tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74596488496882163032024-03-13T11:23:50.563-04:00My Favorite GrandmotherMy Favorite GrandmotherMarie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-73955166921836756612023-09-07T13:38:00.002-04:002023-09-07T13:38:48.027-04:00Necklaces Through Generations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSHShNYGh79jJ1puIRmjOjyJFKJfx0aOgZXbXLix1mUwRibdIUo7Rt7ir6xk5JG9u_HD1LbC-HzgkD2AJZhq69kFlww_EJR-XcEL7r2LMxq-YV4OwA7SSaQn6e4RshUIdWZ8RhTXPdjE23GTFe-EfjRuHnIfpvb82JnDA1EFwgNtRFbgnw_QP9KvyAyI/s4356/IMG_3781-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1893" data-original-width="4356" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSHShNYGh79jJ1puIRmjOjyJFKJfx0aOgZXbXLix1mUwRibdIUo7Rt7ir6xk5JG9u_HD1LbC-HzgkD2AJZhq69kFlww_EJR-XcEL7r2LMxq-YV4OwA7SSaQn6e4RshUIdWZ8RhTXPdjE23GTFe-EfjRuHnIfpvb82JnDA1EFwgNtRFbgnw_QP9KvyAyI/s320/IMG_3781-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The <a href="https://www.edfringe.com" target="_blank">Edinburgh Fringe Festival</a> was a fantastic experience; I saw terrific theatrical projects and a beautiful art exhibition by Grayson Perry surrounded by lovely friends and Paul.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> I had the opportunity to conduct Let's Take a Walk #58 with a fantastic team. Thank you dear friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Please visit the <a href="http://letstakeawalkmc.blogspot.com" target="_blank">Let's Take a Walk Blog.</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Paul and I attended The <a href="https://www.beyondbordersscotland.com/festival/" target="_blank">Beyond Border Festival,</a> and I had the chance to meet Aimee Lounge, a wonderful poet. Aimee wore beautiful necklaces from her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. I enjoyed the poetry and musical performances of the festival, a wonderful part of this very informative and thought-provoking festival.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It was beautiful to spend some time sitting on a bench and exchanging stories with Aimee. Thank you for pointing out the magnificent path beyond the house; the trees were magnificent.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Please see Aimee's poems here below.</div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHtmMhEJUdZX6oGdKRSsNVs8VaJb6Afanmg8uVwIzQq5kK2SoADiJHNSazhLbjHv7HTTGI8UukUpH4abW1pIkZeiWrImHbEqIV4wkWW5peetT5pGiLLrjKfQCyvkmzTy5wozZxNX1ie8Te-XeBwinia4O1uybVqIWkS9oIVvPfze0e1YSfjomDLQ197U/s4032/IMG_3759.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHtmMhEJUdZX6oGdKRSsNVs8VaJb6Afanmg8uVwIzQq5kK2SoADiJHNSazhLbjHv7HTTGI8UukUpH4abW1pIkZeiWrImHbEqIV4wkWW5peetT5pGiLLrjKfQCyvkmzTy5wozZxNX1ie8Te-XeBwinia4O1uybVqIWkS9oIVvPfze0e1YSfjomDLQ197U/w338-h451/IMG_3759.jpg" width="338" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8UqN63yzzZb9GzOZGhuhnG3DwRlLRh4qVDSRW4NQot6K6xzy8stOhbV_-focX9zEcWfK5_iQUwOLsJX8uCxuTmZxoM8eUsFpZA-Ka2lFN-3cn-h57gsB2aNoeq4kI2egJUtQse2cuHOzetdjf3GkzaCyGFPYO_DVAWydd8_LKOPAGsWN4K3p5exy4Ms/w398-h299/IMG_3778.jpg" width="398" /></a><p></p>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-72254079744533247582023-05-08T12:30:00.010-04:002023-05-08T14:44:22.559-04:00From Dust and Air, my Grandmother and a Windmill by Arnaldo Drés González<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGMYf03L2jvcjHAAR5PLkMM-DlFKPW3NKDyRGeYQPnRMolpDm7wQWZdLTCngQfwps11iBLXcCdNHVhb3p5i8huU6zHisqm9EFmpdH-C6yLSkl2-_Mr5Jz_7efMgctGD16jjIkCpHJr5pHN7s6LrG__PiUncphMI9En_HZTDOWvQTcuZG4a8bPjqUux/s817/Photo%20by%20Alan%20Ginsburg.%20From%20Dust%20and%20Air,%20my%20Grandmother%20and%20a%20Windmill,%20Installation,%20Arnaldo%20Dre%CC%81s%20Gonza%CC%81lez,%202023%20(5).jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="817" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGMYf03L2jvcjHAAR5PLkMM-DlFKPW3NKDyRGeYQPnRMolpDm7wQWZdLTCngQfwps11iBLXcCdNHVhb3p5i8huU6zHisqm9EFmpdH-C6yLSkl2-_Mr5Jz_7efMgctGD16jjIkCpHJr5pHN7s6LrG__PiUncphMI9En_HZTDOWvQTcuZG4a8bPjqUux/w420-h323/Photo%20by%20Alan%20Ginsburg.%20From%20Dust%20and%20Air,%20my%20Grandmother%20and%20a%20Windmill,%20Installation,%20Arnaldo%20Dre%CC%81s%20Gonza%CC%81lez,%202023%20(5).jpg" width="420" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">Photography artwork by Arnaldo Drés González<br /></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">Documentation by Allan Ginsburg.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i>From Dust and Air, my Grandmother and a Windmill.</i></b></p><p>By <i>Arnaldo Drés González</i></p><p>Between popular songs about windmills, thinking about my home, communication from the distance and the migrant feeling, the concept of a physical postcard is multi diverse. The written postcard, with images, moving image or with a voice message, as what we have in contemporaneity, expand the possibilities of continuing to inhabit our memories and remembrances. </p><p>The mill element was often used for decades to describe literally or figuratively fictitious texts of folk wisdom and the history of a nation's development. In Spanish culture, for example, sayings, riddles and songs abound, which now survive in printed texts and some audio recordings with different fragments that can be found on the web. Many songs tell us about mills, miller, mill woman, millstones, wind, wheat, corn and stones. Songs that have been sung, covered and reinvented by generations of our ancestors over the years. Our grandparents surely know this very well. It is obvious how important mills were as an integral part of everyday life, and even past life, in a society where everyone went to get something simple like bread. Today, traces of a social, industrial and cultural evolution of the mills remain. Their imaginary being portrayed in postcards for tourist consumption. For some it will be only beautiful images of a place, for others, an image that tells us much more about what we see.</p><p>How much can a postcard of the old Buenavista mill in Sa Punta des Molí (1818) in Ibiza portray, narrate or evoke? Is its existence a myth in its own aura? Are the blades of the mill a myth of the temporality of global life? Something like when everything starts and returns to its starting point. Like the migration of my grandmother from the Canary Islands to Venezuela in the fifties due to the serious economic difficulties that Spain was going through since the late forties, and nowadays, the migratory turn of her descendants to their point of origin, like me, who have migrated from Venezuela to Europe while other migratory waves are happening to other parts of the world in the XXI century.</p><p>A curious case is that near the Molino de Sa Punta des Molí there is a house where the well-known German philosopher of Jewish origin Walter Benjamin (Berlin, 1892 - Port Bou, Spain, 1940) lived, who reflects in his writings about his life and his history through his collection of postcards, including those missing postcards with which he allowed himself to inhabit those landscapes that his traveling grandmother sent him from her travels around the world. Probably, the same thing happened to my grandmother in Venezuela when she saw photographs of me in the snow in Germany, which I shared with her from a distance by instant messaging from my cell phone. However, this ability to inhabit is also possible from the stories that people tell, sometimes sung in traditional songs and that, like a photography, a drawing or a painting, transmit images to our imagination. It is like a small window that expands like a ray of light when we open it with our heart and emotion.</p><p>"There is a secret agreement between past generations and the present one". "The true picture of the past flits by. The past can be seized only as an image which flashes up at the instant when it can be recognized and is never seen again".</p><p>Fragments of theses 2 and 5. Theses on the philosophy of history, 1940.</p><p>Walter Benjamin</p><p><br /></p><p>"From Dust and Air, my Grandmother and a Windmill" is an artwork presented at the first edition of the contemporary art event ENTRÁNSITO, at Centro Cultural Sa Punta des Molí - San Antoni de Portmany (Ibiza), April 2023.</p><p>Click to listen to the <a href="https://soundcloud.com/arnaldogonzalezvisual/del-polvo-y-el-aire-mi-abuela-y-un-molino" target="_blank">Soundscape </a></p><p>Soundscape Description Translation from Spanish (Original) to English</p><p>The wind can be heard and maybe some waves from the sea as a group of women try to remember to sing a couplet about a mill: </p><p>In the mill no air passes and olé, no air passes and olé, no air passes and olé. </p><p>Someone in the group corrects them: Should this be repeated or not?</p><p>They sing again: Knead the dust and the sand </p><p>A new correction: is Flour!</p><p>They begin again:</p><p>Knead the dust and the flour that carries the air and olé, that carries the air and olé, that carries the air and olé, olé, that carries the air.</p><p>A singer appears:</p><p>Because the miller says he has no one to go with him, come with me to the mill and you will be my mill woman. You throw the wheat in the hopper, you throw the wheat in the hopper, while I pick the stone, come with me to the mill and you'll be my mill woman.</p><p>A voice message from my grandmother from Venezuela appears:</p><p>Hello! A lot of snow, my love, a lot of snow? Oh, be careful! You'll get cold, you know. Hey Arnaldo, how will that be, my love, there with the snow and then drinking a cup of hot coffee, right? Very good. </p><p>Look, it gave me a thrill. I don't know how many weeks it's been since I've not seen your brother, but he has to comply with his obligations. Well, my love, God bless you, a big, big hug! And a big kiss! Please give your sister a hug for me, I send it to her. Did you get it? O.K. God bless you.</p><p>Other women's voices join in singing:</p><p>Miller, miller, only my mill knows, how much I love you, Oh my miller! And in the happy moment where the blades of the mill are stirring, there was heard a lament of a divine kiss, of corn and wheat so divine. Miller, miller, only my mill knows, how much I love you, Oh my miller! Singing and dancing and thinking of my poor miller, I go through life without another partner, of corn and pleasant wheat. Miller, miller, only my miller knows, how much I love you, Oh my miller!</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUHxVn5PI1Te6t-muHb_eILUrBXDp0faNBGzNcrKPnJ4tUKh7VPhM5_ZOMEfhgpSAVEO-KjuwBUGlNcexSTR7O8VmG43EEWopE2ac9CUgedumwtf9b6TCm-5G3sg637ALKubX788jJykhFzydoClb0Na95jlbog5eLhet4UWBisNcUhrpXC6k6jd7/s6016/Photo%20by%20Arnaldo%20Gonzalez%20(w)%20F%20rom%20Dust%20and%20Air,%20my%20Grandmothe%20r%20and%20a%20Windmill,%20Installation,%20%20Arnaldo%20Dres%20Gonzalez,%202023.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6016" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUHxVn5PI1Te6t-muHb_eILUrBXDp0faNBGzNcrKPnJ4tUKh7VPhM5_ZOMEfhgpSAVEO-KjuwBUGlNcexSTR7O8VmG43EEWopE2ac9CUgedumwtf9b6TCm-5G3sg637ALKubX788jJykhFzydoClb0Na95jlbog5eLhet4UWBisNcUhrpXC6k6jd7/w481-h320/Photo%20by%20Arnaldo%20Gonzalez%20(w)%20F%20rom%20Dust%20and%20Air,%20my%20Grandmothe%20r%20and%20a%20Windmill,%20Installation,%20%20Arnaldo%20Dres%20Gonzalez,%202023.jpg" width="481" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">Installation Arnaldo Drés González, photographed by the artist.