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. . .

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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.