sure. 

So…

There. Then. Now. Later. What. Where. How.

Development. Difference. Direction. Uncertain. Or. Certain.

People. Places. Things. Ideas. Possibilities. Maybes. Wants. Hopes. Unknowns. Stories.

Never finished.

Continuity in a conversation.

Looks and honesty.

Agreement. Comfort in words.

Light but Serious.

His confidence. The voice. Intonation. Composition. Clarity.

Current situations.

Delight in transitions.

My wonders.

Air.

My songs.

Objects and subjects. Confusion.

Non-logic. Not- knowing. Doing. Undoing.

Existent. But why.                

Time. Mind. Work.

Art.

Sensing. Knowing. Living.

Not words.

Never words.

Being. Letting.

LUMEN: International Video and Performance Art Festival. July 25, Staten Island, NY

Artist Kazue Taguchi's piece that won my admiration. Please check her website to see her light games: http://www.kazuetaguchi.com/

                                      A walk. Sun. Blocking the sun.
A bright day in Savannah. Good breeze moving the fabric.Cast shadows- well defined but dynamic. Excitement and apathy.