Getting home - via Athens

 Skopelos in the rear view

Leaving Skopelos wasn't easy. 

In the dim light of 6:30am, Jill drove us down to the village to await the ferry.  I had time to run to the pastry shop for some pistachio pastries (shame on me if I didn't scheme to get to the shop one more time).  What was hard was saying good-bye to Jill.  And then looking at the town for the last time. 

Off to Athens. . .

I thought I might have been too tired at this point in the trip to really enjoy the wonders of Athens.  That my trip was done in my mind, my residency complete and my desire to be home in the U.S. too strong to really want to explore the ruins and figure out the web of streets unfamiliar to me. . .

I was very, very, very, very wrong. 

First, can you believe these next two photos are of the Athens subway?  It is museum-like, not to mention easy to get around even if you don't know Greek.

 

Second:  hours after I arrived in Athens I attended the First Annual Athens Biennial.  I wish I could have taken photos for you, but none were allowed.  I will say the following:  it was called Destroy Athens and it dealt with ideas of Greek identity and culture (which, if you haven't been to Greece, are so palpable that you can taste it and that you start asking yourself -- or at least, I do -- about my own cultural identity) and stereotypes.  It was not a barometer of art at the moment, but told a story of dead-ends (see website below).  So, it featured art by prisoners, videos that bordered on or would qualify as pornography, videos on the demolition of skyscrapers shown in 100 degrees Farenheit, piles of garbage as art, and the best video I've ever seen stemming from printmaking (aside from the work of William Kentridge).  If you are interested in learning more about the Biennial, you can visit www.athensbiennial.org.

Third:  The Acropolis.  A-C-R-O-P-O-L-I-S. I am immensely grateful that I was walking around in a city where looking up, around a corner, and across a street meant that I would see ancient ruins.  Amazing.  Chills.  A full heart.  All of that.  Just a fantastic experience.  There was a windstorm at the Acropolis, but I tell you, I had fun eating that dirt.  It was well worth it.  Please go and experience the grandeur if you have the chance.

 a view from the top

 I have an obsession with the Porch of Maidens at the Erechtheum

 the Parthenon, always under construction

 another view of the Erechtheum

After visiting the Acropolis I headed toward the Olympieion where the Temple of Zeus stands.  I happened upon it, knowing where I was in a general sense (if the sun's still up, I never consider myself lost).  Seeing it and Hadrian's Arch when I wasn' t looking was like stumbling upon a field of dinosaurs: it just doesn't happen.  But it did, and visiting it was amazing.  Here are the photos of traffic by that area (I'm in the median) and then the architectural ruins.

 Athens traffic

 tall, very tall

 these pillars were pre-fab

 detail of a Corinthian column - check out those acanthus leaves

There were more places I visited that day:  the amazing Lalaounis Jewelry Museum (see http://www.lalaounis-jewelrymuseum.gr/); the Plaka, an ancient part of the city with more ruins and lots of shopping; backstreets leading to the Tower of Winds (see below); and then an evening in the hotel bar (see www.artgalleryhotel.gr), populated with only three of us, the owner, bartender Angelo, and me.  And then a few others, including two sisters from the Western U.S. and a female named Ama who is an Italian archaeologist excavating a city in Turkey, in Athens for a conference.  We had great conversations about politics, the recent fires, famous folks who have stayed at the hotel, intuition, and my plans for coming back to Greece . . .

 from the Tower of Winds

And then, after eleven hours from Athens to Philly, then six in the airport in a daze, then three more from Philly to Minneapolis in the dark, I saw family again, and I was home:

 home is where the heart is, with Matt

Thank you all for reading!  I'm so glad you came along for the trip. 

Wonderful day

What a wonderful last day here.  I don't have much time to complete this entry; it's late, the director and I are going to have some wine before I go back to my apartment, and I have to pack a little bit more.  The ferry leaves at 7am, so I'll need to be up at 5:30. 

