Changes and Colours

A Painting on the Wall

2011-12-01T21:39:00.000+04:00

Short of Perfection

2011-11-16T21:37:00.001+04:00

My Mom

2011-10-17T14:16:00.003+05:00

15.12.1944 - 08.10.2011

Autumn Light

2011-09-26T11:03:00.008+05:00

When People Leave

2011-09-19T12:24:00.009+05:00

When people leave

A house stands still

With only wind breathing by

We are in Budapest...

What Not to Do in Cafes

2011-04-23T09:06:00.007+05:00

( Not need to translate, is it?)

In Memory of T.V.S.

2011-04-20T22:26:00.002+05:00

I just had a call from Moscow that a woman who was a major influence in my life passed away in France.

She was a director and a founder of the school I used to work in; an excellent teacher she became my mentor and,later, my friend.

She always pushed the boundaries; regular rules didn’t apply much to her. From the moment I met her during the job interview, she fascinated me. At that time she was 43 – the age when most women in my country used to look tired and genderless. She looked fit, stylish and full of life. Her spirit visibly bubbled with energy.

She touched so many lives around her by simply posing questions, prompting people to search for answers. She taught me how to think and how to teach; she taught me how to conquer my fears and how to laugh at myself. In sense she brought me to life as a person.

Her life was so full of adventures – a teacher, a linguist, a published poet, a founder of a school,creator of the travel agency, an editor of a newspaper. It is hard to imagine that all that stopped now. She would have been 64 next month.

Long ago when I was leaving Moscow she said “Thank you for everything. Be happy, my little one”.

That is what I want to say now, “Thank you for everything, T.”

But Where is the Sun?

2011-03-10T15:15:00.000+04:00

Everthing is so grey around here, so the only thing that comes to mind is:

Talking in Photos

2011-02-12T08:33:00.007+04:00

And thus making this...

Confession: Part of being bored is creative exaggeration. I just wanted to use food art photos.

A tale of a Carpet.

2011-02-10T18:57:00.006+04:00

Under the banner of "Get organized, you will be leaving Baku in four months" I bought a carpet. Not just a carpet, but my first carpet ever. Considering that we have been living in Azerbaijan, where carpet business is huge - I am a late bloomer. I usually look at carpets, listen to the sellers' stories and then go home empty handed. This time a fish design of a carpet caught my eye and in my mind fish = happiness = freedom = good luck.
"Well", I said, "I'll take it home, to try it out" (Here you can do such thing - take an object (a carpet, painting) home to live with it for awhile, to see it in a different light.)

I put it on the floor and realized that it had to stay. And that is how the "Fish" carpet found its home.

Back in Baku

2011-01-18T05:59:00.003+04:00

Back in Baku the weather is still unseasonably warm. The temperature hovers between + 5 C in the morning to + 10/12 C during the day, which allows you to feel pretty comfortable in a light coat.

We are entering the countdown zone - five months to our departure. Time to get organized: there are school admissions forms to fill, medical clearances to renew, stuff to sort, papers to shred. And at work - I will need carefully map the future events,go through all the files,introduce my colleague to everybody she should know, etc, etc.

I certainly have a plan in my head - the trick is to execute it on time.

Happy New Year!

2010-12-31T15:12:00.002+04:00

We spent New Year Eve at the beach playing with waves, watching the sky turning into velvety blackness, mesmerized by candlelit lanterns floating up towards the stars.

I counted my blessings and whispered after incomparable E.E.Cummings:

Happy New Year to all!

Present, Past and Future

2010-12-28T17:13:00.004+04:00

Statues that pepper the streets of the cities tell intersting stories about cities' inhabitants. Here in Baku a lot of statues bear the features of social realizm - all solemn, angular, emanating strength and determination.

In Bangkok they seem to be more about smooth, elongated forms and intricate detailing.

Present:

Found in Lumphini Park

Past:

"Warrior", found in Wat Phra Kaew

Future:

Want to guess the title of this statue?

"Women in the Next Three Decades" by Sahathep Thepburi

"Slighty grim look at future", I thought, but googling around discovered that those round forms seem to be a trademark of this Italian artist. By the way, he founded the art school in Bangkok that later became Silparkorn University.(The Silpakorn University is situated north across the street from the Grand Palace and is the home of several galleries of contemporary art.)

Flowers, Flowers Everywhere...

2010-12-26T16:58:00.007+04:00

Grand Palace, Bangkok

Details, Grand Palace, Bangkok

Details, Grand Palace, Bangkok

On the Second Day of Christmas

2010-12-26T14:32:00.006+04:00

in Bangkok we saw... No, not two turtle doves, but something a bit more exotic...

And, then further in the park...

And, later in the street...

But as soon as we sighed, "oh,how peaceful", we came to this...

On a sunny day

2010-12-24T16:46:00.001+04:00

before Christmas we went to see mud volcanoes. There are more than 300 of them here in Azerbaijan, you know.

We saw little ones...

And we saw big ones...

We listened to their gurgling sounds...

And we touched their cool mud...

And we simply couldn't resist to say...

to all.

JB

2010-11-21T09:46:00.010+04:00

" I am always interested in things that we don't call art, and I say why not?" (John Baldessari)

" I Will not Make any More boring Art" by John Balessari, 1971

"Tips for Artists who Want to Sell" by John Baldessari

Beautiful Georgia

2010-05-16T16:09:00.003+05:00

A week after returning from Budapest I was again traveling – this time to Georgia, Tbilisi, which I know a little and like a lot ( I wrote about it back in october after my first visit there.) It was again work related, but fun nevertheless. Since my colleague and I organized the trip and were in charge of 17 people, it was a bit stressful, but Georgia is well worth it.

There are so many things to explore there:

Old streets of Tbilisi with colourful mosaics near the doors...

Strange characters (I actually remember noticing this men before, and here he was again, at the same place)

Narikala fortress that dominates the city skyline...

Peaceful yards of the churches;

And, of course the Uplistsikhe Cave City in Gori is something to explore for hours...

All In the Details...

2010-05-06T20:54:00.003+05:00

There are so many cities in the world but only some of them speak to your soul.

From the moment I laid my eyes on Budapest, my heart melted. The road from the airport to the city was the start of the romance – bright green of grass and trees seemed cheerful after prolonged greyness of Baku. Shady parks begged to be explored and there were people everywhere: riding their bikes, strolling or sitting on the grass.

I spent a week in Budapest and fall in love with the city: it is certainly a place I would love to live at least for a while. The details - I think that all the marvelous details - in the facades of the building; in the layout of the streets; in silhouettes of majestic bridges across Danube, in soft night time light - are completely armored me. I tried to determine why this city seemed so captivating to me. What I realized is that though three last cities we happened to live in, Beijing, Reykjavik,and Baku, were undoubtedly interesting, their architecture (Forbidden City or Temple of Heaven aside) overall was plain. There you had to look hard for something striking, in Budapest it was a visual feast.You could simply step out of the hotel door and arresting images were at your disposal.

Given that my training ran until five, I didn’t have many opportunities for good photos but below are a few.....

Windows

2010-05-04T22:46:00.003+05:00

Looking from outside into an open window one never sees as much as when one looks through a closed window...What one can see out in the sunlight is always less interesting than what goes on behind a windowpane. In that black or luminous square life lives, life dreams, life suffers.....

Charles Baudelaire "Windows"

Small World

2010-04-18T16:37:00.006+05:00

Let me rave about a book that I haven’t been able to part with for overly two months. I came to the library and asked for something uplifting but challenging and the result was the introduction to the world of David Lodge’s novels. I started with “Changing Places” and ended up reading everything available there.

His trilogy of academic satires captured my attention partially because of its subject – the world of literature, language and literary scholars are familiar to me. Among the trilogy “Small World” became my absolute favorite.

It is a second book of the trilogy with “Changing Places”, being the first and”Nice Work” - the last. A person who recommended me the author said: “He is one of the most intelligent contemporary writers” and I couldn’t agree more. It isn’t that he is a scholar himself – he was an English professor before devoting himself fully to writing, but the way he weaves references, allusions, quotations into his texts.

And the plot, the plot of this book is done so interestingly. Essentially it is a blue print of a soap opera populated with people from an academic field - a soap opera in disguise of a serious read. So what we have is a masterful mix of melodrama, suspense, elements of a fair tale, adventure, exalted emotions, sexual liaisons and philosophical discussions on the nature of text and literature in general. You are so caught in the twists and turns of the plot or, better say interconnected plots, and its numerous characters that you realize that you have been fooled only at the end of the novel. Brilliant!

It is incredibly entertaining and certainly demands a second reading in order to catch some references, fleeting comments and such. The man referenced even himself along with Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare and the Grail Quest. How neat is that?

Why ...

2010-04-07T17:18:00.002+05:00

... is it so hard to peel a hard boiled egg sometimes? Sometimes a shell peels easily revealing a perfect white and sometimes it clings to an egg white and totally ruins its smooth finish.

Seriously why?

Secret Notes

2010-04-01T19:13:00.006+05:00

He wrote secret notes to people he hadn't met yet.

Some of them aren't even born, he said, but we live in a strange neigborhood & they will need help figuring things out

& I won't always be around to explain it to them.

Can you figure it out? Secret notes, I mean?

Black and White

2010-03-31T15:55:00.006+05:00

I find black and white photos especially alluring, and my older son seems to be fascinating with them also. Someday I will return to writing with words but for now I'll stick with speaking through images.

photos by AC

A Walk Through the Cemetery.

2010-03-25T20:26:00.008+04:00

There are many parks in Baku, some of them are lined with trees, some - with concrete, most of them crowded with people. It makes Faxri Xiyəbani Cemetery, which of course technically isn’t a park, but nominally is, the most tranquil place of the city.

Upon entering it the noise and rush of the city are fallen behind and you come face to face with the past. The names on the graves, with some exceptions, will be unfamiliar to foreigners but the busts and monuments are creative enough to give you a clue of person’s occupation.

Faxri Xiyəbani Cemetery is a cemetery of great Azeri artists, scholars and politicians, and yes, the late president Heydar Alieyev is buried there.

Can You See It?

2010-03-23T17:14:00.003+04:00

No? I thought so, I cannot too. The smog today in Baku was especially heavy.

Casablanca y Fuente Negra

2010-03-23T09:20:00.000+04:00

Found in Baku:

Novruz Bayram

2010-03-21T16:06:00.006+04:00

Every year on the 21st of March Azerbaijan celebrates Novruz Holiday or Novruz Bayram. It is a celebration of the Spring Equinox, which marks a start of the New Year by Muslim Calendar. Four Tuesdays prior to Novruz are considered to be very special days. They are named for the four elements: water, fire, earth and air and celebrated by trick-or-treating and lighting small bonfires at the backyards, sidewalks or on the streets. Trick-or- treating are for kids: they ring a bell, put their hats near the door and run away in order to keep their identities a secret. People who answer the door have to fill hats with candies. Bonfires are for everyone who wants to ensure good luck for the next year – you simply leap over them 7 times and you are all set.

Today the center of the city was filled with people. The platforms for the performers were built near the Maiden Tower and along the Boulevard, a small bazaar was opened in the Old City and laughter and chatter flew in the air. Most importantly, the weather changed for the best – it was sunny and relatively warm.

So, what did we see you ask? Here it goes:

"Weightlifters"

Bazaar in the Old City

Beauties From the Old Times.

Concert of the Azeri Music

Distance in Songs.

2010-03-16T19:58:00.000+04:00

It took 5 songs of “The Doors” to go from our house to work.

“Break on Through” accompanied us through suburbia - flying geese in the sky and stray dogs playfully rolling around on the side of the road.

“Light my Fire” carried us pass the flowers sellers opening their booths along the cemetery walls and a lonely policemen on a roundabout.