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>"From Dust and Air, my Grandmother and a Windmill" is part of the project "Resguardo y Presencia/ Shelter and Presence" that explores the appropriation of materials from the urban landscape to recreate the ambiguity of human relationships, social values, tensions and conflicts of everyday life. Based on the allegory of the green fabrics that cover the facades of disintegrating buildings and protect nearby passersby, Arnaldo Drés González turns these functional aesthetic appearances into poetic narratives that together with the intervention of the human body in video and photography generate metaphors of existence, fear, shelter, identity, transit and territory.</p><p><br /></p><p>Arnaldo Drés González (b. 1986, Caracas - Venezuela). Since 2014 lives and works in Hamburg, Germany. Graduated from the fine arts department of UNEARTE in Caracas (2011) and holds a master's degree from the Hochschule für Künste im Sozialen (HKS) in Ottersberg, Germany (2016). In 2015 he won the honorable mention award at the 17th altonale Art Festival in Hamburg. 2019 was selected as a guest artist for the program "Stadtlabor" at the Performing Arts Festival Berlin. In 2021 he was nominated for the art prize of the Atelierkate Lesun in Bremen and invited to the solo exhibition for emerging artists at the Affordable Art Fair Hamburg. His work has been exhibited in national and international art festivals, galleries and fairs since 2008.</p><p><br /></p><p>LINKS</p><p><a href="https://arnaldogonzalezvisual.com/" target="_blank">Arnaldo Gonzalez website</a> & <a href="https://instagram.com/adozalez" target="_blank">Instagram</a></p>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-75559693924195698302023-05-04T18:58:00.000-04:002023-05-04T18:58:13.105-04:00Carmen Cristina Ferreyra Gómez by Caryana Castillo<p style="background: none; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: none; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Caryana Castillo's poem and artworks presented here celebrate her grandmother Carmen Cristina Ferrera Gómez. </span><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: none; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">I had the chance to meet Caryana during the EnTransito Art Festival taking place at Sant Antoni de Portmany in Ibiza; see her work on </span><a class="editor-rtfLink" href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7459648849688216303/7555969392419569830#" style="background: none; color: #4a6ee0; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;" target="_blank"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background: none; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Instagram </span></a></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NpScu6Cbw-_6F3QlUSLvtZmp6x1DbRhMCQ-uP6sUg1VKpCYqKolhCWsuds9tA7IkV0Cb3Ny7mzJ9_XvIkFgvwcWF_BXHGT8KRSAJoe28ZCXp60F15229U4AbswCKksd48GCPlcPtQ77CLJNgl7abA-qG5LWWpw8SGJ14unXpkGzvUOduKuV6KZjl/s2454/Captura%20de%20pantalla%202023-05-03%20a%20las%2015.30.27.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1752" data-original-width="2454" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NpScu6Cbw-_6F3QlUSLvtZmp6x1DbRhMCQ-uP6sUg1VKpCYqKolhCWsuds9tA7IkV0Cb3Ny7mzJ9_XvIkFgvwcWF_BXHGT8KRSAJoe28ZCXp60F15229U4AbswCKksd48GCPlcPtQ77CLJNgl7abA-qG5LWWpw8SGJ14unXpkGzvUOduKuV6KZjl/w713-h506/Captura%20de%20pantalla%202023-05-03%20a%20las%2015.30.27.png" width="713" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0WjgtoxXKro_Ei7CBwUfL04gUsuyjjtCJuD6Cl9g81xQ7eIUbn6Ju-PU1Nlo_IpCnGkBPD2OFarAl-d6krZy5dLCclH7yn2ZK4bPrM3fb1TnpjHKCFBDLMHBzSibM8kelwVxHxehFJT0Y5q8iHC9ymBNp-KJqFRmdQERH-wXM-xRzUAFEU9zdWEJ/s681/IMG_2979-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="568" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0WjgtoxXKro_Ei7CBwUfL04gUsuyjjtCJuD6Cl9g81xQ7eIUbn6Ju-PU1Nlo_IpCnGkBPD2OFarAl-d6krZy5dLCclH7yn2ZK4bPrM3fb1TnpjHKCFBDLMHBzSibM8kelwVxHxehFJT0Y5q8iHC9ymBNp-KJqFRmdQERH-wXM-xRzUAFEU9zdWEJ/w381-h456/IMG_2979-1.jpg" width="381" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carmen Cristina Ferryra Gómez by Caryana Castillo.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bBTtFpRxrUx2CPH624fkj1mMR2qyxPeQrI1DX4VmfT_r9HBY485NIMHWtA-tB_QL0l2b__U4Oajd8gj4u0PPDxfUqDV_lA-C6bV2lB3uFNxXRok0ZvrorsFEUISNr2awCL6NsfnZiNoUZBUsKeAkL5y7St-IF9cA3FqhzNi2Wt376AVwWUvCAdOm/s3836/corazo%CC%81n%20en%20flamas%20flamboyan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2726" data-original-width="3836" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bBTtFpRxrUx2CPH624fkj1mMR2qyxPeQrI1DX4VmfT_r9HBY485NIMHWtA-tB_QL0l2b__U4Oajd8gj4u0PPDxfUqDV_lA-C6bV2lB3uFNxXRok0ZvrorsFEUISNr2awCL6NsfnZiNoUZBUsKeAkL5y7St-IF9cA3FqhzNi2Wt376AVwWUvCAdOm/w512-h364/corazo%CC%81n%20en%20flamas%20flamboyan.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <b><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="background: white; letter-spacing: 0.4pt; text-transform: uppercase;">EL FLAMBOYÁN (ÁRBOL DE FUEGO)</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="border: 1pt windowtext; padding: 0in;">Sensual antorcha que calienta y brilla<br />de violencia llanuras y montañas;<br />fuente de sangre, airón de maravilla,<br />cuaja ardor de verano en tus entrañas.</span></i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span lang="ES-TRAD">La flor de fuego en tu corona humilla<br />la luz caribe en que tu copa bañas,<br />y el paisaje antillano se arrodilla<br />a tu lumbre, hecho de miel, entre las cañas.</span></i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span lang="ES-TRAD">De tu destello en el rubí prendidos<br />púrpura en llama el horizonte hiende<br />cristales tintos en insolaciones.</span></i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span lang="ES-TRAD">Y entre el cielo y la tierra sorprendidos<br />en la enramada tropical se enciende<br />la rebelión de esclavos corazones.</span></i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="border: 1pt windowtext; padding: 0in;">José Agustín Balseiro</span></i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="border: 1pt windowtext; padding: 0in;">Corazón en flamas</span></b><span lang="ES-TRAD"><br />Me ha encontrado una palabra, se aferra regia y con garra de mi pecho, combate mi ferocidad, no puedo resistir su influjo, se prende a mi corazón.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">Invade todos mis sentidos, embriaga fuerza y voluntad, extingue mi rencor, no quiero resistirme a su influencia, es suyo mi corazón.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">¿Cómo puedo expresar este mensaje glorioso en el instante de la ebullición? Borboteo repentino recorriendo los anillos cartilaginosos, abriéndose paso hasta los bronquios principales y sus ramificaciones, alvéolos floridos. Desde la Carina traqueal hasta las pupilas, volcán de lágrimas en erupción.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">Rojo, sangre, carmesí, tomate, fresa, frambuesa, manzana, cereza, óxido, vino. Naranja, calabaza, mandarina, melón, amarillo, cadmín, canario, carambola, ocre, dorado, ámbar, ron. Fucsia, rosa, magenta, sandía, cajuilito, cuarzo, ponche, atardecer, sol, llama, flama, flamboyán.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">Follaje denso y muy extendido. Flores grandes con cuatro pétalos iguales y un quinto que sobresale como un penacho de ave manchado de blanco y amarillo, luminosas gigantes rojas en la Tierra.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">Colocados los colosos de 8 metros de elevación, flamboyanes, uno al lado del otro, en gran número, frente a un espejo incorpóreo que refleja sus pares formando un túnel incandescente. Soy un glóbulo rojo transportado en el caudal de la vena, deseando llegar al corazón. El corazón es una mujer rechoncha y blanda que me abraza y me besa, que huele a talco y a chinola, que se ríe a carcajadas de las palabras inocentes, que cuida de los animales y protege a los niños, una mujer que cose y teje y que guarda dos latas de galletas de mantequilla, una para los hilos y otra para los hijos.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">Allí, donde empezó mi vida antes de que yo naciera, es el lugar a donde me han conducido los flamboyanes: Concepción de La Vega, la mina de oro más rica del Caribe, para mí, símbolo de mi feliz infancia.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">He aquí el amor, cayendo como lluvia permanente de pétalos escarlata, como rayitos de luz que se cuelan por los pequeños huecos entre los folíolos primarios y secundarios de las largas hojas del Árbol del Fuego. Cálida oscuridad de ojos cerrados al fulgor del verano. Caricia sincera del sol en la mejilla. Dispongo de tranquilidad para jugar con las partículas de polvo encendidas, chispas que giran y se apagan. Maravillada con cada gota roja que suave se posa ora en mi pelo, ora en mis manos.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">Descanso. “…El amor a la naturaleza no da trabajo a las fábricas… Las flores y los paisajes tienen un grave defecto: son gratuitos.”*</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">En consecuencia, recibo la bendición de mis ancestros, así como de mis familiares del hoy, para pintar, con plena confianza, una flor de pasión y sangre que brota del Santo Cerro, donde venció la traición.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="ES-TRAD">—¡Oh amor mío! ¡Qué maravillosamente hermoso es estar vivos! Con el alma de tu cuerpo, con tu latido…</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span lang="ES-TRAD">*Sobre la obra:</span></b><span lang="ES-TRAD"> «Corazón en flamas», año de realización: 2020, serie: “Patrimonio Natural”, tinta sobre papel, 42 cm x 27,9 cm, por Caryana Castillo <b><span style="border: 1pt windowtext; padding: 0in;">Referencias y fuentes de inspiración:</span></b> “Un mundo feliz” – Aldo Huxley. “Quién fuera” “Corazón en fuga” – Silvio Rodríguez . “Sin tu latido” – Luis Eduardo Aute.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 19.2pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">THE FLAMBOYÁN (FIRE TREE)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Sensual torch that warms and shines<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">of violence plains and mountains;<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">fountain of blood, air of wonder,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">heat of summer curdles in your bowels.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The flower of fire in your crown humiliates<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">the Caribbean light in which your glass bathes,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">and the Antillean landscape kneels<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">to your fire, made of honey, among the reeds.