Jot.

Writing as an outlet

writing to convey a voice

not necessarily my own

but one which plays on my consciousness.

Writing to explore an idea

a concept

which doesn't have to be developed

or debated to be heard.

No necessity for justification

or acceptance

just words on a page which hold relevance

at the point of inscription.

Upon reflection

2011 has been a truly memorable year for many reasons.  A year which has taught me invaluable lessons about life and growth. 


I left Hong Kong, my life, my purpose, my temporary home and went on an amazing adventure seeing things I never dreamt possible.  Jumped off boats in Halong Bay, trekked in the Thai jungle, met Elephants, ate snake in Beijing, swam in waterfalls, swayed along with the Guru in an Indian temple, ate Pho Bo like there was no tomorrow.  Saw Angkor Wat at sunset and sunrise. Visited children at an orphanage and witnessed joyful personalities just happy to have a home.  Witnessed the extreme evil that man can inflict upon others in Phnom Penh.  Experienced tropical paradise in its purest form.  Felt life at its most precious and most trying.  In this a poignant year of contrasts I have learnt more than I deemed possible. 

Often people wish for more from the year to come, and hope that it will be possible to avoid struggle and hardship.  In achieving this, a false ideal is created.  Life does not owe us any favours, its how we deal with difficulty which develops life's portrait and makes it that much more beautiful :)

Home again

Wilderness

Blank, uninspired, desire buried deep.  So deep that digging is an unachievable feat.  The soil is dry and thirsting for inspiration.  Nutrients stolen, snatched when she wasn't looking.  This barren ground for growth was a place she'd never been before.  Indecisive steps fail to lead to a place to pause and wait, until the crumbling soil sprouts to green and a pasture of new life. 

Flashback

Same whitewash frontage as it always was,


Brass numbers secured above the door.


The bay window unadorned, no reindeer transfers


or strings of bells dipping along the glass pane.




No bonsai bush in the front porch with delicate


metallic baubles that we used to love putting in place.

Christmas house dressing at Nan's was always a highlight of the festive build up.

Many years later I pause outside her house

and bask in a decades worth of memories from this annual tradition.

Flashback by flashback decorates

the blank canvas and again I recognise
where I am.

Merry Christmas Nan x

Wabi-sabi

"Three simple realities:

nothing lasts,

nothing is finished,

and nothing is perfect"

Sometimes she wonders if they are just idealistic.

If they really want, if they really believe.

The confusion accelerates the desire to pursue what might still be there.  Expectancy for what once was is a dangerous endeavour.

She must act with caution, don't lay your feelings exposed to be smudged like ink tarnishing the unflawed picture.

Maybe she wants to have flaws, take risks, allow herself to feel vulnerable to something which makes her feel different.

Feel a little bit uncertain.

We cannot protect ourselves from risk because this would mean sheltering ourselves from growth, from learning.  From life.

The Hour

She jolts awake, instantly alert.  Would never normally see this time of day on a Saturday.  She gathers the last of her possessions and stuffs them into the leaning suitcase.  Shuffling through the freshly laid snow she pulls the corrugated iron door and dumps the plastic bags of rubbish.  Only the dim, squinting light punctures the path as she makes her way back.  She sits and sips her frothing tea, watching the clock fingers hesitate.  Turns off the lights and says goodbye, turns the key and walks away.  Stands and waits in the stirring chill, inhaling the fresh, untarnished morning.  A sketchy outline scrapes the snow, clearing the ground.  She sees the surface and slides away to her next destination.  

Dasvidaniya for now...

My visa has almost expired and the festive season is slowly gathering momentum.  Anticipation, preparation for what is next.  I say goodbye to Moscow for a short while whilst I shy away from the pressing winter.  This new experience has been the most unpredictable, eye opening, mind broadening adventure I could have wished for.  Thank you Russia for welcoming me into your motherland... I will be back when the snow is melting, pining for the next instalment :) 

Here's To The Weekend

I have been very lucky to meet some wonderful people here in Moscow.  There is always the doubt that previous bonds and friendships cannot be found in yet another new destination.  The truth is that in these three months I have forged great friendships which I will treasure. 

