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Breathing discoveries- Finding your place

21 Dec
Stormy Weather by Beatrice Baumgartner-Cohen, I own no rights.Source: artfinder.com

Stormy Weather by Beatrice Baumgartner-Cohen, I own no rights.
Source: artfinder.com

“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say”

J.R.R Tolkien – Lord Of The Rings

Where do you think we belong?

Have you found your place in this world?

Have you ever felt in love with too many places all at once,  felt like you are living in between? Squatting on the border of two countries, one leg on each side. Or two cities, or two houses, or two beds. Have you ever felt distance weighing you down wherever you are?

I met a woman in a plane once. She was young and lovely. She was from Rome, had lived four years in Bangkok, was travelling to Finland and was currently living in the UK. Next week, she said, I’m going to Ukraine.

Where would you say she was from? Does it even matter?

Do you think the feeling of belonging is definately bound to a place? Or is it just something abstract floating inside you? Is belonging just a synonym to feeling comfortable, or is it the feeling of total acceptance of everything inside you and around you? Do you think the only map to guide us can be found in our hearts? Is there even a map?

Do you think there is one set path for us to take or just little stepping stones scattered carelessly around, chances that just come our way? Is there a place for everyone?

 

Breathing discoveries

 

Leaving tearing on the seams

On the bark of my solid being

Uprooting my ankles

As I skip from a cherry branch to another

Always parched, always searching

Tugging on bonds, knitting barren lands together

Till they form a smooth rug of rain

Filling all the air, touching all the cheeks

Reminding us of the lively streams

Entwining all under us, swimming under the skin of life

Everywhere we go they follow, unexhausted

Uniting our wondering feet

Till in loneliness too we are together

Till we are breathing discoveries

Miracles shaped out of pulping springs

Till we find ourselves again and in ourselves

A strength to go further

A wisdom to halt home

Inspiration perspiration- sweating over creativity

2 Dec

 

What inspires you? Where do you draw passion and ideas from when you’re not surfing high on the wave of creativity? What melts your mental blocks?

 

To me, it’s probably nature, the harmony and strenght it possesses. But since we have gone from Winter bliss to winter blizzard:

The view outside my window on Friday morning. The obscure blur is the snow falling every which way possible.

The view outside my window on Friday morning. The obscure blur is snow falling every which way possible.

 

I have found refuge in art instead.  Munch is one of my all time favourite’s, although not the most cheerful bloke he surely does know how to express sentiments with colours! I just love the feeling in his paintings, so aching and melancholy. Also, one of the reasons I love music, art, literature, poetry, all of it, is because it shows beautifully just how original and yet how bound together we all are.  Your visions and feelings and ideas on the artwork below might be totally different from mine or from Munch’s, and yet as we both look at it, we are connected by it. Isn’t that quite miraculous?

 

Girl on the Bridge by Edvard Munch, I do not own any rights.

Girl on the Bridge by Edvard Munch, I do not own any rights.

 

The feeling of connection, the feeling of being part of something and of belonging,  is a precious feeling. I think it might just be happiness, or the root of it. Because we weren’t created to be alone.

And that’s why I got together with Hasty to write another poetry duet for you! I hope you enjoy reading it, and feeling it, as much as I enjoy writing them. Poetry duets have totally surprised me, they’re like a breathing dialogue of inspiration, so enrichening! And they always give you new perspective to writing as well. And isn’t that just what creativity is, a fresh angle or an idea?

Or what do you think, how would you define creativity?

 

Free falling

by Hastywords and me

 

Your mourning, blue lips

And the searching transparency

Of the morning light

Pushes us under the rhythm of life

 

Free falling, closed eyes

Into desecrated fields

Bodies sleeping cold and blind

Waiting for the ghosts of truth

 

All those gaunt prisoners on display

Stalking roads and alleyways

Worn out too many times

By your trembling feet, by mine

 

Spiral clouds melting daylight

The moon covered in dust

Seekers find refuge in memories

Hiding trauma behind their eyes

 

Unseeing days, blind nights

Static, empty landscapes like

Blank kaleidoscopes of the past

Washing out the mermaids of rebirth

 

My red lips of blazing fire kiss the land

Torching the rotting decay, then I cry

Upon the sand, springtime to start again

Filling reservoirs of revival in their minds

❤ Language love ❤

21 Nov

If you’re at all fascinated by languages and words, you might enjoy listening to this. Even if you aren’t, it might still make you chuckle because I’ve heard Finnish sounds like gibberish. And as a bonus, it’s a really special song!

 

I love the English language! It is not just the fact that I’m fluent enough to do the practical stuff, like express myself at the doctors, either. I just feel so connected to the language. I have christened that feeling ‘the soul fluency’. It is when your mind, your dreams, even your feelings function in a certain language. It is the feeling the language gives you when you open your mouth, the feeling of coming home. Like that language forms a part of your soul. That really is English to me.

