Things That Go Viral ...

I grew up with a rugby-loving dad and two rugby-loving brothers.  Actually my mum loved rugby too and okay, my sister and I used to get quite excited when the All Blacks were playing.

Truth be told, sport is a huge thing in New Zealand. 

And so it was, when Mark shared this advert about the 6 Nations Rugby Tournament over on Facebook ... well, I had to share.  Here, there, and everywhere.

I can't believe BBC banned it. I was reading British comments over on Facebook, most of them loved it too.

 

On My Way To That Airport in Milan

There was this older gentleman, riding an old bicycle, wearing a long black coat ... I imagined he was a priest at first.  He was smoking a cigar.  There were exclusive-looking shopping bags hanging from both handlebars.  And he crossed the road on a red light and I thought, 'not so priestly'. Then again, quite possibly Father Healy might done that. 

Anyway by the time I realised he wasn't a priest he had my attention.  He stopped on the island in the middle of the road and lifted the camera he had hanging round his neck, using it to take a photograph of the old-fashioned apartment building in front of him.

Then, a few streets on, there was a small truck raised up on its mobility/stability stands while the ladder was raised.  I can't be sure but it seemed like there was a big white cat sitting up in a tree waiting for rescue. 

I reached the airport, hungry but craving something sweet too.  When I write up this some might say, 'Oh Diane ...' but others may benefit from my honesty should they find themselves hunting down lunch at an airport in Milan.  I ordered a mozzarella and tomato sandwich and ... a hot chocolate. 

The waitress could barely put my order together.  She was laughing so hard. 

Sigh.

And laughing.  And still laughing as I wandered off with my 5pm lunch. 

Sometimes one just has to take the 'hit'.  There were things I could have said but decided it was a life lesson.

I came to the departure lounge early to work on my marketing assignment but there was an elderly English academic talking to his wife two seats down from me.  He was so ... so very much what you might except from a rather elderly English academic perhaps. 

He had been at a conference here in Milan and was rather excited by the wine at dinner but disappointed by the behaviour of some of 'the team'.  Talked of corruption and bureaucracy, so loudly, that I feared his way of speaking might slip into my writing.  Maybe it has ...

Traveling between here and there always seems to drag me into a slightly surreal space.  Speaking of surreal, I only managed to take one photograph of Davide, the Genovese guy who looks so remarkably like John Lennon ...

I went wandering with Alessandra, Federico, Barbara and Davide on Sunday.  It was superb.

 

My Beautiful Katie-Niece and A Piece of Her Art

My niece, Katie, recently sent me a copy of her end of year artwork.  It's a delicately beautiful static image.  She received 3 excellences for this work but even if she hadn't, I'm so proud of her talent.

And although I adore her, truly, madly, deeply ... she melted my heart some more when she wrote that I was represented by an object there too, as one of the people she loves.

She was the littlest creature when I left New Zealand and when I went home, I discovered both her and her sister are becoming the loveliest young women.

Oh yes ... I'm so proud of these girls.

Back in Genova

I woke to the alarm at 5.45am.  We were out the door by 6.40am.  The airport bus, the flight (1 hour 20 minutes), then another airport bus in Milan, and the train through the hills to Genova.  It's been a day but I love traveling.

I was lucky.  There was no rain as I walked along Via XX Settembre from Brignole Station.  I arrived, turned on the gas and heating, changed into more appropriate clothes and then was out again. Hunter-gathering.

It's good to be back in Genova. I love this city, so very much.

My USB modem is loaded to go for a month.  I have red wine, sparkling water, and not too much else at the moment.  I was counting on my favourite pizzeria being open tonight but it's almost 6.30pm and there's nothing happening there yet. 

It's pouring down here but that doesn't matter.  I've always loved rain.  When I lived in Istanbul people would call out compliments to me when it rained.  I sparkle in the rain but it's not surprising, given that I grew up in Dunedin and loved living in Fiordland later.  Rain is that thing that happens in those places.  Excessively at times.