I feel that sometimes fate brings people together and my best friend here Imogen has definitely been the greatest gift that I could wish for.  During the past few months we have have the most amazing time and racked up many a surreal moment during our nights out :)  So much fun and endless belly laughs which see us through to late Sunday morning every weekend! Memories to savour and I can't wait to add to them in 2012. 

See you in Miami Imonchika! x

Versace for H&M

After hearing reports of the collection selling out within thirty minutes in many cities around the world, I was sure that I would be too late to snap up my favourite pieces.  I thought that the only way to secure some Donatella designs would be to plot my attack on an eBay auction, little did I know that the Metropolis branch in Voykovskaya would have brimming racks of couture ready for the taking.  I instantly called my sister in Qatar and asked if she wanted any items as the collection had instantly sold out in Doha.  I always enjoy a trip to H&M but my latest encounter has been particularly special.  Previous collections from Karl Largerfeld, Jimmy Choo and Lanvin have had me dizzy with anticipation but normally my experience has been limited to perusing enviously as shoppers frantically fight it out.  This time around I was able to treat myself to a snippet of in Vogue moda  :)

Oriental Print leggings and dress



My absolute fave... had designs on this for a while :)

Cathedral of Assumption

Tourist

Intangible

Staggered shadows slip away

into clouds so deep that fail to stay

Clutch to nothing but empty air,

which was supposed to lead and take me there.

Frozen

The first snow fell and then another.  Thwarting life, covering tarnished ground.  Purified.  The snow begins to slush and seep, the beauty stripped away. 

There lies a body, cold and unrevived by the daylights beams.  Frozen still, eyes wide shut.  Peace brushes past her skin, cold settling the unwarmed blood.

People stand and stare, silence consumes the void.  An open casket laid bare, to pay tribute to first snow and last breath. 

First Snow

  

Couplet

Paired steps

two by two

Each consumed

by their own logic

Parallel universes

of comprehension

As if there is a glass wall

between them

But the same string

to move their feet

They don't talk

or even try.

Instead they look deep into one anothers eyes and guess the answers to their unspoken thoughts.

Behind The Barrier

When you've been in a certain place, for a certain amount of time, even the most obscure of sights seem relatively normal.  When I first arrived here my eyes struggled to believe the sights that flashed before them.  The hunched figures in the forest plucking mushrooms, the backdrop of my daily vision reminiscent of a fairy tale woodland.  Horses and carts substituted for blacked out Bentleys and flags on aerials indicating that King Putin of Rublevskoe Zhukovka's kingdom is in the vicinity.  I walk alongside Ferrari's and eat caviar sandwiches. I pass a lady fresh from cosmetic surgery enveloped in mink walking her pooch, her face still encased in bandages.  Dubbed "The Beverly Hills of Moscow", it is easy to draw such comparisons.  Though unlike its U.S counterpart, this community of surrealism is tucked away deep in the forest.  Barriers prohibit an outsiders glare into this realm of intrigue and mystery.

Metro

Old woman with a shisha pipe. Lady with a top hat on. Girl nursing a hedgehog. Accordian playing sends the dog into slumber. Police in fur hats and woolen coats patrol.

Bulbus eyes, pinpricked and red.  The carriage doused in vodka scent, varnishing the walls the seats, the floor.  Its resisdue lingers.  Svelte silhouetes sashay through the doors, elevated.  A seat becomes free, they check their reflection in the opposite window.  Waving a lipstick wand and applying with expert precision, careful not to stray outside the lines. 

Underfoot

Leaves fall like golden tokens
fluttering confetti
pirouetting, revelling in autumnal delights.

Propaganda

The music blurs like their dormant clarity. 

Entangled in a haze of gratification. 

Itchy feet stamp the tacky floor until it is polished. 