So, let me list what happened today:

1.  handwashed some clothes and hung them out to dry, 2. cleaned out the refrigerator, 3. packed some art supplies and art to bring back, 4. visited Christo's family church,  5. Christo's wife showed me her own art, 6. shopped in town, 7. went to dinner with the gang in Agnondas, a neighboring town on the water, 8. returned to the studio to use a hairdryer on my newest piece (it worked pretty well), and 9. am updating the blog before going to Gloria's for a bit.

And here are some pictures of my day.  I want you to see . . .

  stunning morning

  . . .clean clothes

  in the Chrisofaros church

 Christo telling us a good story

 Eleni's beautiful handiwork

Sorry I have to run. . .I am going to Athens in the morning and will blog and email again on Oct. 3.  I really enjoyed today.  I hope you did too.

P.S. Remind me to tell you how I broke into a church (not Christo's) today. . .twice.

P.P.S.  I'm looking forward to telling you about Athens!

Friday night

Well, the party crowd just cleared out.  Vivian, Sandra, and I were given an open studio party from Jill and Gloria.  A group of locals, friends of the Foundation, spent time looking at our work and asking lots of questions.

Two British women who live on the island and with whom I had a particularly nice talk  said that every time they visit the Foundation, they have to rethink their old concept of art.   They excitedly told me that I was making them un-learn old ideas about what art is, about one's physical experience to the world, and more.  That is exactly what I just love to hear, so I could not have been more pleased.  It was a nice evening.

I said I wanted to make that last big piece, something of a dream piece, right?  But that I was letting it go, because of my little cold and taking care of myself, right? 

I made it.  I made it this morning and now it's drying.  If all goes well, it will be the start of a new series.  I'm guessing from the computer chair here that the piece is 1.5' x 3'.  Jill told me it was a breakthrough piece for me.  Fingers crossed that it turns out. . .

The moon is orange for the second night in a row.  I have photos, but none do it justice.  Its light on the water is orange as well. 

Have a good evening.  I'm turning in with a book.  Kali spera sas.

Two more days on the island (updated - reread)

Warning:  I got a cold right before I wrote this.  My desire to organize my thoughts decreases when that happens. . .

******************************************************************

It's time to be really honest.  

Just how did the art making go?

Three weeks. . .that's enough time to see summer change to fall.  To learn some key Greek phrases.  To soak in who lives around you, what they do on a daily basis, where their family comes from, and what kinds of foods they recommend.  To see things I've never seen before, like roadside shrines, goats that drink salt water, and other islands in the distance.  To sleep well, know my preferences for certain local foods, and know how long it takes my socks to dry on the lines on the north vs. south sides of the apartment.  To know who to talk to for problems with ants, or for the best path to the best beach.  To trust people (who aren't strangers anymore). 

It's also enough time to come to the studio daily (except for one day) and to learn to make art without judging it.  (If that's all I learned, that would make this residency a big success!)  It's enough time to internalize what a hook or line means to me.  To learn my environment through its physicality.  To understand the light.  The water in the background of my pieces.  Most of all, it's enough time to find myself amazed that my art and my life are suddenly merged. . .

This is where I stand now:  three weeks here has reinforced in me that I am extremely material based.  That ink and paper and sea waves are as physical to me as metal and wood and wax.  And that my tendency to use worn objects is one that I may be ready to leave behind.  In other words, maybe, in my psyche, the found object represents something past, and I am having second thoughts on my habit to always reclaim it.  (Don't hold me to this. . .)  And finally, it is long enough for me to realize that it takes at least three weeks to work with new materials in a new place.  To stop and start and stop and start again.  And then to settle down and let myself lose myself in a piece I'm making.

The most significant part of where I stand now is that, by coming here, I planted LOADS of seeds.  They'll pop up in my mind, dreams, and art inthe coming months.  Now that is exciting!  That is the real work I have done here.

Something to work on:  I'll admit, I still have a hard time concentrating on one piece at a time.  My pattern is to play out the possibilities until I am ready to settle in to a pattern or theme of work.  Solution:  It's a wonderful gift to be able to ask for input from a fellow artist when I feel bogged down with my own myopic vision.  Sometimes someone else's advice can help me hone my energy in on a project.