So I have arrived.   Now, to start on the work that I came here to do.

Oakley the Labrador

As Oakely, the exquisite chocolate-brown labrador pup, inches ever-closer to my slipper-clad feet, I find myself moving my chair back from my desk to ensure he is comfortable.  Then I reach down and we have a wee conversation.  I stroke him some, rearrange his chin so it's on his beanbag instead of my foot and then I move the chair back to the desk again.

I've always been a pushover when it comes to a good dog.  I'm the boss but I'm not opposed to contact and conversation while working.  Occasionally he licks the bare part of my foot and it's okay, I'll survive. 

It's been 10 or 11 years since I last had a dog in my house.  After a lifetime of labradors, beginning at age 9.  Wandering the world dogless has been kind of strange.  They are true companions and there's nothing like a dog when it comes to beaches and rivers, and long lonely walks.  To working at whichever desk or table I've had during those days out here in the world.

Somehow, when a dog is involved, it's okay to talk outloud as you write.  Someone is listening.  And as I have written this, my right foot has become all snuggled and warm, as Oakley has sprawled himself over it ... using just one quarter of his beautiful beanbag.

So this is a first shot, taken when Oakley was more interested in being next to me than stepping back to a more appropriate distance for my 70-200mm lens.

Oh, I should truth-tell.  Jessie organised this.  She agred to dog-sit for 24 hours.  Last night she had him up in her room but this morning I have him while she is on the morning school-run.  I'm very happy about this.  She knows it.  Not having a dog has been one of the more difficult things about living in places not my own.

Thank you, Jessie.

 

 

From the Outside Looking In on Genoa

'When the uniqueness of a place sings to us like a melody, then we will know, at last, what it means to be home.'

Paul Gruchow.

Note: I wrote the following post back in 2013, for the Lovin Genova Blog and decided to crosspost it here tonight.  By the way, the Lovin Genova Blog is well worth visiting, if you find yourself curious to know more about that ancient Ligurian city I love so well. 

Genova is a city of layers, so many layers that contain so much history. It is an ancient port city, a city of traders, bankers, artists, and explorers …

But to begin at the beginning, with what struck me that first time I arrived in 2008.

There was this feeling of having arrived in a city protectively nestled, as it is, between the sea and steep hills. As a New Zealander I grew with a deep appreciation for the physical landscape and have a passion for both the sea and the mountains.

Then there were the colours of Genova. Perhaps each person experiences them differently but my over-riding impression was of a city painted in colours that ranged from pale yellow through into a deep orange. Deep green shutters, sometimes blue.

I am a photographer and I admit to being guilty of sometimes saturating the images I capture out there in the city but I defend this as an expression of the intensity of feeling I experience when I wander those city streets.

Paola, my Genovese friend, has gifted me space in her place located in the heart of the old part of the city and I have been able to return, again and again, over the years. I work at her kitchen table, first floor, located in a narrow carruggio – or small alleyway. I work next to an open window most of the time, listening to the life I hear out on the street … and there is so much life. Oftentimes I feel like I have a room in a huge house there in the city.

I hear my neighbours and the people who pass by out on the street, laughing and talking as they go about their day. There is the rattle of espresso cups as breakfast-time comes and goes, then the clink of cutlery at lunch-time. Dogs barking at one another when they meet, another suitcase rolls by, or maybe a class of school children wander past singing. I love the sound of it all.
I live with the ancient city wall almost pressed against the back of my building. The wall that was built to keep Emperor Barbarossa out as he rampaged across Europe in the 12th century.

It has to be known that the people of Genova were business people first and foremost. The saying goes … Januensis ergo mercator – or, Genoese, therefore a merchant. And in their roles as traders and explorers they were in possession of a rather magnificent shipping fleet back in 1155. Barbarossa understood he might require their assistance and left them in peace.