“Crystal Ship” brought us into the sea of people and cars – passengers waiting for the buses, pedestrians, crossing the roads, cars hurrying to reach their destinations.

“People Are Strange” – distracted me in a turtle like pace of Bakihanov prospect.

“Strange Days” – was the end of the journey.

Happy 8th of March!

2010-03-08T16:01:00.000+04:00

Happy International Women's Day for those who celebrate it and for those who don't - have a happy day as well.

Beware of Lexus.

2010-02-17T17:09:00.000+04:00

Anybody who lives or lived in Baku will tell you that traffic here is nightmarish. Conditions of the roads are poor and most of them are in constant state of repair or improvement, which causes chaotic closures of familiar routes.

Drivers of Baku are quite aggressive and it isn’t uncommon to see a car going into the line of oncoming traffic. Equally common is to see cars speedily backing down the roads. (This maneuver always inspires awe in me.) To express their impatience or to let you know of their whereabouts drivers rely on their horns that often sound more like old-fashioned klaxons. Perhaps they relay on them too much, because honking cacophony accompanies every minute of navigating the roads.

As for pedestrians they are one reckless bunch – they don’t fear for their lives, they just cross the roads whenever they feel like it. It is especially unnerving when they suddenly appear in front of your car emerging from behind the front of the bus.

To add some spice to all that mix there are buses that drive like sedans and policemen whose prime function is to take fines in whatever sums it suits them.

Anyone will tell you that you have to implore defensive driving here and need to be acutely aware of your surroundings. I will add to it my personal advice – beware of Lexus – those pricey vehicles carry the most dangerous drivers, the ones who think that they rule the road.

In Praise of Morpheus.

2010-02-15T15:04:00.002+04:00

Despite the fact that everyone knows how important sleep is – it is from its precious time we often snatch an hour or two. We snatch them and put them on the alter of efficiency or productivity (whatever word appeal to you more.) I think secretly people regard sleep as time of idleness and idleness isn’t something we can commit ourselves to lightly. (Bertrand Russell devoted a whole article to this subject back in 1932, as well as numerous authors in recent years, so I am not going down this path today).

I am here to sing the praise to Morpheus, the winged son of Hypnos and Pasithea.
You talk to people and they either confess that they don’t have enough sleep or that they couldn’t to reach a blissful oblivion. Depending on a day I swing from one group to the other. Today is Washington’s Birthday, which means that while I didn’t need to go to work, my kids had to go to school, and, with my husband away, I found myself alone in the house with no particularly pressing errands.

As soon as the doors closed behind the boys, I flew upstairs and straight into the arms of Morpheus. He softly blew onto my eyelids and the reality ceased to exist. I woke up at noon – first time in my whole life! (I was sleep deprived, wasn’t I?) Somebody hummed “I’ve Got the World on a String” nearby and it took me a moment to realize that it was me.

“The hell with the things that I have to do”, I thought, “I am taking this day off.” And I continued with slow morning ablutions, followed by a leisurely branch. As I cupped a hot coffee mug and inhaled its aroma, I closed my eyes and was transported to a wooden terrace overlooking the ocean. The smell of the ocean, the light breeze, the whisper of the trees – it made me smile. It wasn’t a fleeting smile but the one that rises deep from within: slowly growing, expanding until it reaches the lips, the corners of the eyes and finally, flood your whole being with happiness.

I was perfectly content! And all thanks to a few extra hours of sleep! (I wish it can be the way of bottling such perfect moments, keeping them for the gloomy days.)

Hope you all had a wonderful day as well,
VC

Black January

2010-01-19T10:00:00.003+04:00

These days of the middle of January carry a lot of sad memories for Azerbaijan. Twenty years ago when the movement for independence from the Soviet Union was gaining momentum, a wave of nationalistic pogroms erupted in the country. In a city once known for its multinational culture people turned on each other “man against man, neighbor against neighbor.” Some chose to become hunters, some, not given a choice, became hunted. People were killed and those who weren’t fled the city. On the night from the 19th to 20th of January 1990 Soviet troops entered Baku and again innocent people were killed. Those days went down in the history of Azerbaijan as Black January and the 20th of January is now known as Mourning Day, remembrance of those who lost their lives. Red carnations already start to appear in the Alley of Martyrs where the fallen were laid to rest.

Twenty years have passed but the memories of those days are still throbbing. One woman told me how she and her small kids huddled in the bathroom close to the floor because so many people were killed by stray bullets. “I still remember the crack running in the center of my tiles,” she said. The other told of the painful realization that people whom you knew could so easily turn against you. “We were neighbors, you know,” she kept repeating, even after 20 years shaking her head in disbelief.

Whenever I listen to people talk about those days – I inevitably notice the faraway look of souls lost in the past and when after a pause they return to conversation, they say, “Let’s not talk about it, it was so long ago” and then there is silence.

Silence of crystal night
Pierced by machine gun fire:

Rain of broken glass, tramping of running feet,
Cries of people and later stunned silence.

Those alien sounds
Smashed windows of hopes and dreams –
Pieces of broken glass mirrored the empty sky.

An Unexpected Visitor

2010-01-18T14:33:00.005+04:00

Look whom we found in our backyard upon arrival home! He is still indecisive whether he would leave or stay. For now he is camping on our lawn.

Below is the permanent resident of our yard, Attila.

Results

2010-01-16T12:11:00.003+04:00

Parenting is such a peculiar occupation - you do it constantly even if you don't intend to. It is annoying at times because often the kids picked up something that you would not want them to learn - bad habits, for example. Both of my boys bite their lips and there is no way to deny that this "gift" came from me. Once in a while though they surprise me by showing that my nagging is taking its hold.

From my childhood I was taught that it is rude to refer to a third person in his/her presence using a pronoun (she/he), you should always use his/her name. As in, "Aleksandra asked you to do something" instead of "She asked you to do something." when Aleksandra is standing right there. I have been trying to pass it on my kids and those seemingly fruitless attempts felt exasperating.

Today I heard them both catching and correcting themselves on exactly this point. While having breakfast and chatting about dreams the younger one said "Remember that weird dream, sh...(quick glance in my direction) mom told us about?" and later in the day the older one corrected himself while speaking with his friends.

I hope that someday they will learn to keep their elbows off the table as well.

Things We Love

2010-01-11T17:50:00.005+04:00

I am feeling blue. Not because of the weather - it is sunny and nice; not because of a pesky headache - it finally left me, not because of abundance of work - it is a bit of a lull there at the start of the week, but because on Saturday I happened to conduct a tour in the Art Museum and it reminded me how immensely I miss doing what I am good at. Every our move I reinvent myself - learn new ropes, teach myself yet another skill - each time feeling like a student who has to prove herself. But there in the museum, leading the tour, I was doing what I love and know well. Teaching essentially. I let myself to forget how much I love those things. I like the thrill of discovery which generates the desire to share, I like spending hours talking with people in search of information, I like sifting through books or websites unearthing forgotten facts, I like the moment when all the separate bits of information come together into a whole, the moment when a tour/lecture/lesson takes its shape and there is a vision of how it should be going, and I like effortless connection between me and audience that transfers a random group of people into participants, co-creators.

Through the years of moving from country to country I have been taking my friends and family to various museums, galleries,city walks but I haven't done it with a crowd for way too long. It felt exactly how I remembered it - fun,thrilling,exuberant and utterly natural, in a way it was like returning home.

It felt great, but then the afterthought kept coming back, "I really love it, what a shame that I do it so rarely."

It said that the key to happiness is to learn what you like and incorporate it in your life. So, what makes you shine?

Still Images

2010-01-06T21:18:00.008+04:00

Days fly by in a mad rush – loosing their contours in the process. Where one ends and the other starts, I cannot tell. Things which have happened in the morning feel like several days ago – time assumes fractured quality – mosaic of seconds and hours without complete pattern. The only certainty is still images captured by camera.

Aluminium or the 4th Baku Biennale

2009-12-19T15:42:00.015+04:00

For seven days (December 11 - December 18) the art world of Baku had a very busy schedule. More than 50 artists from different countries came here to show their work and openings of new exhibitions were happening every two to three hours. Amazingly, even the local Zoo was involved and had an installation unveiling on Sunday, December 13. Of course, when we came there on Friday 18 there wasn't any sign of it, but it was nice to know that animals had had some exposure to modern art.

Jokes aside there were very interesing works there. Among those who work with photo images two artists impressed me the most: Soody Sharifi, Iranian born Houston based photographer, and Thomas Kauneckas from Lithuania, who works a lot with fashion and advertising industry there.

Soody Sharifi brought just two photographs to Baku but they represented one of the main theme of her art – a dialogue between traditional and modern culture, their interactions on daily basis and, using her own words, " challenging Muslim expectations of propriety."

Soody Sharifi "Fatima"

Soody Sharifi "Grandma"

Tomas Kauneckas presented his version of Apocalispsis in attempt to attract viewers attention to importance of conserving energy and water. The title of the series "2039" speaks of the near future when people face the consequences of their careless attitude towards nature.

Tomas Kauneckas "2039"

Susan Reese Horvitz, an American artist, who works with different media brought a variety of work to this event. Most unusual were her book like creations that will be donated to the Minuature Books Museum of Baku.

Christmas Cookies

2009-12-14T21:19:00.010+04:00

Baking and decoration of Christmas cookies happened in our house house not long ago.

The first batch was festive and traditional.

Then creative juices started to flow and we got this, titled "Murder by Knife" and inspired by The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

And this, titled "In the bathroom."

"Why such a subject?" the young artist was asked. "It is amusing to shock people," he answered.

It seems like my sons discovered the principle of many artists - épater le bourgeois.

In the Opera.

2009-11-29T00:05:00.013+04:00

It is always interesting to go to the Opera and Ballet Theatre – the building itself, small unexpected additions to the classic, people watching, chatting with people – it is an experience. Today they performed “Traviata”. It was quite nice overall and the guest singer from Ukraine did have a very strong voice, borderline ultrasonic at times, but who impressed me the most was Azerbaijanian mezzo soprano, Sabina Asadova. Her voice is all depth and velvet, and she certainly has the presence on stage, which was a bit unfortunate for the leading lady. It will be interesting to see Ms. Asadova in some other production where she will have a bigger part.

Sitting and looking around the theatre made me want to tell you about this building. I like the story of its construction because it started not with a well thought out plan but with hurt feelings and desire of revenge.

Somewhere around 1910 one of the famous folk singers of Baku purchased a beautiful house for himself and decided to throw a housewarming party to celebrate this occasion. And it was the occasion to celebrate because this building (it houses SOCAR headquarters nowadays) considered to be one of the most beautiful ones in Baku at that time. Guests came from near and far, champagne was flowing, the music was playing, and laughter echoed in the night. But, two Bakuvian millionaires Daniel Mailov and his brother didn’t receive the invitation. Affronted by such an insult they brooded over revenge. Concluding that a duel wasn’t an option and being the businessmen as they were, they decided to build something just to outdo the offender. But what should they built?

Meanwhile a famous opera singer Antonina Nezhdanova came to visit Baku. She gave several concerts at various clubs, all with a great success. After finishing her tour she was invited to return to Baku but swiftly declined naming as a reason the lack of an opera house in the city. Daniel Mailov who was fond of Nezhadnaova’s wonderful soprano, immediately realized what he was meant to build. The Opera Theater, what else? Being a decisive man, he immediately invited the singer to return to the City of Wind in a year for the opening of the Opera House.

To construct a building in less than a year was quite a daring project especially since it had to confirm with many safety regulations. (A wise practice that should be reenstated here.) One of the millionaires of Baku, Zeynalabdin Taghiyev, who happened not long before these events to sponsor the construction of another theatre (present day Musical Comedy Theatre) doubted that time allotted to the project would be enough. Knowing men’s competitive nature it should not come as a surprise that Taghiyev and Mailov brothers made a bet – if Mailovs didn’t build the theatre on time, it would be given to Taghiyev as a gift; if the theatre was to be finished by 1911, the latter would have to cover all the building expenses. The Opera Theatre was finished in less than 10 months.