The clock ticks, unilluminated. 

Nobody cares to look. 

The strobe flickered darkness shadowed from the breaking daylight. 

To stay or to go? 

Their feet remain impartial and heavy as dawn beckons them. 



Rewriting Worlds

A couple of weekends ago I was invited to a dinner party at a friend of a friends apartment close to Red October.  When I arrived I was a little taken aback by the niche decor. Graffiti scribbled walls, police tape cordoning off the toilet and plastic sheets covered with marker pen creating a den in one of the bedrooms.  Annelies then informed me that Simon's apartment was actually being used to showcase an exhibition curated by the Austrian Embassy. 

On September 22, the Moscow Biennale of Contemporary Art opened its fourth edition. Titled “Rewriting Worlds,’’ it will run until October 30 and features 64 artists and 14 groups of artists from more 33 countries. The Moscow Biennale will be curated by Peter Weibel, Director of ZKM in Karlsruhe, Germany.

Among famous names of the international art scene the Main project will feature artists such as Martin Walde (Australia), Ai Weiwei (China), Richard Hamilton (UK), Manabu Ikeda (Japan), Ken Lum (Canada) and Zheng Shengtian (China), Fabián Marcaccio (Argentina/USA), Walid Ra'ad (Lebanon/USA), Neo Rauch (Germany), Claire Fontaine (France), Susan Hiller (UK/USA), Rebecca Horn (Germany), Christoph Schlingensief (Germany), Olafur Eliasson (Denmark/Germany), Michael Elmgreen (Denmark) Ingar Dragset (Norway) and many others.

Russian artists will have an active part in the Biennale, exhibiting works by the Blue Soup, Electroboutique, Learning Film, as well as artists Valery Chtak, Alina Gutkina, Olga Kisseleva, Taisiya Korotkova, Taus Makhacheva, Yelena Yelagina and Igor Makarevich and others.

“Studying about 300 portfolios of Russian artists I saw a tendency for "decompression" and "deframing". In the soviet time the former generation of artists withdrew from public places to private rooms to preserve and to protect the autonomy of the artwork. By doing this they already "deframed" the artwork as a closed system and turned it into a collective experience. They in effect changed the autonomy of the artwork and also the public. The best artists of the contemporary generation benefit from this launch” – says Peter Weibel.

Old Arbat

Magnetic Stamp

In theory I am against the notion of opting for a Stabucks in foreign fields.  In amongst a wealth of difference and diversity why is it that I breathe a deep sign of relief when I see that Rapunzel locked emblem in the distance?  I reach for the familiar, a brief respite from the confusion and disorientation.  I wander the streets and piece together my sparse lingo, not recognising any sign or any sight. 

So when I see that green stamp marking the street corner I retreat, and nurse that sturdy mug that is filled with warmth and comfort.  I watch the passing faces through the barrier which dangles me in limbo between home and away. 

Cloudburst

Slumber stirred by the pelted windowpane

it jolts her awake.

Wide eyes search the sealed darkness,

quickly soothed again.

Let it rain, Let it pour.

Let it wash over.

She rises to face the unchanged picture

though flashed by daylight.

The stained and speckled glass,

trickled clarity punchers through.

Let it rain, Let it pour.

Let it wash over.

The air is crisp and moist.

It rests on her dampened skin

Exposed, uncovered and cleansed

by natures gentle caress.

Let it rain, Let it pour.

Let it wash over.

Without a shield of protection

she lifts her gaping hood.

Her woolen coat is saturated.

Blinkering, she squints to avoid the lashings.

Let it rain, Let it pour.

Let it wash over.

ritual union

Songs have a way of connotating with a time or a place.  Memories etched in every key change.  The cue of the next verse symbolic of a shifting of location or time in the brains left side.  The song has elapsed but I press repeat to refuel my basking in melodic delights. 

