Last saturday, on all saints' day, i transformed my little apartment into a haunted house and gave a nice, intimate little belated halloween party. Me and my two co-hostesses served the guests quesadillas, beetroot cake with blood red icing and roman punch. Sadly i never had the time, energy, funds or imagination to put together any kind of costume. But it was a fun night all the same.
On the balcony i placed a banshee, or someting, i made of some cardboard, bamboo sticks and two yards of tulle.
A drawing i did this morning based on Thomas Gainsborough's iconic portrait of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, from 1787. Simply done to wish all of my readers, who still are still around, a Happy Halloween!
I can't believe it's been six months since the last time i checked in here. I always come to think of things i should write about, or images to post here, but as with so much else in my life lately, it never seems to get done.
For now; heres a beautiful little Vashti Bunyan song to break the silence:
My father, painted by his good friend, the late Stig Claesson.
Four weeks ago my dear father died, aged 86. He got pneumonia, and as he had COPD after a lifetime of fervent smoking, and stubborny refusing to quit, his lungs could no longer cope. He moved to a nursing home about a year ago, as he had gone weaker and weaker over the last years.
All my life i've been aware that i would lose him while i was young, -it's not like when my mother suddenly died, aged 64, more than five years ago, -that was a shock i haven't quite recovered from today, if i ever even will... -But it's still sad, as i had naturally hoped for him to get better, though it seemed more and more unlikely. In the past five years i have watched him... like land eroded by the sea, more and more bits of who he was falling away and his clear periods getting fewer and farther between. Because of his diabetes and stubborn refusal to do any kind of excercise offered him, he had also lost use of his legs.
Over the years there have been so many scares and false alarms. He had fallen numerous times, there were so many nights waiting for hours in the emergency room, thinking, and fearing that this might be it.
So the night before he died i was with him for a couple of hours. He was in a morphine haze and unaware of me being there. He was just lying there twitching slightly and breathing strenuously. Shortly after ten i tried to say goodbye to him; i took his hands, -his hands that he would normally have clasped firmly around mine, but now they were all limp, and i should have recognized the signs, but still i went home, strangely convinced that he'd be alright. So i got home and went to bed, and at about six in the morning a nurse called and told me that he had passed away. I went there immediately, and then i just stood there, all numb, looking at him. His hands were still warm, but there could be no doubt. He was no longer there.
One of my father's self-portraits, probably 1980s
I regret that i might not have visited him as often as i could have since he moved to the home, only a few times per week at most. -sometimes he would call me at four in the morning, thinking it was afternoon, and asking me where the hell i was. I went there as often as i had could of course, but can't help but feeling like i just dumped him there. That i abandoned him.
My biggest comfort is that I did spend so much time with him in the years between my mother's death and before he got too weak to do anything at all. I tried to get him out of the house, go to see exhibitions and go to museums, movies, restaurants and for long walks. And it's also comforting to think of what a long and eventful life he had after all.
So now i am an orphan. -though at times i've felt like i was his parent, i often feel like i have the mental capacity of an eight-year old. I've been held back by all of this, hardly realised any plans, if i ever even had any... i haven't had the energy to take up studies or do anything at all. In a way i am now free to start living, but i don't know where to begin... -and sometimes, i must admit, i feel uncertain whether i even want to, and just falling asleep forever seems so incredibly tempting, but as i have a fear of blades, heights and pain in general, and have no doctor to give me any kind of pills i guess i'm going to have to go on living. Hopefully someday i'll even learn to enjoy it again.
Me, aged five, photographed by my father. One of his favorites with Jussi Björling.
Estella Blain (1930-1982) "Solitude" -written, composed and performed by Estella Blain Herself, with the orchestra of Christian Chevalier. From the EP "Hurlevent" from 1967.
An incredibly beautiful song that suits my mood perfectly these days.
Even though winter over here has mostly been everything i could possibly wish it to be, so far, freezing cold and dry; i constantly find myself dreaming of swaying palmtrees and oppressive heat, or maybe just a gentle, warm breeze... oh, and those gorgeous french dancers, in their trunks wouldn't be unwelcome either, a pity they must all be in their 70s by now.
