Extrêmes

“Take time to be thankful for everything that you have, you can always have more but also have less”

I got to travel India.

New Delhi, Jaipur & Agra (planes, trains & automobiles)

Bucket list: Check

Excitement & fear for not having the stomach or the strength.

I wanted to see the Taj Mahal, soak up the culture and eat lots of Indian food.

I flew with my brothers to New Delhi 2 weeks ago.

Photographer’s paradise;

Faces & fascination

Beauty & the beast

The crowds & the forgotten

Poverty & palaces

Dirt & diamonds

Cardboard boxes & castles

Food & none

India is everything & not.

Loud & lovely

Oppressive & kind

True & unethical

India is overwhelming, India is extreme. India is a sensory overload of unfamiliar smells, strange sights & constant noise.

India is pure & indescribable; beauty & darkness on one plate.

India is chaos on all fronts,  yet people seem to have accepted their fate.

Extreme wealth or extreme poverty

Survival.

Day in day out

No choice

It has been 2 weeks now but I still go to sleep with images of children playing in piles of trash because they had no where else to go, I still see animals everywhere eating that same trash because there was no green grass in sight.

I still wake up to children begging for something to eat & watching people bath and do their laundry in the polluted water running through their cities.

I travelled India; 9 days of extreme beauty & intense pain, a cultural rollercoaster from the beginning until the end.

I fell in love with something I can’t describe.

In order to understand, you have to feel, live & see India through your own eyes.

Mine cried every day.

Le mystérieux

“To me, photography is an art of observation.Its about finding something interesting in an ordinary place…I’ve found it has little to do with the things you see and everything with the way you see them”

Elliott Erwitt.

Lately my photography has changed, still no colours but more enigma.

I think it has to do with seeing my kids grow up & the world they live in.

Out in the open for everyone to see.

Naked

Everything is captured, posted & shared a hundred times over, often careless without a realistic message but just for the sake of unanimity.

Addictive & fatiguing, the whole shebang.

It is because of the virtual madness I have started to specifically bring back the mystery into my work, challenging myself to express my art & my creativity by trying to reveal as little as possible.

Rebellious

Protected

Mysterious

Leaving the imagination of the observer’s eye to unravel the secrecy.

Playing,

Sherlock Holmes.

Question will always remain: what makes a picture Art?

It is so objective but I truly believe it is about understanding the artist, or understanding what the artist is trying to say.

Complex,

Because even when you fully understand the imaginary depths of your own picture there might be more in that picture than possibly you even understand…

Time to get your magnifying glasses out.

” You know my methods Watson” *

I am working hard on realizing 2 future exhibitions in Florence & New York City.

Never stop dreaming.

 

 

• (From the memoirs of Sherlock Holmes 1893)

la poésie de la danse

The dance is a poem of which each movement is a word.

Mata Hari.

 

 

Dancing intoxicates.

It has that righteousness to genuinely change your mood.

Uncertainties disappear & the stress of daily life fades away through the sound of music.

Emotional expression.

 

No need to think, no need to pursue.

Just move.

Music dominates & the dance obeys.

The human body in motion.

Poetic.

Dancing simply makes you happy. I think it is the most liberating form of art connecting you to others.

Social bonding, companionship.

Peace of mind.

Unlike myself, Italians are great dancers.

From a young age music & dance is part of their upbringing; they are passionate & flamboyant which evolves even more when they hit the dance floor.

No boundaries.

It doesn’t matter where or on what occasion, whether it’s at a romantic candle lit wedding or in someone’s neon lit kitchen, Italians bust a move.

Where there is music there is dance.

In my early days in Italy their joie de vivre repeatedly called for entertaining yet embarrassing highlights on Italian dance floors, not being able to keep step with their ludicrous line dances & sleek, often dashing, Mediterranean rhythm.

Dancing queen of the eighties.

Elaine Benes to the Italians.

 

It doesn’t matter.

In a world where hatred, aggression & preposterous crimes against humanity are taking over we should all dance.

Let the music play on.

I took these pictures of Margarita at her graduating party. She danced like there was no tomorrow.

Her moves tell words & her words tell a story.

Hair by BH Salon & Mash Up Haircare

 

 

 

In the nick of time

“The trouble with the fast lane is that all the movement is horizontal.

And I like to go vertical sometimes”

Tom Robbins.

I know, it has been a long time & time is exactly the reason why.

Somehow I’m running out of it rather quickly these days.

It feels as if the days get shorter & the hours flash by in seconds other than its 60 minutes

I don’t walk, I run, I don’t drive but speed & to see someone it’s all about planning & getting the agenda’s out.

How does next month sound?

