Size doesn’t matter

You are not thinking what I am thinking. Think ART. Think SPACE. Think UNIKAT. It’s a tiny showroom in the old part of Baden (Switzerland) which welcomes artists, big and small, if there is such a thing… Tonight is a vernissage of two sisters: paintings by Heidi Sauter, and wonderful ceramic by her sister Monika.

A perfect harmony of colours and shapes.

It seems this petite atelier expands itself , fitting to the mood of the evening. Large art pieces do not overwhelm the space but complete it. I am fascinated and puzzled. I hope the same magic will happen in February, when my paintings will be shown in Unikat (yey!)… I am thinking lots of tropical flowers, "Glühwein", candles and snow outside…  Let’s see. All  details about the exposition will be posted additionally.

 Esther Domedi, the owner of Unikat and the artist herself welcomes quests...

I wish you a unique weekend.

Love,

AB

In Vino Veritas

A confession to be made: I believe in wine. It relaxes mind, keeps the heart healthy and the conversation smooth. Not a very popular opinion these days, I suppose... When I was five years old I got really sick and fever wouldn’t go away for days. So when I nipped a glass of red wine from the table and drunk it, my exhausted parents didn’t object: in minutes I fell asleep, and after 14 hours woke up healthier than ever. 

 

Paracelsus (a Swiss bloke, by the way) was right, saying: “All things are poison and nothing is without poison, only the dose permits something not to be poisonous”. Look at Swiss people: they live long, they are slim, and they are not shying away from wine, definitely knowing their dose...

When we moved to Switzerland three years ago first books I bought were on wine and cheese: I wanted to be up to date with the rest of Helvetians (I am still a little behind on chocolate and kuku clocks though).  My love of wine has always been a little on the consumption side, I never even dreamed to do something with a Production of it. Then we moved to the Swiss countryside (a wine producing region) a couple of years back, and I was invited to harvest grapes for local wine producers. Oh, yeah, a real field study, AND my first crash course in Schwitzerdütsch , a Swiss dialect of German language.

Harvesting grapes in German sounds like “Reading grapes” (Traubenlese). The whole process is done by hand and each grape bunch is carefully inspected (read). There should be no shrivelled, spoiled or rotten berries or bunches; stems should look green, but not overly so, which could otherwise impart unpleasant, harsh tannins to wine. A simple mechanical activity suddenly revealed its complex, sophisticated side... 

The last couple of years were very lucky for the Swiss wine makers, sugar level – the essential indicator – was high, and so were our spirits...

Another essential Swiss thing I learned while harvesting grapes: “Zvieri”. It’s an afternoon snack at 4 p.m., sort of the English five o’clock, only instead of tea and biscuits, you get ham, and cheese, and wine (and then tea and biscuits, if you like). Hmm, perhaps you don’t get the wine if you are stuck in the office, but in the fields be sure to be served a little glass of one of these…  

 Romantic names, aren’t they? You can buy these wines from Brigitte und Stefan Käser-Härdi at Bächlihof, Oberflachs: http://www.baechlihof.ch/. And as for me, I cant wait till the next harvesting season.

Have a pleasant weekend, everyone!

Santé!

AB

Small country, Great art

“Imagination is more important than knowledge.

Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”

Albert Einstein

God works in mysterious ways, they say. Must be true, because I am still wondering what I am doing in Vaduz every Saturday evening lately... “What is Vaduz?”, might come a legitimate question from some of you. A tiny capital of a tiny principality squeezed between Austria and Switzerland.  Liechtenstein is known to many as the tax oasis, the financial paradise, or the country with the highest gross domestic product per person in the world according to the CIA World Factbook (you might want to double check that :-).

Anyways, I am here not to hide my fortunes (it would be lovely, mind you!). I am here to marvel at modern art. The concentration of art pieces per square meter is staggering. It is literally an open air museum. The contrast between smooth lines of contemporary art and ragged background of million-year-old mountains  is magic. Let's have a walk down the main street...