Today the wall still works as a defender … I think of it whenever I lean on my windowsill to get a better phone reception, and my USB modem hangs at the window too.

Each time I return, so many times since 2008, there is a sense of homecoming that surprises me. I come from New Zealand, I have lived in Istanbul, and Antwerp, and yet it is this city in Italy that has won my heart.

I suspect it is because I find everything I require, in just the right measures, in Genova. There is the geography that reminds me of New Zealand, the sense of isolation that comes from being surrounded by hills, and a history so rich, like that found in Istanbul but quieter. The Genovese culture appears to maintain a quiet dignity that I suspect so many visitors have enjoyed over the years.

When I talk to travelers, I discover much to my surprise, that Genova seems to be some kind of secret. It is passed over for the crowded trails in Cinque Terre or for the packed streets of Venice. Meanwhile Genova retains secret pockets of that quiet stately elegance that has won the hearts of people throughout the centuries. Havens of beauty at the end of a funiculor ride or via an elevator that takes you up a hillside to a panoramic view of the city. Tiny shops on ancient streets full of the most beautiful things. Churches and cathedrals with stories woven tightly around them and architecture that spans centuries of development within a single structure.

Those who judge this city externally or too quickly are sentenced to missing the density of experiences that lie hidden in its depths. It’s not an easy city but that, perhaps, is what makes it so very rewarding. It complex and character-filled.

Gustave Flaubert adored it, Petrach wrote of it. Flemish painter, Peter Paul Rubens modeled his house here in Antwerp on palazzi in Genova. And Richard Wagner wrote to Minna Wagner, back in 1853, ‘To offer you on your birthday what I deem the greatest gift, I promise to take you on a trip to Genoa next spring …’

The greatest gift, a trip to Genoa. Richard Wagner and I surely agree.

Source: Richard Wagner quote: from the Genoa Guide, published by Sagep Turismo.


Sunday Night, and a poem.

No matter how early I get up, the world
is already whirling; no matter
how silent the kitchen, the stove is warm,
like a great heart, the coffee beans
are sending out their dark signal,
the cat is half-awake, his second eyelids
partly glued to the two suns
of his eyes.  The oranges contain themselves
like glorious planets on the cheese tray,
the milk waits, luminous in its carton,
the round table abides, the day
grows wide.  Slowly I step into
its bright stream.

Matter, by Carolyn Miller.

I found this poem while I was lazily reading my way through the Squam blog, over here.  I've been busy of late.  Madly, truly, beautifully, crazily busy.  It has reminded me of crazy times spent running down scree-slopes back when I was young and foolish.  And while I didn't lose control of the beautiful madness and it stayed fun, I did need to keep that forward-momentum going just to stay on my feet.

My next blog post, outlined on a piece of pink note-paper just now, will be all about things I enjoyed during those days.  And really, there was so much.  But today I rested.  I lolled about.  I read.  I noted down quotes as I read.  I listened to music.  Baked bread.  Had 4 loads of laundry dry outside on the line.  I nibbled, searching for something to magically re-energise me - trying all but those scary vials of vitamins I bought a month or two ago.  Gert has taken to sighing when he asks if I've had any yet.  I have an osmosis theory about medicines and vitamins.  If they sit close by and I look at them sometimes, they work ... magically.  By osmosis.  Julie might snort laughter through her nose if she reads this ...

Today I didn't drink any red wine.  I sighed over all that still needed done but thought 'Tomorrow'.  Tomorrow is Monday and I will begin again then!' as if I really meant it.   And I do.

The house is clean and it smells of fresh laundry ... as the towels had to come in and finish drying on the clothes-horse I use instead of an electric dryer.  And the house smells of freshly-baked bread because the loaf finished cooking not so long ago.  And in just over 7 hours the smell of coffee will be filling the house, as my coffee beans are ground and become a rather lovely espresso.  Thank you to Wesley for selling me her exquisite coffee machine back in October.

