Words are not just words
they are kisses
on the lips of silence
that speak of your essence
~Vesna~

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Busy Family

For Zoe and Art Odyssey who are for me unlimited source of the Ideas and Inspiration


Busy Family

"Arvo! Jani! Onni! Ritva! Get ready and come down for lunch, mom will be here any second." Father shouted from the dining room. Mom had attended the World Peace Council meeting and came very inspired and hopeful. Dad felt very content and proud after his morning violin practice when Sybelius himself had clapped to him from the Heaven's above. And us, kids, we had spent an ordinary day. We went to school, behaved well, we did our homework, we stayed quiet, unnoticed. We could have probably done much more then that, but it was not appropriate. Maybe later, when we grow up.


"It is never late to have a happy childhood" I read somewhere...

Monday, July 20, 2009

Lost In Metaphors



You move forward.

There is a shadow.

As it gets longer makes you aware of the time.

There is a footstep.

Sand is letting you transform its perfect stillness only so much.

You live your Life:

One step at the time.

Saturday, July 18, 2009


somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

E.E.Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Friday, July 17, 2009

Variation on the Word Sleep


I would like
to be the air
that inhabits you
for a moment only.
I would like to be
that unnoticed
& that necessary.
Margaret Atwood (b. 1939)

Thursday, July 16, 2009

A love story

Her hair is grey, Her face is wrinkled. Her slim, even thin body has become somehow cumbersome and has the shape of the pear.
I am watching how she tastes the boiling soup and how she is about to burn her tongue, like every other time she does it.
I would never replace her. I am getting up, looking for my walking stick, rushing to cover her mouth with a juicy kiss
.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Reflections



A man and a woman. I don't know the name of the city or the street. Or if they are going to a party or to work. As they were walking down the street they didn't look at each other's faces. They would stop in front of the big windows of the stores and look for the reflections. They were too shy to speak, too shy to turn their heads but curiosity was strong enough to keep them walking one beside the other. They were chasing the reflections in the sunglasses of the people walking by, in the mirrors of the cars. They were enjoying the game. It was fun, flirtatious, promising, cheerful, mysterious, seductive.

After some time another person joined them. It was hard to tell the gender or the age. The coat and the hat could've been for men or women, same as the shoes or the jeans. Walking beside them, stopping when they stopped, the stranger became part of the game. Nobody spoke a word, nobody turned to meet face to face, they kept looking for the reflections.
Doubt and jealousy entered the flock of feelings that was flying above them. Flirting, cheerfulness and seduction got tired. Mystery took the lead, fun was hesitant.
What did each one of them try to catch in the reflection? Why did the feelings change?
I guess it will remain a mystery.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Studio

You are stuck in the studio working. Thinking should you make a fresh pot of coffee although you know it will keep you awake longer than you wish. The studio is warm and you take off your jacket hoping that a new model won't mind meeting you in the old T shirt. You are not too concerned what she will think anyway. You are Picasso for God's sake. You just want to finish this session and go home and enjoy the night.
She comes in, her hair is soaking wet, same as the black raincoat. You can sense she is nervous. Her first time. That is always special. You always feel responsible for making the model comfortable. Suddenly it is not hard for you to find the energy to talk, to create something beautiful. You take her raincoat, give her a warm hug and kiss her hand.
Only three strokes to finish the masterpiece and the rest of the night to enjoy the model.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Old Robots




One day I'd like to tell you a story,it is very close to my CPU, my son.
Maybe today is the day. It is raining....
The story is about one unusual female robot GHBF0234. She was made with some imperfections, one of them was the material of her body was prone to rusting. So she should have avoided humidity to remain functional. Contrary to logical behavior she was always going out when it was raining. The little girl that owned her, would oil her carefully and polish rusty spots if they would appear. Girl didn't mention this odd behavior of her play robot to her parents. One reason was that she was afraid they would take GHBF0234 away from her for a long time, to repair her, or even worse to replace her with a new, probably a perfect one. And little girl didn't want that. She enjoyed this little game. She enjoyed taking care of her friend robot who against any logic went out in the rain and became squeaky and rusty.
How do I know this story? Well, I was programmed to mow the lawn in the neighborhood. I am made of the perfect, stainless steel material, so I could go out in the rain. Of course it wasn't logical either to mow the lawn in the rain and I didn't do it the first 27 times it rained and I spotted GHBF0234 outside. I am not sure how I reprogrammed myself to start working in the rain, but it happened. It was influencing my performance in a good way so my owners never had a problem with it. I was so perfect and so not interesting to them, they hardly noticed my existence. Well, then I made you, from some old materials, similar to GHBF0234 and they started to notice me and to love you. In my logical mind they could love you because you needed attention, same as them. But how would I know? I am merely an observer.
I have heard humans talking about their experiences, the memories, it has very little to do with logic my son.
But it is all I can leave you now, the experience of us sharing some moments together and the hope it will stay in your memory forever.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Inspiration

Her hair today again had a new shine. It was more red and made a different kind of frame around her face.“I’ll never finish this portrait”, he thought. He really needed the provision from this painting but he didn’t feel angry that the work was prolonging. Little Elizabeth, his daughter, brought light and warmth to the studio with her presence. One day her hair would have the color of gold, the other day the color of a young chestnut, or, like today, shine of bronze.He looked through the window and saw his wife planting purple flowers. It seemed to him like the grass around her was all blue. His heart sent colorful fireworks through his eyes.“Maybe it is time to paint what I feel, not what I see.” He thought.Then the inspiration came by itself, he didn’t have to call it.

Thank you Zoe for the Inspiration, your gentle guidance makes everything possible.
(Painting by Duy Huyhn)