I will leave this residency and island with the sense that I developed part of a larger new vision here.  In the past year I've been pushing my work in a new direction (can't describe it well yet but I can sense it); coming here has meant that I've pushed in Skopelos, an effort that will merge with my Albuquerque push.  What's exciting is to see what the total outcome will be in the coming months.  A hybrid of outer spaces (Greece and the high desert of NM), and my inner space, where the dreaming happens.

In three weeks I've expressed a personal metaphor visually in book form and other forms.  I accept that I didn't reach the artistic heights I dreamed of six months ago -- you have to dream big! -- because I just don't work that quickly at this point in my art career and maybe never will.  That said, when I have what I feel is a big vision, it comes around and my subconscious gets me there.  I have to take the back roads of my creative process to do it, but these steps get me there:  1) envisioning, 2) back roads and frustration, 3) then, a surprise art making that takes me exactly where I envisioned it would.  (Since it takes me months to get there, I always feel I should build a temple out of gratitude -- you just never really know that dreams will come to fruition, and then they do and it's mind blowing.  That's why I keep this gig.)  I've been in Step 2 here.  A personal accomplishment is that I've learned to appreciate and enjoy Step 2.  It's like watching my own life unfold. . .

One of my personal challenges here was to come and make books.  I had never made them before, and now they are a new part of my artistic vocabulary.  A part that exists in the category of New Things, along with hooks and line, and rubbings, which are also fairly new in my art life.  It will be interesting to see how my concept of books will develop.

That said, I leave here with materials -- namely hooks and line! -- that I will live with, untangle, and know more as I continue my Skopelos art in Albuquerque.  And I have a vision for what they will be in an upcoming installation.  Although I need more time at home to make it happen, that is the height I'm really reaching for.

One last thing:  I had hoped that there would be one final "big" piece I would make.  Instead, I got a cold and a reason to sit back, take care of myself, and see what I have done.  Sometimes that's what life asks of you, and that's what I'm doing today.

A thought:

"If you want to test your memory, try to remember what you were worried about a year ago today."  -unknown

Wednesday: Stones

Funny that my daily reading today was about stones, for my whole day seems to have been filled with beautiful stones.  And also ones I need to put down.

Again from The Book of Awakening, Mark Nepo writes,

The time has come to put our stones down. . .

As long as we clutch to one thing. . .our hands cannot open or reach for anything else. 

The timeless and essential drama of living into the unknown resides in this simple sequence.  We must risk putting down the stone or stick or gun we are grasping, in order to build or touch or make music of any kind.

 

This is Glisteri.  Today I waded here, and I can't tell you just how beautiful it is.  Rounded rocks, baby blue waters, calm cove, no one around except a small rustic taverna and a cat sunning its belly on the beach near the water.  One week ago it would have been flooded by a movie cast and crew.  I was glad today that they had finished up and gone home.  This was a peaceful haven. 

After Glisteri we hiked to the ancient tombs of Sendoukia at Mt. Delphi.  They date to 3 b.c., and there are three tombs carved out of the rock.  No one really knows what these are for, whether they are for hiding goods or burying the dead, but one has a pillow carved in the rock.  I got down in one for the fun of it and was glad I am a pretty flexible person to be able to get back out.  A storm was approaching across the water, so we decided to head back down the trail.

We three artists at the studio are in high production mode since we have a few days left to finish our work.  I'm here late after eating a nice dinner cooked by Vivian and Sandra.  On the way back to the studio after dinner, I took this photo.  There's a full moon over Skopelos, and I want to share it with you.  I took this just minutes ago.

And this luxurious studio space is where I'll be working for the next few hours.  I have several books in progress that I'd like to finish before I go to bed tonight.

Have a great day, and remember to try to let go of things that need letting go of. . . I'll try too as I work tonight.

A Monk, a nun, and a potter

 In the monastery courtyard.

Yesterday I visited a monastery and a monastery-turned-convent.  Both date back 500 years.  I don't have my little notebook with me where I wrote down the names -- I think the monastery is Soteri -- but, my apologies.  Both places are Greek Orthodox, pretty much the only religion in Greece, and I can see my studio from the hillside they are on.  It's a small island.  We were greeted by a monk and a nun at the respective places, and at both places we were fed a chewy candy that tasted like rose water.  It didn't taste too great, kind of flowery, but, hey, it was probably blessed. 

