Amy Turn Sharp, Poet

and sometimes we would dance in the stone street
sometimes I would put my head on his shoulder
and wonder what sadness there was in the world
when the sun could be so warm
when the island flowers could smell so summer strong
when people could dance with such grace
when my heart had a thousand chances left

Amy Turn Sharp, extract from #82 her series, a poem a day for a year.

I love this woman's poetry.  There have been so many treasures so far. I'm looking forward to spending a year reading her.

 

Old Friends, Amazing People ...

I have people in my life that I have loved and adored just about forever ...

I met my friend Fiona when we were 13, first year in High School.  She was a Fairfield girl ... a bus girl, and I lived just down the road from the school.  We were both a bit nervous about that first year at this enormous high school and, I was so lucky, we became friends.

I would drag her home for lunch at my place sometimes.  Back then, she was a Cadbury's Peppy Chew addict, and introduced me to the whole range ... caramel and, I think, spearmint chews too.  They were great days though.  Phone conversations and laughter in class. 

And then ... she couldn't shake me off.  Where ever I've wandered and lived since then, the story of my friend Fiona usually comes up.  She remains the friend I would I most like to be like when I grow up.

Later, after quite some moves around the country as my first husband climbed his career ladder, I arrived at Base Woodbourne, as an officer's wife.  Oh I was wide-eyed back then, in those days on the base, as I learned the etiquette of that military life there.

Again, I met an amazing woman who went on to become another one of the big loves in my life.

Christine had been an officer's wife for a while by then. and she contacted me, even before I arrived on base.  Her husband, the lovely Peter, had recruited my husband as an education officer.  He thought I might need some support as Chris went off to train for 6 months.

We had so much fun there on the base.  I remember a million cups of tea in her sun-filled kitchen, her fabulous baking, the treasures she sewed, and much laughter.  We soon had a gang of like-minded women who did things like taking me off to the secondhand shop in town, on a sherry glass hunting expedition. We never really took anything really seriously though.

Actually, we 4 almost drowned in the base swimming pool one day.  We got the giggles at the deep end.  It was worrisome ... trying to stop laughing long enough to reach one of the sides.  We made it.

I can't remember who moved first.  We only did 4 years on that base, surrounded by some of New Zealand's top wineries ... Cloudy Bay, Alan Scott and Montana, to name a few.  I didn't drink wine back then.  I was happy to be 'the driver'.  But Christine and I stayed in touch.

I spent some time with them on the base at Ohakea.   They spent  some time with us down in Fiordland.

I'm rarely on skype but today, while catching up with Christine and Peter, Fiona and Barry came online and I went from an hour with one much-loved friend, straight into an hour with another much-loved friend.

I'm exhausted.  It was amazing.  We all laughed often, caught up on news ... my cup runneth over. It's 10.42am and here I am, exhausted.

We have made plans for when Gert and I go home in December.  Small plans, to be enlarged upon when I have our dates.  But expect to laugh a lot, talk more and probably, when I see everyone again ... I think there will be tears. 

Forza 2012! 

A word about the disappearing posts ...

I'm sorry if you have me on google reader ...or anything else that reports when I post something new.

I'm slowly moving all of my blog posts from the old website to the new.  It has to be done manually, as Expression Engine and Squarespace are two of a handful who won't 'talk' with each other. 

And I have to change the datestamp on each post.  Sometimes, if I forget, the reloaded post ends up as the most recent post.  I realise, and race over to correctly datestamp it and voila, it disappears from here.

Let it be done soon.

The Price of Water in Finistère by Bodil Malmsten.

I'm in my garden in Finistère filling out change-of-address cards.  It's an afternoon at the beginning of September 2000, a  soft haze over the countryside.  The Atlantic is breathing tides and seaweed, the reassuring sound of the warning buoy like an owl.

I live in Finistère because I've moved here.  It wasn't by chance; for a woman of experience there's no such thing as chance.

Sleep with open eyes and you shall find.