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Of your sparkle in the ruby lit<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">purple in flame, the horizon cleaves<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">tinted crystals in insolations.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And between Heaven and Earth, surprised<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">in the tropical bower lights up<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">the rebellion of slave hearts.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">José Augustin Balseiro<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">heart on fire<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">A word has found me; it clings royally, and with a claw to my chest, it fights my ferocity. I cannot resist its influence; it clings to my heart.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">It invades all my senses, intoxicates strength and will, extinguishes my rancor; I don't want to resist its influence, my heart is yours.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">How can I express this glorious message at the moment of boiling? Sudden gurgling through the cartilaginous rings, making its way to the main bronchi and their ramifications, flowery alveoli. From the tracheal carina to the pupils, a volcano of tears in eruption.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Red, blood, crimson, tomato, strawberry, raspberry, apple, cherry, rust, wine. Orange, pumpkin, tangerine, melon, yellow, carmine, canary, carambola, ochre, gold, amber, rum. Fuchsia, pink, magenta, watermelon, cajuilito, quartz, punch, sunset, sun, flame, flame, flamboyant.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Foliage dense and widely spread. Large flowers with four equal petals and a fifth protruding like a bird's plume spotted with white and yellow, luminous red giants on Earth.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Placed the 8-meter-high flamboyant colossi, one next to the other, in large numbers, in front of a disembodied mirror that reflects their peers, forming an incandescent tunnel. I am a red blood cell transported in the flow of the vein, wanting to reach the heart. The heart is a plump and soft woman who hugs me and kisses me, who smells of talcum powder and chinola, who laughs out loud at innocent words, who cares for animals and protects children, a woman who sews and knits and who keeps two cans of butter cookies, one for the children and one for the children.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">There, where my life began before I was born, is the place where the flamboyants have led me: Concepción de La Vega, the richest gold mine in the Caribbean, for me, a symbol of my happy childhood.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Here is love, falling like a permanent rain of scarlet petals, like little rays of light that slip through the small gaps between the primary and secondary leaflets of the long leaves of the Tree of Fire. Warm darkness with eyes closed to the glare of summer. Sincere caress of the sun on the cheek. I have peace of mind to play with the ignited dust particles, sparks that turn and go out. Amazed by each red drop that softly settles now on my hair, now on my hands.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Rest. "…The love of nature does not give work to factories… Flowers and landscapes have a serious defect: they are free."*<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Consequently, I receive the blessing of my ancestors, as well as my relatives today, to paint, with full confidence, a flower of passion and blood that sprouts from the Holy Hill, where treason was defeated.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">"Oh, my love!" How wonderfully beautiful it is to be alive! With the soul of your body, with your heartbeat...<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">*About the work: "Corazón en flamas," year of completion: 2020, series: "Natural Heritage," ink on paper, 42 cm x 27.9 cm, by Caryana Castillo References and sources of inspiration: "A happy world" –Aldo Huxley. "Who was" "Heart on the Run" – Silvio Rodríguez. "Without your heartbeat" - Luis Eduardo Aute.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaqg8OoQO84Mx5DLtFoYdeNQj1T5cGeoafDnJh5OtMdfKiP-24Af10hgy6GaHvrb-u41rmXA2N-RtzoP5Rs3ShdS_zgr53K_UzKeHpxFg6UN20YBNQpqz9h9uZD5ZRhGmZry0E0dESVSDCxnq-MtyuuvsxEiaZmTX4WjDSJ4vQu_-_waDVg0u9ulY/s1196/IMG_2973-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1196" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaqg8OoQO84Mx5DLtFoYdeNQj1T5cGeoafDnJh5OtMdfKiP-24Af10hgy6GaHvrb-u41rmXA2N-RtzoP5Rs3ShdS_zgr53K_UzKeHpxFg6UN20YBNQpqz9h9uZD5ZRhGmZry0E0dESVSDCxnq-MtyuuvsxEiaZmTX4WjDSJ4vQu_-_waDVg0u9ulY/w552-h322/IMG_2973-1.jpg" width="552" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caryana's portraits of her family and her grandmother.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-65270470504783848432023-03-30T11:21:00.012-04:002023-03-30T23:31:53.410-04:00Ida was, indeed, my favorite grandmother, by Wendy Wasdahl.<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Last night, trying to thread a needle to sew a button back on a shirt, memories of my grandmother came flooding in. As a child, if I wasn't brushing her long, white hair, I was also engaged in helping her thread needles for her sewing projects, as seeing small detail close-up was a challenge to her older eyes. I can relate to that now. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">She was my only grandmother and, actually, she was my step-grandmother. My family history is too complicated to go into now, except for the fact that I am the only child of an only child who was a single working mother. We lived in San Francisco, but as my mother needed childcare help when I had long breaks from school, I spent much of my summer school vacation with my grandparents in Los Angeles. When I came to stay with them, my grandmother, who I called Mommo, would bake and have it ready for my arrival, my favorite cookies. They were very thick, round, heavy cookies of flour, butter, and sugar. Her cookie cutter was the top rim of a drinking glass. They were very plain but sprinkled on top with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar. I loved them. They were much like my grandmother herself, who was also stocky, plain, gruff, and from the "old country." But like the mixture of cinnamon and sugar, her fierce love for me had the toughness of spice and the sweetness of sugar. I loved her. She was, indeed, my favorite grandmother.</span></p>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-59591228893750426242023-03-21T12:08:00.019-04:002023-03-22T11:54:29.647-04:00Despite all Odds. SHATTERED: SYMBOLIC GESTURE.<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: medium;">Artists in Solidarity with Ukraine</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 21px;"><br /></span></p><p style="color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">One year since the start of Russia's unprovoked, illegal aggression against Ukraine, we're acknowledging the resilience of the Ukrainian people and the solidarity shown by Romania and the rest of the peace-loving world through a project that demonstrates the power of visual art and the spoken word to denounce the ordeals and preserve the memory of these tragic times. Presented in partnership with the </span><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://ukrainianinstitute.org" target="_blank">Ukrainian Institute of America</a></span><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> (UIA), "SHATTERED: SYMBOLIC GESTURE" is a large-scale international collaboration that consists of a multimedia exhibition conceived by the Romanian-Canadian visual artist and polymath </span><a class="editor-rtfLink" href="http://www.oanacajal.com" style="color: #4a6ee0; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;" target="_blank"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Oana Maria Cajal</span></a><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">, accompanied by a series of video-poems and poetry readings offered by U.S.-based Romanian and Ukrainian poets.</span></p><p style="color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p style="color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The event took place at the <a href=" https://www.rciusa.info" target="_blank">Romanian Cultural Institute</a> in the presence of artist Oana Maria Cajal along with readings of poetry written in reaction to the war in Ukraine offered by Adina Dabija, Olena Jennings, Mihaela Moscaliuc, Claudia Serea, Adela Sinclair, Vera Sirota, and an opening remarks by Kathy Nalywajko, the President of the Ukrainian Institute of America.</span></p><p style="color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p style="color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The multimedia exhibition included 24 collages – "picto-impulses" by Oana Maria Cajal and a video made by Ștefan Cajal with music by American composer and pianist Michael Roth.</span></p><p style="color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">The following poem by Vera Sirota honors the strength of a woman in dire circumstances.</p><p style="color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s8" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16.799999px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 25.200001px;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s8" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16.799999px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 25.200001px;">Despite All Odds</span></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s8" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16.799999px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 25.200001px;"><span style="font-size: 18px;">by Vera Sirota</span></span></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">When the air raid siren blares </span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">I remain</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">defiant</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">in my bed</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">on the top floor of my home.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">I dare a Moscow missile to find me.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.6px;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">I am 99 years old.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">I survived the Nazi invasion.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">I survived Stalin’s terror.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">I survived Soviet oppressors.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">I will survive Putin’s pillagers.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.6px;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">Hope animates my heart</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">because this is a national trait –</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">a pride that propels us</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">a song that sustains us.