Finally today the police visited the neighbourhood. Thea, my girlfriend, told me she heard the drugdealers dealing right outside our door, and when I mean right outside I mean leaning on the door. Moments after, we heard a big fuss outside, police was arresting some guys, and a big fight started. Two of the bad guys ended on the floor and handcuffed.
I had to peak out and see what was going on, the panoramic window in the kitchen was to much of a barrier. So I oppened the door and by it, was a guy on the floor and the police man looked at me and said hi. I said hi, and closed the door again. » Read the rest of this entry «
Hi everybody, the day has finally come. The artists have set their work, and the lights set up. All that’s missing is your support, so I hope to see you tomorrow at 7pm under the Shoreditch Town Hall (380 Old Street).
An amazing variety of work is being displayed, all very talented international photographers and artists, so it is a great opportunity to see and understand contemporary art from the future generation of global artists.
It’s been a week since I came back to London. It took longer for my mind to arrive, and it finally did yesterday at the London College of Fashion graduate’s show.
It was delayed for an hour, in which I sat by my better half and friends fiddling with my hands, my eyes heavy, and stomach growling for a burger. I sat on the third row at the very beginning of the catwalk and dreamed on.
The lights turned off and the fashionista music rose to a deafening volume. A spotlight turned on illuminating the beginning of the catwalk. There was a moment where everything stopped, the music played but the scilence was numbing. As my eyes lightened and a long leged burger walked on to the catwalk. It stopped right about where I was sitting, turned in its place and faced me opening it’s arms.
The lights turned off and the fashionista music rose to a deafening volume. I was exited to see my friends work on the catwalk. I’d seen some of their designs, but I wasn’t ready for what would come. Clothes in movement look much better, usually.
I am an outsider insider to fashion, so I will try my best and comment about the show. I’d like to start by Irene Brandt, who displayed an elegant collection inspired in Guillermo Kuitca’s theatre paintings. A concise collection made of silk and wool, with a black, grey and soft beige palette. Everything sown and finished to perfection. It is worth mentioning her hand held purses and rope legings stood out in the collection.
Joseph Lazo 1
Josef Lazo 2
Josef Lazo 3
Second, Josef Lazo presented a sexy collection with painted fabrics, soft fabrics and rough fabrics. I saw a lot of legs out in the air, which to me is a plus. Also, very elegant body suits made of rough looking painted fabrics, alway’s keeping elegance and quality before anything else.
Fran and Jess
Fran & Jess 2
My two favourite though, I must admit were Frances & Laetitia. Their series, bodering on coherence, displayed a mixture of fur, batik, hoodies, fury leggings, polygonal patching and crazy punk shoes. It was surprise after surprise, and the coolest most extravagant clothes in the show, I found much of them actually wearable. Perhaps not all at once, but combined with other things.
Anyway, this is the opinion of someone who knows nothing about fashion, but enjoy’s it none the less.
Thanks to “Serbias Ambassador to the World” for quoting a passage from one of the articles in this blog. It is a great site working for Serbia against the negative propaganda that the media has spread along the years.
“Serbia’s Ambassador To The World core mission is to change the negative image of Serbia that has been present for many years, and systematically begin repairing Serbia’s image in the world. The way we do this is mostly by getting the right information to the right people at the right time, combining frequent posts to Serbia’s Ambassador blog and diplomatic relations, with blog comments and editorial replies in response to online news and editorials about Serbia.”
As the plane decended, the blue was lost. We entered a white substance like the one my mind is made of when it’s at peace. But it did not last long, it soon became a grey substance full of dirt which blinds my mind and submerges it under a dark sea. I will have to rely on my memories to set the mind free, perhaps it has been set free already and the darkness which once was has vanished, taken by a force unknown.
I sit on the train to Budapest. This time I have company in my booth, a middle aged man on his way to Colombia. I imagine business, but it holidays he tells me. A cruise. He wears a pale pink polo shirt and Pierre Cardin socks. He’s taken over the booth with his luggage, his body spread to dis-encourage people to come in. He is a pleasant company non the less.
Good Pathe I said to the owners friend. thank you he replied in Italian. Idiot, muttered his wife who sat alone next door. They continued the discussion in the living room. I knew it was going to end abruptly although I had no idea what they shouted at each other. It wasn’t important to know. They just couldn’t stand each other anymore. He said that after four children she’d lost the attributes which made him fall, and all she did now was smoke 3 packs per day. Smoke smoke smoke he said to me lowering his voice. His mouth tight, eyes sharp and hands dancing in the air. I heard a slap and he came back to finish his dinner. He started with his comic tone complaints again. He explained how his wife didn’t understand Italian and called him an idiot. I asked him to calm down.