The theatre was opened in February of 1911 and Nezhdanova performed at the opening ceremony. Guests came from near and far, champagne was flowing, the music was playing, and laughter echoed in the night; all Bakuvian elite was present except ....– can you guess who didn’t receive the invitation?

And here, ladies and gents, some views of the theatre.

Outside

And Inside

Gurban Bayrami (“Eid-al-Adha”, Festival of Sacrifice)

2009-11-27T10:00:00.004+04:00

Gurban Bayrami (“Eid-al-Adha”, Festival of Sacrifice) is celebrated in Azerbaijan this weekend. Eid-al-Adha, or the Festival of Sacrifice is celebrated in commemoration of the willingness of Prophet Ibrahim to sacrifice his son Ismayil on Mina Mountain as an act of his love and obedience to Allah. As Ibrahim was about to sacrifice his son, the knife didn’t cut and Allah instead provided a lamb as the sacrifice. This is why today all over the world Muslims sacrifice an animal (usually a goat or a sheep), as a reminder of Ibrahim’s obedience to God. The festivities begin 70 days after the end of Holy Ramadan and last for three days. The meat of the sacrificed animals is divided into three shares, one share for the poor, one share for relatives and neighbors, and the last to keep for oneself. In the evening people usually get together for a festive meal with family, friends and neighbors. It is customary then to remember all deceased relatives and friends. Since it is a deeply religious holiday, there is a special Holiday Namaz in mosques on that day.

A few days before the holiday we started to notice small herds of sheep along the highway and on the street that leads to a butcher shop. Some of these sheep were marked with red paint or had red ribbons tied around their horns. I was told that our neighborhood butcher shop will be very busy these days and I am torn between the desire of taking photos and inability to witness slaughter of the animals.
Speaking with various people I gathered that there are very specific rules on how to sacrifice an animal and how to divide the meat. A knife for sacrificing must be sanctified by a mullah; thean animal is supposed to be positioned between East and West, the points of the sun rising and setting; the blood of the animals is used for marking children’s forehead with a small red dot as a reminder of Ismayil.

Since not everyone can afford to buy a whole sheep, people often buy it together. The meat is divided in such a way that each person receives every part of the sacrificed animal - – i.e. if there are 10 people who share a sheep – each of them has to receive a part of a heart, liver, etc . It is sinful to sell meat of sacrificial animals; it has to be shared, and it is forbidden to drink alcohol during the feast of Eid al-Adha.

With all its layers it is a fascinating holiday – it’s essence is deeply religious; it satisfies physical hunger with a traditional feast; it provides a sensory overload with visuals of sheep being slaughtered; and it is deeply humane – it encourages people to share their riches with the less fortunate. It has the same spirit with Thanksgiving – giving something to others, be it in thanks or in food.

Along the highway

Neighborhood Butcher Shop

Happy Thanksgiving!

2009-11-26T14:58:00.001+04:00

Today is Thanksgiving. We have a lot to be thankful for this year – our new house in a new country feels like home; the kids and us develop new friends and are blessed with the old ones; everybody in our close and far away family are in good health. But what I would like to focus on today are small and fleeting details that make life special – silence of the house in the early hours of the morning, unexpected “I love you, mom” from my boys, outburst of silly jokes coming from my usually serious husband, radiant splash of sun rays stretched across the sky, amazing discoveries that await me at every corner as long as I keep my eyes open.

Wishing you all a wonderful Thanksgiving,
Yours,
VC

A Day Off

2009-11-25T20:11:00.015+04:00

"Shut up and be quiet," was written in red ink on a calendar for today. Having a day off in the middle of the week usually means that I pile all sorts of errands and social obligations there and as a result those days are eaten away by mad rush from one place to another. Not long ago I vowed to fill those off days only with things that bring pleasure and that phrase was my reminder.

After leisurely morning of catching up with emails I headed for the National Art Museum. The older building of the complex had some problems with electricity so I opted for the newly renovated building instead, which is located slightly higher up Niyazi Street. Besides its permanent exhibition it houses now a wonderful display of Central Asian Ikats brought to Baku by Victoria and Albert Museum. Centuries old, the ikat technique is a complex sequence of tie-dyeing silk threads to create elaborate patterns in striking colours. And those colours combination are really striking. I am deeply convinced that though these textiles reached a high point in production and popularity in nineteenth century Central Asia, they became inspiration to hippies all over the world. Just take a look....

Woman's dress with purple, pink and yellow design on an orange backgroundsize. Central Asia after 1900 Central AsiaAfter 1900 From the Rau collection; Image © V&A

Jokes aside this collection of ikat robes and hangings provide a great introduction to the inventive and colourful ikat fabrics of Central Asia.

The rest of the second floor is devoted to the works of Azerbaijani artists. There were many interesting paintings there but vibrant blue images of Sattar Bahlulzade's works and wooden sculptures of Omar Eldarov were among my favourites. The first floor I had to skim since I was running out of time but the collection of Russian artists there was surprisingly impressive. (They have Kuindzi there, and Aivazovski, and Tropinin and, amazingly. Brulov, to name just a few.)

My next stop was The Tea Party at the Turkish Embassy. And what a treat it was! There was a wonderful dance and music performance by the kids, a short documentary about Turkey, plenty of delicious finger food and hand on demonstration of traditional Turkish drawing/printing technique. OK, I am not sure if it can be called drawing because it is more like drawing on water except it isn't water but some mix of water and oil (?). It is said that picture costs thousand words so .....

At first it looks like this,

Then you carefully place paint here and there trying not to disturb the surface too much;

After you come to conclusion that it is enough colour, you take a long needle and draw, lightly, very lightly, whatever you want, using the needle as if you are using a wand.

Now, cover your creation with a list of paper and carefully pull it towards yourself...

Voila, your "print" is ready!

Of course,professional results look like that...

The "Shut up and be quiet" reminder has obviouslybeen ignored today, but all the things I did were a pure delight.

The Look of November

2009-11-25T09:03:00.005+04:00

I cannot get over the fact that here in Baku we have palm trees and + 15 C in the middle of November.

Another Day, Another Bazaar.

2009-11-23T20:01:00.000+04:00

The German Bazaar did took place on Sunday. And, it had more Christmasy things than IWC bazaar but... the place was way too small for a big crowd and the prices were too steep for most of the offerings. A tad disappointing, truly, but I managed to snap a few festive photos.

Christmas Bazaar (IWC)

2009-11-15T21:21:00.010+04:00

Here and there at certain time of the year Christmas bazaars are being organized. Today the International Women Club of Baku had its 15th Annual Charity Christmas Bazaar at Landmark, Rotunda. Let me tell you, it was packed. There were representatives from every art and craft field imaginable - dollmakers and quilt makers, dressmakers and soapmakers, jewelry designers and bakers, visual artists and florists. If you were looking for something to buy as a souvenir, you certainly would have found it there and if you were not looking for anything, you would have bought something anyway. So, what they had there:

Books and DVDs

Exquisite dolls,

Handmade quilts,

Lush plants,

Irresistible sweet confections

And this is just a minuscule part of what they had to offer.

What's that? You regret you have missed it? Well, next Sunday there will be a Christmas Bazaar at the German church, why don't you stop by?

A White Tent

2009-11-14T14:07:00.004+04:00

Going to the store I saw a white tent sitting in the middle of the street. A wedding, was my immediate thought.

When I talked with a man standing outside he told me that the occasion wasn't joyful at all - the tent was erected in memory of his much loved and respected uncle who passed away. After the funeral people will come here to pay their respects. He let me took a glance inside and explained that tea and halva would be served there for all those who will come. This day is called hatir hedjasi and literally means a day of free visits, implying that no invitations are needed. The funeral repast will take place on the third, seventh and fortieth days after the death and on the first anniversary. There is a belief that on the third and the seventh day after death the soul of the deceased is still not gone and only after forty days it finally leaves. Since he seemed to be eager to talk I asked him if the mirrors were curtained in his uncle's house and he confirmed that it was indeed done because otherwise the soul of the deceased could be trapped inside. I asked him what was his fondest memories of his uncle. He was silent for a moment. "He was the best storyteller", he said, "I'll miss it the most."

The Great Wave

2009-11-12T21:29:00.015+04:00

A card arrived today from a dear friend of mine. Such a wonderful surprise! Hand written notes are rare these days, especially those that aren't tied to any particular occasion. For me they are quintessentially altruistic - there isn't any pressure for a timely reply (it takes about a fortnight for a mail to reach us from the States) just an acknowledgement that someone was thinking of you.

I read the card, closed it, glanced at the image on it and smiled in delight. "The Great Wave" was greeting me.

The Great Wave at Kanagawa (from a Series of Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji),Katsushika Hokusai (Japanese, 1760–1849)

About a year ago I developed an obsession with Japanese art and constantly talked, read and drew on the subject, thus the choice of the card wasn't accidental. The full title of this painting by Katsushika Hokusai is "Mt. Fuji seen through the waves off Kanagawa" but it is better known as "The Great Wave".

He was quite a character this Katsushika Hokusai, which by the way wasn't his real name. He was quarrelsome, aggessive, and absolutely brilliant. An artist through and through he left more than 30,000 works behind.

Hokusai started the series "Thirty -six Views of Mt. Fuji" when he was already seventy-two. He experimented with new blue - Prussian blue there, which was quite an expensive novelity at his time. He marveled at the clarity of the colour and searched for the new ways of expressing shades and depth. "The Great Wave" became one of the most recognizable images in Japanese paintings and its impact reached beyond the visual arts - Debussy was inspired by it to write his three "symphonic sketches", La Mer, and it said that Rilke used it as an inspiration while writing "The Mountain".

I'll leave you with these words of the artist:

"From the age of six I had a mania for drawing the shapes of things. When I was fifty I had published a universe of designs. but all I have done before the age of seventy is not worth bothering with. At seventy five I'll have learned something of the pattern of nature, of animals, of plants, of trees, birds, fish and insects. When I am eighty you will see real progress. At ninety I shall have cut my way deeply into the mystery of life itself. At a hundred I shall be a marvelous artist. At a hundred and ten everything I create; a dot, a line, will jump to life as never before. To all of you who are going to live as long as I do, I promise to keep my word. I am writing this in my old age. I used to call myself Hokosai, but today I sign my self 'The Old Man Mad About Drawing." -- Hokusai Hokusai (1760-1849)

Image courtesy of http://www.metmuseum.org/

Images

2009-11-11T14:16:00.007+04:00

It is warm here (+15C) but overwhelmingly grey, so every splash of colour attracts my attention. That's how I came upon the images below. All of them are the paintings of Azerbaijanian artist, Elyar Alimirzayev. I like their dreamy quality but find the first image especially captivating. It is simply luminous.

Unfortunately, when I tried to investigate, there wasn't any information available about the artist, not even the years or titles of his work. He seems to be doing books illustrations also, but I can be mistaken.

Untitled

2009-11-09T22:39:00.004+04:00

Going through predictable and recurrent phase of self doubts I stopped by Google Analytics and noticed unusual activity in the referral sites. I investigated it closely and discovered that Changes and Colours, the blog of mine that you are reading right now, was mentioned in the FS Journal. They did an article on blogging in the context of Foreign Service and listed my blog among many others. This discovery perplexes me to no end because though I know that I have an audience, I also know that it is a fairly small one, so how I got into that list is a complete mystery.

I'll let this puzzle to remain unsolved because what pleased me the most is the timing of my discovery. Just about a week ago I was confining to one of my friends that I lost zest for blogging. “There are so many wonderfully written, astonishingly talented blogs, why breed mediocrity”, was my exact wording. (Yep, I have a flare for melodrama.) My friend being a friend told me all the right encouraging things including a little pearl of wisdom, “Some blogs are products, and some are process, why go against your nature?” Few days later while discussing completely different subject my other friend said, “Don’t you worry about the results - enjoy the process.” Then I wandered into Google Analytics and you have already read the above.