Snapshot

She gets that smile and a mouthful of silver.  A hunched man nurses a bottle of vodka, swilling and swallowing.  A young couple in a vision of premature winter white stride hand in hand down the cathedral steps, hand in hand both with a cigarette in the other.  Bystanders unfazed.  They've seen it all before, scratching the surface her curiosity deepens.  She strives to uncover more and quench her thirst of intrigue. 



?

Talk, chatter, conversation

debate, argument, altercation

interaction, expression, communication.

Paragraphs, sentences, chains of words

joining of a couple.  Or even a solitary one uttered.

Understanding, clarity snatched away.

She nods and smiles and gestures okay. 

Solyanka

I'd heard many a good word about this haunt and I was eager to see if such rave reviews were justified.  I read one review that claimed "If you ask any trendy Muscovite where the best club is in Moscow they will undoubtedly send you to Solyanka".  After making it past face control it was clear to see why it is a scenesters paradise. Its mismatched and natty furniture is adorned by fashionable young folk who puff smouldering on their cigarettes between sips of the house liquor.  Some talk, some simply sit, content in silence.  They wait nonchalantly for the evenings proceedings, spectating for the moment.  The dim lighting creates a living room-esq effect perfect for pre-party ambiance. There is no doubt that Solyanka hosts the mother of all house parties on a weekly basis, resident home to Moscow's hipster elite.

Moscow by night...

Friday finally arrived and I hurried back to my my apartment to slick on some lippy and change into something a little more city slicking chic :)  Driving into the city, leaving the shady canopy of the forest behind I had that Friday feeling.  I was excited about seeing Moscow after the days light had departed and the illuminating lights were shining bright. 

After hopping out a Gum shopping centre next to Red Square I had a random encounter with some men from Monte Negro, after a friendly exchange I set off to meet Jessie outside the Lenin Central Library.  Unknowing to the underpass in the Metro I attempted to cross the road which is a main artery into the city.  Trying to fathom how I was going to make it to the other side in one piece I soon realised that I was the only person trying to make a dart in front of six lanes of turbo engines. 

I went under through the metro walkway and then stopped to ask for directions to the Library.  I admit that my expectations of Russian friendliness were incredibly stereotyped and a stark contrast to the reality. I approached three girls and before I could begin to speak one hugged me and gave me a bunch of flowers.  I explained that I was English and she tried to recall the word that she was searching for, pausing with a broad smile.  "Present, for you" she said and the three girls wanted to take photographs and they introduced themselves.  Anne commented that I have nice teeth (the family nashers always seem to prompt some comment!) while Natalie insisted that I have some of her beer. 

After taking photographs and our giggle ridden exchange Deena showed me where I needed to go to meet Jessie and told me that she was a doctor and a dance teacher.  She told me that she loves to help people and being a doctor allows her to do this whilst being a dance teacher allows her to continue something she is passionate about.  Such a lovely, warm natured person and the kindness of these girls eradicated any misconceptions I may have had previously about the manner of Muscovites.  

After meeting Jessie we hopped in a 'Gypsy cab', travelling in true local style.  She gave me some tips about hailing one down to ensure that its a safe set of wheels you're getting into.  Sure enough a car pulled into the side of the road, dusty and rusty as if fresh from a building site.  We arrived at Solyanka and I left my flowers in the cloakroom just incase it didn't go down too well with the 'face control' team waiting at the top of the stairs.  After convincing the lady on the door that we were meeting people inside we were able to enter the realm of Moscow's hipsterville. 

Where?

She sits here in this unfamiliar place

far flung, widespread

the vast landscape sprawling.

Desolate wooden structures

dot through the woodlands blind

Abandoned tricycles,

Wendy house doors left open. 

Why did everyone leave in a hurry?

Fled.  The children aren't out to play today.

Perhaps tomorrow,

when the sun will poke through the sheltering peaks.

The squirrels will come to collect their nuts

not hide away in the bowels of the forest.

Perhaps she will see a smiling face,

or something that resembles.