And that is how it is here tonight.  The time is becoming midnight in another 32 minutes, I should be sleeping but somehow writing this became that more interesting thing that woke me a little.

The photograph ... taken while out wandering with Lynette, at an ungodly early morning winter hour, last Friday.  The posh fries shop made me smile.  It did.

 

C'era una volta ... or, once upon a time.

Jessie whipped up one of her magnificent Hairy Bikers chicken pies tonight.  It was divine.  Served with mashed potato and with carrots doused in butter, honey, salt and pepper.  Simon took the photo below.

Simon, Paola and Giulia came to dinner tonight. Much talking and quite some laughter were served up with pie and pavlova.

And yes, red wine was involved.

We were talking of all kinds of things, catching up and remembering way back when we first met ... pre-2008.  Veronica, a mutal friend was heading home from an overseas posting and her farewell party was at my place.  'Could Simon come too?' she asked, confessing she hadn't actually met him in real life but telling me he seemed nice over the time they had known each other as blogging friends.

No worries, said the kiwi I am- we're very hospitable.  Paola came too, not sure of what to expect from her husband's unmet online friends ...

Paola and I began with a friendship way back on that evening.  Simon too.  And I've photographed their family over the years that have unfolded since.  Their babies are all at school now. 

Then Paola invited me home to Italy with her one day.  We flew.  I wrote on 17 October, 2008:  Paola and I woke at 4.45am for a 5.45am taxi.  A fast flight to Milan, a bright bright yellow Fiat from Hertz, and here we are, wandering.

I successfully navigated my first big session alone - finding and buying a corkscrew, some internet time, blogging, and walking back to the apartment without getting lost. 

And although I fell for Genova on that very first visit, I had no sense of just how big a part of my life the  ancient Italian city would become. 

On that visit I made a million notes about every place I loved there. I interviewed the owners of all kinds of businesses and took photographs and simply fell for a city, like I had never fallen for a city  before.  The sea, the mountains, the history, the culture  ... its way of being. 

Genova is very particular.

By October 27, still 2008 and that first visit, I was writing the names of the places I loved there.  The colonial spirit still alive and well in me, although quieter and far more polite than my ancestors.  I was simply noting names, not planning a conquest.

I recorded that cascade of those days there in my journal, took photographs and began, way back then, to weave that city into my life.  And tonight, looking back, I realised it all happened because of a farewell party for that lovely American friend called Veronica. 

C'era una volta, a New Zealander hosted a party for an American friend and met a British guy and his Italian wife ...

Whispers From My World ...

Claire mailed me a link to a beautiful video clip from home, see below ...writing, 'hope you don't get too homesick!'  I did but I loved it so much that a little bit of homesick really doesn't matter.

Meanwhile I've had the pleasure of spending the last couple of days in the company of Lynette - one of the loveliest kiwi soul's I know.  We were up at 6.30am two mornings in a row, taking Miss 9 to school because Jess was fighting with the nastiest kind dental abscess pain and Lynette thought it would be fun to come wandering.  Remember we're mid-winter here in Belgium. 

Jessie's antibiotics have kicked in now and it's Saturday today.  A 9am wake-up was so welcome this morning.

And I'm rapt with the small pile of new shells here on my desk, fresh from one of the exquisite beaches in Nelson, NZ, sand still clinging to some.  I'm a shell and stone-gatherer.  My desk bears witness to this.  Included in her bag of New Zealand goodness Lynette also bought Miss 9 a Magpie soft toy, complete with the really special call of the New Zealand magpie.

It has a lovely few days of 'home' ... and I'm still listening to Fran Kora.  A most excellent way to begin a day.

The Waters of Greenstone from Nathan Kaso on Vimeo.

 

Little Bushman, Peaceful Man - with the NZ Symphony Orchestra.

