There are those who say that art is meaningless, that it simply represents what it is.
A picture of deer in a meadow maybe. A canvas full of color splashes. A funny sculpture that doesn’t even look realistic. A prudent long-term investment.
I, on the otherhand–and I know I am not totally alone in this, even nowadays–I say art always has a deaper meaning.
I find the political in a love song. The deaper meaning in even the kitsch old housewives hang on their walls.
It can be a problem. But I don’t care.
I say art has a deaper meaning, , even if (sometimes–especially if) the artist didn’t intend one. Continue reading
Honestly, I just don’t know what to say. I think I don’t know much.
Sometimes I walk around my neighborhood and some of the sometimes I take my camera. Document the world around me. History repeating itself. Edited for the exciting parts.
I must admit I’m a touch overwhelmed. Just trying to be quiet…trying to listen and see. Continue reading
A moving slideshow.
Almost everything but the digger and the barking dogs taken near Schönleinstrasse.
At least mostly pretty near.
Don’t know how the digger got in there, but I like it. Continue reading
I am so proud. Our little girl all grown up and acting in her first arthouse film.
Lucy gets a plate of vittles twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening.
The trains–city, local, regional and freight–whiz past, of course, all day , but mornings and evenings are especially busy.
When Lucy’s mother is out of town, I take the perfect opportunity of feeding the cat, to sit on the balcony, drink a coffee and watch what rolls past, maybe listen to the church bells ring.
Occasionally loading a machine or folding my laundry. Continue reading
I’m only on the other side of the river and up the street from where I used to live–maybe a mile and a half away from the old place–of course, twenty some years ago that would have been quite an extreme move.
I’d have had to dig a tunnel out of a fake wall in my cellar, or rig a special compartment under the back seat of an automobile and get an innocent old lady to drive me, or sew together a hot air balloon out of bedsheets, or something.
It would have been epic…if my plot didn’t get exposed and I got shot.
Nowadays, I just hired three Iraqis lads to hump it down the old 4 flights of stairs, load it up in their truck, drive it a few kilometers and hump it up the new 4 flights of stairs. Continue reading
Posted in Life in Berlin
Tagged Berlin, Berlin Wall, culture shock, Deutsches Demokratisches Republik, Die Berliner Mauer, German Democratic Republic, Germany, Kreuzberg, neukölln, Ossis and Wessis, photos, travel writing
Steamed my first sticky rice in the new Wohnung last night.
Listened to my first news and paced the floor for the first time.
My drawers and shelves are full. I’ve flushed the toilet a few times now, taken two showers.
The cubboards are screwed to the wall. I mean that more like a ‘cup board:’ a board with cups.
I even nailed up a few pictures.
I’m getting situated. Continue reading