The country side is now flat and merges with the sky on the horizon. I enjoy flat landscapes. Whether in the sea or on land the horizon is special to me. I am tired from yesterday night and it soothes me. I wondered the streets and bars of Novi Sad til late. Merging with the night and the people, being part of nothing. Wasting my hours of sleep, and quenching my thirst. A small bar trapped me, sucked me in by osmosis. The band stood playing amongst the drinking crowd. But there was joy in the air. Everybody sang to the guitar, while the accordion and violin answered to the their voices. The foot bass told it’s own story which no one heard but was still content. I tuned in and merged with the air of joy.
I wake up in the border when Control asks for my ticket. I lay across 3 seats but had only one ticket. Control starts blabbing Hungarian, it sounds terrible, then says in English, one ticket one seat. I incorporate. What a moment I think, probably just Control.
The Hungarian landscape got cute. Cute little farm houses with Swiss style wooden fences. A man fishing in a pond. I haven’t seen one of those in a long time. Too cute for Serbia. Ponds make me feel like a hypocrite, as much as I would enjoy them, as nauseous they make me. In a plane of green I spot an enormous hare, it is the size of a young deer.
I couldn’t find a decent pen in Budapest. My blue ink pen was running out. I’ll miss it, specially because it’s replacement is black and has inscribed “I love Budapest” on the side. It works horribly.
There are not as many Chinese tourists in Budapest as there are in Prague, even though the cities are similar. It’s easier to avoid tourist traps here, still I wasn’t prepared for it. But I came to Budapest for one reason only, to take my plane back to London. Yes, unfortunately this is the end, or the beginning of my project.
In Budapest the Danube river is at its most majestic, wide as any river I’ve ever seen, and fast. It is outstanding to sit by the ledge and watch the water flow. So much water flowing with frightful strength. I sit now in a cafe by the river reading Sartre’s “Nausea”. My friend Jaime gave me the book when I visited Argentina this winter. I know what Sartre means by the nausea. It is around me as well. It was there in Belgrade, but not as strong as in Budapest. It left me in Sofia, shortly visited in Nis and was completely forgotten in Pristinha.
Now, it sits next to me, sipping its beer and reading. It feels uncomfortable with my smoking. People who don’t smoke make me uncomfortable, they get annoyed at my smoking as I get annoyed at their not smoking. We are just not compatible. Once, someone said to me that she preferred the company smokers, even that she did not smoke, because they were more pleasant in general, funny, interesting. I don’t know if pleasant, Ill call it surprising.
I look around me suspiciously. I’m trying to understand something I shouldn’t be bothered about. I don’t know what it is. As I look across the river I notice the layers and juxtapositions of different epochs. The pale light of the afternoon hits the buildings across the river. It is a pleasant light and it makes the city lifeless. Except around me, it only accentuates the nausea. I start to understand. I’ve let myself be trapped. The freedom of the rail tracks does not exist here. But then again, I shouldn’t be looking for it here. That is over for the moment. I am here not for freedom. I am here to rest, reflect and give closure to this story. I thank a violin that catches my attention, the music comes to me from the distance and erases my thoughts, takes me away.
I met the Americano from Belgrade on my way to the hostel. He was heading to Buda Palace and dragged me along. I was tired but let go and joined him for a walk. We walked for hours, I’m glad we did.
I sit by the pool of the Gellert Hotel and Spa. I didn’t expect this. The americano told me I should spend a day in one of the many thermal spa’s of Budapest. It seemed to be what I needed. It was.
I think about Sofia and Pristinha. The people I’ve met, those I haven’t, and the atmosphere of those cities and how I felt in them.
I realise now that it was not a coincidence that railway gave me memories of freedom. It was freedom that made me see the railway as a symbol for it. The freedom which I allowed myself and was permitted to me was something I’d never experienced. Not in this way.
In Kosovo, the freedom of photographing a virgin country, new, open for creation, for untold stories. Dynamic, in constant change, learning with its mistakes.
As the sun falls in to a sea of pale grey, melancholy surrounds me. There is a mist in the air caused by pollution. It only starts to show itself when the sun has lost its power and recedes. Tomorrow there will be no sun. The low London sky will make sure the city keeps going as an ant hill when raindrops precipitate and the colony is forced to live in darkness underground.
I think of Sofia. It happened to me there that I found myself. Something wonderful made me find myself again. Be myself. I felt love, not for anything, anyone or anywhere. Love, life. Sofia saw the back of my eyes and told me what it saw.
Pristinha also lives in me. After what Sofia did, I was able to see with my eyes, with my heart. Pristinha opened to me, showed itself and helped me in the search for freedom. It told me I was on the right track.
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