... In the same way that there's a partner for every person, there's a place.  All you have to do is find your own among the billions that belong to other people, you have to be awake, you have to choose.

Extract from The Price of Water in Finistère by Bodil Malmsten.

Who could resist a book with an opening like that ...

I'm a reader who loves to fall in love with the opening paragraph.  I found this book today, by chance, in my favourite secondhand bookshop here in Belgium.  And fell in love.

I began reading it while waiting for the metro, read it as we slid through the underground on Tram 5, and will read it whenever I have a moment spare. 

It's beautiful so far.

 

RIP - Ivan Sinnaeve aka Shrapnel Charlie

Today I learned that Ivan Sinnaeve, better known as Shrapnel Charlie, had passed away yesterday, via The Belgians Have Not Forgotten blog.  And the news continues out into the world, via those who knew him, everyone sad to have lost him.  He had a way about him that left people smiling.

I went searching, and found my story of meeting this remarkable man ... back in 2009. 

I met Shrapnel Charlie yesterday.  Meeting him was as a part of my quest to create a photography exhibition about the people out here on the Westhoek ... the people who take care of the memory of the soldiers who died in WW1.

Valerie was my guide, my patient guide, who drove me to Ieper where we both enjoyed meeting this lovely man.  He was quiet yet brimming full of fun.  It soon became clear that he was also a man known to many all over the world.

Ivan Sinnaeve is his real name but he explained that the Canadians had needed to find their own way of dealing with his ‘Russian-sounding’ name and then, failing with the Belgian pronunciation (E-van), they decided to christen him Shrapnel Charlie, in recognition of the magic he works with the old shrapnel found out here on the WW1 battlefields of Flanders. Shrapnel he said he had initially been accustomed to finding out in this vegetable garden, as  turning the soil anywhere in this area usually means finding some artefact from that terrible war.

A carpenter by trade, Ivan’s career was cut short when his back was broken in an accident, leaving him with constant pain and time on his hands.  He told us he fell into this business of recreating soldiers and regiments from long ago ...but not as a real business.  Ivan, like so many who work hard at preserving the memories of the soldiers who died on Flanders Fields, never charges anything that would see him making a profit from the war dead.

We took us out to his garden shed, a space considered holy by so many kiwi men I knew growing up ... but even I have to admit, his shed was magnificent.  I could imagine the kiwi blokes drooling a little, as they ran their eyes over the collection of ‘stuff’ Ivan keeps out there.  The shell - preserved so you could see how it worked internally, timers on the end and including the containers of shrapnel.  He took us through the process of making a shrapnel soldier and I ended up learning more than expected from my photo-shoot.

This was no passive photography shoot.  Ivan is a charming and amusing raconteur.  And charmed we were, by this man who has created so many thousands of shrapnel soldiers during his time.  We were sad to leave, as we could have easily spent the day with him however, it was time to give him back some of the peace we had shattered, while photographing him doing this thing and that.

Many thanks to Ivan, and to Valerie, it was a lovely way to spend a morning.

David duChemin, Photographer

Patience, curiosity, and a willingness to value and love our subjects more than the photographs themselves will, in the end, result in stronger portraits. This patience and care allows subjects to calm, to drop their walls, and make way for moments like the second frame above – unrushed, unplanned, and unrepeatable.

David duChemin, a world & humanitarian photographer, best-selling author, and international workshop leader. David uses his powers for good and not for evil.

I enjoy his wise words on photography and wandering the world.  Tomorrow he's releasing another of his truly excellent books.  This one: Forget Mugshots, 10 Steps to Better Portraits.


A Saturday in March ...

Yesterday was  a day of reorganising the space that we have here in the 3-storey tall narrow house.  Gert and I ended up working right through the day, simply because I had decided to create a space of no distractions ... a place to finish this book I've begun.

I have two novel manuscripts started too, and another of interviews with New Zealand climbers.  That one went through two very positive publishing meetings before being rejected.  Back then, the public wasn't so interested in the crazy beautiful lives of climbers and mountaineers.  Other publishers were suggested, those who might take the risk of low sales, but then my mum began dying, I had finally started university, and somehow the manuscript has become another thing that I carry.

