French Homework ...

Miss 10 and I have been studying French, via recordings, her books and my intention ... I never studied languages in New Zealand and so 'intention' is all I have to offer.

First up, there was much laughter as she tried to add Italian endings to words like 'ecole'.  Unashamed she told me, 'but i'd rather go to Italy.  France, not so much.'

My girl I think.

And so we laboured over the half hour of French study, and I may learn French as a result, before we broke open Sandi Thom and I Wish I Was A Punkrocker.  Then we moved on to the song that her mum and I used to sing along to, as we drove along the crazy winding road that was the peninsula road home, back in Dunedin. 

Blue by Eiffel 65.  It made those wicked tight corners, between hillside and harbour, 'interesting'. 

So yes, it's like that over here at the end of a long day here in Belgium.

Now this ... it had Jess and I in hysterics, one day back when we lived in Te Anau and waiting in the car for her Dad, this came on.  We almost died as the story unfolded ...

Ran Ortner, Painter

... but then came to realise that art is not a cleverness contest. It is not one's capacity to be inventive.  It is really an honesty contest ... the capacity to truly be that thing that you are.

Ben Ortner.

Ran Ortner paints the most extraordinary paintings.

I would love to live in a room with his work there on the wall, reminding me of the sea that I love, the sea I'm so far from now.

Here's a documentary (in progress). 

Ran Ortner Trailer (documentary in process) from Todd Holland on Vimeo.

I wrote this on Facebook today ...

Antwerp ... it's grey and it's raining but coming home on the packed tram, complete with screaming child torturing her mum with a tantrum, I ended up chatting with the guy next to me. A musician, a circus performer, from Cuba originally. A friendly foreigner like me. He even does the high-wire stuff. And I had to smile, even on the grey days, these small sunshiny moments are possible.

Andrew Greig, Writer, Poet, Musician ...

I have 2 mountaineering authors I enjoy more than all others and one of them is Andrew Greig, author of the book titled Summit Fever.

Perhaps this write-up captures what I found so enjoyable about his book:  When poet Andrew Greig was asked by Scottish mountaineer Mal Duff to join his ascent of the Mustagh Tower in the Karakoram Himalayas, he had a poor head for heights and no climbing experience whatsoever. The result is this unique book.

Summit Fever has been loved by climbers and literary critics alike for its refreshing candour, wit, insight and the haunting beauty of its writing. Much more than a book about climbing, it celebrates the risk, joy and adventure of being alive.

But having 'discovered' Andrew today, beyond rereading his book and carrying it with me as I've moved towns and countries, I have truly enjoyed finding his poetry and everything else too.  He's a well-rounded artist it seems.

And I found Mal's Song (embedded below) ... beyond special.  I'm on page 38, rereading my paperback version yet again and Mal is currently introducing Andrew to the mountains ... in preparation for their adventure in the Himalayas.  Like in the song.

Mal Duff was an extraordinary man, a superb mountaineer, a good friend to many, and all kinds of other things that I can't possibly imagine, I'm sure.  He died at Everest's base camp back in 1997. 

Joe Simpson, who also had some epic times in the mountains with Mal, wrote of Mal's favourite quote in the introduction to Andrew's book, Summit Fever.  The quote:

He either fears his fate too much

or his deserts are small,

that dares no put it to the touch

to win or lose it all.

- the Duke of Montrose.

But of course.

And that would be Joe Simpson, that other writer/mountaineer whose books I love. 

I Loved These Words ...

For a homebody surrounded by the familiar or a traveler exploring the strange, there can be no better guide to a place than the weight of its air, the behavior of its light, the shape of its water, the textures of rock and feather, leaf and fur, and the ways that humans bless, mark or obliterate them.

Each of us possesses five fundamental, enthralling maps to the natural world: sight, touch, taste, hearing, smell. As we unravel the threads that bind us to nature, as denizens of data and artifice, amid crowds and clutter, we become miserly with these loyal and exquisite guides, we numb our sensory intelligence. This failure of attention will make orphans of us all.

