Letters from Athens

Kerry James Marshall at the Royal Academy

On a flying visit to London I took the opportunity to see an outstanding exhibition of the work of American artist Kerry James Marshall.

*2009. Acrylic on PVC panel. Notice the painting by numbers on the wall?*

I had never before seen his paintings in person, and they are very powerful indeed.

*Untitled (Studio) 2014. I love the bright pots of paint—the yellow seems to have dripped onto the dog under the table.*

Marshall is an artist possessed of a vivid imagination, and his work is full of references which span art history, civil rights, comics, science fiction, his own memories and more.

There is a very wide range of work on display, and I cannot say I liked it all, but the large paintings—some just huge sheets of canvas pinned to the wall—were fascinating. They are vivid, acrylic works full of signage, collage and hidden references; they are realistic, but also contain allegory and symbolism.

Every painting tells a story—and every time you look, you notice another detail. Sheets of music, code numbers, letters and words, flowers and animals. There are references to historic events, especially concerning Black history and slavery, but he also celebrates daily life and imagines optimistic futures.

*This was an enormous roll of canvas pinned to the wall. I love the people’s postures and their bright clothes*

An artist and professor, Kerry James Marshall was born in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1955, and is probably one of the most influential painters working in America right now. In 2017, Marshall was included on the annual Time 100 list of the most influential people in the world.

*For some reason most of the photos I took were crooked, so I had to crop them before posting.*

His subject matter is African-American life and history. If you zoom in on the photos, you will notice a lot more detail.

*Untitled (Underpainting) 2018. Monochrome work (literally an underpainting) of Black kids on a museum trip*

Despite his often bleak subject matter, Marshall’s work is joyful and optimistic—due to his vivid palette, but also because his subjects appear to be enjoying themselves.

*Keeping the Culture, (2010, Oil on board) depicts an Afrofuturistic household where the future merges with the past.*

In a 1998 interview with Bomb Magazine, Marshall observed:

“Black people occupy a space, even mundane spaces, in the most fascinating ways. Style is such an integral part of what black people do that just walking is not a simple thing. You’ve got to walk with style. You’ve got to talk with a certain rhythm; you’ve got to do things with some flair. And so in the paintings I try to enact that same tendency toward the theatrical that seems to be so integral a part of the black cultural body.”

The Booker Prize shortlist

The Booker Prize season has come around again, and the shortlist has been published. Let me say at once that I have not read any of these books, but last year the list contained some pretty good stuff, so I am hopeful of a repeat, especially since Roddy Doyle is Chair of the 2025 judges and he knows a good story when he sees one.

I don’t suppose I will read them all, and I will look at some on the long list as well, but one I am looking forward to tackling is 700-page The Loneliness of Sonya and Sunny, by Kiran Desai (who has won it before in 2006 with The Inheritance of Loss.) It reminds me of another doorstop, A suitable Boy by Vikram Seth, which I devoured at the time. Many years in the making, it is an epic tale of love and life.

Flesh, by David Slazay, is (I quote the Booker Prize site): “A propulsive, hypnotic novel about a man who is unravelled by a series of events beyond his grasp.”

The Land in Winter, by Andrew Miller, is about two couples, a doctor, a farmer and their respective wives, whose lives are upended in the middle of a harsh winter landscape.

The Rest of Our Lives, by Ben Markovits, is about a middle aged academic who goes on a road trip after his wife has an affair, trying to escape his problems.

The last three all seem to be about lives unravelling. Hmm…it depends how each writer deals with the subject.

Audition, by Katie Kitamura, is about the relationship between two very different people: an attractive actress and a man young enough to be her son. Intriguing.

Flashlight, by Susan Choi, is a saga about a father’s mysterious disappearance and the reverberations of this event on his family.

All six authors are deep into their literary careers, with a number of books to their name and, besides previous winner Kiran Desai, Andrew Miller and David Szalay have been shortlisted before.

If (or when) any of you read any of these books, I will be glad of an opinion. In any case, a pile of new books is always enticing, even if at the moment it is not on my shelf but only on my screen.

