Objave

Prikaz objav, dodanih na maj, 2012

Frogman

Slika

Icebreaker … again … (always) …

Slika

A Purple Dress

Slika
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 …


Rombi

Slika
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, rombaste …

Dreamrain

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 …