The universe is trying to tell me something. Now, what can it be?

Hey, there! Hoop-la! The circus is in town! Have you seen the elephant? Have you seen the clown?*

2009-11-08T21:01:00.011+04:00

Some families go to church on Sunday morning, some - go to circus. Our family belongs to the second variety. The Russian and Ukrainian circus came to town and I bought the tickets. How I got them is a frightening story involving an argument with the scariest ever ticket seller, a lot of convincing on my driver's part and charging me a bit more than a ticket price at the end.

And so we went to the circus and didn't regret it. Yes, it isn't the Cirque du Soleil and not even Moscow Circus but it was enjoyable and predictable. Perhaps, part of the enjoyment was in predictability - it created a bridge between my memories of visiting circus as a child and introducing it to my own kids.

As expected, they had a ringmaster who was introducing the artists and spoke to the audience - we were even able to follow his commands - it's hard not to guess what to do when everyone around start to clap their hands or raising them up. As expected, they had acrobats and gymnasts, two hoopers, sort of a juggler, a unicyclist, six tightrope walkers, a magician and two delightful clowns; some animals were present - two monkeys, poodles, a lonely lama, five or six goats, a small dog that looked like a hedgehog and a pack of playing soccer bulldogs. Unexpected part was the most touching - after each act small kids ran onto the arena with bouquets of flowers for the artists.

It was basic but it was nice. So, buy your tickets in the ticket booths downtown in order to avoid unpleasant encounter with the wicked ticket lady; take taxi - parking there is a screaming murder; don't get spooked by kids wearing little masks, after all we have cases of H1N1 in the city, and go see the clowns.

Baku State Circus, 68, S.Vurgun str.(across from Taza bazaar)

P.S. I've discovered that funambulist isn't a synonym for a clown (the "fun" part is deceiving) but for a rope walker. Isn't it fun?

*"The Circus" by Micheal James Dennis

When Colour Goes Wrong Nothing Goes Right (Extremely girly post)

2009-11-07T17:31:00.003+04:00

In the life of every women comes the time when the visit to a colourist cannot be delayed any longer. Motivation can vary from necessity of covering gray to desire for something new or simple urge of self pampering. My reason wasn’t the necessity.

In the city of Baku one can go to a colourist or she can come to your house. I chose the second variant just because I started a new job not long ago and could not find my rhythm yet, plus I used her before and she did a decent job.

Today she came armed with an array of colous; her head a walking advertisement to her skills - she recently turned into redhead and it suits her splendidly. We discussed the options and she suggested going slightly darker with some highlights around the face – ok, I said because it sounded like something new and “slightly” indicated that it would not be a leap but just a bit of a change. She started to work, we chatted; while I was waiting for colour to develop she dealt with my sons’ haircuts. Then it was time for washing it off and blow drying. All was done at last. I went to a mirror and stepped back in horror -Cruella De Ville starred back at me. (Damn, why couldn’t Halloween have been this weekend? It would have been perfect).

A slightly darker shade took almost black turn on me and the highlights looked ghostly white. Can we do something about it? I pleaded. Thankfully, we could – after yet another hour I returned to my golden brown tone and though the highlights do appear a tad harsh, I can look at myself without cringing again. I guess I found my comfort zone – slightly lighter I can handle, slightly darker is a no-no.

Any hair related disasters you want to share?

The Time of Indifference

2009-11-05T21:29:00.005+04:00

Browsing through the shelves of the school library, I came upon a thin volume of "The Time of Indifference" by Alberto Moravia.

Time of Indifference, what an incredible title. It is even more extraordinary if you know that the man who came up with it was only eighteen at the time of writing his first novel. Yes, he followed it with such titles as "Boredom", "Contempt", "The Conformist" but "The Time of Indifference" holds its ground.

It is often said that fifty or so years ago people matured much faster - this novel is a great illustration to it. It is so full of disillusions, so calmly unkind, so unusually indifferent to its own characters.

Everything what you see there isn't what it is; everyone say one thing and think another. Five characters bound together by genetics, lust, past, resentment, loneliness, and financial woos, exist in perpetual state of loud arguments, pulsating sexual desires and dramatic events but underlying emotion of their existance is indeed indifference. Like a surface of water regains its calm after the stone sank to the bottom; the high emotions in the novel remain just that passing feelings, failing to initiate real change.

This novel is often called the worst of Moravia's work, while in fact it shows how talented and observant he was even at the young age.

Colours

2009-11-04T15:23:00.004+04:00

I love colours and always look for the new ways of incorporating them into my surroundings. Silk curtains with butterflies have been a part of our house for nearly five years now but unusual parameters of the windows here prevent me from using them in a proper curtainy ways. Pity, really. But they are so beautiful and the thought of putting them away for the next year and a half is so depressing so I am thinking of hanging them up on two opposite walls, a la tapestry. Have to find some short rods here!

Out and About (Tbilisi)

2009-10-29T19:32:00.001+04:00

If you have ever wondered what is the current relationship between Georgia and Russia, the answer is below... (found in the center of Tbilisi)

Out and About (Mtsketa, Georgia)

2009-10-26T09:12:00.001+04:00

Mtsketa, the ancient capital of Georgia, is the most beautiful in the morning when the crowds of visitors haven’t arrived yet. You’ll see the majestic Svetiskhoveli (The Life Giving Pillar) Cathedral – the place of coronation and burial of the Georgian Kings and nobles. (The tomb of Vakhatng Gorgasali, the founder of Tbilisi is there.)

Up on the mountain there is Jvari Monastery – the 6th century, can you imagine?

In Mtsheta, the ancient capital of Georgia, there are narrow streets to explore,

Ripe grapes to admire,

Gardens coloured with leaves and fruits,

Calm waters of the river

Don't miss it.

Out and About (Tbilisi, Georgia)

2009-10-25T13:10:00.003+04:00

The kids had a school break last week and, being an experience traveller, I decided to take them to Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia.

And there we went.. not by car, not by plane but by an oldfashioned train. And, oh, how oldfashioned it was. Or, perhaps simply old! The light was broken, and the lock didn't functioned, the window was smashed by the rock, but we played cards and managed to sleep, so things were not bad after all. Fourteen hours went by and then we arrived ... to find

This,

And this,

And gorgeous this,

And intricate this,

And wonderful this,

And 14 hours on the train were well worth it.

Baking Madness

2009-10-11T17:18:00.003+05:00

Yesterday seemed like a great day to bake chocolate chips cookies! Why? I don’t know. I haven’t made them since we left Iceland and my internal clock said that it was time. My older son decided to help me, and out from the cardboards came flour, and white sugar, and brown sugar, and vanilla, and salt and chocolate chips, until we discovered that we were missing baking soda and eggs. This minor obstacle wasn’t going to stop us. We went to a store and got the missing ingredients.

With everything in order we started the process. All the time while measuring, and adding, and beating, and mixing, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something smelled strange. By exclusion I zeroed on a just opened package of flour that we happened to ship with consumable from the States. It had a chemical smell, more as a cleaner than baking substance. I tasted it and, yep, the taste was off also. Not trusting myself I asked my sons’ and husbands’ opinions – the first ones pronounced it “weird”, the latter didn’t find anything suspicious with it.

Since the dough was ready and the oven was preheated, but mostly out of curiosity, we continued with baking. After 11 minutes in the oven and appropriate cooling time, we cautiously tried our creations and inferred that our cookies were irretrievably ruined. Not only they turned out unappetizingly flat but they had a distinctive aftertaste of some cleaning liquid. We sighed and tossed all batch away along with the barely used pack of flour.

You think it would be enough baking for one day but, no, the allure of the chocolate chip cookies was way too strong. My husband went to the store for a new package of flour and by dinner time we had a tray of fresh, with height, good tasting chocolate chip cookies!

The moral of this tale – if flour has a chemical taste, baking will only reinforce it.

Appeasing the Fate.

2009-10-04T19:23:00.003+05:00

“You remember that you not suppose to celebrate THIS birthday, yes?” was the constant refrain during several weeks leading to the important event of me turning yet another year older.

I heard it from my mother and from my sister, from my grandmother and from my uncle. When I started to hear it from random acquaintances - a hairdresser, a woman with whom we got to chatting while sitting in a cafe, a cabby, who gave me a lift to the embassy, I really was forced to pay attention to this unwritten law – you are not suppose to celebrate your 40th birthday!

“Why? Tell me why?” – I asked again and again. “Bad luck”; “Hey, it isn’t my rule, you just not suppose to”; "You don’t want to incur bad luck, do you?” were the mysterious answers. And I did cave into outside pressure. Well, I planned to cheat a bit and go to the restaurant with my husband, but the forces of nature conspired against this foolish plan and sent some indigestion on me, so eating wasn’t all that appealing.

So, I want to make sure that all those gods or demigods over there who keep a keen eye on the protocol of birthday celebrations know that I did not celebrate THIS birthday.

But since nobody told me anything about presents – I received plenty of those.....

Ali and Nino: the book and the café

2009-09-26T16:46:00.010+05:00

In the middle of Baku, close to the Fountain square, there is a small café called “Ali and Nino”. An acquaintance that brought me there was excited about finding a nice place to eat for a very reasonable price (and the lunch priced at 5 AZN,around $6, for two course meal is indeed a good price) but as conversation progressed and I asked about the name of the cafe, she exclaimed, “What? You don’t know? There is a very famous novel “Ali and Nino” that was written by the author from Baku”. I filed this information and later returned to the cafe to chat with a staff, buy the book, and do some photos. And that is what I discovered. “Ali and Nino” is the chain of book stores that was founded in 2007. Now it has four stores and two Book cafés; all of them held literature events, book discussions, concerts and meetings with various remarkable people.

The café at Tagijeva Street was designed as an illustration to the “Ali and Nino” novel. As the book is set in Baku during turbulent years surrounding the Bolshevik’s Revolution, the furniture and decor confirms to the style of that time. It is easy to imagine the main characters, Ali and Nino, either living here or at least dropping by. An array of black and white photos transfers the first floor to a family room; a sofa, half hidden by curtains, a bird cage, sitting atop of an old armoire and a pier glass create an atmosphere of a boudoir or a sitting room on the second. A painting on the first floor tells visitors the saga of the young married couple, Ali and Nino.

Second floor of the cafe.

Painting on the wall; photo by Vacheslav Sapunov

I should say a few words about the book, shouldn’t I?

So, Ali and Nino: A Love Story by Kurban Said.It brought "Romeo and Juiliet" to my mind as well as "Doctor Zhivago". It is a love story of two young people with a very different background: Ali a Muslim from Baku and Nino - a young girl from Christian Georgia, who tried to keep their love intact while the world around them caught fire of the Russian Revolution and crumbled into pieces.

As a glimpse into traditions of Muslim society, its understanding of honour and duty, it is fascinating. As a description of continual give-and-take dance of the young married couple, who had to let go of many trappings of their upbringings, it is utmost engaging. What attracts me the most is that in a nutshell it is about a struggle between Asia and Europe, or old and new at the rise of the new xx century. For me personally this particular time in history holds immense attraction. Everything and everyone found themselves on the cusp, balancing above the abyss. Things that were familiar seized to exist, traditions were swept aside, and some saw it as a beginning of the end whiles others - as a new beginning. This novel certainly captures the air of uncertainty, a rollercoaster of hope and despair prevailing at that time.

* Bookcafes "Ali and Nino" Tagieva Str. 16/18; Nizami 91

Afternoon Delight.

2009-09-25T19:20:00.003+05:00

I got a package! To get a package under ordinary circumstances is a pleasant event but when you are living overseas it is a delight.
And, this little parcel contained things that I longed for for months.