An autumn of plenty

Nature is fickle—I assume it is a combination of factors such as sunshine, rain, frost, heat and cold in varying amounts that determine whether the grass grows much or little, how vegetables will grow and how much fruit trees will produce. I do not profess to be much of a gardener—what I like is to observe and gather.

This year we have had a profusion of fruit, starting with cherries. Usually the birds get the lot before they’re even ripe enough to pick, but this year we ate our fill, and made pies and jam. Then the mirabelles, small yellow plums, reappeared en masse after some years where there were few and far between. And greengages on a tree where I’d never seen any before.

We also have walnuts, although I saw a red squirrel skitter up the tree—there are enough for everyone.

The crabapples are the dog’s delight for a mysterious reason (they are hard and sour).

The pears are ripening slowly, as are the apples.

We still have raspberries which stain my morning yogurt a vivid scarlet.

And lovely courgette flowers—they are delicious split lengthwise and sautéed quickly with a drop of lemon. And the courgettes themselves, of course. Together with late tomatoes and green beans.

Finally, lots of flowers still. It is a delight to be outdoors, even though there’s a chill in the air.

Sou Fujimoto – A fascinating architect

In more news of my trip to Japan, one afternoon we went to the Mori Art Museum expecting to see contemporary art, only to find there was an exhibition on the architect Sou Fujimoto.

This proved to be fascinating, because he was inspired by the shapes in nature to create buildings which are both avant garde and pleasing to the eye.

The exhibition consisted of maquettes of a variety of mostly public buildings, some of which had actually been built, while other had not, due to practical or financial considerations.

This is a plan (below) for an urban hub to be built along the Sava river in Belgrade, where ‘the building converts flows of people into architecture, creating a “cloud” of slopes that converge in a spiral.’ Pretty cool, no?

*Béton Hala Waterfront Center. 2011* *(conceptual) Belgrade*

There was one mock-up, The Grand Ring for Expo 2025 Osaka, Kansas, which was impressive if one considered the scale.

A number of Fujimoto’s sketches on display gave insights into his thought processes, as did a video where he is interviewed and talks about his inspirations.

There was even a futuristic city made up of spherical units which ‘function as “breathing devices” rather than mere structures.’

‘In this future city, we define space not merely as a container, but rather a place where different values and life forms can meet and converse with each other.’ Perhaps we will have a need of cities like these when we have polluted our planet beyond redemption…

The menacing toilet and other wonders

There are myriads of wonderful discoveries to be made in Japan, but the first I came into contact with on a recent trip disconcerted me. Upon arrival in Tokyo, I walked into a blindingly clean bathroom at the airport (cleaner than mine at home?) to be confronted by a toilet which was a triumph of high-tech engineering.

As I approached it, a veritable tsunami occurred within the bowl, water swirling around with such gay abandon I stepped back. What the hell had happened? I had touched nothing. I later found out the noise was to prevent your neighbour from hearing you pee. Being in an international venue, at least there was a notice explaining, in pictures, how to flush the thing—a task more complicated than you might think. There was obviously nothing so vulgar as a button to push or something to pull, or even something obvious to hover your hand over. A discreet metal plate in the wall. Then another tsunami.

*A dreamy box of watercolours*. *Art in itself.*

I walked out thinking I had conquered this bit of local culture, at least—but no. There are many brands (TOTO being the elite) and types of toilets in Japan, adorned with a dizzying array of functions—to warm the seat, deodorise, etc etc. It’s all somewhat similar to a sophisticated car wash! In one hotel, the toilet would sense your presence and the lid would slowly rise as you approached, like some large carnivorous jungle flower. It was a little disturbing at first. Apparently some can even make you a quick cup of coffee or print out a shopping list, but I have not met them yet 🙂

I loved everything about our trip—the food, the wonderful trees everywhere, the people bowing to each other. It is a very elegant custom and a lot more hygienic than the European fashion of kissing all and sundry. A lot of working people such as taxi drivers still wear white gloves.

*The menu in a tiny restaurant up some rickety steps in Tokyo*

Not many Japanese speak English, and why should they? They are a population of 123 million on their islands and inhabit their own world. The communication problems are easily solved with little pocket translators that everyone seems to carry. We relied heavily on Google Translate—for example, when arriving at a restaurant to discover the name was only written in kanji.