I adore these scopitones, precursors of the music video. Apparently these machines, invented in France in the second half of the 1950s, were made out of parts from discarded flying machines, a sort of jukebox. How i'd love to have one! -thankfully you can get several videos assembled on dvd's here. -or you can find tons to watch on youtube...
Hope to be back soon with posts, as i've said a hundred times before. See you soon ...if you're still here.
Last weekend a friend arranged a little collage-workshop at her office. The theme was nature and it's different aspects; the devastating, the tamed, the tropical, the bountiful etc... I got to do the occult/magical nature. I had almost forgotten how much fun collaging was!
Yesterday it was five years ago since my mother passed away, aged 64.
It didn't feel any different from any other day of course, i just thought it worth noticing, and simply saw it as an excuse to write a new post, the first in months. As i've said before... I would post more often, but time always escapes me, and i can never think of what to write. I detest time, and how it just relentlessly swoops by. And now five years have passed since that awful day, -the worst i've ever experienced.
I both wish to be close in time to when she was still alive, yet i want to have that horrific event as far behind me as possible. So yesterday i simply lit a few candles and sprayed a little Mitsouko, her signature scent -the only one she ever wore, in the air. That was all i could do.
Mother, photographed by my father, possibly in the early eighties. with Moa, about a year before she died, photographed by me.
I'm shocked, but mostly exhilarated! -this is exactly the kind of news i've been longing and pining for for so long; Marguerite Duras'"Un Barrage contre le pacifique" or "The Sea Wall" (1950) has been made into a movie! (another, based on the same novel, was made in the 1950s, but it's too awful!) -and with one of my favorite actresses of all time; Isabelle Huppert! But how on earth could I not know about this?!
Directed by the cambodian Rithy Panh and a collaboration between France, Cambodia and Belgium. "The Sea Wall" is set in 1930s Cambodia, then part of French Indochina -where A French widow, played by Huppert, lives with her son and daughter. They make a meager living from growing rice, but their paddies are just on the border of the sea and flooded each year and the crops ruined. So their only hope appears to be in constructing a sea wall. The mother persists and will not give up, fighting nature as well as colonial bureaucracy.
Her 20-year-old son Joseph (Gaspard Ulliel), an irascible young man, is equally determined, but it's the teenaged daughter Suzanne (Astrid Bergés-Frisbey) who proves to be most stubborn. One day, her willowy beauty catches the attention of a well-to-do, foppish Chinese man; Monsieur Jo. As his interest in Suzanne verges toward obsession, her mother and brother find themselves in a quandary: Monsieur Jo could provide the financial security they need, but he is Chinese, and racial prejudice is a fact of life in their society...
So now i can't wait to get to see this beauty-orgy! A pity though that it doesn't seem to have been up for theatrical release anywhere and that i's been released practically without fanfare, just shown at some festivals. I'm going to have to make do with the dvd, ...whenever it pleases to arrive!
Anyway; Here's the trailer:
Asia, and the southeast in particular, has been a long-standing fascination with me, and a favorite destination of escape -even though i've never been there. -except for in my dreams... through books, like "the Gentleman in the parlour" (1930) by W. Somerset Maugham, or films such as "The Scent of Green papaya" or "Indochine" with Catherine Deneuve, and "the Lover"-based on another novel by Duras; "l'Amant"...And through music, tea -naturally... countless travelling magazines... -the lush landscapes, the warmth, dense jungles, tribes and ancent civilizations, the old temples of the Khmers... All those places where i've always drifted away in my thoughts... -and of course; through food!
Delicious vietnamese dishes at Monsieur Vuong in Berlin. The famous Halong Bay, Vietnam - still from "Indochine"."The Gate of Humanity" in Huế. Buddhist nun at Angkor Wat, Cambodia. Photo by David Wilmot19th Century, french engraving of the Bayon Temple, Angkor Angkor Thom Photo: Marc Riboud - (c) Musée GuimetAngkor Thom - Photo by Émile Gsell - (c )Musée Guimet (above) Traditional Khmer dancers in front of Angkor Wat, Cambodia - 1920s.