Always some place to be, a plane to catch or projects to help out with.

Caught up in a web where time runs faster than me.

Out of breath & lost in translation.

I’ve been meaning to share some of my pictures I took this summer in NY and considering I came back from the big apple 6 weeks ago I ought it time.

Laughable.

Anyway they are photos shot on the streets of Brooklyn where people walk, talk & act fast.

Just like everyone-else.

I had to run with them in order to catch a decent photo.

Fast-forward.

Random.

Life in the fast lane.

Blur.

Like John Jensen used to say; “ The trouble with life in the fast lane is that you get to the end in a awful hurry.

He is right.

It’s Monday morning 10am, I’m late.

Got to run.

I might get there in the nick of time.

\

The suitcase syndrome

Like most artists, I live out of a suitcase.

Cee Lo Green.

I know… it has been a while but sometimes a project and intensive travelling unexpectedly take over which makes writing, with a jungle head like that of mine, contrary to reason.

But hey nothing is impossible right? So in between my organised chaos I decided to enlighten you & take you on a whirlwind “week in the life of” in photos.

Schools closed in June so I flew my kids to Holland a few days later for the 1^st leg of their summer holiday.

A tradition ever since they were born. 6 weeks of Dutch culture and trust me they could both fool you into being Dutch.

So after a hectic week of meeting up with my family & friends, travel lunacy broke loose the minute I set foot on Italian soil, as it does every summer in “Casa Colucci”.

With the kids away I get to travel alongside my hairdresser husband just like we used to in the old days, however Fabio’s travelling agenda’s have drastically changed for the worst which makes keeping up, even for a pro like me, a tough act to follow.

With Colucci you fly from one reality into another within very short periods of time, different cities, different people, different clients & different occasions day & night, which gets me to my main dilemma when I travel; PACKING!

You’d think that after all these years I’d know how to pack accordingly but trust me when I crown myself the “worst packer” ever.

I must tell you though that none of our travels are of normal standard. Most trips are last minute, or organised by others via conference calls.

We have a designated “case” room in our house in Florence that has labeled suitcases, labeled! Not kidding. So imagine this: a room full of trolleys & suitcases in all sorts and sizes & a variety of weekend & “one-day only” bags, easily totalling that of a Beyonce entourage for the 4 of us.

Next to the cases is a box with labels that have all destinations & the length of our stay written on it. Most of Europe is in that box, as well as Asia & the US. Let me remind you that most cases already have the necessary clothing in it as most of the time we know whom we meet in which city & on what occasion. (I do like to stress that we are dealing with the fashion industry here! )

So pretty straightforward right?

However, I still manage to mismatch labels… meaning we might end up with Milano packed bags in Rome or an Asia packed suitcase destined for New York City. Besides that there is the female side to my being that makes me overthink how to dress for each traveling occasion.

My mum always told me to be prepared for all weather types & unexpected situations, which is what I try to focus on when I get ready for a next trip.

But I am seriously still the odd one out most of the time, ending up with the wrong gear in many occasions. I’m truly hoping that my fellow women can relate to the packing syndrome or am I seriously on my own here?

Fabio gave up on my skills a long time ago maybe it is time I do too…

The photo gallery I’m including is a combination of a few trips within a 2-week timeframe, business & pleasure new people & old, excluding the in between meetings & the numerous dinners that followed.

Hopefully after seeing the pictures you get an idea where the packing stress derives from… 😉

Have a wonderful summer everyone!

I’ll be back in September.

Ps… I am writing to you live from my hotel room on the Amalfi Coast, that’s exactly 518km from Florence & a 5 hour drive peeps! Who said traveling was a peach?!

50 shades of sunglasses

“With my sunglasses on I’m Jack Nicholson, without them I am 60 & fat”

J.Nicholson

You can recognize Italians by the way they dress, the way they drink their coffee(s), the way they cruise a vespa & the way they persuasively gesticulate.

You can recognize them by their passion for life, love for food, their undeniable flair for style & the way they zealously work their sunglasses.

Nonchalance.

No age limit.

In a country like Italy, where the sun shines a good part of the year those stylish masks and opportune insecurity gadgets are an irreplaceable sun protection gizmo.

A lifestyle.

Nevertheless to most of you, the Italo-spec combo falls under the category stereotypes.

Hmmm. Italians are vain, yes, they never take off their shades, agree but they are also passionately conscious about their well-being. They are saviors & thus protect, including their deep, dark, playful eyes.

Spectacled.

Always.

I am not Italian yet guilty of spending too much cash on shades every season.

I do protect, I do fashion, I hide & use the device cleverly when necessary.

They are my number one disguise after a late night & age unmistakably caught up on me the next morning.