Ellen Meloy, Writer.

A Poppy Kind of Day ...

It's a grey day here in Antwerp.  Grey in so many ways, and so a splash of colour didn't seem out of order here on the blog. 

I'm reading an exquisite essay by Rebecca Solnit - The Far North of Experience, In Praise of Darkness (and Light), cooking the first of two pavlovas, and I'm back on everyday school-runs for 2 weeks as of today.

My photography exhibition is coming together and I have some workshops to plan.  There's a Passenger concert to attend soon too.

Wishing you a lovely weekend

Karoline's Work and Words About Working With Me in Norway

My lovely Norwegian clients were teenage sisters.  Their eye for composition and their ability to understand what I was showing them about photography, impressed me. 

They wrote of working with me and made me adore them even more :-)

Working with Di has been incredibly fun! At first, I thought it was going to be challenging learning everything in English, but it was surprisingly easy.

She is a really great teacher, and a really great person. I will definitely start taking a lot more pictures now that I know how to do it properly.

It has been an amazing experience that I will never forget!

Rebecca's Work and Words About Working With Me in Norway

You know us teens; we're bad at giving things a chance before deciding whether it's fun or boring, and I honestly thought it would be boring. But no, it was incredibly fun!

And not only was Di a good teacher, she is also one of those people who is easy to kind of connect with. And for me, that is very important. She taught us a lot more than just photography.

It was a great experience and I definitely have been inspired to photograph more.

Scenes from Norway ...

I had spent time processing the photographs I took in Norway ... needing to get them out and back to people there.

Today, in a terrifying moment where Ihavenoideawhatjusthappened, I managed to delete the entire Norway folder ... while deleting 3 smaller folders of photographs I couldn't access, sent by someone else.

I never ever delete folders in my Super JPG program but today I did. 

Never ever again.

I managed to recover almost all 1,853 images via one of those incredible rescue programs.  My punishment was that each file needed individually clicked to have to restored.  The day has been long.

But anway ... some Norwegian scenes.

Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekathedraal, Antwerp

Here's another view of Antwerp's city cathedral - Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekathedraal.

I discovered it reflected in a puddle out on Groenplaats one day.  And loved it.  And quite possibly looked insane as I stalked the puddle edges, searching for the best angle to capture the reflection at ... but I was compelled to.

't Stad

Antwerp city... otherwise known as 't Stad, is a city with staying power.  Quietly determined, she has stood here, growing, since Gallo Roman times, fighting off every kind of invader.  A steenezel perhaps but so solid.  Always solid, despite the Spanish, the Dutch, the Austrians, the Nazis and all kinds of other folk too, attempting to rule her.

The story goes that the city got its name via a legend that involved a mythical giant called Antigoon.  He lived near the Scheldt River and demanded a toll from those using the river.  If people refused, he cut off their hand and threw it into that river.  The giant was eventually killed by a hero called Brabo who, in the way of mythical stories, cut off that giant's hand and threw it into the river. 

Antwerpen or hand werpen, as in the Old English hand and wearpan (to throw), became the name of this city way back in those days when mythical giants existed ... somehow.

There are all kinds of other, more practical, stories regarding the name but this is my favourite.

Below is a glimpse of the famous river, giant-free, at sunset.  You can see the exquisite Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekathedraal, (aka Cathedral of Our Lady) in the background.  Construction finished way back in 1521.  The one finished spire stands at 123 metres (404 ft) high, and is the highest church tower in the Benelux.  The largest bell in the tower requires 16 bell ringers.

It's a city where I've been lucky to find all the pretty ways home because there are pretty ways.  And I do love the ancient heart of the city, its perfectly walkable, cobblestoned and full of all kinds of surprises.  It's as quirky as you can imagine. Let me show you.

What Have I Achieved... ?