But then again, Finnish is my mother tongue.  It is the language I uttered my first word in.  So it is, too, a part of my soul and that is a side you don’t get to see here often. That’s why I thought it would be nice to introduce it with this song. Finnish is weird, peculiar, complex language. It is beautiful too, like the man above. Or what do you think?

Anyway, I admire the artist Samuli Putro endlessly. He is a lyrical genius. I think he really has a unique, gentle way of portraying our ordinary lives. I hope the feeling comes across! But just so you don’t have to trust Google Translate I have translated the lyrics for you. Listen, read, fall in love!

But before you do, just out of curiousity, what is the language that speaks to your soul? Or the word, for that matter, if you’re more of a word-geek?

Lyrics:

Ash in the Jewellery Chest – Tuhkaa korulippaassa

 

In the morning, I see migrant birds

In formation, on the sky

I’m moved and I greet them

See you in the spring, or later

 

I stood there, in the shade of the moment

Musing on the frailty of human life

And I could not question

Some kind of God

 

Our life has a purpose

And beauty in its every moment

We’re not automatons

Typing errors on the screen

 

Our life has a purpose

Everyone’s story is precious

We are not meaningless

Ash in the jewellery chest

 

I celebrate my birthday today

My present was a digital camera

I took two photos of a woman

Other one of them looked pretty

 

I decided to propose tonight

To the lady on the photo, knees on the carpet

I pondered over the words carefully

I closed my eyes and I smiled

 

Our life has a purpose

And beauty in its every moment

We’re not automatons

Typing errors on the screen

 

Our life has a purpose

Everyone’s story is precious

We are not meaningless

Ash in the jewellery chest

Ash in the jewellery chest

 

People’s expressions and

In the old songs

Flowering fields and

In the winter snow drifts

Spouse’s haircut I’ll notice or maybe not

Yellow September and stains on the linen

 

Our life has a purpose

And beauty in its every moment

 

Our life has a purpose

And beauty in its every moment

We’re not automatons

Typing errors on the screen

 

Our life has a purpose

Everyone’s story is precious

We’re not meaningless

Ash in the jewellery chest

Ash in the jewellery chest

Art prophecies of the future

26 Oct

The Future Man by Victor Hugo

Here’s the thought of the artist himself, Victor Hugo, on above artwork: “Nothing else in the world… not all the armies… is so powerful as an idea whose time has come.”

I hope he is right. Because if he is, I have and idea. It is the idea behind this blog, behind my pursuit for happinness. It is an idea I try to actively introcude to my life, and to the lives of people around me.  It is just two words, four simple syllables, it is this little thought:

More compassion.

And the best part is, it is not really my idea at all. I know it is an idea that others try to fulfill in their lives, just like I do.  I know it lives in many hearts. I know that there are people out there, compassionate and loving, caring and fond of little things, like stranger’s smile and surprise hugs. Actually, I believe we have all been given that talent. Whatever Darwin and natural selection has to say, I say there is much more to us than just bare animal instinct! We have been given the ability to love, the miracle of empathy. We are all capable of loving. Let’s be generous with it and create more of this love.

Because if Victor Hugo is right, and I believe he is, we can change this world. With more compassion, we do not create only a better potrait of the future man, we create a better mankind.

It might sound naiive. I know there is a lot of suffering in this world, more than I can imagine in my blessed little life where week’s biggest tribulation is that I missed a bus.  But think about Victor Hugo’s quote, think about the concept of an idea. Before there was a gun, there was the idea of a gun. Before there was war, there was the idea of war. Before violence, the violence was created in someone’s mind. Before this world was a chess game of super powers, leaders check and mating each other with nuclear bombs, there was someone who wanted that power. So with our idea, with the idea of more love and compassion, we can change this.  We can turn down the power of violence and spread the power of love. We can take this idea, this sweet and naiive-sounding idea, and turn it into reality. We can make this work. We can make this world a better place.

And when you doubt, the way I sometimes do, ask yourself: What are the options? Do we really want to see more crisis? Do we want the future man to be the portrait above: A hard shell of an armour, drained out of all empathy, feeling, compassion. Do we want to become efficient killing machines, love machines, labour machines, lost and unfeeling machines. Because the choice is ours, the choice is real. We have the choice to create more compassion or to destroy the idea of it.

Rock Drill, the original sculpture by Jacob Epstein

Rock Drill, the original sculpture by Jacob Epstein

The remaining torso of Rock Drill by Jacob Epstein

The story of the sculpture above, Rock Drill, is probably one of my favourite art stories ever. Epstein created Rock Drill in 1913 to be the prophecy of humanity.

“I made and mounted a machine-like robot, visored, menacing, and carrying within itself its progeny, protectively ensconced. Here is the armed, sinister figure of today and tomorrow. No humanity, only the terrible Frankenstein’s monster we have made ourselves into…” Extract from the autobiography of Epstein

The sculpture was originally attached to real miner’s rock drill. However, later Epstein dismantled it himself, removed the drill and cut off its limbs, leaving the torso displayed on the bottom picture.  But even if the threatening apperance of Rock Drill was destroyed, what it stood for survived. It was the epitome of suffering, violence and war. None of them has yet grown extinct. We can see their effects every day, some of us in news and some of us, sadly, first hand.

