Marco Fabbri & the Irish Fiddle Workshop, Genova

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I'm sitting here, on the second-last step of the marble stairs in Liguria,, listening to a small group of Italians studying traditional Irish music, played on the fiddle, with Marco Fabbri.

There's a wood burner softening the air, creating that blur where my New Zealand memories exist ...the smoke, the big cosy lounge, and the gathering of good people, reminds me of home, of times past.

I arrived here on Friday night and have been quietly delighting in my good fortune ever since.  Marco is both a superb musician and excellent teacher, and the workshop has been a joy to attempt to capture ... both in photographs and on video. 

As I write this, 5 fiddlers are playing 'Murphy's', led by Marco's foot tapping out the beat.  Paola's B&B is in her home and it's a beautiful home, with unlimited early-morning coffee, which is so important to me these days.  And there's this bed I'm going to struggle to leave, as it's the best I've slept in since leaving New Zealand so many years ago.

Yesterday's lunch was at a local bar and last night's dinner was in my favourite pizzeria down in the city.  'In the city' because after dinner we made our way into the heart of the caruggi where Marco and fellow Roman. Gabriele Caporuscio,  played their beautiful Irish music.  Afterwards they were joined by a few local musicians and had a 'session'.

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The big challenge was the lighting, down there in the medieval basement, where light was limited to candlelight.  Not the best for photography but interesting, with the ISO cranked up to 6000+  ... as above.

1am, we 4 dragged ourselves back to the car and made the 30 minute journey, back up into the hills, where we only had the strength to say a series of 'Buona nottte's,' before disappearing to our rooms. 

Sunday morning, and it's been more than 24 hours of Irish music, eating, some laughing and a little drinking too ... I don't want to leave but isn't that how the best workshops go. 

But I wanted to write this while the woodsmoke was still in the air, and while the workshop was still happening, and while I was full of the peace that comes from living out a most excellent experience.  

And I was lucky to get here, much has been happening and I was exhausted when the invitation arrived.  I almost said no to this but suspected it would be to good to miss.  It has been so much better than I could have imagined.  The people have been kind, and there has been the delight of other musicians swirling in and out of the group.

I'll go back to work on the photographs but ciao from this beautiful slice of Ireland, up here in the hills above Genova.

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A Small Roadtrip, in the Italian Riveria

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Joey the Wondercar, Leah's valiant little Cinquecento, (Fiat 500) took us on a delicious road-trip yesterday.  We wandered, really meandered, from Genova to Portofino and back again, with many stops along the way ... lunch, coffee, aperitivo.  

That would be Leah, the Canadian blogger writing over at, Help I Live With My Italian Mother In Law.

The one who laughingly told me, that my camera gear was the only thing that saved me from a soaking yesterday.

This water came that close, as seen below ...

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The Ligurian coastline is completely underrated, almost a secret, but I kind of like the peace of that.

And as you can see, if you know New Zealand ... it reminds me of home.

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Everything was beautiful out there.  Divine even, without exaggeration. 

There was this confused feral cat, who stretched and smooched nearby but hissed if we reached out to stroke her.  She was a beautiful creature.

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And we met up with Leah's little dog soul-mate, and I whispered to him as I clicked the shutter.

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And then?

Well, we found these hammocks, up in the olive grove, above Leah's house.  

I have wanted a hammock my whole entire life.  I had spent a few hours in one as a child and loved it.  I thought I had died and gone heaven yesterday, up there on the top of the hill at Portofino, in the hammock hanging between two olive trees, as the sun started its slide into sunset.

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And on the way home, walking back through the city, people called out and greeted me.  And that's gold when you live in a country not your own.  

It was a good day ... 

Grazie mille, Leah. 

Impermanence ...

These days, I am more aware of the impermanence of things.  

I develop routines, find a place to live, have particular friends but always aware that these things are not forever. 

Mr One went traveling for a couple of months and when he returned, he had grown and changed so many of his habits and routines.  

I arrived in Italy and moved into the apartment I had been returning to since 2008 but then I had to leave.  And I love where I live now, so much more but I had to let go and trust that things would be okay, even though it seemed impossible. 

Winter was cold and I was  ill but now it's summer, and it's so hot, and I'm loving that.  It hasn't dropped below 23 celsius for weeks, not even at night but we have these occasional storms and so, unlike much of Italy, we're not experiencing drought.  I love Genova's Fiordland-like deluges.  I leave the windows open and listen to the rain crashing down.

I had a few weeks of wandering alone here in the city. Of days without shape or appointments. I was unmoored from life, quite completely.  There was nothing and no one to hold me but I knew, that too would pass. And so, I very quietly, enjoyed that time of photography, writing and wandering.

I have found places, here in Genova, where the music is good.  And musicians who are some of the kindest, most amusing, people I know.  Spending time with them is so much fun.  I hope to post video here soon.  But that's a long story for later ...

And today, a woman told me she liked my writing, and that meant the world to me.  Grazie mille for your kindness.

It's very difficult to take my work seriously.  I'm a photographer who writes.  It feels more like a kind of rebellion in this world where value is measured via income and social position ... this desire to seek out, and try to capture, beauty.  

So it's another strange space I inhabit.  I'm not anything respectable, like an accountant or a doctor.  I don't work in an office or a shop.  I only make art ... 

But I love my life.  And sometimes, when I go wandering, I turn at the right time and photograph a small boy gently touching a chandelier that is for sale in an antiques market, here in Italy.  And that makes everything perfectly okay.