Tre Cavalli by Nag Arnoldi

2002, Bronze

"Hochsitz" by Robert Indermaur

2000, Iron/Bronze 2/2, 365 x 60 x 60 cm

Phoenix by Doris Bühler

2003, Bronze

Reclining Woman by Fernando Botero

1993, Bronze, Ex. 1/3, 134.6 x 349.3 x 167.6 cm (incl. plinth)

 

Botero, when asked about the elaborate forms of his figures, said: "Art ist always an exaggeration of reality, ist color, ist form, its spiritual significanca".

La Puerta de la Liberdad by Eduardo Chillida

1983, Corten steel, 247 x 242 x 125 x 16 cm

African King by Gunther Stilling

2002, Bronze, Ex 1/6

Figure in a Shelter by Henry Moore

1983, Bronze, 183 x 213.5 x 244 cm

And that is just a fraction of sculptures in Vaduz; those that touched me most. An old Russian actor said once: "Art is given to people so they do not die of reality". There is no danger of dying in Liechtenstein in that case. Refreshing thought, I am looking forward to next Saturday. 

 

Where do you go to escape reality?..

   

Love,

 

AB 

Hello, Angel

I have been playing with the idea of limited edition art prints for quite a while now, but somehow I never found the right moment or piece to actually test out the technique. Now I’ve got a good reason: I miss my Guardian Angel Number Three, the one from “The other side”… I do visit it once in a while (it may be found in Teatro Palino in Baden (1 floor), but apparently monthly visits are simply not enough.   

Zanj Gadyen Mwen (Creole for "My guardian Angel"). The other side.  Art print with hand-applied leaf gold detail. Edition of 20.

Limited edition art prints of this work are available now. Art print measures  70 cm X 50 cm, and is enhanced with a hand-applied leaf gold (23.75 k) detail. The Angel is printed on linen and has a lovely texture of the original.  Each print is hand-signed and numbered (edition of 20). 

 "Sonntags Brunch und Bild" at Teatro Palino.

Marc "Palino" Brunner and The Angels :-). May 2010, Baden

ErreichPaar

Last week the little stage of Teatro Palino in Baden welcomed an interesting couple: Laura Ender and A Cello… A woman and her Passion, her longing for love.

Thirty minutes. Dark empty stage. Not one word. Naked heroine Olga. A Cello. Olga is in love. With her instrument. Or is it her memories?.. Nudity is shocking, not because of nakedness of the body, but because of exposure of the soul. Tension is so thick, one can almost cut it with a knife.

After a string of disturbing wonderings such as “I hope they disinfected the floor”, I start to submerge after the heroine into her dream world. But suddenly it is not Olga, it is Laura speaking, presenting herself and the sound technician, and making a dialog with the public. It is like being pulled up from a bottom of an ocean in three seconds. I want to scream: “No, no. Please bring back Olga…”

Olga is back. And so are her memories. We are in Buenos Aires now. I am sitting just two meters away from Olga, I can see tiny drops of sweat on her skin, and luster in her eyes as she dreams of melongas… Beautiful plastique, a perfect balance between wilderness and surrender. Laura manages to sketch the essence of a female soul with an astonishing precision. I am glad to be hidden by darkness as at some moments I feel like she is telling my story and I am almost certain that I am blushing…

“ErreichPaar” is a piece about longing, love and loneliness. Do go and see it if you have a chance. If you want to understand a woman. If you want to feel alive. And maybe a little lonely.

Have a wonderful week and a few lonely moments, it will do you good.

Love,

AB

Looking for Answers

Many people look for the answers in books. Bible for ones, “A guide to psychotherapy” for the others, “The Little Prince” for me. Amazing how this little story is able to accord with one's mood and perspectives, how it chimes in unison with one's thoughts, offering a consolation or a smile. Today it’s the Chapter 21 that makes a perfect sense…  
Chapter 21

It was then that the fox appeared.

"Good morning," said the fox.

"Good morning," the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.

"I am right here," the voice said, "under the apple tree."

"Who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at."

"I am a fox," the fox said.

"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."

"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."

"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince.

But, after some thought, he added:

"What does that mean--'tame'?"
...
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."

"'To establish ties'?"

"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."

"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me . . ."
...
The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

"Please--tame me!" he said.

"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."