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="line-height: 21.6px;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">We bow to no one</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;">and never will.</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="s7" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 21.6px;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwZXBszdmplFlGmhUmhcw-yOrHqwaG3JLD5a_t4iqo-u9mZI7SJ6LmAlPvuNkqS44DNLPehJc1EcqlBltu20YHf_0w2kMK95V7-lwA872BgeJA6CxNmWPtVcN9bxsEvqm3demag1__lJJT8vYUjsxd9BBe3wQdINS-A5x4APhniA7G2h3CwkfQYNL/s640/IMG_1235.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwZXBszdmplFlGmhUmhcw-yOrHqwaG3JLD5a_t4iqo-u9mZI7SJ6LmAlPvuNkqS44DNLPehJc1EcqlBltu20YHf_0w2kMK95V7-lwA872BgeJA6CxNmWPtVcN9bxsEvqm3demag1__lJJT8vYUjsxd9BBe3wQdINS-A5x4APhniA7G2h3CwkfQYNL/w286-h381/IMG_1235.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vera Sirota reading her poem at the exhibition, Shattered: Symbolic Gesture, hosted by The Romanian Cultural Institute.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiayyu5OCdM3nftnyvhiFKRwnBt-MdshSAwqdkOBRj41A5I1j13sIIkYCismFxV86R9rFCVajuuUe7t8xbe5w6OPi1AAu5QkRgnP7ItHFBgzvgVy0Me41dewmJhlSQwsVIXgSclCRxjAvafpm21uqqTkiHWl8r8k__gR14K9MHyvh_3HUMAyqDvUWiQ/s1280/Photo%20by%20Oana%20Maria%20Cajal%20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1226" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiayyu5OCdM3nftnyvhiFKRwnBt-MdshSAwqdkOBRj41A5I1j13sIIkYCismFxV86R9rFCVajuuUe7t8xbe5w6OPi1AAu5QkRgnP7ItHFBgzvgVy0Me41dewmJhlSQwsVIXgSclCRxjAvafpm21uqqTkiHWl8r8k__gR14K9MHyvh_3HUMAyqDvUWiQ/s320/Photo%20by%20Oana%20Maria%20Cajal%20.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oana Maria Cajal's Babusya inspired Vera to read Despite all Odds at the event.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 16.2pt; margin: 0in;"><i> </i></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 16.2pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Ukrainian American Poets Respond anthology edited by </span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 16.2pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Olena Jennings and Virlana Tkacz (2022).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 16.2pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></o:p></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 16.2pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">SHATTERED: SYMBOLIC GESTURE edited by Claudia Serea (forthcoming fall 2023).</span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 16.2pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Vera Sirota is the proud granddaughter of Ukrainian immigrants. </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Vera serves as a mentor for Girls Write Now, a creative writing organization for high school girls and gender-expansive youth in NYC. </span></i><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Vera’s poems have been featured or are forthcoming in the Armstrong Literary, Dark Onus Lit, Music of Hope: a benefit concert in support of Ukraine, Poetry Distillery, </span></i><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 9pt;">SHATTERED: SYMBOLIC GESTURE, </span></i><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">exhibition, Stories by Girls Write Now, and Ukrainian American Poets Respond. </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Vera is a 2022 Martha Award Finalist for the David Wade Hogue Scholarship. She is a co-founder of the West of Willow poetry and music collective in Hoboken.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></i></p>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-16648097867769391952023-03-18T15:00:00.022-04:002023-03-22T11:44:42.388-04:00My Grandmother Set Her Ladder Against the Moon. The SHATTERED PROJECT.<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica;">The </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 10.5pt;">SHATTERED PROJECT</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica;"> is the brainchild of <strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">visual artist</span></strong> <strong><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Oana Maria Cajal</span></i></strong> and the result of a complex international collaboration. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><strong><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-weight: normal;">Inspired by Oana Cajal’s artistic vision, <i>poets from Ukraine, Romania, the United States and Canada contributed poems, and several musicians composed instrumental or vocal pieces, all reacting viscerally against the atrocities of Russia’s war in Ukraine.</i></span></strong><strong><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica;"> <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica;">The concept is simple but original: artists respond to Oana's artwork with new creations while protesting the war at the same time. Here as part of this project is a poem by <i>Claudia Serea</i> in response to <i>Oana Maria Cajal</i>'s painting </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 10.5pt;">BABUSYA</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica;">.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-Jvc9iYNk8XtghbWVFOssfMQVZW-608E7x1qIMQ_hMUDo3RjdPqmkXPJxX5fqdBHVDiG1Q-eh9gYiPO8uLQahTHKeQNwj0ssc4xHNGputThT6YoL70ZRVDsneF6Yv0zPXuZTNR9eZuYqkfJCrIiU9ncUDzWkU0mykA9mKOEW2QGINvJ_UOuhy-gY/s1280/Photo%20by%20Oana%20Maria%20Cajal%20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1226" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-Jvc9iYNk8XtghbWVFOssfMQVZW-608E7x1qIMQ_hMUDo3RjdPqmkXPJxX5fqdBHVDiG1Q-eh9gYiPO8uLQahTHKeQNwj0ssc4xHNGputThT6YoL70ZRVDsneF6Yv0zPXuZTNR9eZuYqkfJCrIiU9ncUDzWkU0mykA9mKOEW2QGINvJ_UOuhy-gY/w382-h398/Photo%20by%20Oana%20Maria%20Cajal%20.jpg" width="382" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BABUSYA by Oana Maria Cajal</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: Times;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">My Grandmother Set Her Ladder Against the Moon</span></b><b><span style="font-family: Times;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">by Claudia Serea</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">She kept all her belongings in a small wooden trunk</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">where she hid her despair among linens.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Nightgown billowing in the wind, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">she climbed to the sky each evening</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">on her thin ladder:</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><em><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.</span></em><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><o:p></o:p></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Why did you make my world bruised </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">and blood-warm?</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><em><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Thy kingdom comes; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven</span></em><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">.</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Why did you allow brothers </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">to butcher each other?</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><em><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses</span></em><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">.</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Why did you give this burden to me?</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">I can’t carry it.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><em><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">As we forgive those who trespass against us</span></em><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><o:p></o:p></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Here it is, translucent, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">quivering like the egg </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">still unformed inside the hen:</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">my life </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">with no protective shell.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><em><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">And lead us not into temptation. </span></em><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><o:p></o:p></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Take it.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><em><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">But deliver us from evil</span></em><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">.</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">And I’ll only keep this prayer</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">for my family’s return,</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #0e101a; font-size: 14pt;">Amin.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p style="text-indent: 0px;"><o:p></o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="default-style" style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><strong><span style="color: #333333;">Oana Maria Cajal</span></strong><span style="color: #333333;"> is an award-winning visual artist, playwright, screenwriter, and poet. She was born in Bucharest and immigrated to the United States in 1980 with a grant from the American Theatre Association. She attended the Ph.D. Theatre Criticism program at New York's City University and obtained her M.F.A. in Playwriting from University of California San Diego (UCSD). Cajal has written plays that have had successful performances in cities across North America. She returned to graphic art in 2007, with her volume of Picto Poems, <em>Solenodon,</em> and had numerous solo exhibitions in Canada, America, and Romania. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><a href="https://playwrightsguild.ca/paupress/profile/2670/view/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Oana Maria Cajal</span><span style="color: #ea9999;"> </span></a>is a Fulbright scholar and a recipient of the National Endowment for the Arts Playwriting Fellowship, as well as many art prizes. She is also a member of Dramatists Guild of America, Writers Union of Romania, Theater Union of Romania (UNITER), the Union of Fine Artists of Romania, Playwrights Workshop Montreal, and Playwrights Guild of Canada. Her play, <em style="color: black;">The Last Pact,</em> was voted “Best Play of 2011” by UNITER. Her screenplay for the feature film <em style="color: black;">The White Gate</em> was nominated for the Gopo Awards, 2015. <span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><strong><span style="color: #333333;">Claudia Serea</span></strong><span style="color: #333333;"> is a Romanian-American poet, translator, and editor. Her poems and translations are published in <em>Field, New Letters, Prairie Schooner, The Malahat Review, The Puritan, Oxford Poetry, </em>among others. She is the recipient of the Joanne Scott Kennedy Memorial Prize from the Poetry Society of Virginia, the <em>New Letters </em>Readers Award, and the Franklin-Christoph Merit Award. Her poems have been translated in Russian, French, Italian, Arabic, and Farsi, and have been featured on <em>The Writer’s Almanac</em>. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><span>She is the author of seven poetry collections and four chapbooks, most recently In Those Years. No one Slept. (Broadstone Books, 2023) and <a href="https://www.unsolicitedpress.com/store/p358/Writing_on_the_Walls_at_Night_by_Claudia_Serea.html" style="color: #954f72;" target="_blank"><em><span color="windowtext" style="text-decoration: none;">Writing on the Walls at Night</span></em></a> (Unsolicited Press, 2022). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;">Serea is a founding editor of <a href="https://nationaltranslationmonth.org" target="_blank"><span style="color: #954f72;">National Translation Month</span>,</a> and she co-edited and co-translated The Vanishing Point That Whistles, an Anthology of Contemporary Romanian Poetry. (Talisman House Publishing, 2011). She also translated from Romanian Adina Dabija’s <a href="https://northshorepressalaska.com/Dabija.html " target="_blank"><em style="color: #954f72;"><span color="windowtext" style="text-decoration: none;">Beautybeast</span></em> </a> (Northshore Press, 2012) and Iulia Militaru’s <em>The Seizure of the Beast. </em>A Post-research (Guernica Editions, 2023). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;">Claudia Serea serves on the editorial board of The Red Wheelbarrow Poets and is one of the curators of the Red Wheelbarrow Poetry Readings in Rutherford, New Jersey.<span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;">The SHATTERED PROJECT multi-sensory exhibition was featured at La MaMa Umbria International in Italy in June 2022, at the National Museum of Romanian Literature in Bucharest, part of the International Poetry Festival in September 2022, at the Metropolitan State University in Denver, Colorado, part of the Ukraine-Freedom Showcase in December 2022, at the National Theater from Craiova, Romania, in early February 2023; at the <a href="https://ukrainianinstitute.org" target="_blank">Ukrainian Institute </a>Open House ; and at the <a href="https://www.rciusa.info" target="_blank">Romanian Cultural Institute </a>. We are also planning to publish an anthology including all the writing and visuals created so far.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><o:p> <o:p></o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;">Many of us have reacted as soon as news of the war broke out, offering material support and donations to help the refugees and different organizations who are on the ground in Romania and Ukraine. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;"><o:p> <o:p></o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; margin: 0in;">The SHATTERED PROJECT offers another kind of support—support for the soul: a direct connection with our brothers and sisters in Ukraine. Because we are far away from the war, but we feel very close. Personally, I feel like the war could have happened in Moldova or in Romania, as it did in the past. So we offer this symbolic gesture of solidarity, a metaphorical holding of our hands together channeling strength and hope. We hope that the SHATTERED PROJECT will inspire you, reaffirming the power of culture to connect us across borders and to ensure the survival of our shared humanity. <br /><br /><strong>18 poets participating in the project:</strong> Ana Blandiana, Angela Baciu, Cristina A. Bejan, Magda Carneci, Adina Dabija, Catalina Florescu, Ioana Ieronim, Nora Iuga, Olena Jennings, Ruth Margraff, Mihaela Moscaliuc, Dzvinia Orlowsky, Ksenia Rychtycka, Claudia Serea, Adela Sinclair, Sylvie Simmons, Vera Sirota, Gabriela Toma.<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><strong><o:p></o:p></strong></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><strong>Composer, pianist: </strong>Michael Roth<br /><strong>Video director:</strong> Stefan Cajal<o:p></o:p></p>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-66889001411050240092019-01-11T20:06:00.000-05:002019-01-11T20:09:28.680-05:00Keep the doors open<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="color: #454545;">My grandmother, Ann D'Addario:</span><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545;"> </span><span style="color: #454545;">A woman who trail blazed her way through a time when it was almost unheard of to have a job let alone a career. She was a buyer for a children's clothing store. Clothing children in style was her passion. A woman whose education did not go beyond high school taught us that education is one of your best assets and to strive to go as far as your mind will take you. </span><br />
<span style="color: #454545;">Mine took me to law school and she proudly attended my graduation. She was a woman of uncompromising values and strong opinions. She inspired me to always speak my mind and not to compromise my values or integrity. A world traveler into her 80s, she still had time to make me chicken soup when I was sick. </span><br />
<span style="color: #454545;">As with most Italian grandmothers, she taught me to always keep the door to my home and heart opened. </span><br />
<span style="color: #454545;">As I look back on her life, I am amazed at the strength and courage she had to live her life her way as I inspire to do the same. </span><span style="color: #454545;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545;">by </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545;">Joanne D’Aurizio </span></div>
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Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-8565001804758598972018-12-09T11:51:00.003-05:002018-12-09T11:53:48.012-05:00Justin and Mama Ie "Cook with Me!"<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Hello everyone </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">A few months ago I was lucky to be invited by Justin to the publishing party for his book "Cook With Me!" It was a lovely event and the variety of dishes prepared by Justin was delicious and looked magnificent. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14px;">My name is Justin Cassablanca, I am 13 years old, and the author of “Cook with Me!”, a book inspired by my Great-Grandmother, “Mama Ie”. In August 2018, she turned 92. For as long as I can remember, every year she has taught me a new recipe. One of the first recipes was a 100-year-old apple pie she knew from her mother. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Mama Ie made with me this summer an old recipe; a Romanian classic, “plum dumplings” for which she let me climb her plum trees to harvest the plums. Her gift for the end of my summer vacation this year was a recipe book handwritten by her with some recipes from the turn of the century. Inspired by her legacy to cook, I collected traditional recipes </span><span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">and put them together in my cookbook “Cook With Me!” which was published in August of 2018 in Timisoara, Romania.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">A page of Mama Ie recipe book<br />
photo by Justin Cassablanca</td></tr>
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<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">Romanian Sponge Cake</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">7 eggs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">2 cups flour<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">1 cup sugar<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">½ cup oil<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">1 small yogurt<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">14g baking powder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">Pinch of salt<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">Lemon and orange zest<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 12.84000015258789px;">1 teaspoon vanilla extract<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Separate the egg whites from the yolks and put them in separate bowls. Beat the whites until become fluffy, then add the sugar slowly until you reach stiff peaks. In the yolks put the yogurt, oil, vanilla, and zest and mix together. Mix the baking powder, flour, and salt I another bowl. Over the yolk mixture add in 3 parts 1/3 of the flour, and 1/3 of the meringue folding well after each addition. Preheat oven to 360°F and place the batter into a rectangular baking pan lined with parchment paper, and over the top place pitted and halved sour cherries or regular cherries. Place in the oven and let bake for 25-30 min until golden brown and when you poke with a toothpick it comes out clean. Let cool and enjoy.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px; text-align: center;">Mama Ie and Justin photo by Ian Cassablanca</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Together making Cozonac, a traditional Christmas sweet bread Photo by Ian Cassablanca</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Raspberry mousse cake made by Justin photo by Marie Christine Katz</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: x-small; text-align: center;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: x-small; text-align: center;">Here below are some pages of Justin's book and a forward by Andrei Codrescu</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "althea"; font-weight: 700;">I wish I had known so marvelous a passion when I was as young as Justin. This book is many things: it is, first of all, a collection of culinary delights, many of which I had the pleasure of tasting. I can attest to their terrific gustatory success. Secondly, Justin’s recipes are a family history told through the richness of the regional dishes of his Romanian heritage. Last but not least, the evident joy in creating his food is reflected in Justin’s stories and images of a traditional world whose flavors will survive through him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "althea"; font-weight: 700;">Andrei Codrescu, author, NPR commentator</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Please contact me if you wish to acquire Justin's </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">book, it could be a lovely holiday season's gift,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Bon Appetite, Enjoy, Poftã Bunã </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Do you have a grandmother's story? I would love to include it in this ongoing project.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Happy Holliday Season Marie Christine </span></span></div>