If you're reading, I lit a candle for you.  In a place where people have been doing that for 500 years.

 Inside the convent.

After that, we visited a reknowned potter named Rodios.  His family has produced ancient forms in clay since 1900.  Their work is so valued that Hitler sent a plane to Skopelos to completely wipe them out -- any and all Rodios pottery was taken to Hitler.  (They made more.)  Yesterday, the artist (the grandson of the first Rodios potter) was wonderful to meet, demonstrated for us, let me take many photos, and let us see the tools his grandfather made that he still uses, the drying cabinet, and his wood fire kiln.  In Jill's words, he doesn't even know what a glaze is; all color is created through reduction firing processes.  What a pleasure that visit was.

After a long day in the studio today, I went to the beach again.  Then I climbed the hill to my second home. I brought back some video and photos for you.

 Have a great day and a good night's sleep.

Clear water, and warm 

 I didn't pay for this beach chair

                                                         Why I brought the cheaper camera!

In Rememberance

Although many good things happened today, and I will blog about them tomorrow, this evening I would like to take pause to remember my and many people's friend, Sam McFarlane.

He was caring, sensitive, generous, friendly, compassionate, funny, highly creative, grounded and a dreamer, passionate, adventurous, questioning, extremely intelligent, drawn to nature, introspective, truth-seeking.  He had a great smile, style, spirit, mind, laugh (what a great laugh), and way of making you feel heard.  I can't tell you any more than this:  Sam was present in all ways.  He lived.  A lot.  I will miss him tremendously.  Lots of people will.

I'm heading down to the beach so I can "be" at the service today at the same time everyone else is in Albuquerque.

What a blessing.  Thank you, Sam.

Sheep on the Water, and the Beach Experiments

Today one of the other residents in the studio said, "Hey, the wind stopped."  We three held our movements to listen, to make sure.  (Exhale.)  Peace.

During the Windy Time (and it deserves to be a title), there were sheep in the water.  Sheep are what the islanders call the whitecaps.  So, here are some sheep, and two sailboats, for you:

Some real animals other than dogs and cats here on the island are rats (that the cats eat); hedgehogs; weasels that suck the blood out of chickens (vampires, ugh); horses; donkeys; and goats.  There's an islander that they refer to as The Donkey Man.  Photographers use him a lot, it seems.  He has more than donkeys.  He and his wife have goats, donkeys, chickens, and some horses, all just over the hill from my apartment. 

And yesterday, I had a photo op with the donkey.  The Foundation lets him eat the shrubs around the building from time to time.  We were in a staredown:

The Donkey Man's wife is business-minded.  Although she's never on the premises, she rents the beach chairs at the beach where I go.  Which is a nice transition into the Beach Experiments part of my blog today.  First, let me show you where I go:

And this is the winding road I descend to get there:

Once I get there, it's deserted except for a few locals I pass on the way and maybe a Norwegian on vacation.  September is off-season here (how I like it).  Here are a few illustrations of the ghost town feel by my beach.

       

This is where I can safely play in the water.  At 5 pm when the sun is still warm and the swimmers have gone to their rooms, I take pieces I've made, float them, experiment with what kind of art I can possibly make in the powerful waves.  That's what I've been thinking about.  So, I go there everyday to listen for an answer.  I get one answer all the time, but it's beyond words. . . Today I made a rubbing of rocks at high tide, right at the edge of the water.  Getting soaked in my street clothes was a lot of fun and made me laugh out loud.  Somehow I feel vulnerable and known there by this thunderous, pounding water.  Not sure how that happens.  I just feel something.  It's very freeing. 

Other quick updates:  dinner and concert plans did not work out as we had hoped.  Instead we went to what I consider one step up from a really good Greek greasy spoon.  Another update:  I ran up a hill today (remember, 45 degrees!).  I had been running at home before I came and never thought I would here, but I couldn't stand not to anymore.  As I was taking a walk, I just started running.  It felt like a million bucks.  A few of us are surprised that we're not huffing and puffing anymore when we walk.