Lean closer, I’ll tell you a secret: every few years I embark on a search of a new perfume. The notion of a signature scent is lost on me, and though I have a few beloved fragrances to which I return over and over again, I am compelled to try something new now and again. My surroundings change every two to three years, why should my perfume stay the same?

My second guilty secret is that I adore reading blogs of perfumephiles. People who are trying to capture in words something as elusive as scent intrigue me. Largely due to these blogs I became interested in Frederic Malle’s perfumes only to discover that not every city carries his line. Hot and dusty Phoenix didn’t have it, the same – with smart and proper Washington DC. New York was the closest, but visit there didn’t fit into my summer schedule. (I can imagine the conversation with my husband: you want to go to NY just to try how it smells?????)

In Baku I found their site, Editions De Parfums, filled out a questionnaire and based on my answers received some suggestions on what I would possibly like. I went ahead and ordered three samples.

I ordered them and ...crossed my fingers because, as I mentioned before our local address here is an enigma, and the US address that we are allowed to use frowns upon sending liquids in glass containers (I wasn’t sure if samples come in glass or plastic mini bottles).

But, my parcel came through and not only it came through but arrived with a handwritten note thanking me for my interests in their products.

I was immediately swooning over Iris Poudre. It reminded me of my beloved Chanel No. 19 but with more warmth. With tonka bean, musk, vanilla and sandalwood it is all about softness and coziness.

Une Fleur De Cassie haven’t spoken to me yet, so I’ll withhold my judgments for now.

But, L’eau D’Hiver! - L’eau D’Hiver took me by surprise. There is something extraordinary strange in it – gentleness combined with hardness. Many reviews suggest that it suppose to bring to mind coolness of winter days, it does very different thing to me – it makes me think of rice fields filled with water, bamboos – it represents orient to me.

Now I am torn between Iris Poudre and L’eau D’Hiver . One comforts me; the other makes me feel alert. Hard to choose. Considering the price and that I try to be a sensible person I have to choose. Really. But the since the closest places that sell Frederic Malle’s perfumes are Paris or Moscow, I have time.

A Small Find

2009-09-23T09:09:00.001+05:00

In my constant search for treasures I found an old, grey, not much to look at, but absolutely wonderful public phone. What’s so special about it? First of all, it is a relic of Soviet era, in modern days of mobiles and I-phones, it looks almost antic. Secondly, those rectangular grey phones with spin or touch dial were a common feature of underground crossings and street corners of Moscow and finding one in Baku brought back a lot of memories. So many times I was stopped at the streets by people asking for two kopeks (the price of a phone call) or searched for those little coins myself. Those phones were the primal means of communication when people were out and about.

When I found this one in the underground crossing near the Puppet Theatre I was almost sure that it didn’t work, that it was just a part of decor. But no, I lifted the receiver and heard a familiar tone. I wonder if anybody uses it nowadays.

A tale of a Grumpy Seller.

2009-09-21T17:44:00.002+05:00

We took my husband’s colleague for a walk around Baku yesterday. On the boulevard we noticed a bright yellow booth in the shape of an orange selling fresh juices. The list on the counter showed selection of eight juices including orange juice.

“Can I have a glass of orange juice, please,” I addressed the cheerfully dressed in yellow seller.
“No”, he grumbled in response in a sharp contrast with his optimistically coloured booth.
“You don't want to serve us or you are out of oranges?” I tried to cheer him up.
“No have”, he shrugged impatiently and slammed a glass of apple juice in front of us. My husband’s colleague, being the thirstiest of us all, took it.
“I want one, I want one, “cried my younger son.
Pete took one sip and replied “Oh no, you really don’t.”

My theory is that the seller of the cheerful booth was grumpy because he knew that apple juice wasn’t good and it sucked to sell something so unappetizing. On the other hand, he might simply have had a bad day.

New Discoveries

2009-09-17T11:24:00.002+05:00

One of my favourite blogs has a quote from Wallace Stevens' in its header - "It must give pleasure". One of the greatest pleasures of mine is strolling around a city and discover its treasures. Strolling along Kichik Gala in the Walled City I came upon this,

and this,

and this.

The last photo pictures the bust of Azeri poet of the late XIX century Aliag Vahid. I have never seen anything quite like this before and have to show the statue from different angles.

Where do you live?

2009-09-16T17:48:00.001+05:00

“Where do you live,” is a simple question routinely asked by new acquaintances. To answer this seemingly innocent question is a bit complicated if you happen to live on the outskirts of Baku, in an area called Badamdar. About fifty years ago there was not much there except settlements of oil workers but as the boundaries of the city pushed outwards, the area attracted attention of wealthy Bakuvians who started to build spacious houses there, mostly for rental.

The most distinguished feature of Badamdar is lack of street names and numbers on the houses. I assume that all the houses are numbered, but those numbers are not displayed on the buildings. On rare occasion when a house has a number, an official address may look like that:

Baku, Badamdar,
1st high-way, 9th side-street,
Building 437

More often than not people use landmarks to give directions (i.e. turn left at the City Mart, turn right at the second oak tree) and identify houses by colour.

Our house is known as a “yellow house”, which is quite amusing because in Russian this phrase was used as a euphemism for a “nut house.” (Façade of the first mental hospital founded in 1779 in Saint- Petersburg was painted yellow, and by association “yellow house” became common name for all similar institutions.)

So, where do I live? In a yellow house on a street with no name.

Gone to the mattresses.

2009-09-11T17:00:00.004+05:00

A dog is a man’s best friend. And fleas are common dog companions. If you have a pack of stray dogs living nearby it is only reasonable to expect that sooner or later the fleas will follow. The odds of being infested with fleas grows dramatically higher when neighbors in a desperate attempt to free themselves from those unwelcome guests call the exterminator and treat their yard and house. The fleas, naturally, run for their lives and relocate to the nearest quarters. Incidentally, it happens to be our yard and house.

Now, being bitten time after time after time brought our attention to the problem. Since we don’t fraternize with stray dogs and in no way invite fleas to our house, we called the department of our embassy that deals with various problems with the houses and asked for help. What we received was the advice, “Try to mix half water/ half vinegar and spray everything in the house. Fleas don’t like vinegar.”

We didn’t have vinegar in the house at the time of receiving the advice, so at first we consulted the I-net and found out that besides vinegar, fleas are not particularly fond of salt. Why, we have plenty of salt! Stripping all the bedding from the beds, we sprinkled salt under the mattresses, on the carpets and all other places we could think of and left it for a few days. One would think we were preparing to battle some Dark Forces. Dark Forces in the face of fleas didn’t budge, but our carpets and floors acquired a certain crunchiness.

Next step was to try vinegar/water solution. Methodically I went from room to room spraying mattresses, spring boxes, carpets, undercarperts and everything sprayable. It took me the whole day and several bottles of vinegar. The stench of vinegar penetrated the house and frankly wasn’t very pleasant. The army of fleas slowed their march but the victory was nowhere near.

Finally, the owner was informed that I really wanted to invite exterminators to the house. What did he do? He brought me some powder. I thought, “What the heck, I will try it as well”, but then I read the instructions. In order to use this remedy I was strongly advised to wear gloves, a mask, a robe and put it only in the places not reachable for kids. That is when I decided to ring back to the embassy, after all they suppose to look after us. Well, apparently “looking after us” doesn’t include our particular predicament. Having my best interests in mind, of course, how else can it be, they couldn't provide me with the list of the Pest Control companies in Baku. The nadir of my conversation came with, “You have to do it alone, Mrs.”

“You have to do it alone” - it has philosophical ring to it, isn’t it?

Anyhow, if anybody knows of an exterminator company in Baku or, perhaps, a company who can thoroughly clean carpets and furniture, it will be highly appreciated.

Colours

2009-08-31T07:08:00.008+05:00

It is challenging to convert a government rented place into a home, even more challenging when a furniture is provided for you too. But there are also some comforting familiarities - the embassy uses the same stock of furniture all over the world and you know what to expect regarding colours and patterns. Plus, we were blessed to be stationed in Beijing a few years ago where markets offered a huge range of fabric, accent details, and reasonably priced tailors, so I stocked on curtains, furniture covers and some interesting decor items. Add to this wise advise of my friend who was an interior decorator by trade and I can say that I am more or less prepared for that challenge, which in no way means that I sail through it with bells and whistles.

This house is unusually big. The first floor consists of a storage room, a laundry room, a foyer and a garage, the second - has a kitchen, a guest room, and a dining room, and the third - four bedrooms. The kids were so unnerved by its grandeur, they requested to share a room. With weeks trickling by and arrival of our HHE the size worked out in our favour - the kids got to have an additional room adjoined to their bedroom, where they can play to their heart content and which can be easily converted to a guest room; my husband had his office; we transferred a big landing on the second floor into a library, and I acquired a wonderful, light lit room where I can write, meditate or just day dream. (Most importantly, I can just close the door and enjoy piece and quiet)

The dinning room caused me the most headache. Its size is around 100 square meters and the ceiling runs up to three meters. As a result what you had is a vast white space, especially disconcerting on the south wall (25 square metres) where it wasn't punctuated by any furniture. In short, the room that was meant to be the heart of the activities - study/dinning/entertaining area- looked cold and hostile.

I looked at it and looked at it and looked at it again and came to the conclusion that the south wall had to be painted. (Ok, I like painting. I think that there is nothing like painting to make the house your own; I even put rollers and trays in our air shipment, so there is a slight chance that I would have found the reason to paint something around here sooner or later.) Anyway, off to the pursuit of paint I went. Hm, it made me sound more adventurous and decisive than I am, let me rephrase - I went with our driver. This is a very important bit because though being originally from Moscow I speak Russian, in Azeri I know only greetings and a bit of numbers, which isn't enough for discussing merits of paint and negotiating prices. And mind you, those prices are definitely lower when you converse in Azeri.)

In the first two stores the choices of paint were limited and the mixing of the paint had to be done by me; not something I was ready to undertake. In the third store choices were much better but three males (two clerks and my driver) got very involved into the process of selecting the colour for me, to the point of trying to sway me into completely different colour family. I aimed for warm yellow tones, they were amoured by something closer to dusty pink. I had to politely disengage myself from the heated debate and strolled around the shop to clear my head. There in a corner I found my colour - calm yellow, exactly what I wanted.

To make the long story short I spent around five hours the next day going up and down the ladder with a roller in my hand (they didn't have an extension rodes that fitted my instruments) but the results are well worth it. The colour warmed up the room, created an illusion of smaller space, and made it looked much more inviting.

Now, what can I paint next?

What do you think?

Do you have any tricks to transform rental quarters into home? Do share.

Maiden Tower (Qiz Qalasi).

2009-08-28T13:36:00.001+05:00

So, Maiden Tower.

If you ever Google Baku, the Maiden Tower will be mentioned for sure- it became a symbol of the city. It is dated back to the 12th century and once upon a time stood on the bank of the Caspian Sea, which isn’t the case now. It looks very massive as it should considering that its walls are up to five meters thick. What you should be aware of is that the stairs leading to the top are highly polished by thousands feet and are slippery, you have to be careful there. Despite of this you will notice plenty of ladies braving the steps on high heels. It is very impressive sight, almost as impressive as the tower itself.

I like the legends that surround the Maiden Tower. One of them tells a story about a shah and his son who happened to fall in love with the same fair maiden. Unable to decide who should marry her, they solved their argument by throwing the maiden from the top of the tower. Very macho decision indeed.

The most popular of the legends concerns a shah who developed a love interest in his own daughter. The daughter properly disgusted but being a proper daughter as well, asked him to build a tower and promised to marry him after the tower’s completion. Eagerly the shah agreed. The tower grew higher and higher; the girl grew sadder and sadder. In order to delay the inevitable she kept asking to add one storey after another until the shah got impatience and demanded to set up the date of the marriage. What is the girl to do? She asked to climb the top of the tower to enjoy the view ...looked around at her beloved city and threw herself down in the Caspian Sea.

