Lepopisana

About six weeks ago I spent some time in Banat, Serbia as I usually do in summertime. This time I wrote mainly about sculpture, large clay statues made in Terra Studio in a former 19th century roof tile factory. However what I encountered every now and again were watercolours. Everyone seems to be talking about them or painting them. It was sort of an elegant, slow and silent flooding, they remained in the corner of my eye, constantly there, gentle, in a way even more present than the sculpture.  Last year I attended a watercolour symposium held in Ajdovščina during the Watercolour Biennial Castra 2015. I learned that in Slovenia watercolours were never thought of much, mostly they were a part of preparatory stage for oils or just a sketching method. This year, while I was in Kikinda I went to see an exhibition in National Museum, a selection from Milutin Popović's watercolour collection. According to the catalogue Mr. Popović collected watercolours by 20th century Serbian p

On the first page we learn that Bunny is dead. We know who killed him but we don't yet know why. At first the book seems to be an inverted murder mystery. But is it all there is? There's a group of five rich students of ancient Greek and there's Richard, an ordinary kid trying to escape from the life of his father's gas station in a small town in California. Richard's interest in literature and beauty strongly contrasts the life he left behind. At first he isn't admitted into Julian’s little circle of Greek students. Later the professor changes his mind and admits Richard into his closed isolated group. His need to belong to this privileged group borders on obsession. Richard invents his past life, his family and schooling to sound much more glamorous as it really was. Richard admits he doesn't know whether he likes his fellow students, the same people he tries to impress. Someone in the novel says that none of them is smart enough to latter in

Prejšnji teden sva bila na razstavi treh novih članic Likovnega društva Kranj: Eve Serpan Sitar, Irene Orel in Mete Šolar. Pravzaprav sem od prej poznala samo Evo, s katero sva sošolki na magistrskem programu na Arthousu. Glede na to, da vedno bentim, da bi morali bolj obiskovati razstave svojih kolegov in si tako izkazovati podporo, sva se z M-jem odpravila v Kranj. V resnici ni na koncu sveta kot bi si marsikdo mislil.  Evini nebodotičniki in nebošpičniki so me spomnili na ponavljajoče sanje, ki jih tu in tam imam. Ko že mislim, da jih ne bo več, se spet pojavijo. Vedno isti svet, iste stavbe in isti ljudje. Če že niso pa vem kam spadajo. Stavbe na Evinih platnih so take. Tako mirno in domače me je spreletelo, da jih vendar poznam, vem kje so. Tam, onkraj roba platna, je hiša z zelenimi okni in ogromnimi fikusi na strehi. Tista, ja, ki ponoči oddaja občutek vlage in džungle, čeprav je skoraj v središču mesta, čisto ob glavni mestni vpadnici. Okoli nje so vedno luže, kot da bi

I love trains and it's not hard for me to imagine looking out from a train's window into other people's lives. However, I never saw it as real life, it was like watching television, like something that doesn't really exist. I never for a moment thought about being a part of the world I saw from a train. But then again, I'm not Rachel. This book's huge success sort of put it on hold for me, somehow it worked the opposite way. I just wasn't interested enough. Then the time came when I had some time to kill and the book wandered my way, so I read it and liked it.  The Girl on the Train in a psychological thriller told from a perspective of three women. Two of them live on the same street: A third used to live there and now observes the houses from a train and can't seem to stay away. Rachel is as unreliable a narrator as she can be. She's an alcoholic, drunk or drinking most of the time. She has blackouts and doesn't remember certain