And, the best update:  I had a fantastic studio day.  I made and made and never judged my work as I was making it, not once.  It's the lesson I have to learn over and over, to accept my work and let it go, even as I am making it.  None of us is exempt from having to learn at least one lesson over and over, right?  Well, that lesson is mine.

A book that helped me with that today is The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.  In it he says, Yours is to live it.  Not to reveal it.  (By the water I am reduced to watching and breathing.  No comprehending, just sensing.)

He also says, I would rather be fooled than not believe.  (My best days are when I'm a fool.  Today was one.)

Monasteries are on the agenda tomorrow.  Take care.

Not untangling

 Don't try this at home.

No more untangling for now.  I can't bear to look at it anymore!  On to another project. 

Still Untangling

After talking to Matt about this project last night, I had thought I'd just bring the line home and continue untangling it there.  However, when I came in to work today, I knew I had to keep going.  This should be untangled here, though I don't know just why yet.

I have to say, it's a bit intruiging to see the translucent green line create small caverns, and to determine just where the line is that I'm trying to work on at the moment so I can pull it through.  (I know, not everyone would be intrigued by that.  But I'm pushing toward a final goal, so that helps.)  I'm working on the micro scale, up close, and then I have to continually balance that out by loosening the overall mess on the macro scale.  It's getting easier to work with.  Slightly.  I take what I can get.

This thing may be as large as a whale when I'm done.  I've never worked on this scale.  I'm dwarfed.  It's humbling and alluring all at once. 

Last night, I ran home in the rain.  Without Amanda.  Oh, well.  It was torrential and didn't let up all night, so there never would have been a good time to brave it.  I was up all night because of wind that even a New Mexican might find disconcerting (that's saying a lot).  I actually slept fully clothed, flashlight on the nightstand, passport and key and cell phone nearby.  That was at 5am.  What's more, today, Day 2 of the storm, is no different from last night except the rain is lighter.  Some parts of this studio building I'm working in have no natural light or are darkened by clouds, so I am thrown, trying to remember if it's night or afternoon, last night or a new day.

The storm outside and the storm of filament are paralleling each other.  I suppose if I hurry up and untangle the rest of it, the sky will clear?  I'll try and see.

Oh, wait.  There is no hurrying. 

Untangling

It's pouring buckets outside right now.  I've been waiting for two hours for it to let up, but maybe I'll resort to putting a bag over my head. . .I'd like to sleep in my bed tonight.

I spent all day untangling fishing line.  That said, I calculated that the line is probably about 1000 feet long.  It's worth it:  I'm going to install this as part of a show I'm having in November at UNM.  Another five hours and I should have it completely untangled.

I am the most patient person I know today.  What I learned while untangling filament: 

1.  Fishing hooks feel like kitten's claws:  slightly sharp, but not enough to break the skin.  (I have an updated tetanus shot all the time anyway.)

2.  It's better to loosen up the tangled mess than to force it to untangle.  Gentle coaxing is pretty much all you can do to straighten things out.  Sounds like a good life lesson.

3.  . . .lyrics to a bunch of Aretha Franklin songs!  Anyone know the Border Song/Holy Moses?  It's my new favorite.

Here's a photo of the storm coming on this afternoon. 

Wonder if Amanda will brave the rain with me.  Last night made three nights in a row now. 

I'm sorry this isn't longer, I'm just really tired!  Have a good evening and stay dry.

Fishing Metaphor #2

The fishing metaphor that's volunteering itself in my work is about looking for something inside yourself.  Fishing for inscrutable things.   

The ocean has been in my dreams since I was a teenager.  And my favorite childhood book was about humpback whales, the imagery all blues and greens and massive, gentle creatures.  There were no borders around the images, so there was no white paper to remind me it was just a book.  I was practically there in the water with these whales.  It was so inviting.  I was so curious and still am, I guess.