The legend is so popular that the tower remains the favourite place of romantic souls to say farewell to cruel life.

P.S. I know it is odd - I am doing postings backward: it is September now and the dates of the posts are from August. I haven't found my rhythm yet, which I lost somewhere in the midst of our transition.

Icheri Sheher - The Walled City

2009-08-26T14:56:00.004+05:00

The oldest part of Baku is called Icheri – Shekher or the Walled City and that is where we went for our first family outing. Icheri – Shekher was built on a hill and its compact layout has remained essentially unchanged since its construction during 11th to 17th century. The walls started to enclose the city in the 12th century. They protected the city from the enemies and biting winds and also marked territorial boundaries of the community they embraced.

The houses there are situated remarkably close to each other – if you stand in the middle of the street and spread your arms, you can easily touch the walls of the houses on its both side. I imagine that such closeness reinforces the sense of community, everybody knows what is going at the neighbors’ house even if they try not to.

Strolling through the web of narrow streets we came upon the Museum of the Miniature Book that houses an impressive collection of miniature books all over the world, the smallest one of them measured 2x2mm. A very decisive lady insisted on given us a tour in Russian and was a bit dismayed when I didn’t translate everything in details.

Learning through the experience we refused a tour at the Shirvanshahs’ Palace and proceed exploring it by ourselves. Shirvanshah (The Shah of Shirvan) was the title of rulers of a historical province of Azerbaijan, which included Baku.The Shirvanshahs’ Palace was built in 15th century when the Shah of Shirvan decided to transfer his residence to Baku. The ensemble of the palace includes various buildings located on four different levels. The highest one includes the Palace itself and Divan-khane, judicial chamber; the lowest – the remains of the palace bath-house.

I was mesmerized by wood and stone carvings on the doors and walls. Some of them are purely ornamental but in some there are hidden messages.The image below shows the entrance to the burial-vault. One of the inscription there describes to the visitors the purpose of the building, “Khalil-Ullah I, the greatest Soltan, Great Shirvanshah, the namesake of the divine prophet, the defender of the religion ordered to construct this light burial-vault for his mother and son in the year of 839”, the other quotes the Koran. If you look closely you will see two tear- shaped medallions - they hid the architect's name in them, Memar ("architect") Ali. In each medallion name is written twice, in regular manner and in mirrored script. It is quite a courageous act - to leave your own name on the shah's burial-vault, I view it as a claim to immortality. Interestingly, the scientists were able to read/decipher the architect's name only in 1945. It remained unknown for half a century.

We also visited the Maiden Tour (Qiz Qalasi) but I will leave it for another day.

P.S. Many thanks to Window to Baku site and its creator Faig Nasibov for the wonderful information on Baku.

First Impressions

2009-08-07T22:35:00.004+05:00

We are at our new destination, the place we will call home for the next two to three years. Where is it? It is located on the western edge of the Caspian Sea and borders Russia on the north, Georgia and Armenia on the west, and Iran on the south. Any ideas? Ok, here is something - it is a birthplace of Garry Kasparov. Still not a clue? Ok then, we are in Baku, Azerbaijan.

What are our first impressions?

The house is humongous – three stories for goodness sake. In almost empty rooms I feel like a Lilliputian in a house meant for giants. We are in an area of mansions, most of them in the process of reconstructions or constructions – the streets are littered with garbage and we have a pack of friendly stray dogs living in the neighboring empty lot.

It is a weird contract – garbage and mansions but something tells me that it is very Bakuvian.

View from our third floor.

Recollection of Summer

2009-08-02T22:18:00.008+05:00

In June we closed the door on our Iceland adventure and went for a home leave before going to our next post. What a change it was! From a cool weather of Iceland where we wore sweaters to the heat of Phoenix where we couldn’t shade enough clothing off.

For a month we led a quintessential American life starting with living in a trailer in the RV park and finishing with frequenting fast food places and malls. We visited our families and friends, did necessary shopping, and hoped from goofy golfing places to museums.

Looking back to Phoenix my favourite memories were swimming in the pool, it provided immediate relief from the heat, and traveling to cooler (temperature wise) places like Flagstaff. Ok, we didn’t go to Flagstaff for the sake of lower temperatures, we stopped there on our way to and back from the Grand Canyon, but the town had such a great feel about it and, more importantly, it provided an opportunity for walking, so Grand Canyon paled in comparison. There, at Grand Canyon it is, I overheard the conversation between a father and a daughter:
D: So, we saw Grand Canyon, can we go home already?
F: No, we've seen only a small part of it, there is much more to see.
D: But it is all the same.

The aforementioned Grand Canyon and the boys.

Phoenix Art Museum held some wonderful surprises, among them a statue by Anish Kapoor “Upside Down, Inside Out” and a work of Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama “Fireflies on the Water”. The later consisted of a darkened room lined with mirrors on all sides and numerous purple lights hanging from the ceiling. It created a dazzling effect of direct and reflected light, feeling of floating in endless cosmos. We returned to this room several times and every time we didn’t want to get out.

"Fireflies on the Water" by Yayoi Kusama

Kapoor’s piece “Upside Down, Inside Out” was equally engaging – black highly polished curved form, in which you can see your reflection horizontally, vertically and upside down depending on what part of the piece you look at. It seemed mysterious to me and I kept circling it transfixed by its smoothness and darkness.

"Upside Down, Inside Out" by Anish Kapoor, 2003

photo by Daniel Greene

The week in Washington flew by way too fast. It was filled to the brim with reunions - some planned, some chanced; as usual it made me happy, as usual it made me long for more.

Last but not least is the sign that captured my attention. My guess is that "standee" was based on relational pairs of antonyms "employer - employee; trainer- trainee; interviewer- interviewee", but what will its mate be?

Farewell to Iceland

2009-06-19T15:00:00.002+05:00

This post is scheduled to be published at the precise time of our plane departure.

Good bye Iceland!

Things we left behind (in our favourite places).

Five Best Things

2009-06-18T14:00:00.001+05:00

In a spirit of saying good byes, here is a small list of my absolute favourite things in Iceland:

1. Best Icelandic Surprise - locally produced delicious Orange Peels in Dark Chocolate. Original taste and good packaging make them a very nice small gift. You can buy them in Vínberið at Laugavegi 43. The vitrine on the right from a cashier register also deserves the attention of any chocolate connoisseur.

2. Best Secret Garden – a garden of the Parliament House – peaceful, beautiful and isn't frequented by spooky characters.

3. Best Cobblers – Garðastræti 13. If you dare to wear any remotely decent shoes in Reykjavik you have to know this place.

4. Best Place to Relax with a Book - The Reykjavik City Library,Tryggvagötu 15. Good selection of books and magazines, including children ones; internet access and plenty cozy corners.

5. Most Helpful and Knowledgeable Staff - hands down Reykjavik Art Museum (Hafnarhús and Kjarvalsstaðir locations) Ask a question and they shower you with priceless information.

National Day

2009-06-18T03:07:00.007+05:00

National Day is Icelandic Independence Day, which is celebrated on the 17th of June. There are a lot of festivities going on:a parade,balloons,music,fireworks,crowded streets and plenty of food.

Below are some photos from today.

On Mediocrity

2009-06-17T12:35:00.002+05:00

In one of the blogs I have discovered recently, the entry was devoted to the subject of mediocrity. The author quoted an excerpt from an article where the answer to the question why today there are no great artists such as Constable, Tchaikovsky, Wordsworth, etc., was,"Simple. In their day talent was rewarded above mediocrity, whereas today the exact opposite is true. Why would anyone dedicate a lifetime to perfecting a skill if they can get £1m for not making their bed?" (The author referred to the 1999 work of Tracey Emin “My bed”)

It is a common misconception that modern times cannot produce lions equal to Molière, Byron, Tolstoy, Da Vinci, Gauguin to name a few. In truth contemporaries simply cannot accurately assess the greatness or mediocrity of the artists of their own epoch. Only time can show who will remain standing and who will disappear into the mist of oblivion.

The standards for art have been lowered, there’s no argument about that. New technologies make it possible to produce interesting work without laboring intensely. Often young artists do cut corners and eagerly dive into the world of readymades, but those who devote their life to art are bound to dig deeper and work on their skills, otherwise there is no progress.

The lowering of standards for art has its upside though; it forces people to form their own opinions, view art differently, more freely, without boundaries of what should/shouldn’t appeal to the public. In short, it makes a viewer/reader/listener responsible for forming his own taste. Perhaps the question should not be how much skill was involved in producing something, but how much this piece moves a viewer.

Everyone’s imagination is piqued by different sorts of experiences; what is considered mediocre for one can be an eye opener for another. As long as a person can explain his opinion and doesn’t flatly dismiss the views of others, there is always an opportunity to learn something new.

Last Days

2009-06-15T03:20:00.008+05:00

Our pack out was finished on Friday - the house stands stark empty: white walls and wooden furniture. Windows stripped of curtains flooded rooms with light, echo travels from room to room following our steps. Sudden abundance of uncluttered space is liberating and symbolic to our current state: all ends are tied, all chores are done, there is nothing but our desires to guide us through the last days here.

Today at the evening when the brooding clouds left, we went for a walk. As usual, the kids wanted to go towards the sea. As always, strolling along the shore of Hafnarfjörður and passing by the place where Herjólfsgata merges with Vesturgata we wondered why seagulls always congregated there. In a loosely circular pattern they sway on the waves there day after day, rain or shine. Sometimes they sit calmly, sometimes viciously active. There must be some undercurrent there or some invisible source of food, but we will never know for sure, it will remain our unsolved mystery.

On the Bus

2009-06-06T13:15:00.007+05:00

On the bus from the downtown to Hafnarfjörður I sat near a young teen. All black outfit adorned with skulls and holes, sweet face where roundness of the cheeks hadn't been replaced yet by angles and hard lines.

He stared at the window, I - at people. Either out of boredom or anxiety he brought his right hand to his mouth and mindlessly started to bite his nails. Automatically, I snapped, "Stop it. Right now!" He jerked his hand from his face, casted me a "what the f-ck" glance and glued himself to the window.

For the remaining 15 minutes of the road his hands laid still in his lap.

Nature

2009-06-05T13:06:00.003+05:00

Look at these darlings, aren't they cute? They are the very first new ducklings that I have spotted at our stream. Summer is really here!

Art of Living

2009-06-02T20:15:00.010+05:00

Urban Life

Bug's Life

I Love You, No Discussion.

2009-05-30T22:49:00.011+05:00

No, it isn’t a deranged proclamation of undying love; it is actually an item from a menu of “Pure Lotus”,a very atmospheric vegetarian restaurant in Beijing. (I unearthed it today while sorting through some boxes.) It had a picturesque decor with grottoes, cascading curtains, tables made from ancient beds and absolutely unique presentation which at times made actual process of eating slightly challenging. The food there was excellent but the menu titles were out of this world:

Birth No Death (konnyaku and kelp slices)

The Sea of Sensation Has No Limits (soy protein vegetarian duck)

A Little More Love, A Little Less Misfortune (tomatoes and cauliflower stir-fried in clear sauce)

The Wind Stirs between Heaven and Earth, But There is No Coming or Going, No is There Rest (wild yam in coconut milk)

Contemplating The Inner Self (spinach with herb sauce)

I Shall Absorb Whatever Comes My Way (eggplant or pumpkin casserole with black beans and shitake mushrooms)

Imperial Kitchen Buddha Jumps Over the Wall (brown mushrooms, day lily flowers, vegetarian protein strips, cabbage, corn)

I Love You, No Discussion (Deep Friend Eggplant cake in sweet and sour sauce)

What would your rather try World of Azure or Mustard Greens and Taro?

