The Great Wave

A card arrived today from a dear friend of mine. Such a delightful 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

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

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?*

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 got the tickets. How did I get the tickets is a frightening story involving an argument with the scariest ever ticket seller, a lot of sweet talking on my driver's part and charging me a bit more than a ticket price at the end.



And so we went 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 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 number 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 synonym for clown, the "fun" part is deceiving, but for rope walker. Isn't it fun?


*"The Circus" by Micheal James Dennis

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

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.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 highlights looked ghostly white. Can we do something about it? And it turned out we could – after yet another hour I returned to my golden brown tone and though highlights do appear a tad harsh, I can look at myself without cringing. 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

Browsing library shelves, 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 incredible 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 "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 and 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 that are bind together by genetics, lust, past, resentment, loneliness, and financial woos, exist in perpetual state of loud arguments, pulsating sexual desires and dramatic events but the underlying emotion there is indeed indifference. Like a surface of water regains its calm after the stone sank to the bottom; the high emotions here remain just that, failing to not to initiate real change.

People call this novel the worst of Moravia's work, while in fact it shows how talented and observant he was even at the young age.

Colours

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!