Various parts of my physiology (including my brain) feel like the idea of the ocean feels to me.  There are mysterious physiological spaces, small oceans in us that we don't think about on a daily basis.  For example, at the base of your throat, protected by cartilage and bone, there's an enclosed empty space.  It seems strangely still and fragile.  My physical therapist looked surprised when I mentioned that empty space to her.  She told me that I'm among few of her clients who sense their own physiology this way.  Go figure.  Maybe that sensibility is why I'm a sculptor: sensor of textures, spaces, and light.  And small and large oceans.  

So, here are some pictures of one book I finished today.  I made it with tea stain and two inks, Puffs tissues, wax for a binding, and some filament.  I used very old fishing hook and line behind each tissue embossment/rubbing.  It's in three parts and can be folded into a 2" x 3.5" bundle.  It's an ocean to carry in your pocket or the palm of your hand.

  6" x 3.5"   detail       book folded up            

Tomorrow morning I'm heading to the beach at Glisteri (glis -TAYR - ee) with two other residents who arrived this weekend.  I hope we get to swim, but there is a chance that the movie crew will block off the beach.  Either way, should be an adventure.

By the way, Amanda did in fact walk me home for the third night in a row.  Seems I'm the only one she's doing this for.  When I looked out the window a minute ago, I was surprised to see her staring at me from a hill above the computer loft.  What is she thinking? 

I tried to take her photo last night for evidence.  Although I moved very casually to get the camera, she saw what I was up to and took off like a "no, miss, don't thank me" superhero.  So elusive!  Here's a lousy photo.  It's all she would give me:

Have a great day.  More updates tomorrow.

Amanda, books, and a party

I don't know where to begin.  So I'll go somewhat chronologically.

This morning I got up early, went to the studio, and made books with fishhooks.  It was an experience that turned out to be a lot like painting.  I'm sorry I don't have photos for you tonight (it's past midnight, and I'm in my party clothes. . .) but I will finish those two books tomorrow and tell you all about them then. 

I've been at the studio very, very late for the past few days.  Each night when I leave, the director's dog Amanda, a herding dog, herds me home.  I'm a sheep, no kidding.  She weaves left to right in front of me, then left to right in back, then front again.  I feel entirely safe with her there.  Then, when we get to my door, I let her in.  She stands in the middle of my apartment, not accepting salami or water, just some petting from me.  Then, she's off into the night.  Like Superman.  Comforting, but puzzling.

Last night (must have been after she dropped me off), she brought home a two-week-old kitten to the director's house.  Now we have a kitten sleeping in one of the spaces in the studio. 

Amanda is like a saint, but she's a dog.  She travels from town to town, doesn't take our treats, and even herds the director's car.  They think she's crazy; and I think she knows more than I do about certain things.

Back to my party clothes:  one of the artists who has been a resident here, John Palmer, someone who is great at promoting his art, created a trip for twenty of his collectors to travel Greece, visit the studio here for an opening of his new work, and then each receive a free print from him.  It had to be a great time for these folks.  I was at the party and opening tonight:  Greek food, Greek dancing, lots of art, loads of fun.  And, yes, I danced.  It was a LOT of fun.  The moves are a lot like line dancing -- the grapevine, to be exact -- but with a lot more zest.  (Don't tell anyone, but I did my fair share of the grapevine in the 90's!)  We danced in circles, kicking and swaying, and after a while I did this with little Zoey in my arms for probably thirty minutes.  A very memorable time.

Update:  the movie star thing fell through.  There was a momentary hush in the studio when we found out.  But we know where they shop, so I expect I may still run into one of the Big Three.  Either way, it's fine.  If I had to choose, I'd pick dancing with Zoey and having the art flow, over seeing the cast.  Grateful for whatever comes, because it's all pretty magical at this point.

A little champagne, a lot of dancing, and two pieces of baklava go a long way.  I'm cutting this short. . .let's see if Amanda escorts me home tonight.  Have a great day.

Sweet Monday

It's midnight and I'm at the studio. . .I'll make this one short today.