Preparing to Move

2009-05-27T00:39:00.005+05:00

15 days till our pack out.

We have been frightfully organized this year; we even used the Memorial Day to drag down all the boxes from the attic. I should not say “we” of course because it was my husband who precariously balanced on the top of the narrow ladder, trying to maneuver boxes, one by one, down to the floor of our tiny laundry room. As each box descended, he had to fold the ladder up in order to move a box from the laundry room to a hall. Then he had to unfold the ladder and climb back up. Total of 36 times, not counting those rare occasions when the objects were thin enough to be squeezed between the side of the ladder and the cabinet. Add to this the joy shaking off the spiders that were disturbed by all the commotion, and no wonder that by the end of the ordeal my husband was slightly cranky.

Now the boxes are stored in the kids' rooms, and our house starts to look like a place embracing itself for a move.

Meanwhile the weather was beautiful today and on my walk I discovered that purple carpet of nootka lupin (isl.lúpina ) covered previously barren hills. I read that this plant was introduced in Iceland for soil fertilization, so it isn’t only pretty but functional.

Useless Knowledge

2009-05-20T16:12:00.006+05:00

Think about vast amount of knowledge we collect each and every day from the moment of our birth. Some of it has practical purpose; some of it is being used once in a while and some is just lurking way in the background never being recalled. Is there such a thing as useless knowledge? It seems like knowledge that doesn’t have any practical purpose or doesn’t bring pleasure can be easily dumped in that category. Easy, no? My husband’s example of useless knowledge was a telephone number of one of the places he once rented. He still remembers it but cannot recall even location of the apartment. My older son came up with, “The memory span of gold fish is three minutes.” The younger one insisted that every bits of knowledge were useful given the right circumstances. I also appeared to be having the hardest time to file any knowledge as useless mostly because odd facts delight me. For example, this little bit about a gold fish is amusing to me. And, if someone does decide to teach a gold fish new tricks he can save himself a lot of trouble by knowing it. So, aside from the junk that media feeds to people (honestly, even if you don’t pay much attention, some of it still sinks in), I am still searching for my piece of useless knowledge. But while I am searching I succeeded in creating a perfectly impractical post and acquired a new odd piece of new information.

Did you know that after spending a night in the water dried fruits bounce back to their normal size?

I'll Carry It in my Heart

2009-05-19T13:38:00.005+05:00

We have only four weeks left in Iceland. Soon my walks along the sea will turn into distant memories but images and sounds of my favourite places I will carry with me.

Elegant Solution

2009-05-04T00:35:00.008+05:00

A geometry problem called for finding an unknown angle EOD. My son approached it steadily and safely:

< AOC = <AOB – <COB = 180° -125° = 55°
<EOD = <AOB – (<AOE + <DOB) = 180° – (40° + 55°) = 85°

I asked him to look for another way of solving this problem. This time after finding angle AOC he came up with 360° – 125° – 40° - 55°X2 = 85° , which essentially is a variation on the first method.

“Try something different”, I kept insisting.

After a bit of hesitation he found it.

<COB and <AOD are vertically opposite angles and therefore
125° – 40° will give us the answer!!

Only after he wrote it down I realized how graceful and succinct this solution is - the epitome of elegance.

<EOD = <AOD – <AOE = 125° – 40° = 85°

What a beauty!

*Why doesn't blogger support the symbol for angles? I had to substitude with "<" instead, which looks slightly odd.

On Writing

2009-05-02T22:53:00.000+05:00

Today after three long years my husband has finished his first book. He had the idea for it for more than 20 years and started writing it down back in Beijing. I remember how interesting it was to hear him talking about its plot. The amount of details he had been carrying around and able to recall at his fingertips was astounding. Twists and turns of the plot, appearances and quirks of the character, he had it all. The only thing he lacked was time to unload all this on paper consistently. I cannot really tell what finally did the trick – bad weather of Iceland, darkness, or my nagging, but somewhere in January he really gave it a go. Evening after evening coming from work he secluded himself in his office and wrote. His ability to concentrate and steel-will when it comes to studying, be it exams or chess tournaments always impresses me and his approach to writing wasn’t much different.
Somewhere in March he read to us his first chapters, and reading new ones in the evening became the favourite family entertainment. The kids have been so excited – under false pretenses they love to wander into his room and glance on the screen and then run out whispering, “He is writing the battle scene now” or “He kill this guy, can you imagine.”

Now we finally will discover how it will all end!

New Discoveries

2009-05-02T00:08:00.002+05:00

I am sitting in the sun room – rain is rustling on the roof, the kids are playing with their friends. My eyes keep lingering on the cover of the book on Japonisme, "The Japanese influence on Western art since 1858." This book has been the source of my interminable interest for several months now. Theoretical, broad knowledge about influence of oriental culture on the West exists in my head for a long time. But seeing side by side illustrations that demonstrate these influences in great details, forged much deeper understanding of it. It helped me to see how a single pose, a small gesture, unexpected colour combination was borrowed, processed and weaved into the paintings of western artists. It also made me realize how liberating, exciting, and inspirational it must have been to discover such alien world of art for the western artists. Our modern eyes are conditioned to see and accept as natural variety of artistic styles while in the second part of the 19th century the rules of what considered to be a proper painting were still rigid. How exuberant it must have been to see new ways of organizing the picture plain, discover new range of subject matter, new techniques, new colour palette, new artistic devices. No wonder that so many artists, Monet, Degas, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Toulouse – Lautrec, Pierre Bonnard, to name a few, were mesmerized and heavily influenced by Japanese art.

It is also utterly fascinating that the moment when Japonisme became possible is so clearly defined in history. March of 1854, the treaty of Kanagawa, the end of 216 years of Japanese isolation. Isn’t it interesting that the signing of the political document had such an enormous influence on European and American art? The treaty had allowed Japanese artifacts and handicraft articles to be brought in Europe where in no time they became all the rage. Shops selling kimonos, antiquities, fans, and woodblock prints appeared one after another. Exhibitions showed Japanese art objects to the public. Artists inspired by new forms found new ways of expressing themselves. How extraordinary and at the same time logical.

Below are the most telling examples of japonisme (the term was coined by French art critic Philippe Burty to describe the craze for all things Japanese):

Claude Monet, Madame Monet in a kimono, 1876

Kitagawa Utamaro, Japanese woman (detail); Joseph Wacherle, Lady of fashion, 1907

Edgar Dega, Nude woman, standing (detail), 1886; Katsushika Hokusai, Sumo wrestler, 1814-78, from Manga

Edgar Dega, Dancer tying her ribbons, c.1880; Katsushika Hokusai, Sparrow dance, 1814-78, From Manga

Katsushika Hokusai, Man washing, 1814-78, From Manga; Edgar Dega, The bath-tub, 1886

Ando Hiroshige, Ohashi bridge in the rain, 1856-58, from 100 Views of Famous Places in Edo; Vincent van Gogh, Japonaiserie: the bridge, 1886-88, copy after Hiroshige

The Case of Elusive Paperwork

2009-04-30T04:55:00.001+05:00

Moving to a different country involves a lot of paper work. A huge amount of it connects to the renewal of medical clearance, which needs to be done for every person in a family. A lot of appointments, tests and analyses had to be scheduled and though the process was incredibly hectic, it was bearable. We were congratulating ourselves on finishing this ordeal without any nasty surprises and in timely manner until it was turn for my annual exam – you know, Pap smear and all that.

I called a doctor office and booked an appointment. 10:20 suggested by receptionist seemed like a nice time, not too early, not too late. At 10:15 on the day of appointment I arrived at a waiting room and got to a receptionist to sign my name. “No, no, you did a mistake,” I was told, “Your appointment is at 16:00 not at 10:20.” I stared at her in amazement. Firstly, it is hard to come up with the time 10:20 unless it was told to you by somebody; secondly, total lack of courtesy tend to amaze me to the point of amusement, and in this case it bordered on awe. Since I had to do the analysis anyway, wasn’t in the mood for finding another doctor, I decided to reschedule. “Ok, next week, Tuesday at 10:20” she said. Eyeing her suspiciously I wrote down the date, the time and showed it to her. “Correct?” “Correct”, she dismissed me with a nod.

Next Tuesday I arrived in the office again. This time everything went smoothly. Prior to my departure the doctor assured me that as soon as the results would be done he would call me. Two weeks went by, no call. I let the third week to expire and stopped by his office right before the Easter holiday. The doctor ruffled through the pile of documents on his table, poked in his file cabinet and in somewhat perplexed tone announced, “Him, your results are not here yet. It must be here soon though. Check after the holiday.” Two days after the end of the long Easter holiday I popped by his office again... His office wasn’t there anymore. He moved.

Speaking with receptionist revealed his new address and telephone number. I called and heard familiar, “The doctor will call you as soon as the results will be here.” At this point I started doubt my judgment and requested my friend’s help whose command of Icelandic language is far superior to mine. “Please, please, please call this office, maybe I don’t understand something.” She called, and was reassured that as soon as the results would be in the doctor office I would be notified. Meanwhile two more weeks passed by.

This Monday, mildly panicking, since all the medical documents have to be sent to DC together, otherwise they will be returned as incomplete, I called the office again. “Don’t you worry, the doctor will call you,” was the familiar answering. The day was winding to its end when the telephone rang, “I am looking for Mrs. C.” “Hi doctor, do you have good news for me?” “You know, I wrote your letter and all the results already, I just don’t know where it went. Do you want me to do it again?” “Yes, do it, damn it,” I screamed inside while sweetly going, “Yes please, it will be very helpful.” “Ok then, I’ll finish it today and you can pick it up any time tomorrow.”

And that is how seven weeks after the appointment I got my results back.

Bláa Lónið and Friendship Bridge.

2009-04-10T22:49:00.007+05:00

When we were preparing to go to Iceland, a person who had lived there before told us not to do all the tourist attractions in our first year. “Space it out", he said. So we were postponing and postponing our trip to the Blue Lagoon, the ultimate tourist’s destination in Iceland. With two months left and five holidays upon us, it finally happened – we went there.

My first impression upon entering the building was, “Neat, it isn’t very crowded.” Then I found out that they had the coolest magnetic bracelets that close and open the lockers. Then I discovered that if I wanted to ask questions I had better address nude people - they knew what they were doing. Those who had their swimming suits on in the shower tended to be foreigners and were as clueless as me.

What can I say about the Blue Lagoon itself? It is much smaller than films or photos lead you to believe, but since we knew to scale down our expectations it didn’t catch us off guard. The bottom of the lagoon and its shore felt slightly slimy. Hmm, this word has a strong negative connotation; how about slick? Oh, better yet – slimy and slick? In short, you had to watch your steps in order not to slip.

Water was pleasantly warm 40° C (104° F) and murky white. It awoke the very odd impression of swimming in milk soup. It also reminded me of a folklore tale where an old king, desperate to become younger, jumped into a pot of boiled milk. It was the end of him. His protagonist did the same and became astonishly handsome. I kept my fingers crossed that the much talked about healing ingredients of Blue Lagoon didn’t act in such a treacherous manner. According to the Blue Lagoon's site, its geothermal seawater is quite magical. It contains revitalizing minerals, anti-aging algae, and silica that exfoliates and deeply cleanses. So, bathing in these murky waters regularly may have a lot of benefits. Of course, since it is mostly tourists who bathe there and they tend to do it only once during their tour, these benefits can be hard to prove.

There were boxes of mud along the shore, which you are supposed to put on your face and other bits of flesh that you want to rejuvenate. I covered only my face; my male companions (my husband and sons) eyed me suspiciously, partially expecting me to turn into a lizard right there on the spot. Instead I just blended into the ghostly white-faced crowd. I am not sure if the mask did anything to my skin, but it didn’t do any harm, which is a plus.