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Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-10581659523621320592018-11-30T07:49:00.001-05:002018-11-30T07:49:46.822-05:00#AnitaThinkPositive<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;">Anita, the mother of my husband and a wonderful grandmother to my children, Taliana and Joris, has</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px;"> been enriching our lives and that of others for over 90 years.</span><br />
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During our trip in LA, Anita shared some of her philosophy for life. "Think Positive" is her motto. #AnitaThinkPositive<br />
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Here is Anita<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Geoffrey Katz</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photos by Marie Christine Katz unless otherwised noted</span>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-48819184926924409292016-05-17T12:44:00.001-04:002018-12-04T11:39:54.766-05:00Gathering stories on 57 StreetIt was a pleasure to be involved in Elana Langer's project <a href="https://www.chashama.org/event/the_self_exploratorium" target="_blank">"Lab test at the Self Explanatorium"</a><br />
The cumulation of the week-long presentation leads to a participatory dance performance with <a href="https://movementresearch.org/people/emily-faulkner" target="_blank">Emily Faulkner</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dNAVgI6vv9U/VztH8LZGBWI/AAAAAAAABnQ/Q4OsFMY-NSMzgQhuIPc3Mi2DIIEMCVfUgCK4B/s1600/IMG_0537.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dNAVgI6vv9U/VztH8LZGBWI/AAAAAAAABnQ/Q4OsFMY-NSMzgQhuIPc3Mi2DIIEMCVfUgCK4B/s320/IMG_0537.JPG" width="320" /></a>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-62173448974017182122014-06-02T16:08:00.000-04:002014-06-03T10:08:19.900-04:00 My Writing Process' Blog Tour<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/anne.flournoy" target="_blank">Anne Flournoy</a>, the wonderful writer, director & producer of <a href="http://thelouiselog.com/" target="_blank">The Louise Log</a> web series invited me to be part of an on going blog tour. The idea being that each selected blogger introduce in turn three new bloggers as well as respond to four specific questions. I am very sorry to say that I can not fulfill the most important aspect of this project, that is to present to you three new bloggers. </span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">When asked by Anne I was immediately thinking of several people. A wondrous Bee Keeper, </span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">a world renowned author and couple therapist, a photographer that maintains a delectable last wish food blog and an artist who seems to want to box everything in; I am sure your are intrigued by now and yet, I can not reveal their names as they are so busy traveling the world, getting ready for a talk show, gathering honey and looking for new object to be boxed in, to participate. I then reached out to my friends to gather some blog recommendations and in the process discovered some interesting new writers yet I have received no response to my query so as it is now the day of my deadline all I can do is answer the following questions. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">What am I working on?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At this
point I am further developing a performance based project titled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"What’s my Worth?"</i></span><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> an ongoing project that began as a reaction to the 2008 economic
downturn. I keep track of my spending and savings in a journal, bringing into
view the relationship of financial gain and identity, especially as an artist
and a mother. This lead to a performance that addresses <span style="color: #1f497d; mso-themecolor: text2;">the questions:</span> What is the value of our
work? What are the costs of the choices that we must make? Which projects are viable
and what it is all worth to us? What effect do our choices have on our
environment? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I am also developing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“</i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #424242; font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Matière Première”</span></i><span style="color: #424242; font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">a series of
sculptures created from remains of my work as a mother, including being a
gardener and a laundress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">How does my work differ from others of its genre?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My blogs are an integral component of the remains of participatory
performances and art projects that I have been conducting for the last few
years. Either blog would be included as part of exhibitions featuring either
project; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“My Favorite Grandmother”</i> or
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Let’s Take a Walk”.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Why do I write what I do?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In the case of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“My
Favorite Grandmother,”</i> I blog so as to convey all the stories that people
have shared with me about their Favorite Grandmother. In “Let’s take a walk” I
give a compte rendu of each of the 34 Twitter guided walk performances I
conducted since 2009; both are text and images based. Aside from my blog, I
write texts and monologues for my performances. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">How does your writing process work?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My installation and performances includes text as well
as a variety of media <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">although I often work on several projects and
spend large amounts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">of time developing ideas and in the creation of
installations and sculptures. My writing has a very spontaneous element to it.
Often ideas are formed through movements or during walks in the neighborhood; I
jot down thoughts and sometimes send my self e-mails with a word or a sentence
that is then included in stories in progress. I also use “note to self”, a
recording app that allows me to “jot down” sound, tunes and sentences that are
flittingly <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>going though my mind. My work
has a strong element of public participation, story telling, sharing and
appropriation; texts are formed from those exchanges. A fair amount of rewrites take place during rehearsals and as most of my performances are presented
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<div style="font-family: Helvetica; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Marie Christine</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">
<a href="http://www.mariechristine.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Marie Christine Katz</span></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">
<a href="http://letstakeawalkmc.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Let's Take a Walk</span></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;">
<a href="http://www.myfavoritegrandmother.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">My Favorite Grandmother</span></a></div>
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<br /></div>
Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-90567046813677342692012-06-12T12:55:00.002-04:002012-06-12T13:03:17.106-04:00Marie by Marie Christine<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;">My Grandmother Marie’s Stories</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">My favorite grandmother, Marie, was bedridden due to rheumatism. I often would climb up the stairs to the third floor apartment, we lived on the second floor of our house, and on the ground floor there was a café run by my parents. The house was a typical Swiss wooden cottage. Every steps marked by a cricking sound. Every hours marked by the sound of the clock. Lying beside Grand Maman Marie I would keep her company and be regaled by her stories. The two that I clearly remember are:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.2px;"><i>A woman and a man, they loved each other’s, they had no children. The man spent more and more time at the café drinking with his friends. The woman asked him that every time he came home late due to his drinking habit, he would have to give her a tenth of what he had spend that night at the café. Several years later they found themselves in a dire financial crisis, the woman pulled out a box from inside her closet, opened it to reveal all the monies that her husband after each outing had given her throughout the years.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.2px;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/StybXXxTAII/AAAAAAAAABA/wf4YTTq01BQ/s1600-h/I%27ll+draw+a+Line+L+19small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/StybXXxTAII/AAAAAAAAABA/wf4YTTq01BQ/s200/I%27ll+draw+a+Line+L+19small.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a><span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><i>During the war her young women friends and herself could not find, let alone afford to buy, the stocking that were so fashionable at the time. So they simply drew a line on the back of their legs.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>And she always talked about the beautiful English Ladies who came to hike/vacation in our village smelling of soaps and perfume.</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-style: normal;">I'll Draw a Line, a performance/installation project was inspired by the above stories.To see images <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">go to <a href="http://www.mariechristine.com/ill-draw-a-line/" target="_blank">I'll Draw a Line </a></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></i></span></span></span></span></div>
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</div>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-67137911660416811772012-06-12T12:52:00.001-04:002012-06-12T12:54:28.738-04:00Knitting... I need you at Figment Art Festival<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Thank you so much for the wonderful stories and your participation in my project Knitting...I need you<br />