St Basils Cathedral, Red Square

Tretyakovskaya Metro Station

The Ivan The Great Bell Tower Ensemble

Forged Footsteps

Gently drawing back the curtain she leans on the window frame and watches the frost glazed morning.  The trees are sparse, stripped of their leaves they stand bare and exposed.  A man crouches on the ground and blows into his clenched fists, nipped by the early chill.  He lights up a cigarette, and pauses with each reach to his mouth.  The faint glowing flicker slowly fades.  The day is still and undisturbed, even by the sound of a morning lark.  The fridge hums as she runs a bath and soaks, enveloped by warmth. 

She turns the keys but isn't sure how many times, a kitten is curled up on the faded armchair as she passes to call the iron lift.  Her breath is one step ahead of her new footsteps as she tries to take in everything around her.  The abandoned glass bottles, cigarette stumps like Hansel and Gretel breadcrumbs.  Buzzing the gate she smiles at the security guard who has one eye closed.  Making her way through the parted thicket blacked out cars in convoy pass and continue along the stretch.  She sees a lady foraging in amongst the woodland picking mushrooms, careful to avoid the toadstools.  Pine cones and leaves crunch underfoot as she makes her way...

From Russia with Love

I wait in the departure lounge at Helsinki airport and suddenly reality dawns.  I am waiting for a flight that is going to take me to the land of mysticism and intrigue.  As I board the airbus to take us to the plane I look around at the unfamiliar faces, expressions that i've never seen collectively before.  A fusty smell lingers between the frozen figures and as I inhale deeper the faint scent of vodka clings to my nostrils.  The stereotypes fit and there was no doubt that our final destination was the motherland, and I could hear it calling.

My messenger in disguise?

Gently lifted, transcending above

the norm.

The scatter of green flowered tops

soon switch to dancing clouds.

The sunlight peaks from beneath

the shutters tilt.  It warms my hair.

Illuminates my scribbling hand

My blinking eyes flutter, strained.

I listen intently to the pilots announcement

though I cannot decode a word.

Looking at the faces I try to distinguish

and define

difference.

Bittersweet

Fading figures
swaying hands blur
smiling faces stay.

Intertwined in the rushed
chaos
solitary strides
cut the crowds.

Forged steps
mark a new route,
new start,
new chapter.

Ready to depart?

Flooded

Head sloshing back and forth

each strand dances, submerged.

Eyes closed she lingers in this

pool of infinity.

Removed, replaced, tranquility stays.

Stillness and serenity quickly shattered

jolting up from underwater slumber

quicker than she had slowly slumped

and plunged.

Spluttering she wipes over the watery haze

that stalled her deep

in a temporary maze.

Cherish the gold

We sit side by side
perched on the tilting mattress
smiling in reflection
poignancy present.

Hand on hand
palms outstretched
like a void of time,
unslipped.

Nostalgia shimmers in its familiar air
producing the coin purse
unfilled, so rich
with care, thought.

Spilling over from its zipper
you had capitalised my name
just in case

It fell into danger or lost its way
it would make it back to safety again.

Last cafe

We've been here before, I recognise that face, of ease and acceptance that it might be a while.  Until we sip our next latte and chatter with a smile.

Tell me...

Dazed, lulling gently

heads swaying

jolted softly

I write out of line

The pen slips off the page

I carry on scribbling

the words steadily slope.

Que Via?

Tour de South East Asia

After finishing my teaching contract in H.K Cat and I embarked on an amazing two month trip around South East Asia.  What we saw and experienced during this time will stay with us forever :) 

Part 1:  China

Playing sleeping lions in X'ian

Night market in Beijing- Anything you want on a stick

Part 2:  Thailand

Cat and Me taking Nellie for an amble



With our tour guide Mr Moon :)



Part 3:  Vietnam and Laos

Hoi An

Couldn't resist an opportunity to don the traditional garb!

Part 4:  Cambodia

Local ladies in their finery

Angkor Waaaaat

Phnom Penh

Paradise.  Koh Rong Island

Back where it all began in Hong Kong :)