So, the reason I love Rock Drill? Well,  I don’t think it is the epitome of suffering at all, I don’t think it is the prophecy of our future the way Epstein intended it to be.  I think it is the epitome of what we can do! Or if it isn’t, we can turn it into one.

Let’s make it the epitome of change. Let’s dismantle the body of hatred and violence in this world, the way Epstein did with his sculpture. Let’s replace it with love, community and compassion.

I believe we can do it. But if I didn’t convince you, check out this blog:  The Better Man Project.  It sets an amazing example, it is one of my constant inspiration foundations. Every day, I return there for examples of love and care, for ponderings, for instructions. For the followers, for the visitors of the blog, for the community.

Do you see now that this idea is not alone, that is not flimsy and imagined? Do you believe? Because if you do, we can change this.

On gratitude

19 Oct

Beggar (Fisher Girl) by Ilya Efimovich Repin

I’m sharing you this artwork for a reason, and it is not the beautiful sentiment of the piece, although that is a reason enough in itself. But today, I’m sharing you this piece because I met a very inspirational man who reminded me of the above portrait.

I work in a supermarket and though I try to treat all my customers with equal respect and cheerfulness, sometimes you meet people who are just something different, in all the good ways. This man was one of them.

He was buying leather shoes. I soon found out his character was as soft as the beautiful, slender texture of the shoes. Because suddenly, he asked me if I knew what ‘crow boots’ were. I was bemused and said that I wasn’t sure if they were part of our range, they didn’t sound familiar.

At my remark, the man bursted out laughing and said they hadn’t been part of anyone’s range for the past 50 years, at least not in Finland or countries of equal social security.

‘ Crow boots were the crust that dried on your feet when you had been plodding through wet mud and dirt all day. Crow boots were the only shoes I had as a kid. 55 years ago… when things were a bit different.”

Then the man seemed to contemplate something for a moment, so I said in wonderment:

“It must be really weird to see the difference so clearly now, how things have changed for kids and teenagers.”

“Yes… but they were good times too, you know. In their own way, simpler and good.”

The man’s smile and content left me in awe. There was a boy behind him queueing to buy an iPad 4. He was sulking. I wished the man a lovely weekend. I wished the boy would be grateful and see the difference.

It is hard to understand the ways in which things have changed in such a short time. To think that I have 10 pairs of shoes and have taken them for granted all my life. It is indeed a blissful world where you can complain about missing a bus, runny make-up, long queues in shops and spiders in your house.

I’ll risk sounding terribly serious and morbid, and say: I don’t like the way how ‘First world problems’ has become a jokily phrase over the internet. It is not a joke, although we should laugh everyday, because we indeed are terrible lucky and blessed.

I learnt a lot from that man today. I learnt how to be happy and grateful. I learnt to love my shoes a little bit more too, if that is possible for a girl.

What do you love and are grateful for?

The art of falling (or art on falling)

14 Oct

The Falling Rocket (1875) by James Whistler

The beautiful painting above is my inspiration snippet for you today.  I like the mystery here, the hue, the luminous changes in shades even if the painter got accused of ‘flinging a pot of paint in public’s face’ when this was first exhibited. To make falling into art is simply genius, because when a clumsy fool like me falls down the stairs I can tell you, it’s far from art or anything pleasant to the eye. Anyway, I looked at the painting, felt curious and thought, challenge accepted. So here is my attempt on making falling into art:

Falling up

The clouds are rolling in now,

with their silver armour.

Harder than titan, rebelling Titan,

turning the world into heavy, chalky hue.

As they shake away the evening stars,

shrug them squalling, falling off their shoulders.

 

And I spin and spin as they rain on me,

I touch their sparkle and glow, I sow it

into my skin to stop it clattering

into darkness, cruelly blacked out

by the battlefield of the sky.

 

But then I see,

into nakedness they pull me,

the shooting stars, as I rub their glitter

over me till I’m glued to them

from my fingertips, melted, molded

and ironed flat to be their fleeting life,

the dying light, one forsaken by Apollo.

 

Yes, I see that I cannot see

and into nothingness they pull me,

the fallen stars, into used-up darkness,

black enough to still the sea and blur

the edges of this world, to tear apart

twinkling fireworks, fireflies and foxes,

to stretch out of all dimension

the red light of a fumbling dawn.

 

There, in the darkness,

lost in the shadow side,  I feel again

the drag of life, a stir beginning.

And a new wonder:

 

I need to let go of the stars,

the cloudy dreams they bring,

to own their spirit is to burn

but to sing of it is living.

 

So I let go of this illusion,

the squirming hook of hanging on,

the lingering, and merrily I fall,

I fall, I fall up

 

I fall back into life.

 

The photo from: artfinder.com, the painting by James Whistler

The poem © me, daydreamdaisies

Juliet (1945) by Man Ray

6 Oct

Beautiful or grotesque? Or the symbiotic marriage of those two?

Photo: artfinder.com