"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."
...
So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"Then it has done you no good at all!"

"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields."
...
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
...
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."
...
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"The Little Prince"

written and illustrated by

Antoine de Saint Exupéry

Sleeping Woman and a Cat

A couple of weeks ago I wrote „If I could paint events and impressions of the last week, the image would be a bright, surrealistic mosaic…“. Minutes after the posting I thought:  why shouldn’t I actually do it? Et voila, here are some first impressions of my new (still unfinished) painting “Une femme et un Chat endormi”. It measures 100 cm x 50 cm, acryllic paint and leaf gold (23.75 k) on canvas.  

It’s funny how emotions fade, even after a few days… It’s so much easier with events, even the most unremarkable ones, they leave a print in the memory, they have structures, something to grab on. Emotions are so ephemeral and volatile… Is that why we take pictures of happy moments, to have the “evidence” of our happiness? Anyway, I tried my best to reconstruct the events of the week, mostly in the form of color and movement; this painting is like a song without a text, one can write his own words to it.

Have a brilliant Sunday, everyone, and only upbeat melodies.

Love,

AB

Eat. Pray. Love. Or Don't.

I admit, I havn’t read the book. So I can only whine about the film… Shortage of Champaign on the first place. No, the premiere evening started marvelous, it’s the “entracte” that was disappointing: they substituted prosecco with some fancy bite-size ice cream (it was “ladies night”, see)...but in the middle of the (very long) movie I was longing a minimum for a beer.

I was kind of confused. Something didn’t add up. The scenery was beautiful: lively Rome and Naples, spicy India and serene Bali… Julia Roberts was beautiful as always, and she went through trouble (or fun?) of gaining a few kilos for the film… And all those beautiful clothes she wore in Rome (plus endless matching accessories)! And I still didn’t like it.

Searching for a word to describe the film I couldn't come with a better one than “shallow”. I thought I am not getting it again (remember Ballet C de la B?...), so I looked up some reviews…Some of them were kind, mostly about the book. But critics can be so bitter, as if the director made all the faults just to spite them. Peter Travers (American film critic, who has written for People and Rolling Stone) referred to watching it as "being trapped with a person of privilege who won't stop with the whine whine whine." I am with Peter (I bet they didn’t serve him beer either).

Another word is “unrealistic”. It didn’t really fit to any style. Not funny enough for a comedy (apart from that Richard Jenkins bloke from Texas). Not tragic enough for a drama (again apart from the Richard Jenkins moments) . And the husband, the poor sod. I thought Roberts would come back after all the useless chanting (especially it was underlined quite clear). It would make sense then: Finding oneself, coming to the beginning, completing the circle, back to the roots, blah, blah.

Noooo, she finds a hunk in Bali instead, who happens to be divorced, vacant, AND with a jewelry business. And when he offers her a little boat trip (after two weeks of heavenly sex) she flips out and yells at him (Hey, Groceries, it’s the Javier Bardem you are yelling at!) as if he just told her she was fat (or something).

That was my impression of the day, sorry. Perhaps I should have had that ice cream after all. To sweeten the pill.

Have a lovely second half of the week :-)

AB

Under a glass bell

“Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.”

Anaïs Nin

If I could paint events and impressions of the last week, the image would be a bright, surrealistic mosaic, consisting of multicolored pieces and disconnected bits. Lines and circles floating next to each other, intertwining and breaking off. Deep reds and blue-grays, greens with specks of blackness and some light, maybe. How can one paint other people’s longing and trust, one’s own affections and fears? Or transport onto the canvas thousands of kilometers – travelled, and those awaiting to be made?..

Or would it be a surrealistic etching? Like the one I received on a Saturday morning from a far away friend?

It’s the most beautiful book cover I have ever seen. It is made by Ian Hugo aka Hugh Parker Guiler , the husband of Anaïs Nin, my beloved Anaïs. My first book of her short stories…signed. I still don’t quite believe it; I open the first page carefully and stare at the delicate inscription. I am afraid: the truth is I am a terribly messy reader; I buy second hand books to read without a guilt of destroying them.