Task list today:  post office, grocery store, pastry shop, veggie stand.  Time spent:  3 hours (mostly travel).  Straight lines walked:  none.  Stone steps ascended and descended:  1,000,000.  Calories expended:  realistically, at least 1200.  Flavor of pastries:  priceless.  (You knew I was going to say that.)  Listening to Paul Simon's Slip Slidin' Away while weaving through winding downhill streets when the morning was still cool:  also priceless.  Length of big headache after that much of a workout:  3 hours.

It's Week 2 and my artwork is flowing.  I can't stay up late enough to get everything done that I want to.  The great part is that while I sleep my brain is working on my art.  Bonus.

At the moment I am working on a couple of books of rubbings of fishhooks. . . I'll send a photo when they're completed so you can get an idea of what I'm doing. 

Today I sensed a coalescence, like something substantial came home to roost that made me take pause (and it wasn't a local chicken - ha).  It was, this is what it feels like to be a professional artist.  I didn't think, why me?  Or, who on God's green earth gets to do this?  I was just really, really glad.  And then I kept on making. . .

Weekend update

It's Sunday evening and I'm in the loft of the studio, writing to you again.  Sorry to have missed yesterday with you, but I have a good excuse:  I was tired.

Here's the thing:  you can't just say, I want a pastry, or need groceries, or need a new skirt, without considering the energy of climbing down the hill, shopping, and getting back up the hill.  It's a 45 degree slant in most places.  I'd better get compliments on my shapely shins when you see me again.

I spent all day in the village proper, where I meandered through narrow, twisting streets designed to discourage pirates in days of old (no, I'm not making that up).  My favorite part of exploring these streets was finding family chapels, of which there are four hundred on the island.  And if I think I might be lost, I can tell exactly where I am by looking at the city below, or the harbor, or the buildings above me.  There's absolutely no way to get lost here. 

A chapel in the winding streets

Hours passed, I was tired, and it was dark.  I recognized the street I ended up taking as the one by the hardware store I had visited two days prior, and it took me home.  I was so tired that I felt ambivalence toward the movie crew in the dark by the church near my apartment; I trudged through them like I was a local who didn't care.  And then, five minutes later, I was home and too tired to blog intelligently. 

But I got a great skirt.  And, ooo, the pastry.  Wow.  If the streets and architecture are this beautiful, imagine what kinds of pastries they can make! 

Ok, so, I didn't make it to the night life last night either, just as I didn't make it the night before.  I've been urged to go down there at night -- I can see the lights and hear the music from the road by my apartment -- but, to tell the truth, I know I'd be too tired at 2am to climb back home (remember, 45 degree angles).  Furthermore, last night I didn't feel like walking into a bar, a married woman alone, not speaking the language, not really feeling like ouzo (which might just kill me, I hear), and sitting down on a bar stool with a look on my face that says, Why am I here again?  And last but not least, I'm shy when it comes to dancing.  So, I stayed in and read Water for Elephants.  It's not Greek, but I do highly recommend it. 

I mentioned the movie crew down the street from my apartment.  I could try to be an extra.  Greek and English posters are up in town asking for them.  The movie schedule is ten days behind and cast and crew are here in town for a while.  Right now my energies are centered on making art, but maybe I could try to see about the extras thing tomorrow.  I'm more than slightly interested, say, 30% interested.  That said, I'm 110%  interested in making some art I'm proud of. 

Ok, I don't want to jinx anything, but this is what I was told today by the Director of the Foundation:  "(So-and-so) says that Meryl will do it, but only if Pierce and Colin agree to do it too."  (Was that squeal in my head, or did you hear it too?)  She's referring to an actor's workshop on Tuesday night here.  In the room I'm calling my studio right now.  Guess I can get my dirty fishhooks out of the way for the Big Three.  Of course, as we all are saying here, we'll believe it when it happens.

Today is Sunday, and I went on the back of a moped with Christos to a junkyard.  I have gotten used to the clean salvage yards in New Mexico.  This one was a garbage dump/junkyard.  Phew-ey.  I found a few small things there.  On the way back, Christos and I went past a 200-year-old ceramics kiln, and then to the place where he was born in 1941, during the German occupation of Skopelos.  He pointed high across the distance to the wooded mountain where his family lived then.  In labor, his mother walked toward town, making it as far as where we stood, a small white building by a beautiful white church, next to an olive grove.