Also they use laminated photos, or even fake versions of the food (see above) so you can see what you’re ordering. I loved it that even the food they qualified as ‘western’ had a Japanese twist to it—a sliced pickled radish here, a sliver of raw fish there.

*French toast—a ‘western’ breakfast with a twist*

Everything was delicious—tempura and sushi made to order before our eyes, street food, even the onigiri (rice balls or triangles) from the 7-eleven.

There are vending machines everywhere—selling beer, soft drinks, ice cream and all sorts of other stuff. It is very amusing when everything looks so different from the stuff at home. It all costs thousands in yen (but we did refuel the car for the equivalent of €23…)

*If you zoom in, these are called Honnamayokan. Who knew?*

A visit to the food hall in the basement of department stores is a voyage in itself. Almost nothing is recognisable…

Also, the cars! Models that are not sold in Europe. I totally fell in love with the little boxy cars in Okinawa, where we spent a few days. Especially the little mint green Suzuki.

I liked everything about our trip, so much so that, if I could possibly learn Japanese, I would seriously consider never coming back. Meanwhile, I am sorely tempted to acquire a TOTO toilet but sadly I do not think a Normandy plumber could cope with it.

More Japanese discoveries in later posts. Stay tuned.

La rentrée

La rentrée is the French expression for the end of summer, when everyone returns from their holidays and the kids go back to school. An expression guaranteed to provoke annoyance if not anxiety in childish breasts. As a child in Greece, I remember being enervated by cliché talk of ‘the first rains’ (after months of drought) and ‘every rascal goes back to his desk’. It was the last thing we wanted to hear after running around barefoot and half-naked for three months. Back to ghastly leather shoes and blue overalls with white collars.

Be that as it may, the days are drawing in and there is a chill in the air.

*I have been painting a lot, inspired by summer bouquets. Peonies, watercolour on paper*

After a very busy but pleasurable summer, with all the family here and meals for up to fifteen people (necessitating endless shopping, cooking and cleaning up!)—al fresco lunches and barbecue dinners—we are back to being à deux. The garden is, somewhat belatedly, providing us with plenty of tomatoes, courgettes, green beans and lettuce, so I am planning some healthy eating after the plethora of ice creams and chocolate eclairs.

*Greek Interior. Oil on hardback book cover*

I am determined to avoid the horrendous news as much as possible (why are most politicians so hideous?) and cocooning with painting, writing and reading. I have neglected the blog for weeks, due to lack of time and inspiration, but will now do some catching up on summer activities. Also resuming the puppy’s training, since he has become horribly spoiled by everyone.

But he is helping pick the blackberries 🙂

The art of Kintsugi

Meet Sanga, our overgrown and over enthusiastic puppy. In one day he ate my slippers, shredded my favourite pashmina and broke the lovely little plate above.

Having got over my extreme annoyance and digested the fact that both slippers and pashmina were shot, I thought it would be an opportunity to try something which has intrigued me for a while: the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi.

Kintsugi, which probably originated in the 15th century, is a method of repairing broken pottery by mending it with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold. People became so enamored of the new art that some were accused of deliberately smashing valuable pottery so it could be repaired with the gold seams of kintsugi. Sometimes a pottery piece was chosen for deformities then deliberately broken and repaired, instead of being discarded.

Kintsugi means “to join with gold” and it serves as reminder to stay optimistic when things fall apart and to celebrate the flaws and missteps of life.

Kintsugi encompasses a profound meaning and philosophy beyond mere repair, namely the idea of embracing imperfection and impermanence and transforming them into something valuable. It reflects an aesthetic perspective on the way people live, since from this perspective our life is like a vessel.

A good Kintsugi vessel can be very expensive, because it requires months of intricate work. My plate was only broken neatly in two pieces, and I used glue mixed with gold powder (courtesy of YouTube) but I can assure you it is a messy and delicate procedure which ended in my kitchen looking as if a gold storm had hit it.

I am too impatient for the real thing, I’m afraid. Look at this:

And here’s an interesting video on the real thing

When will they ever learn…

Here we go again. The leaders of the free world bombastically beating their chests over the strikes in Iran, boasting that they were ‘A spectacular military success.’ As if Iran is going to take this lying down. The Ayatollahs immediately warned the attacks would have ‘everlasting consequences.’