I believe that half the trouble in the world comes from people asking 'What have I achieved?' rather than 'What have I enjoyed?'

Walter Farley

A wholehearted yes to this quote, found over on Terri Windling's beautiful blog, Myth & Moor.

I have decided that to die rich is stories is another way to measure a life.  I have never 'achieved' in the normal sense of the word but I like the way my life has played out so far.  I've lost everything twice but not in a traumatic way ... it's more that I simply stepped away from 'stuff'.

I read of people desiring, quite desperately it seems, to declutter their lives and I think, 'move countries' and take only the 23kg limit allowed by most carriers out of New Zealand.  It was the same when I moved from Istanbul. What you can't leave behind becomes clear ...

Those Landscapes ...

When I went home, back in 2012, one of the places I had to revisit was the river in the photograph below.

It was the scene of much childhood joy.  It was my river.  I loved the smell of it as it flowed out of the valley and onto the plains.   I loved the scent the stones would throw up from under our wet and wriggly bodies as we baked ourselves on top of them, teeth chattering, after being ordered out of the river to warm ourselves a while.  I loved picnics there ... warm Greggs cordial in big glass beer bottles, and egg sandwiches and cakes Mum had baked.   And I loved the way my hair would smell, full of river water, on the way home.

Later, when body consciousness forced me out of the river and those idyllic childhood days, I returned with my dog.  She seemed to share my passion for the river.  I would skim stones for her from the shore.

Fast-forward decades and everyone warned me, when I went home ... things will have changed.  You will have idealised it.  So I was cautious with my expectations, knowing that the landscapes I had loved might seem different, now I was older, more traveled.

But no ... those old landscapes, they rose up in front of me and kissed me full on the mouth.  A bear hug, or more, and this deep feeling of joy over simple things like bird song and the scent of bush in the rain at Tautuku. 

Nothing had changed.   All of the big passionate love I had felt was still there.   Those 'scapes allowed me to slip back in and love them like always.  No recriminations about leaving. 

Well, maybe .... just a few sly questions like, have you found anywhere better?  Name one place where the air smells like this ...  

Did you miss us?

There Are People I Miss In My Everyday Life ...

I rolled up my sleeves and waded into my photo-archives, wanting to begin the selection process I need to do for my exhibition opening at the end of October.

I popped back to the surface of life when reminded of an 11am appointment, at 11.15am.  I'd forgotten in spite of having my appointments book open in front of me.  An appointment with a friend but still, I forgot.

Photographs were taken, the last in a series.  She made me a coffee, we shared our stories since last meeting, then I returned to my desk ... after lunch and a little more laundry.

Then came a conversation about 9/11, a link shared that pulled me into the world of the 2,200+ engineers and architects who want the event properly examined.  Using real science.  And I read the discussion that followed amongst friends and bommpft, I fell off the edge of my creative world ... again.

I have 8,000 photographs in the archives of my 2010 visit back home to New Zealand.  I have photographic archives that I have never fully reviewed ... folders where I have skimmed off the best and most obvious at the time, meaning to get back to the rest but life has raced on, like a galloping horse sometimes.

Slightly destroyed, I wandered across to my bed.  Note: having an office in a large bedroom means that the space isn't big enough to stop the bed-walk from occurring when sadness kicks in.  I flopped there for a few minutes before the Belgian bloke phoned from his first day back after his long summer holiday.

Guilt.  Caught being so lazy. 

So here I am, back at the computer, exploring all these archived images of mine.  I love what I'm finding, in terms of memories of home and people I adore but I'm  fighting the sensation of overwhelm as hundreds upon hundreds of moments I never want to forget appear here in front of me.

Meet Fiona, my friend Fiona.  She has been described in this way since I first left the place where we grew up.  My friend Fiona ... my very best friend since I was 13 and still, so many years on, much-adored ... much-missed because we live about 20,000kms apart.  I wish we lived closer. 

Missing you today, Fiona.

Love,  Di