that took place as part of the <a href="http://figmentproject.org/thank-you-so-much-for-coming-out-to-figment-nyc/" target="_blank">Figment Art Event on Governors Island.</a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">I offered visitors some basic knitting lessons… Together we knitted and exchanged stories. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At various moments throughout the days I performed shorts monologues, stories by themselves yet part of a complete tale...within each of the monologues I inserted elements of stories told to me by previous participants while unraveling the knitted elements, winding them up the trees in a pattern such as climbing vines of morning glory does, twirling around the branches, hanging down, in a web like structure.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunday morning on the Ferry to Governors Island</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-17GaXeywfA0/T9dnq-36oAI/AAAAAAAAAV8/DAS8685StKQ/s1600/Knitting+Figment+2012+9Alisa+J+Lui.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-17GaXeywfA0/T9dnq-36oAI/AAAAAAAAAV8/DAS8685StKQ/s320/Knitting+Figment+2012+9Alisa+J+Lui.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Alisa J Liu</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3yKL710NAFw/T9dnFvYybxI/AAAAAAAAAVs/l05L5iX5zk4/s1600/Knitting+Figment+mc+3+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3yKL710NAFw/T9dnFvYybxI/AAAAAAAAAVs/l05L5iX5zk4/s320/Knitting+Figment+mc+3+small.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends knitting together</td></tr>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rP1q1GhYlks/T9dn-IpQk7I/AAAAAAAAAWY/to4KjJLbmPo/s1600/Knitting+Figment+2012+13Alisa+J+Lui+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rP1q1GhYlks/T9dn-IpQk7I/AAAAAAAAAWY/to4KjJLbmPo/s320/Knitting+Figment+2012+13Alisa+J+Lui+small.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-16706558191170567502012-05-14T15:46:00.002-04:002012-05-14T18:17:31.591-04:00Valentina by Simone<div align="right" style="margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 12px; margin-right: 8px; margin-top: 8px;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;">This week end I had the chance to see the work of <a href="http://www.simonemartinetto.com/" target="_blank">Simone Marinetto</a> in his studio at <a href="http://www.iscp-nyc.org/" target="_blank">ISCP</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;">Here is one of his project, the story of Valentina, his grandmother. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;"> What would we be without our past?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">How would our thoughts develop without any link to the previous ones?</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial; font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial; font-size: medium;"> WITHOUT MEMORY </span><br />
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<span lang="IT"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-size: x-small;">by Simone Martinetto </span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="IT"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;">This is the story of Valentina, of her memory problems and of the thousand paper sheets scattered in her house.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="IT" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;">Valentina lost her memory. The reason is unclear even to doctors: they believe it to be linked to her frequent taking of tranquillizers and to a nervous breakdown treated with electroshock.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="IT" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;">Valentina's daughter loves her and refuses the fact that her mother does not remember events and persons for more than two minutes; most of all, Valentina's daughter cannot accept there are days when Valentina does not recognize her and mistakes her for her own mother.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="IT" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;">Valentina goes out alone only to take a walk or to go to the parish church. She has a note with her name and address on it stapled in the pocket of her jackets.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial;">Valentina is my grandmother and, although she does not remember my name, I love to hug her. Sometimes I take my guitar and play and she walks after me whistling and singing, following her great musical instinct.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: Monaco;">Simone Martinetto was </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Monaco;">born 1980, Turin, Italy his</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Monaco;"> practice consists of photography and installations. His work is an
investigation on the</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Monaco;">importance of memory, freedom, coincidences and dreams. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Monaco;">Martinetto has created a new form of narrative, using an original photographic</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Monaco; font-size: xx-small;">language to tell small stories with symbolic meanings.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Monaco;">Using photography as a
tool to examine the minds of others.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Monaco; font-size: xx-small;">He began to practice photography when his grandfather, shortly
before his death, passed on to him the camera he bought on the occasion of his
birth. Martinetto works as an artist, cinematic still photographer and
teacher. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Monaco; font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.simonemartinetto.com/">www.simonemartinetto.com</a></span></div>
</div>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-28499032686682984242011-11-07T22:33:00.017-05:002011-11-10T18:32:50.440-05:00She is keeping the 99% warmYesterday two of my on going project, <a href="http://letstakeawalkmc.blogspot.com/">Let's take a walk</a> & My favorite Grandmother converged into one.<br />At the end of Let's take a walk #24, a friend who happen to be very familiar with Zuccotti Park, led me to <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FFQansNIo3Q/Trip0re9GeI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-7HBDtglYu0/s1600/Knitting%2BGrandmother%2Bsmall.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FFQansNIo3Q/Trip0re9GeI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-7HBDtglYu0/s320/Knitting%2BGrandmother%2Bsmall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672470453163989474" /></a> <div>the <a href="http://helloknittymi.blogspot.com/">knitting grandmother</a>, Everyday for the last 39 days Marsha has been knitting for Occupy Wall Street. With the weather turning colder the people living in the park will be very happy to wear her knitted gloves, hats and leg warmers.</div> Marsha's grandmother taught her to knit, now she is teaching her craft to her 16 year old granddaughter as well as to the people in the OWS. Inspiring. Donation of yarn welcome. You know where to find her.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pyb34UaHtZE/TrlEdXMZGSI/AAAAAAAAAQI/DsK1Pvpa5vY/s1600/MFGM%2BLTAW24small.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pyb34UaHtZE/TrlEdXMZGSI/AAAAAAAAAQI/DsK1Pvpa5vY/s320/MFGM%2BLTAW24small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672640476882737442" /></a>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-75024266448512248702011-09-17T20:26:00.018-04:002011-09-18T07:34:03.737-04:00Camp Omi The children's storiesDuring my residency at <a href="http://www.artomi.org/artists.php">Art Omi</a> I had the opportunity to meet and work for a day with the children of <a href="http://educationomi.blogspot.com/2011/02/camp-omi-2011-register-now.html">Camp Omi</a><br />I told the children one of the many stories of my grand mother, then I invited the children to draw and write a story about or from their grand mother. Some were very eager to share and perform the tale they had written and so an impromptu show and tell took place. Some children chose to give me their drawings as a thank you gift.<br /><br /><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7_kslWZdJ1Y/TnVFkNeCGqI/AAAAAAAAAOk/FEB_pSPu5So/s400/DSC_0089%2Bsmall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653501395626760866" /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uR_ezB1kohk/TnVFQEqvTrI/AAAAAAAAAOc/FL8NYNOSK7U/s1600/DSC_0104%2Bsmall.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uR_ezB1kohk/TnVFQEqvTrI/AAAAAAAAAOc/FL8NYNOSK7U/s400/DSC_0104%2Bsmall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653501049666752178" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJdASVUha3g/TnXW46TKBqI/AAAAAAAAAPM/rf_-jBSns6M/s1600/DSC_0112%2Bsmall.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJdASVUha3g/TnXW46TKBqI/AAAAAAAAAPM/rf_-jBSns6M/s320/DSC_0112%2Bsmall.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653661180444149410" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=7459648849688216303&postID=7502426644851224870&from=pencil"></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I142Lv3VjFg/TnVGNx6LbXI/AAAAAAAAAO0/bUK9P4ItB-A/s1600/DSC_0092%2Bsmall.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I142Lv3VjFg/TnVGNx6LbXI/AAAAAAAAAO0/bUK9P4ItB-A/s400/DSC_0092%2Bsmall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653502109783125362" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9oCfZLRhjwM/TnVGEqRUjRI/AAAAAAAAAOs/mGDx5mTd-tw/s1600/DSC_0100%2Bsmall.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9oCfZLRhjwM/TnVGEqRUjRI/AAAAAAAAAOs/mGDx5mTd-tw/s400/DSC_0100%2Bsmall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653501953113885970" /></a><br />Some children worked on their stories...<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LE9-P2si_Yg/TnVH0u0DsaI/AAAAAAAAAO8/3BogL66lpoY/s1600/DSC_0108%2Bsmall.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LE9-P2si_Yg/TnVH0u0DsaI/AAAAAAAAAO8/3BogL66lpoY/s400/DSC_0108%2Bsmall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653503878478672290" /></a><br />.... others took a break<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VdcByAl3_CQ/TnVJCkNMglI/AAAAAAAAAPE/N06AhAq5Rag/s1600/DSC_0111%2Bsmall.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VdcByAl3_CQ/TnVJCkNMglI/AAAAAAAAAPE/N06AhAq5Rag/s400/DSC_0111%2Bsmall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653505215661113938" /></a>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-66377745127640641192010-12-22T13:53:00.001-05:002010-12-22T13:53:46.299-05:00Lola's images by JuneHere are some pictures with my grandmother, one in terno <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/TQp5tTKh2KI/AAAAAAAAAK4/6GlirTb53wc/s1600/mfgm%2BJune%2BLola%2Bformal%2Bdress.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/TQp5tTKh2KI/AAAAAAAAAK4/6GlirTb53wc/s200/mfgm%2BJune%2BLola%2Bformal%2Bdress.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551383309833066658"></a><br /> the second she's in casual wear, good for the tropics, sitting next to her father, who is center front. He scared me! very strict lines, I had to take his hand and put it to my forehead whenever greeting him, oh my god that white hair and cane, never a smile .. anyway, she's fourth from right, front row, and my grandfather is far right, in front - you can see all his Chinese heritage, he's a Limjoco. The Lejano had more of the Spanish in them. (my great-grandfather, by the way, was addressed by the honorific, "Lolo To`od", accent on the first syllable).