There wasn’t much to do in the lagoon, except to vegetate in the water. You can go for massages, but with kids in tow it wasn’t meant to happen. After about forty minutes we got bored and left. We didn’t feel much younger, but certainly reenergized and hungry.

Here, specially for my friend who wanted to see photos of my boys. Howdy W.

We proceeded to go to Reykjanestá and later towards the Friendship Bridge. I like Reykjanestá because it has a great view of the sea, a lighthouse and nice places to have a picnic. Going up towards the lighthouse or having a picnic was out of the question because of the terrible wind, so we just drove to the edge of the cliffs and enjoyed their raw beauty.

Friendship Bridge, or "A Bridge between Two Continents" as its name suggests, is the bridge between the European and North American tectonic plates. It was highly amusing to run from one side of it to the other and pretend that you popped to N. America.

And that was the last stop of our journey.

How to Lose a Loose Tooth

2009-04-10T11:59:00.003+05:00

How to lose a loose tooth:

You can patiently and persistently wiggle it with your finger until it comes out on its own;
You can go to a dentist and let him pull it out in a clean and safe environment;
You can allow your mom to wrap a string around it, tie it to a doorknob, hold your breath and wait till the door will swing open;
Or, you can go to play baseball, try to catch a hit that isn’t meant to be caught and let a ball get rid of you tooth.

And that is exactly how my younger son lost his loose tooth yesterday.

(I am utmost grateful that it was only a loose tooth. For some time there on the field with him crying and blood gushing from his mouth I thought that emergency room was in order.)

Down at the Beach

2009-04-08T14:00:00.005+05:00

Down at the beach
Gazing at the sea
I see seagulls ridding waves,
I see a boat hurrying by,
I see the bottomless sky.

Down at the beach
Gazing at the sea
I breathe in and see
Waves rushing towards me,
I breathe out -
The water slowly retreats.

Down by the beach
Gazing at the waves
I breathe in unison with the sea.

To the Gateway to Hell and Back

2009-04-06T01:57:00.002+05:00

Mount Hekla is the most active volcano in Iceland and was believed to be the gateway to Hell. Old tales tell that the souls of the unfortunate traveled through Hekla's crater on their way to underworld. Towards this mountain we went yesterday. My former Icelandic language teacher invited her students to her summer house. The road there went through Selfoss and further to the east. The weather had been changing every ten minutes - we drove through the sun, we drove through the snow, we drove through the rain, through the sleet and through the sun again. Heads of the mountains had been hidding in the grey clouds and reappearing ever so often - snow scintillating on their tops. Lava fields covered in emerald green moss provided a sharp contrast to the blackness of the stones.

When we reached our destination the sun was shining. Dora's house stood awashed in the golden glow; compact and peaceful. Hekla loomed not far away - clouds hovering on its summit.

First thing I noticed on entering the house was a large bay window in the living room with a great view of the mountains, and then - a wonderful smell of fresh wood. Like any proper summer house it is made entirely of wood and the aroma of timber hasn't disappeared yet. Despite being bran new the house has a feeling of a home where the tastes of its owners shows through every details - flowers on a table, art on the walls, a shelf full of selected books, comfortable kitchen. A wonderful place to retreat from the noise and business of the city. Some day I hope we will have a home, a place filled not with government furniture but ours, in the location selected by us not for us. But for now I am content with snapping photos of places I like, creating a pile of images to use when the time will come.

We spend a pleasant afternoon in this lighthearted household - eating, talking, strolling through the lava fields. The food was delicious - a leg of lamb, sweet potatoes, superb chicken and grapes salad, spicy bean salad and scrumptious cheesecake topped with berries for dessert. Honestly, this lunch was so filling we needed just a snack for dinner.

Our secondary goal on this trip was to find the grave of Bobbie Fisher. I knew that it should be just outside of Selfoss, on the Laugardaelir Church Cemetery, but on the way to the summer house we missed the right turn so figure out we searched for it on the way back. Taking a very muddy off road we did find it, a small not descriptive tomb in front of the church. Such an obscure place for such a great mind. It was his wish to be buried there and it went well with his solitary personality but still...

Parallel Universe

2009-04-03T17:25:00.003+05:00

While in real life I am going around attending to everyday business in Iceland, for almost two weeks now I have been enjoying the parallel universe of ancient Rome. My immersion started with HBO series “Rome”, progressed into reading Colleen McCullough’s books and extended into “Meditations” of Marcus Aurelius.

My head is filled with weighted words – pontificate, ameliorate, copious, pedagogue (not often we use this solemn word instead of everyday teacher) – strong images and acrimonious intrigues. Roman history is an intellectual soap opera – there is passion, love, incest, deceits, suicides, murders right and left and never ending quest for power.

Their intricate moral codes, understanding of integrity or compassion are so differ from modern, it is awe inspiring. The level of self control needed for survival in that society seemed to be humanly impossible; there is no doubt in my mind that I would not survive there.

Ancient Greece holds more appeal to me than Rome. When I think of Rome an image of a tight lipped centurion comes to mind, while Greece brings an image of the Winged Nike, the Goddess of Victory. It is ironic, since it was the army of Roman centurions who marched victoriously through Greece in 146 BC and took it under control. But then of course some centuries later Rome itself fell.

Well, as Marcus Aurelius mused, “All things are in a process of change. You yourself are subject to constant alteration and gradual decay. So too is the whole universe.”

Spring?

2009-03-28T19:35:00.007+04:00

Wrapped in a tender green fog of first leaves two rows of poplar trees stood along the side of the road. The leaves fluttered in the wind, sparkling under the sun light. I reached to touch their tender surface anticipating its smoothness and.. woke up.

It will be at least one more month untill green leaves appear on the trees here but there are some signs of spring - the sun rises just before seven and goes down a little bit after eight giving us thirteen hours of daylight; little fuzzy buds of pussy willow appeared all over the place, and to my utter amazement, cow berries are red again.

In the Library

2009-03-07T11:58:00.001+04:00

Saturday is a busy day in a local library – a whole slew of families with kids are there, and there are lines at every checking out counter. My younger son tries to scan the books he intends to take out. One of them doesn’t go through the machine. A man with a couple of small kids behind us instructs him in a slightly impatient tone, “Put the book different side up, higher, lower...” I turn and thank him for being helpful. He stares at me for a moment and says, “Well, that’s how it is in Iceland – we are not polite, but we are helpful.”

Beginning of the End

2009-02-18T15:22:00.005+04:00

Today marks the beginning of our four last months in Iceland. After that a new destination will await us. It will be our sixth move in 12 years. By now all the routine is so familiar: sorting, purging, giving away, throwing away, going through a paper work, saying good-byes to people and places, gather information on new ones. Even the feelings are familiar - a little detachment starts to creep in, you avoid making new acquaintances or starting new projects, you are more concerned with closures than beginnings. Despite the familiarity of the routine each move has been a little heart break so far. Strangely enough, this time I am actually looking forward to it - it feels like a good time to move on.

I will miss closeness to nature the most: long walks in the lava fields and along the sea, unobstructed horizon, magical light, the strange feeling that you in a countryside while in fact you are within fifteen minutes from the center.

Russian Grapes and Other Tall Tales.

2009-02-13T13:26:00.008+04:00

Yesterday there was an international potluck dinner at the kids’ school. Every family had to bring a dish from their country of origin. I brought breaded chicken and fried potatoes. Not very Russian, but it was all I came up with. It was the first time ever I cooked something for such occasion. The problem with Russian cuisine is that it involves too much work, so I prefer to shy away from it. Back in Beijing I once brought green seedless grapes to the international lunch and advertised them as a purely Russian delicatessen. I had a story to go with it - how with harsh climate of Russia, it is such a rare treat that people eat it only on special occasions and very, very slowly. At the end of the lunch I heard one little boy saying to his mother, “Mom, I liked Russian grapes so much, can we find it here?” Most of the world will think “Russian” and say “vodka”, but some little boys and girls in China will think “Russian” and say “grapes.”

Come to think of it, I am very fond of spinning tall tales. Back in Moscow I once convinced my students, who should have known their teacher better, that if they rub the Tsar Bell in Kremlin and go around it twice, their wishes will come true. Before long some tourists joined in and were dutifully rubbing the bell before counting the circles.

My most bizarre and successful tall tale is about cockroaches. A communal apartment of one of my friends (apartment where several families live in) suffered from the invasion of cockroaches. We discussed different methods of getting rid off them that didn’t involve harsh chemicals; they had a dog and a young child. On the spot I came up with a new method –you take a dropper, fill it with Viride nitens (The Brilliant Green Solution, which is a common antiseptic in Russia), mark one cockroach with it, and release it. The brilliant green colour will scare all his comrades and they will leave your premises. I told this with an aura of confidence and left. Close to ten o’clock in the evening I got a call, “You just invented it, didn’t you? We spent the whole evening catching cockroaches and colouring them green.” The funniest part – coloured cockroaches did die, but it didn’t affect their comrades. What can I say – in every story there is a grain of truth.

On the same, more or less, subject it is Friday the 13th today. Consider yourself warn and take things extra slowly.

Birthday Wish

2009-02-03T23:12:00.007+04:00

I spoke with my niece today, whose birthday is coming up in March. "What do you want for your birthday?" I asked. In typical teenager's fashion she started "I don't really know" song but then her voice came alive with excitment, "I know, I know. I want Ted's chocolate cake." Such a sweet birthday wish for a person who will turn 15.

The wish has its history. Back when my niece was barely two years old and we all lived in Moscow, my husband introduced us to his chocolate cake. I think it wasn't even the taste of the cake that made it so special for my family but the fact that the man took time, prepared it and brought it to my mom's house. Since then the cake made its appearance every time my family visited us in our travels. By now everybody is aware that it is made from Betty Crocker's mix but it is still known as Ted's chocolate cake.

Clouds and Colours

2009-01-29T23:57:00.010+04:00

It was a lot of interesting colours today in nature. The water had a beautiful mixture of silver, golden and blue, the horizon blossomed with tender yellow, and the contrast between pristine white of the snow and pitch black of the pebbles were beautiful.

Snowy Days

2009-01-29T01:41:00.000+04:00

Today is such a striking contrast with just a few days before. Only on Sunday everything was so bleak and grey. Grey clouds hang in the sky, rain relentlessly drew its strokes, the streets were covered in grey ice, making moving around perilous, and the promenade by the pond took greenish grey tint under the layers of ducks droppings. To add to the to the atmosphere of a quiet gloom there were virtually no people on the streets. It was quite eerie, a perfect picture for nuclear winter.

Then the snow started to fall and little by little grey turned into pristine white, trees dawned fluffy robes, and the clouds made their departure revealing the smiling skies. I think that sunny days should be automatically declared national holidays here, so people can go outside and bask in their glory.

Winter Trip - Art Making

2009-01-23T14:44:00.005+04:00

If you think that my art viewing should naturally turn into art making, you are absolutely right. It did come to this in the most unexpected and enjoyable way. I arranged an after work meeting with my friend who promptly led me to the retirement celebration of one of her colleagues, mysteriously saying on the way, "I will tell what we will do in the evening after you have a drink." Here I was sitting in the midst of unfamiliar but friendly faces being introduced around as "a friend from Iceland", which I don't mind much since following questions provide for an easy chat. "Oh, Iceland, it must be very cold there. How big is Iceland? How is financial situation there?" After my glass of wine became half full, my friend asked me point blank, "So, how are you with drawing and painting? We are going to make an art project today. People will come to pick it up tomorrow at ten."

And that is how I found myself in DC creating a prayer mat for Shri Lanka Embassy's New Year Celebration party. Listen to this - Russian born American, whose husband works for American Embassy in Iceland, came to DC and painted the prayer mat for the Shri Lanka Embassy's New Year celebration. It is so deliciously bizarre, no fiction can beat this. So, below are photo series "Making Art in DC" by...you know whom.