Keep Yer Coins

Not long ago I was working with Jasmin (flickr) in one of her projects and we produced some great great portraits! I’ve been very anxious to see the results » Read the rest of this entry «

This is the first short film from a series exploring film and cinematography through photography. Editing, together with sound, plays an important role in this exploration, capturing moods and narratives, and achieving the continuity of the film. » Read the rest of this entry «

This year at uni I had a lecture about Japanese Photography which I really enjoyed.  Unfortunately my memory is a constant dissapointment.  But thanks to the internet, today, I stumbled upon this funny little video of a lecture » Read the rest of this entry «

This essay will try to define and comprehend the concept of the spectacle as understood by Guy Debord and Jean Baudrillard. It will look at how this concept, together with Baudrillard’s concept of Simulation, and the Situationists International have influenced contemporary art, particularly in the category of performance, happenings and arts criticism of the mass media. It is relevant to mention, that as the Situationist International » Read the rest of this entry «

In the era of digital production of images, we all have access to photographic equipment and are able to produce images.  The camera is not an exclusive tool anymore, it has become as indispensable as a cellular phone, to record moments.  There has been a transition of photography.  Photographic practice and artistic licence is no longer exclusive of the photographer, and the masses are no longer concerned in the camera as a simple tool of documentation for those family » 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.

I found the complete version of the song.  It’s worse than I thought.  Try and listen it all the way, I couldn’t, it really gets on your nerves.

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.

Irene Brandt

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.

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.

Wednesday, 9:50

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.

12:20
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.

17:49
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.

20:30

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.

Thursday 9:55

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.

16:51

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.

9:57

I’ve made it to Central Station. There are no tickets to Budapest. My best chance is Novi Sad, a town about 2 hours north of Beograd. Perhaps there, I can get a train to Budapest tonight, although it might be a good idea to spend the night in Novi Sad. I prefer morning trains, one gets to enjoy landscapes only the railway can show you.
I hardly slept last night at the pension. People kept coming in and out the room, turning the light on, snoring, talking in their sleep and fooling around with zippers and Velcros.
This morning I rose from my nightmares again. I was relieved to be awake. It didn’t take me long to rise from bed, as I didn’t want to fall into darkness again. I got dressed in silence. Everything was prepared last night so I wouldn’t bother the others in their dreams. Sometimes I am very considerate, others I’m not. Today I was.
I improvised a Turkish coffee and lit a cigarette in the balcon as I’d done the previous days. The sky was grey. The air cold and damp. Vladin was sleeping in his mezzaninene bed above the pension ‘office’. This was his life for the past five years. He was still in a good mood most of the time, and was very friendly, kind, and hard working. Qualities to admire, qualities I struggle to keep. His job is endless. His job is his life and life his job.
Vladins phone alarm rings. It plays a punk version of ‘Monkey Man’ from Toots and the Mytals. He doesn’t move. It rings again and again, but the kind giant doesn’t move.

As the train leaves Belgrade the poverty of Serbia becomes evident again. Cities in Serbia seem to have a micro economy. I think about the photos I could have done in those slums but I find nothing out of the ordinary in the. They are not worth the film. They just seem like any other slum. One gets used to the worst so easily. What once was fascinating today is ordinary.

10:42
The train is now on the country side. As I stare blindly out the window, my eyes focus on the rail tracks. I think about how they are constructed. Stones, wood and iron rails guide hundreds of trains every year. I pay close attention to the sleeping wood. Oh! What I’d give to walk on them again. What would I give? I remember the feeling, I remember the uneven step which took me from one to the next, and to the next and to the next. What a feeling! So much m. No, real freedom. Freedom. Balancing on the rails, jumping, running, stopping. A freedom which would last forever, but hasn’t. I can feel it now, in my memory, in my mind. Today, I discover I will always have this freedom. Today and always I will be free in my mind. I smile, and stare out again.

13:30
Disappointment arrived as the train arrived at Novi Sad. I was expecting it. It was not the small town I had in my mind. But I knew it wasn’t. I let this happen, I looked for it.
As the train slowed down I spotted a few houses with small land where they grew their crops. It looked like a good place to ask for a bed, or a barn. I was looking for that freedom the rail tracks had awakened.
Before leaving the station I got a ticket to Budapest.
I walked by the railway, not on it, with hopes of freedom. To the other side, stood low budget buildings. Ahead of me, by the rails, behind the trees, was a farmhouse with a broken wooden door. The patio inside was surrounded by the railway and small drunken houses of various colours. Pink, green and turquoise. A man carried things out of one of them. He greeted me and I told him what I was looking for. No, I didn’t say freedom. ‘Here no’ he said. I couldn’t convince him.
I took a small street out of the main one and then a side street that ended on the rails. By a house, on the street, a woman worked the dirt with her shovel. She planted tulips. ‘Dobra’, I said timidly but she didn’t look at me, and kept working the dirt with her shovel in a circular motion. ‘Dobra’ I repeated pathetically; it is my only Serbian word. Now I had her impatient attention. I pointed at myself, then the dirt, made a dribbling sign and then a sleeping one. For every sign I used a word. I, work, for, sleep. ‘Ne, ne’ she mumbled and went back to her duties waving me away. There was not much point to continue the search. I was tired and people from big towns are too. If something doesn’t work for me on the first of second try I try something different.

I headed downtown and found a pension.

18:50

I sit in the kitchen sipping a coffee, smoking and writing. The last one has become my newest habit. A healthier one. I must be on the right track. The furniture is pleasant and everything matches beautifully. The plastic table cloth where my coffee dances in the much, to the rhythm of my writing is mellow beige and washed red. My back is against the wall. Across me, the kitchen furniture resembles the style of the 70’s. Dark wood imitation. Everything on it is spotless clean and in order. The wall has grey tiles for the lower part. The top part and the ceiling is painted apple green.

Next to me sits a woman who’s name I do not know. We talked briefly, the usual. She is the wife of the owners friend. I believe her and her husband live here at the moment. She helps with the cleaning of the place. She does an excellent job. The owners wife is in the end of her 30’s. Tall, blond, thick lip, tight jeans. She keeps well. The woman next to me has a narrow face, big nose, and blue eyes matching her hair which is held up by a broche. She drinks coffee and smokes nervously one cigarette after the other. Her eyes are very tired, maybe even sad. I feel that any moment now she will scream, rip off her hair with both hands and think about jumping out the window. What use would that be, she’d think, it’s only a first floor jump. As she thinks this she would sit down again and sob. I would try to comfort her until her husband would rise from his nap and come to hold her. He know’s the drill.

Her husband, the owners friend is a funny man. He speaks to me in a language which I’ve never heard but understand. Part Serbian, Italian, English and Spanish. Well, all I understood was ‘football’, players names, Barcelona, and ‘Balkan Bet’. This last one is a sports betting chain to be found everywhere in the Balkans.

The owner is in his 40’s. Handsome man I suppose, but can’t really say. He speaks good Italian and has forgotten some of his English and Spanish.

My attention is focused on the woman next to me. She talks with some of the guests with a broken voice. I wish I knew what disturbed her. Her husband is now up and in the kitchen. I catch her smiling. Only now I notice two lighters one the table. They have the ‘Balkan Bet’ logo printed on them.

He grabs his bread and pathe and lays it on the table. As it is a small table, I get my things and head for the living room. That’s where it all starts. They ask me to sit down and she gets up. They are discussing. Between the lines I hear ‘Fuck off’. ‘Fuck off’. ‘Fuck off’. Tension rises. She leaves the room. He follows her. I put my notebook away.