<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/TQp6V4WcDuI/AAAAAAAAALA/mqjUxby03t8/s1600/mfgm%2BJuneLeanoclan.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 130px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/TQp6V4WcDuI/AAAAAAAAALA/mqjUxby03t8/s200/mfgm%2BJuneLeanoclan.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551384007009898210"></a><br />The third is a portrait pic of my mom's family, again Lola in terno ~ and my mom's standing by my grandfather, second from right, sitting in back row.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/TQp-Q1oZnwI/AAAAAAAAALY/vPVJ3v7A7JI/s1600/mfgm%2BJune%2BSan%2BJuan.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/TQp-Q1oZnwI/AAAAAAAAALY/vPVJ3v7A7JI/s200/mfgm%2BJune%2BSan%2BJuan.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551388318427094786"></a><br />Lastly, a photo taken on the grounds of their compound where we spent our early years (as is the second photo) - Jean's on my dad's lap, left front, I'm by my grandfather who I think is trying to amuse me, he's got his hand over my face. Some of the extended family we grew up with, my grandmother is in front by Lolo, again in that type of informal dress that kept the women cool.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/TQp7WM5MkAI/AAAAAAAAALQ/rEb8z2rB_1w/s1600/mfgm%2BJuneLejanoClan2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 136px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GB1PZGSwmnQ/TQp7WM5MkAI/AAAAAAAAALQ/rEb8z2rB_1w/s200/mfgm%2BJuneLejanoClan2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551385112036020226"></a>They were really grand, sort of an inlaid-mosaic tile .. my mom and dad are on the bottom far right, Jean and I are front center, my grandfather far left in front holding the first boy born after Jean (we had 4 brothers born after us, then a last girl born here in the US), Richard. Lolo To`od is of course approximately in the center, with Lola standing beside him, smiling broadly.Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-35175776395226345972010-12-22T13:44:00.003-05:002016-09-14T15:35:12.037-04:00Lola by JuneMy grandmother, whom we called Lola (her married name was Felisa Limjoco) was a regal presence who was somewhat remote but loving nontheless. She and her family had survived the Japanese Occupation of WWII in Manila, but she came out of it with her dignity intact. And it was a brutal, relentlessly dire occupation. How they all suffered. Often I'd see Lola far away (across the garden, or leaving the house going down our front, grand (outside) stairs to a waiting car, dressed in the traditional "terno" with the butterfly wings at the top of the arms, a style we'd inherited from the Spaniards, who'd occupied us previously. She was so smart, and so compassionate. If someone was crying or in trouble she intervened, but always with a minimum of fuss. Everyone counted on her, and she never forgot to send you Christmas or birthday cards. So you knew. When she died I was in the second grade, and had been picked up by the family chauffeur per usual and we were going down the wide, stately street in front of the Malacanang Palace when the driver quietly (and casually, although he must have been instructed to do so) informed me that Lola had died. The Pasig River was flowing to my left, flowing on, lily pads beautiful as always, but the sun tilted. I had no way to receive this information, so said nothing. The funeral was at my mother's hometown of Lian, a few hours away by the China Sea. You drove up a long highway lined with coconut trees on either side (I dream of this many times); get to Tagaytay - a mostly extinct volcano, where people live in the caldera below - and make a right. Winding down, you begin to pass cane fields, and within an hour you've arrived at a very small town with a cane refinery, ice plant (which my grandfather owned), bank, and of course Spanish cathedral. Lian is very close to the China Sea, where we swam much more than we did in the ocean around Manila. People walked to the cemetery and there were a lot of them, holding up umbrellas and kerchiefs over their mouths because it was so dusty. There was no road per se - just a small path through the cane, but us kids got to ride in a car through it anyway. No matter what I did, I couldn't breathe. The dust was so thick it seemed to be almost living, and I became somewhat afraid. That seemed to sum up, really, how I felt about the reality of my grandmother's death. It took everyone's real breath away, there was no more coolness, just an oppressive sense that we had lost the only thing that made sense after this chaotic, completely mindless conflict that had engulfed everyone and that somehow I had been born out of. How I miss her. I try to be as wise and kind as I imagine she'd be, but those are big shoes to fill, for I'm always still looking up to her. I'm convinced that when I die, she will be there to explain everything and gently lead me on. I told my mother that the year before she passed away and she didn't say much, but I know she heard me. Maybe she'll be there too.<br />
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June is on of the member of <a href="http://www.fannyrocks.com/">The Fanny</a> and the co founder of <a href="http://www.ima.org/pages/abouthistory.html">IMA</a>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-27330062294102432562010-12-22T13:33:00.003-05:002010-12-22T13:43:12.260-05:00A grandmother struggle with divorceA very interesting article on the not often talked about effect of divorce on the divorcees's parents by <a href="//www.huffingtonpost.com/marsha-temlock/a-grandmother-struggles-w_b_798520.html">Marsha Temlock on the Huffington Post</a>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-53662646268798326842010-11-23T10:05:00.004-05:002010-11-23T10:19:40.138-05:00For Graciella to feel betterThank you so much for passing on your Grand mothers suggestions on how to feel better. <br /><br />Ma grand-mère me disait de prendre du citron et du miel dans du thé bien chaud... <br />Chicken soup, tea with lemon and honey & love.<br />One Grandmother wisdom’ trick I know is to start your day hydrated. Give your body enough water...<br />For a cold, a steam shower or a turkish bath.<br />Stay in bed with your lover...<br />Watching a movie, something light and very funny.<br />A massage.<br />Gargling with sea salt.<br />Dress up well and go for a walk in the park.Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-78081174528839142962010-11-13T15:19:00.003-05:002010-11-13T15:33:07.025-05:00Grandmothers' get well recipes...Having the flu the whole week made me think of the remedies my two grandmothers concocted. Most often it involved either <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vinegar">vinegar</a> or<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schnapps"> shnapps</a>. Have you inherited any feel better recipes? would you<br />share them, so many of us need it right now...Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-53294878776269406362010-10-27T11:20:00.003-04:002010-10-27T11:27:38.777-04:00The US History & your AncestorsA fantastic look at the US history in connection to past generations and your family history.<br /><a href="http://www.wnyc.org/shows/bl/2010/oct/27/us-now/">Brian Lehrer interviews Kevin Baker</a>, the author of America The Story of USMarie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-35010500971721816542010-10-19T22:38:00.003-04:002010-10-19T22:54:04.936-04:00Gloria & AnnieAn extraordinary story of Gloria a woman whose journey through life took some unexpected turns.<br />As Annie she was the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/17/nyregion/17annie.html?pagewanted=all">Grandmother</a> of the Fulton Fish Market <br />A wonderful story published in the New York Times by Dan BarryMarie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-52809955953578097452010-10-08T22:34:00.008-04:002010-10-08T23:15:05.850-04:00Despicable child and a grandmother who...This is connecting the dotes between My Favorite Grandmother and My Favorite Child.<br />cannabis has turned my darling son into a <a href="Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1248874/Dear-Diary--cannabis-turned-darling-son-despicable-thief-steals-granny-Mother-tells-harmless-drug-tore-family-apart.html#ixzz11pLCe7wi">despicable thief</a> who steals from his granny: Mother tells how 'harmless' drug tore family apart<br /><br />Ayaan Hirsi Ali took her ''Dutch mother'' -- the woman who taught her the language and cared for her after she arrived in the Netherlands as a refugee in 1992 -- to lunch at the Dudok brasserie, near the Parliament in The Hague. As always, Hirsi Ali's armed security detail was there. They have been her companions since she started receiving death threats in September 2002. Hirsi Ali, who was born in Somalia and has been a member of the Dutch Parliament since January 2003<br />Hirsi Ali's mother -- the second of the two wives Hirsi Magan had at the time -- was illiterate but wielded domestic clout. Women had certain narrowly defined areas of power. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2005/04/03/magazine/03ALI.html">It was Hirsi Ali's grandmother</a> who managed, following regional custom, to have Hirsi Ali and her sister ritually ''circumcised'' at age 5, against the wishes (and without the knowledge) of Hirsi Magan. From age 6, Hirsi Ali and her siblings shared their father's political exile, in Saudi Arabia and Ethiopia and then, for 10 years, in Kenya. In the course of her travels, Hirsi Ali learned five languages: Somali, Arabic, Amharic, Swahili and English, which she speaks in a lilting accent picked up from the Indian teachers who taught her at the Muslim Girls' Secondary School on Park Road in Nairobi.Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648849688216303.post-35330214184594922512010-10-06T21:23:00.005-04:002010-10-06T21:46:55.802-04:00Grand Ma knows best...<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 13px; font-family:georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif;font-size:12.96px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.467em; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size:1.5em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">From Joe Bastianich' grandmother</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.467em; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size:1.5em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"></span>We have three hives. My son, Miles, had severe allergies, and my grandmother said if you eat local honey, it will make you immune to local allergies. It kind of works.</p><p size="1.5em" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.467em; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px; "><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/26/magazine/26fob-domains-t.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/26/magazine/26fob-domains-t.html</span></a></span></p></span><p></p>Marie Christine Katzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10251992588219495917noreply@blogger.com0