Lepopisana

I used to love fairy tales (I still do, but differently). When I was little, my favourite was The Frog Prince. I don't remember why, though. I did not like the princess (did not want to be her … no way!). I kind of felt sorry for the frog, especially in the part when she threw him at a mirror. I don't know if remaining a frog for a century or two more would not be a better idea. My version is different … it always is ...  Moja najljubša pravljica je bila Žabji kralj, čeprav me vem točno zakaj, ker mi tista princeska nikoli ni bila v resnici všeč. Ne samo, da je brezbrižno odšla, ko je dobila nazaj svojo zlato kroglo, niti da ga ni hotela dvigniti na mizo, še v ogledalo ga je bilo treba zabrisat. Ubogi žabec.  V moji verziji ni ne zlate krogle, ne kupa zgoraj navedenih neumnosti. Princeska ni princeska v klasičnem smislu, Frogman je pa tak kot je treba. Ne bo ga neka razvajenka metala v ogledalo, njega že ne …

Mislim samo tiste misli, ki jih seveda ne bi smel. In ko se vrnem bom še vedno isti, ki na postaji prosi čakaj me. [1] Zadnje dni velikokrat dobim vprašanje, če sem še tu. Pravzaprav nikamor ne grem, no ja, ne daleč, samo šest nadstropij višje. Nič bat … bom šla …  I still wait for the icebreaker to come and take me away into the bitter cold and impenetrable darkness. In the sunshine my head is full of thoughts that shouldn't be there. I let them play with me … With my eyes closed I try to hear the sound of ice breaking, cracking … beneath the steady hum of city traffic. A big red moon hovers above my head. Wait for me …   1 Besedilo / text - Zoran Predin - Čakaj me (Album: Sirene tulijo, 1987)

I've been asking myself what I am lately … a calligrapher or a painter. A year ago the answer was obvious … it's not anymore. As always, it is beyond my reach, hidden between dreams, realities and expectations. I dreamt I wore a purple dress … sleeveless and made of silk. I was sitting in front of a mirror. Somebody was standing behind me, a shape of a person, a man. I kept staring at my reflection, while he was slowly walking across the dark room towards me. I could not see his face. It wasn’t important who he was, neither why I was wearing that dress nor why his steps were so unbearably slow. Meanwhile I'll keep painting …

Obožujem rombe. Še najraje za 45 stopinj zasukane kvadrate … take koničaste, z enako dolgimi stranicami. Kvadrati so sicer v redu, vendar me sami po sebi ne vznemirjajo, rombe čutim kot napetost v trebuhu. Ne vem zakaj, niti ni pomembno. Pojavljajo se že od nekdaj. Pogosti so v slovanski ljudski ornamentiki. V heraldiki so rombaste grbe v Angliji in Franciji uporabljale samske ženske in vdove. Poročene so imele grbe v obliki ščita, enako kot moški. Uporabljam jih od kar pomnim … kadar ne vem kaj bi, ko poslušam kak nadležen telefonski pogovor, rišem rombe. Ozadje, ki sem ga uporabila tokrat, se je v srednjem veku uporabljalo v iluminaciji in pri poslikavi sten. Velikokrat so bili znotraj rombov narisani vzorci, ki so se navidezno ponavljali v nedogled.  Pravzaprav so geometrijske vzorce uporabljali že Mavri v arabeskah. Lansko leto sva se jih nagledala na Portugalskem, letos na prijateljičinih slikah, ko je z možem obiskala Andaluzijo. Kvadratne, pravokotne, trikotne in … ja

Rain … I stand by a window embraced by cold evening air smelling of wet tarmac. I stare towards a distant group of trees. Then I wear my blue clothes again, walking among people with a smile on my face, with a step so light. In a moment between realities I glimpse him, walking under the blossoming horse chestnuts, in the soft, warm orange light of a setting sun, preoccupied with his happiness. He comes towards me, taking my hand … and then he turns, slowly stretches his arm and points to a big baroque style building, saying »… there …« I'm left standing on a carpet of fallen chestnuts blossoms, in a sweet smelling spring evening, with Kreutzer Sonata filling my head, while raindrops keep drumming … silently … relentlessly …