This is so much more than a book. It’s a collection of secrets, visions and dreams… “Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.” (Anais Nin)

I wish you all a great start into a new week and call (meet/sms/write) your friends to tell them you care.

Love,

AB

After Byron

On the early grey Tuesday morning I am sitting in the train with the prisoner of Chillon by my side, a little volume of Lord Byron’s poetry. Swiss Riviera is the destination of the day.

Chillon castle squats grumpily on the Lake Leman as if reproaching everyone for the merriness of the region.

“Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls:

A thousand feet in depth below

Its massy waters meet and flow:

Thus much the fathom-line was sent

From Chillon's snow-white battlement,

Which round about the wave inthrals:

A double dungeon wall and wave

Have made - and like a living grave…”

Lord Byron, The prisoner of Chillon

Curious tourists seem in a hurry to leave the mournful place and so am I: out, out, on the cheerful alleys, full of palaces and cafés, flowers and sounds of jazz…. Until I see something really beautiful - light, modest September sun rays, amusing themselves dipping in and out of elaborately carved thousand-year-old wood, playing hide and seek in medieval metal door handles, polished by hands of thousands of tourists… I am mesmerized and suddenly I want to stay...

"My very chains and I grew friends,

So much a long communion tends

To make us what we are: - even I

Regain'd my freedom with a sigh."

Lord Byron, The Prisoner of Chillon

Gardenia

Yesterday I happily accepted an invitation to a theater performance within the Zürcher Theater Spectakel (another openair thingy) on the seaside of the Zürich lake. It all started so magical, tents with food and drink, clowns and acrobats doing their numbers beside the boats rocking peacefully on the lake, guru-looking guys playing didgeridoos…I should have stayed put right there… Nononono, I went to see “Les ballets C de la B”…fecking misleading name, I tell you. (I naïvely thought at first that C from B was a pirouette trajectory…now I am afraid even to guess…:-)

I have never been so angry in my entire life - or at least for a very, VERY long time - about “the art” (and about 50 francs vanished into thin air). The worst part? Being so disappointed and feeling fooled while surrounded by excited audience and standing ovations… I wanted to get it, I really wanted to get it, but I didn’t… Till the last minute I waited that the lead “actor” would come out and say: “ye poor lads, so patient, we pulled you leg so hard for one and a half hour, here is your 50 stutz and 10 more for a beer”. But it never happened. There were STANDING ovations instead…

Here is some description from their homepage: “Inspired by the penetrating film Yo soy asi, in which the closing of a transvestite cabaret in Barcelona affords us a glimpse into the private lives of a memorable group of old artists, actress Vanessa Van Durme collected a number of transsexual and transvestite friends. She could win over directors Alain Platel and Frank Van Laecke and composer Steven Prengels for a project that can be called unique in every respect. Gardenia goes deep into the turbulent lives of nine striking people. Seven older individuals who seemingly effortlessly navigate the twilight zone between being male and being female. In contrast and harmony with a “young guy” and a “real woman”. Each on a quest and each with their own intriguing story.”

I am sorry, how could I miss “the story”? Oh, there was no story. There was no glimpse into no one’s life… Ok, there was a fierce introduction of characters in the beginning, edgy words like “fucked”, “dildo”, “knickers” jammed in one sentence made a good start…not. A bunch of hobos could have done the job (given the wigs and makeup). It was neither shocking nor fine… just plain vulgar, was that the aim? Ah, there WAS a fun part: lots of Russian talk. I dig it, ok, because I am Russian, what about the others? Why? Why?... It sounds mysterious? Yes, perhaps, but then make a good text to go with it… But there was no need for a good text: psychedelic music was rumbling, filling every cavity with nonsense and paranoia, replacing the substance. They use this trick in bad films. Good trick, but not new: Bradbury wrote about it 60 years ago.

The Guardian wrote this a few years back: "...thus began Les Ballets C de la B, now one of the most influential dance theatre companies in the world". It might, MIGHT be true, but they FORGOT to do the dancing during "Gardenia"! No, wait, there was one strip-type number during the show, but I rather go a strip club somewhere in Brugg to get the satisfaction...

