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

Cathedral of Assumption

Tourist

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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