Renzo Piano's Biosphere, Genova

But growing up by the sea, you get an idea of the infinite surface of the world, and you grow up with a number of desires. One is to run away. And I did. The other one is for light. Light is probably the most untouchable, immaterial material of architecture. I have another obsession: fighting gravity. In the sea, everything floats.

Renzo Piano, Architect.

But really, you probably should be encouraged to read more on this rather remarkable man from Genova.

njoying art is a personal matter. It's made up by contemplation, silence, abstraction.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/r/renzo_piano.html#bGUudFCEuzsJJYUH.99wonder if he imagined that someone might love his Biosphere, there in Porto Antico, simply because she loves the way it reflects Genova 

Exile, Charles Mudede

The natural place for the writer is exile. It can be spiritual or physical exile, but they always have to be outside of their society, because writers are outsiders. The writer is out of place when they're in their place. They need distance. They need to get away to process what it means to be who they are. Think of Jonathan Raban, Lesley Hazleton, W. G. Sebald, James Joyce, Richard Wright, and on and on—the true home of the writer is always another country.

Charles Mudede, from James Baldwin in Istanbul.

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.