Lepopisana

Dragi moji, Lepopisana je nastala kot serija zapisov o lepopisju, kaligrafiji in vsem, kar se je dalo z njo početi. Počasi je prerasla okvire imena, dokler med njenimi zapisi ni ničesar več na temo lepopisa. Se je pa zato našo marsi kaj drugega, do točke, ko je Lepopisana postala zelo pisana.  Zadnje čase mi ta pisanost, ki se ne povezuje več z imenom, ne paše več, zato sem se preselila drugam. Izmislila sem si Imaginarium, ki je (kot sem napisala tam) prostor za domišljijo, za vse, kar me zaposljuje, ko ne mislim na vsakodnevne obveznosti ... pa tudi kadar mislim nanje. Tam bi rada pisala o umetnosti, predvsem o tem kar počnem sama pa tudi o čem razmišljam, katere razstave obiskujem, katere materiale uporabljam. Tako mislim sedaj. Bog ve, če me ne bo zaneslo v kaj drugega (rahlo sem nagnjena k temu, priznam), vendar tudi, če se to zgodi, mi ne bo zagodla vsebina imena spletnega dnevnika. Se mi zdi, da tokrat sirše skoraj ne gre. Lepopisane ne bom ukinila. V resni

While they are away Leaves pile up In the gardens of the gods. Matsuo Basho

Pred časom sem na Tubi poslušala video, v katerem je bilo med drugim govora o knjigi Rojstvo mostu Maylis de Kerangal. Zvenelo je kot knjiga zame, še posebej zato, ker je proza, ki se bere kot poezija in ker ni najbolj vsakdanja. Ne spominjam se kaj naj bi se v zgodbi dogajalo, vendar se mi to zadnje časa niti ne zdi več tako zelo pomembno. Vedno raje berem skoraj na slepo. Nekaj dni kasneje sem na netu videla, da so knjigo prevedli v okviru festivala Fabula in da bo avtorica prišla v Ljubljano. Rojstvo mostu je knjiga o mostu pa še o marsičem drugem. No, morda je še najmanj knjiga o mostu. Primerjajo jo z Andrićevim Mostom na Drini in Belomorom Maksima Gorkega. Most Maylis de Kerangal pomeni za nekatere ljudi napredek, za druge pa nekaj povsem drugega, če upoštevamo kaj vse potegne za seboj. Most povezuje privilegirane ljudi s socialno šibkimi, mestni beton in gozdom, dvema svetovoma, ki se bolj slabo mešata. Povezave vedno delujejo obojestransko. Nekoga krepijo, dru

One day the Dog Woman finds a baby boy by the river Thames. She takes him with her and cares for him as if he was her child. She names him Jordan and she knows he will leave one day. If you name a boy by a river, he’ll flow away like water. Jordan meets Tradescant, gardener to the king and eventually sails away, discovering new lands and coming back with fruits people have never seen. He keeps looking for a woman, who may not exist and he desperately wants to be a hero. While researching the meaning of the title, I discovered that it means determining the gender of a cherry tree after grafting. It’s what Jordan does in the book and thinks about how he would like some of Tradescant grafted on him, so Jordan could be a hero like him. I saw grafting as a way of determining one’s identity after a person was searching for it. Jordan leaves England to become someone else, someone better. In the end he becomes a hero, but in another period, in another existence. At the beginning

Marjan Vidmar, Po strmi gazi, http://taunimarjan.blogspot.si/ Ko sem bila majhna je bila zima taka kot bi morala biti. Zapadel je sneg, ki se je obdržal, škripalo je pod nogami, mraz je grizel v obraz, delali smo nežake, če pa nisi bil pozoren, so te okepali še preden si pomislil, da bi sam okepal koga drugega. Po navadi tistega, ki ti je bil všeč. Ne spomnim se, da bi bilo veliko opozoril o vetru in snegu, verjetno zato, ker je bilo to normalo za ta letni čas. Edina stvar, ki se je spomnim, je opozorilo o prepovedanem prometu na cesti Godovič - Črni vrh - Ajdovščina.  Letošnja zima nam je privoščila nekaj dni s temperaturo pod ničlo. Saj ne, da bi bilo kaj resnega. Že prej je snežilo, potem se je stalilo v plundro in čez noč celo zmrznilo (ali pa tudi ni, kakor kdaj). Trenutno smo pod ničlo. Po svoje mi je všeč, čeprav nisem poseben ljubitelj zime. Nenehno prejemam sporočila o oranžnem (ali pa je morda rumen) alarmu za led in sneg. Malo smo pozabili kako je, ko se zgodi p