And another favorite, as a bonus - the gorgeous trailer for Wong Kar Wai's equally gorgeous film "In the Mood For Love"(2001); -set to Bryan Ferry's beautiful version of the song that gave the film it's name.
"The Sea Wall" images; (c) Catherine Dussart ProductionsCDP
Just a little diversion. I Was browsing through back issues of one of my favorite blogs; Paris Parfait where i found this and just had to fill it in myself. So much fun! Now; Do it you too!
If I were a month, I'd be May.
If I were a day, I’d be Saturday.
If I were a time of day, I’d be morning.
If I were a font, I’d be Garamond.
If I were a sea animal, I’d be a Naga in the ocean of milk.
If I were a direction, I’d be southeast.
If I were a piece of furniture, I'd be a Secretaire.
If I were a liquid, I’d be in a bottle by Baccarat.
If I were a gemstone, I'd be Lapis Lazuli.
If I were a tree, I’d be an ancient oak.
If I were a tool, I’d be a pencil.
If I were a flower, I’d be a carnation.
If I were an element of weather, a gust of wind.
If I were a musical instrument, I’d be a Harpsichord.
If I were a color, I’d be coral.
if i were an emotion, I’d be agitation.
If I were a fruit, I’d be an orange.
If I were a sound, I’d be the rustle of leaves.
If I were an element, I’d be water.
If I were a car, I’d be horse-drawn.
If I were a food, I’d be an omelet with chopped chives and parsley, served with crusty sourdough bread.
If I were a place, I’d be a lush garden.
If I were material, I’d be velvet.
If i were a taste, I’d be Fenghuang Dancong-tea.
If I were a scent, I’d be shalimar.
If I were a body part, I’d be a hand.
If I were a song, I'd be "Cloudbusting" by Kate Bush.
If I were a bird, I’d be a magpie.
If I were a gift, I’d be french.
If I were a city, I’d be ancient and european.
If I were a door, I’d be locked from the inside.
If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be embroidered velvet slippers.
Summer just exploded in my face, and now it's almost over. Luckily i am very much of an autumn-person, even though i adore all seasons -even winter if circumstances are right... -and as last winter was so remarkably cold -albeit with many beautiful, perfect Narnia-days -i just longed so badly for summer; and during the spring -which was rather an extension of the winter -if it weren't for the budding trees one might have thought it was mid november. -and now summer is nearly over; a summer that has been unusually warm, sunny and lovely when swedish summers are often known to mostly rain away.
I hope -as i've said a hundred times before -to at last be able to post more frequently here, i hope to finally get my cluttered apartment tidy, -it has become a veritable mayhem of piles of papers, half-filled bin bags full of assorted trash and wobbly towers of books, cds and dvds -even dishes which feels so nasty!-very Grey Gardens; minus cats, raccoons and Jackie O.
Time has -as it usually tends to do- slipped mercilessly through my fingers, and i've been battling slight bouts of depression and haven't had the peace of mind to tend to anything, -i haven't even drawn for months, no, years!
Early in the spring, my dad moved into a nursing home which has been a terrible ordeal. -not to mention watching his alzheimers - or whatever it is, he hasn't been diagnosed - advancing more and more; he used to at least have some moments of clarity. -but at least i'm sort of prepared for it, and it has been a long drawn-out process- not like it was with my mother who, aged 64, went from her old brilliant self to a hapless spectre within just a few days, before she passed away. That was a shock i still haven't quite recovered from, even now, five years later.
I hope you like my new look and my new header -a picture of my mother and her first "mother in law" -probably taken by her then-boyfriend in the spring of 1966 in her little apartment -which was in the attic of a rustic 18th century building with no electricity or running water, where she cooked on a wood-fired iron stove, and might've sat and enjoyed a cup of lapsang souchong in the light of a kerosene-lamp.
She loved it there and lived there for the rest of her life -even though she later moved across the yard -where I was to grow up...
Me with mum, (above). Me, aged 5 (below). Hope to be back soon. See you!