God knows I am not a mean person, I am sweet and understanding (especially if no one tries to rip me off), and “arty”… But this time my little inexperienced, uneducated, uncultivated heart rebelled and I cannot stop it. Even a half of a bottle of fine Roija couldnt help me to overcome the grief (it's NOT only the money…) No more gardenias for me, next time I’ll go with…with…jeez, I am not good in gardening either.

Lots of love to everyone, even to Les ballet C de la B.

Truly yours, from A to B :-)

At a glanz

I am graciously accepting congratulations: I finally bought my very first SLR camera (sweet second-hand Canon EOS 400D)! Long time dream come true! (I could never save up for it…too many nice shoe shops around… :-)

Summer afternoon in the "altstadt" Baden, Teatro Palino by the city tower.

Summer afternoon in Zürich... Window of Balthazar café

Yes, I am taking lots of pictures this week. I click at anything that moves, and that is still; from beautiful things, to ordinary, to odd… Flowers, bees, cows, a few people (when they were not looking), and…food. Food never appeared more appealing (to me) than through the lens of that camera.

Mon petit déj a la Russe :-)

It's berry time! Experimenting with mascarpone and forest berries for dinner dessert yesterday

Looking for hints and inspiration I turned to my archive of Gourmet magazines. For years it had been my virtual travel machine. All the exotic places and recipes, all the intensive colors of unknown spices and fruits, healthy happy people “talking” about their favorite flavors… Every time a new issue came it was like meeting an old friend who just returned from a long journey.

Gourmet wasn’t just about the food. The header summed it up perfectly: “The magazine of Good Living”. Gourmet has been published since January 1941, and now Condé Nast shut it down after 68 years. The electronic version still exists, but it can’t compete with a scent of glossy pages which you could take to bed or garden, and dip in and out of the “tasty” adventures... I will sure miss it.

OLD vs NEW

When I was about ten years old, I got a great pair of sport shoes for my birthday. They were blue, white and red suede, heavenly soft, and a tad too big (an unimportant couple of sizes, maybe). I ignored the last fact courageously. These shoes became a prolongation of my feet: I rode my bike in them, walked my dog, played tennis, went to school. Only at night my mother forced me to pull them off (they slept under my bed, nonetheless).

At some point my feet and the sneakers made a perfect match. Then my body (but not the mind!) started to grow weary of this relationship. I still have a neat size 38 now, but those days it was no consolation. My favorite shoes became too small for me (mind you, we are talking early nineties here, early post Soviet time and space, finding ANY pair of shoes was a challenge, not to mention the soul-mate pair). I bravely ignored reality (I still do it quite often), and the pain in my toes. But there was no way out of it: I had to let them go. I wiped off the tears, pampered my beloved sneakers over a boiling kettle one last time, and stored them for good.

Yesterday I lived an adult version of that story (minus the crying). I had to let go. You see, I had a hobby: I was tending a bar in a little theater in a little town. The job didn’t pay money-wise, but it paid in so many other ways, that money didn’t matter. Washing glasses by hand didn’t bother me much either (friends, artists, and musicians would sneak at the back to chat and gossip near the sink). We had beer and a few wines on the list, and we had people who loved the place. No one minded wax-covered tables, and windows, darkened by candlelight smoke. The Place Had Soul.

Of course, someone had to pay the rent, we made almost no profit. So, a rescue plan was designed, walls were painted, wax was scrubbed off, dishwashers installed, cocktail bottles arrayed, and a maitre d' was hired. Everything is very professional now, very business-like. Hearty laughter was duly replaced with orderly polite smiles (and occasional barks). But it’s not all bad, mind you. There is a great food, grand choice of wines, and if you come with a good company, you won’t be disappointed. It’s the lonely hearts who suffer from the improvement. Soul is not on the menu, not yet.

I am almost sure the place will grow a new old spirit, the paint will chip here and there, and new people will become old customers. Will I see it grow? I don’t think so. From a corner table, hiding behind well-measured glass of red wine once, maybe. I will miss the “other side”, being behind the bar. This magic imaginary line, that makes you invisible to some and indispensible to others. It’s been a good one and a half year and it’s time to move on.

Have a nice weekend everyone,

Love, AB