Various countries are now taking sides, giving contradictory opinions, while bracing themselves against terrorist attacks in major cities.

This is not a political essay—there are others more competent that I to give a considered analysis of the facts, which can be read in the papers and news feeds. Opinion pieces abound, one of which bitterly—and accurately—states that the world is ruled by “three angry old men.”

As a layperson, though, I can but wonder—does nobody look at the facts before taking such decisions as politicians have been taking the last several months?

All the American wars of the past years have ended in disasters—think Vietnam, for example, or Afghanistan, where after twenty years the Americans fled, leaving tons of expensive military equipment behind, their Afghan collaborators in the sh*t, and all the improvements in daily life (especially for women) wiped out in one stroke as the Taliban instantly surged back into power.

And it’s not just America—half the world seems to be on a warpath as we speak.

I’m sure a lot of people in various industries benefit financially from all these wars, but who pays the highest cost? The boys drafted from US villages who were sent to the other end of the world to fight the Viet Kong, the unarmed civilians who see fire and hailstones rain over their hitherto peaceful homes, the mothers sending their kids off to war, the old and vulnerable, the healthy young people returning maimed and broken beyond repair.

It beggars belief. Where are the gains from all this? And is there a solution? Probably the only one is endless negotiation until one is hammered out.

Do you remember this old song?

Where have all the husbands gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the husbands gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the husbands gone?
Gone for soldiers, every one
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

Peter, Paul and Mary

Making hay

I must be in a poetic mood lately, because a countryside walk reminded me of this poem by James Cochran:

“Make hay while the sun shines” they say,
and we do, circling the field while swallows

dive and swoop to feast on insects we kick up,
inhaling the mingled sweetness of diesel fuel
and honeysuckle. We cut, rake, and bale

till the sun goes down and the dew settles on the fields,
then start again next morning once the dew burns off,

almost finishing as dark clouds build on the horizon

and fat drops of rain cut the dust on the Baler.

That’s the part no one says…
Make hay while the sun shines,

but stop when it starts to rain.

Full confession: I only remembered the first bit, then looked up the rest. It is very evocative.

Is there anything more summer-like than the smell of cut grass? Sadly it cannot be conveyed to the page.

In older times, haymaking was done by hand and was backbreaking work. Everyone pitched in from dawn to dusk. Hay has to be brought in quickly, before the weather turns. But it has to be dry enough to stack or bale—it’s a tricky business.

Nowadays machines do the heavy lifting. They suck up the hay, roll it up, and spit out a bale.

It is mesmerising to watch.

Around here, the farmers who drive the harvesters are hired by neighbours as well, so they also work at night. It is fascinating watching them going up and down the field with their headlights on. This year the weather cooperated, so all is well.

All photos by LM

Hope is the thing with feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –

And sore must be the storm –

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –

And on the strangest Sea –

Yet – never – in Extremity,

It asked a crumb – of me.

By Emily Dickinson

A poem to read after watching the news or reading the papers.

Humans are really a race of hawks and warmongers—they have an inherent need to exterminate each other. History has taught us nothing—we have achieved huge improvements in technology, but none in human nature. Anyone who doubts that should read Herodotus’s Histories.

Of course not everyone fits into that category—humans are also capable of great feats of invention, creativity and cooperation. Sadly, the warmongers will usually prevail, since they are prepared to go to lengths peacemakers won’t. It is amazing how excessive power and wealth will corrupt almost everybody.

We are constantly bombarded with too much information, most of it of a disagreeable or horrifying nature. Corpses, ruins, starving children, shootings and stabbings, unspeakable politicians. I read the headlines, but avoid watching the news on television. One cannot take the whole world’s misery on one’s shoulders, and it is useless to worry about things one can do nothing about. But of course I do worry—it is impossible not to be anxious about the world we are leaving our descendants.

However, there is still so much beauty on this earth, it is good to seek it out as much as possible. Being lucky enough to live in the country, I revel in nature’s bounty. At this time of year, life is bursting out everywhere. Bees buzz, birds sing, cherries ripen on the trees.