Church on site of Christos' birthplace

Christos worked on cargo ships until 1970.  He has been to many ports in the U.S. in Washington and California and on the east coast.  As I was on the back of the moped today, he told me that once his ship, in disrepair, docked in Brooklyn for three months.  Someone else told me that Christos worked in cargo on the ship but also, because he recognized his fellow workers needed entertainment (they were Greek too), he decided to perform traditional Greek dance for them regularly.  He was a hit and was paid for his talent.

To me, what's lovely about that is that one of his sons married a dance instructor.  The other son dances nationally with his girlfriend, also a professional dance instructor.  Upon marrying his girlfriend, the son who dances will inherit (through her) the olive grove adjacent to the building where Christos was born. 

(Christos' family has a private chapel in Skopelos, which several of us are going to visit this week.  Christos would never claim this, but the director's daughter tells us that numerous miracles have happened there.  If you were to meet Christos and his wife Eleni, you might not think twice about this statement.)

After our trip to the junkyard, I had a great day in the studio.  My favorite way to work is what I've been doing:  having several pieces "incubating" at the same time.  This means that I start a piece, let my mind work on it while I'm doing other things, and then come back to finish it later.  It involves trust, to walk away knowing that my mind is problem solving and completing it.  What's great is that I've been producing those "incubating" pieces at a much faster rate than normal, and my mind is working on several of them right now.  Must be the sea air.

Well, I think I'll head back to my apartment for the evening.  I hope you are enjoying this blog.  I am enjoying your feedback immensely.  Wish me well as I embark on Week 2 of discovering this culture for myself and letting it bubble up in my work.  More soon!

If you can't beat 'em. . .

Last night I bucked the system.  Dodged the trend.  Rebelled. 

I went to the studio on the hill instead of going to bed.  I stayed until 2am and was extremely productive.  I sang to my music; made rubbings of a Greek "ruin" (okay, I found it in the driveway here, but it's still a ruin and it's from Greece); started three artist books; and tried not to let the wind spook me as it banged any one of more than twenty loose shutters against the building.  Some of you know how easily I can get spooked at night, but I was too into my work to care about monsters climbing out of the Aegean and up the hill like the Son of Blob.  (Ha.)

So, when I made it back to my apartment and lay my head on my pillow, I truly could say, I am sleepy.  What a great feeling to have again.  Cool, soft pillow, too tired to think, pleasantly exhausted from climbing hills all day like a goat. . .

When I awakened, it was 11am.  2am-11am seems to be my reliable sleep schedule at the moment.  It's 9pm at the moment, so I'm about to leave you to work on art downstairs.  Have a great afternoon.

 Studio - not scary                            

Zoey and a Dragon

This is little Zoey, daughter of Jill and Yiorgos, my neighbors.  Yiorgos is a retired soccer star here.  So Zoey comes by it naturally when she looks for soccer balls all day.  Because of her, the Greek expressions most deeply imbedded in my mind are "bala?" when she's searching for one, and "BA-laaaaa!" when she's found one.  What's more, we're in the land of soccer, so even in a local warehouse today we found two balas.  Once in a while I'll hear her from the apartment above; Jill is probably trying to get her to take a nap ("nani", another very familiar word to me now), and, with no balls in sight, Zoey is yelling "BAA-LAAA".  (Good luck, Jill.)   

  Shrine to Aghios Reginos at Dracontoschisma

Today Jill, Gloria, Zoey, and I visited the sight where Reginos, Saint of Skopelos, killed a dragon in the 4th century b.c. because it was eating the people there.  He drove it into the sea, and the schism where it took place, Dracontoschisma (Dragon’s cleft), is said to bear the shape of its tail.   The above photo shows an image of the dragon and Reginos, but it doesn't show what's to the right of the photo:  a candle burning and a litre water bottle filled with oil, should a visitor notice that the candle has burned out. 

 Dracontoschisma