"Though some, in darkness of heart, seeing their land ravished, might wish to take arms and kill the aggressors, I say it must not be. Let not the Pakehas think to succeed by reason of their guns ... I want not war, but they do. The flashes of their guns have singed our eyelashes, and yet they say they do not want war ... The government come not hither to reason, but go to out-of-the-way places. They work secretly, but I speak in public so that all may hear, " Te Whiti-o-Rongomai III told his people in March 1880.

You can read more of the man who was rumoured to have influenced Ghandi in his peaceful resistance.  Tim Finn and the Herbs sang about Te Whiti too.

Regarding the music clip at the end of this post,  Mark Bell asks the question of Little Bushman, regarding the 2009 collaboration between Little Bushman, composer/arranger Psathas and the NZ Symphony Orchestra – did he actually manage to enjoy the experience given the enormity and pressure of such an undertaking?

His reply, over on Mark's interview, made me laugh.

I am loving all this digging around and finding New Zealand music and movies I've missed.

The Truth About Me ...

Raf, Gert and I were talking of flashes and cameras at the kitchen table last night and there I was, relaxing.

It makes me laugh to confess that I have become a woman best-suited to low-light, layers and filters.

 

Writing, Football, and Photography

Raf came to dinner last night, asking if he might use my camera flash while he was over.  He was curious about the process of using the master/slave set-up on his camera. Neither of us had attempted it before and it was the best fun I had had in a while.  More to follow as I experiment with that in the months ahead as it turns out the Gert's Metz flash is able to make a wireless connection with my Canon flash. 

The photograph following was taken when Raf put down his beautiful Canon EOS-1Ds Mark III, with its battery pack attached and picked up the smaller Canon EOS 550D, laughing over how to hold it in his big hands.  I liked how it looked and took a series of images with my beloved Canon EOS 5D MkII.

It was a lovely evening.  Thank you, Raf, for opening the door into this new way of working with light.

The Daily Photo Challenge ...

The element of 'challenge' continues to dominate as I work at finding a photograph for every day of this year however my lovely friend and I are delighting as our stories and images roll out over days.

Today's image began as a shot of the beautiful dish with the delicate fern leaf imprint inside.  The one that was gifted to me by the truly special New Zealand family I had the pleasure of photographing when I was home.  But as I worked at composition and struggled with light ... because yes, I did leave it until the last moment, it soon became clear that it was more about the bracelets and necklace I wear everyday.  They nestle there in the dish over-night.

The jade necklace was carved by Jayme Anderson, a talented New Zealand artist and jade carver. I was told that the jade is Marsden Jade and that delighted me.  Hokitika and the wild west coast stole my heart way back when I was teenager.

A little from Jayme's business card , 'Jayme's love for jade and carving began in 1996, the first year of his Diploma of Visual Art and Design.  He graduated in 1998.

Later it tells me that, 'From his 10 acre lifestyle block at Marsden, home of the flower jade, he travels internationally and pushes the boundaries in techniques and stone limitations. His innovative work is in the Spiritwrestler Gallery in Canada and private collections in Canada, the U.S. and the U.K...

I feel extraordinarily fortunate to have a piece of his work.  It was well worth the horrific journey through my old nemesis ... the Homer Tunnel.  That story is here.

 

'Art Has A Function Beyond Beauty' ... Shannon Galpin

I loved this!!

"The fruit of years of collaborative work between Afghan and Western photographers and photojournalists, Streets of Afghanistan chronicles one of the most captivating efforts to connect communities and cultures through our common humanity and the power of art."

You can read the rest of this over on the Youtube page.

Shannon Galpin, the woman who said on the video that 'art has a function beyond beauty', has her own website - Mountain2Mountain.  She is so very inspiring!

Eddie Vedder, Musician

I think music is the greatest art form that exists, and I think people listen to music for different reasons, and it serves different purposes. The best songs are the ones that make you feel something.
Eddie Vedder

I needed to add this song to my blog, for future reference ... to play easily.  I'm liking this man's voice.  Intensely.

Love this.  A song by Eddie Vedder, Guaranteed.