I Let You Go is a crime novel, which begins with a traffic accident in which a five year old boy gets hit by a car. Ray and Kate are police officers in charge of the case, but they aren't able to find any leads to get them closer to resolving it. Jenna leaves town to disappear in a remote seaside village, however her past eventually catches up. In the first part of the book the chapters alternate between Jenna's and Ray's point of view. The story seemed a bit slow. Jenna is getting used to her new life, Ray and Kate investigate the case without any progress unless their boss tells them to drop it and take on another case and solve it to benefit the police statistics. The story doesn't seem to be going anywhere, until the last pages of the first part when a massive twist happens. It seemed to me that the author took advantage of the fact that I blindly trusted an unreliable narrator. It served me right. In the second part of the book the third narrator was intro

When I was reading In the Midst of Winter it started snowing heavily where I live and I remember walking around the city on my lunch break, listening to the book on Audible. I used to read a lot of Isabel Allende and I remember liking her books. At the beginning of the book a snow storm paralyses New York. Richard’s car hits Evelyn’s but she quickly drives off. Later she appears at his door. Because she speaks Spanish and Richard has difficulty understanding her, he calls Lucia, his downstairs neighbour / tenant to help. As it turns out Evelyn took her bosses car without permission which wouldn’t be so bad if there wasn’t a dead body in the trunk. They can’t call the police since Evelyn is an illegal immigrant and would be deported, so Lucia and Richard decide to help her get rid of the body. This story is sort of a frame inside which we learn of the life histories of the three protagonists. I had a slight problem with the relationship of the frame of the story with the p

Last year I started to experiment with a single subject and a limited palette. I wanted to see how far I can go. How many paintings I can paint before my imagination runs out or I get fed up. So far I keep painting. Although the task is repetitive, since I keep drawing the same knot of letters and using the same orange and blue colours, there's something different in each painting. People I show them to seem to be a bit confused. Not by what they are seeing, I think they got used to it by now, but by the seemingly obscure reason behind it. Why would I want to paint the same thing over and over again? It's similar to mountain climbing. Why do people climb the same rocks? Because they aren't the same. * Lansko leto sem razmišljala o tem kako daleč lahko grem z istim motivom. Ne podobnim, ampak točno tem. Narisala sem ga na navaden papir, ki sem ga na hrbtni strani pobarvala z grafitnim svinčnikom, sedaj pa ga prenašam na akvarelni papir. Vedno enako, z istimi

Last year I failed to complete What’s in a Name book challenge. Well, it's not completely true. I read all the books I intended to read, I just failed to review them all. Let's see what happens this year. More about What’s in a Name 2018 can he found at The Worm Hole blog. The books I'm going to read this year are: The word ‘the’ used twice - The Naming of the Dead by Ian Rankin A fruit or vegetable - Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson A shape - The Square Persimmon and Other Stories by Takashi Atoda   A title that begins with Z - can be after ‘The’ or ‘A’ - Zgodovina čebel (a Slovene translation of The History of Bees) by Maja Lunde A nationality - An Antarctic Mistery by Jules Verne A season - The Winter Frost by R.D. Wingfield

Res ne vem kam je izginil december. Gledano nazaj, kot da sploh ne bi obstajal. Z M-jem sva bila na izletu v Budimpešti, zelo kmalu sva okrasila smrekico, naročila sem revijo The Art of Watercolour, ta mesec pa odjavila članstvo iz kaligrafskega društva. Starejši nečak je imel rojstni dan, tako da sem prišla do svoje doze kitajske hrane, dame s Pedagoške pa smo imele 25. obletnico mature. Prvič sem šla na sestanek angleškega knjižnega kluba, kjer sem javno priznala, da nisem prebrala knjige, ker mi ni bila všeč. To se v preteklosti ni zgodilo, vedno sem jo prebrala, pa čeprav na silo. Verjetno (gotovo) se je zgodilo še kaj pa se ta trenutek ne spomnim.   Ne maram novoletnih zaobljub. Ni posebnega razloga za antipatijo, razen tega, da se jih do sedaj nikoli nisem držala.  Zato je bolje, da morebitnih želja sploh ne omenjam, saj bi pod napačno nalepko zaobljub gotovo ostale neizpolnjene.  Z grozo v srcu ugotavljam, da mi letos nenormalno paše mraz. Verjetno zato, ker ga ni. Z