There are poems too. A new one that came on the train that took me across Belgium a few days ago.  A  poem that I like, and I am my toughest critic.

But anyway, photography took over as my dedicated form of expression.  You can slip everything into an image.  Sometimes it's like a poem, other times it's a novel and tells a story but mostly there is the pleasure is not being sure of what you have captured until you are done.

So I have a writing space now.  A  huge IKEA table that serves as a desk, and enough shells and stones to break my current desk collection in two while maintaining a beautiful pile of beach treasure on both desks.  Facebook, phones and non- related books are all banned from the new space.

However, in moving my writing stuff, in taking my favourite images up there, in moving all of my books on Genova... I created what seemed like a huge space down here in the 'everyday' office place.  But even that was fun, moving that bookcase there, those images here, that scarf-hanger too. 

We had Paola and Simon over for dinner last night and they were curious to see these changes, the ones I had earlier mentioned being in the midst of over on facebook.  Well ... here in the everyday office space, I realised, when looking through their eyes, that these huge changes weren't really so obvious despite the fact that they had felt like a major upheaval.   My new writing space was approved of though.

So that's how we spent our Saturday.  Dinner was delightful ... aperitivo by Paola and Simon, an Italian rib and sausage casserole by Gert, followed by one of his delicious cherry Clafoutis.  Excellent conversations, good people ... a really excellent Saturday.

I'll leave you with one of those photographs that surprised me.  I saw this tap dripping in Istanbul, in one of the many ancient places there.  I photographed it, ignoring the hustle and bustle of people around me, in that city of 14 million people.  Today, I have it here next to me, in a 30x45cm format ... I have to rehang it later but just having it here, so close, made me really see it again.  I really love it but couldn't have imagined this capture at the time of taking because it was so beautiful and how do you capture beauty ...

 

 

 

View from the MAS Museum, Antwerp

I went out into the city searching for beauty today.  It had started well this morning ... there was blue sky and sunshine but I moved too slowly and voila, by the time I left the house, it was grey.

A few weeks ago, I had made one fast family visit to Antwerp's relatively new MAS museum and had found myself wondering whether the top floor might not feed my need for a view.  It's not bad but, by crikey, it's flat here. 

And then I found something beautiful ... De Veer van César

I left the MASS Museum and walked back through the grey city, carrying my heavy camera bag, wondering why an earth I had taken it out on a such a dull day.

I stopped to look through the window at my favourite art gallery here in the city.  It's the place where I consistently see art that appeals to me ... which is no mean feat.  And it's easy to pass-by, located in Maalderijstraat, between the Cathedral and Grote Markt.

Anyway, I decided I would blog about it and so asked Minske if she spoke English.  Of course she did.  Most Antwerpenaars speak English.  I asked if I might take a photograph of the gallery and share it with you here but  then ... I got distracted.

I asked Minske Van Wijk how she had ended up with the gallery and somehow, we kept talking and it turned out she had also made a short film titled De Veer van César.

I was curious to know more and, at some point, realised this film might be 'the beautiful thing' I was searching for in the city today.

And so it was.  I came home, organised my little world here, then sat back to watch.  It's delicious!  It has English subtitles (and French too), and it gives a delightful sense of this place.  A behind-the-scenes glimpse.   Oh I need to write of this in a better way but for this first taste, you only need to know that it is poetry, and beautiful cinematography, and wonderful animation ...

You can find out where to buy your own copy of the DVD over here.  Meanwhile, the trailer is below ... without subtitles.

The Cheetah, Planckendael

There were cheetahs too, at Planckendael Wildlife Park.

We wandered all over the park for almost 2 hours and then, just as we were leaving, the sun came out.  At 5pm, the light was stunning out there in the carpark ... sigh.

There were two cheetahs, pacing the fenceline, so very interested in park staff on bicycles. 

I took this photograph through a glass wall.  Not perfect but not bad for a low-light kind of day.