Bring on the cheaters!

Soul mates.

When you “live Italy” you “live Italian”, so we all get a slice of the “bifocal pie”.

It does take skills people! But the less you try the easier it’ll be to feel as splendid & charismatic as the Italians are.

Fonzy would love it here…

No wonder Ron Howard feels at home in this country, it’s “Happy Days” all over again.

I photographed people I do not know just out & about on the streets of Florence. Mobile phoned it, you know, the bloggers way…

I didn’t have much time to take pictures, with the summer holidays coming up, final school exams, a traveling hairdresser husband, my overdue projects & a daily fully booked salon but I guess you get the message…

Holly(wood)Fever

“You must live the city to find Dante, the Divine Comedy is literally written across town”

Eugenio Giani.

I said it many times, living in Florence is like living in a painting, every step is another stroke with a paintbrush and every breath you take is a step closer to its rich history.

With the summer slowly kicking in, the streets are one lively feast and the bright rays of sunlight make for wondrous scenery over the river Arno.

Tourists have always been part of the City and from all over the world people come to thoroughly inhale Florence’s undeniable beauty.

The streets are always crowded & the lines to lay eyes on David, endless. However this time around there’s a different atmosphere.

The tourists have changed: they are a different genre, you can tell by the way they walk, talk, search & hunt.

Their cameras are bigger & their shorts less short.

People obsessed with fame.

It is obvious they are not after Michelangelo or Davide.

They are here to catch a glimpse of Ron Howard & Tom Hanks, no kidding.

The circus has come to town.

Howard is filming Dante’s masterpiece “La Divina Commedia” which Dante wrote when he was exiled from Florence after finding himself on the wrong side in one of the city’s complex clashing vendetta’s.

The moment the date of filming was confirmed flights to Florence sold out & hotels overbooked.

Main reason for traveling: let’s follow Tom Hanks & his entourage.

So here they are.

Fans.

In thousands, jaunting the streets of Florence, hoping to eye their big screen hoagie or producing hero.

Waiting for hours in the heat on the Ponte Vecchio & in Piazza Singoria, hoping to be picked as an extra in the movie, oblivious to the beauty surrounding them.

It’s almost a divine comedy but if that’s what gets your juices flowing who am I to judge?

Quite fascinating though how the making of a movie influences daily life in a small City like Florence, with traffic jams both on the streets & roads being the major pickle but what did I expect? Tom is getting ready for his next oscar winning scenes…

Nonetheless, having the masters of movie making on Italian soil does give a feeling of pride and a hint of Hollywood on your doorstep.

It puts Florence back on every “Must see” bucket list & gives a new voice to the world.

And while Ron Howard travels through Dante’s Hell, Purgatory Paradise & heaven on the historic streets of Florence, I wonder what Dante would think of all the uproar if he could see the mobocracy himself.

He would probably wonder how many people really knew him & how many had ever heard of his epic poem, which has been recognized as one of the greatest works of world literature. And while he looked up to his beloved bridge, he’d bow, close his eyes, pick up his quill and start writing for another 12 years.

Inferno 2.

The sequel.

L’adolescence

“The best substitute for experience is being 16”

Raymond Duncan.

I have often written about Charlie.

She is easy, loves the camera & the attention.

But today I got inspired by Alessio, when he walked out of the door, ready to go to school leaving me with a;

“You know what mum, sometimes you do get me”

16.

The first 5 years of his life, he was the “liveliest of the lively” and master of destruction from 3 to 6.

I could not go to a restaurant without Alessio jostling the place.

As he turned seven, so turned he.

The hyper- active days ended and my wild boy became a darling loving son.

Great years of exploring followed; he fell in love with the art of drawing & showed real talent.

At 10 he wrote & drew his first comic strip book that I safely keep in my “DO NOT TOUCH” box.

A happy youngster.

All he wanted was to draw & honestly, I was convinced it was his future laid out on a silver platter.

Then “puberty” came knocking on my door.

The pencils were thrown out, the drawing stopped & the music got louder.

Conversations became an optional, my studio, ( read “haven”) his new home & weekend trips an “I’d rather stay in Florence”.

Everything I thought to be right converted to wrong & all things improper passed for right.

The ” You just don’t understand me” “Leave me alone” “I am not interested” & the “That is ridiculous” rose to an all-time high.

Alessio’s world became his & his only.

No visitors allowed.

During that bumpy ride his voice became that of a man, his attitude fuzzy & from one day to another he grew to a record- breaking 1,90cm.

For supremacy my own height was always a plus but those heels clearly couldn’t secure me any longer.

I never felt so drained & helpless.

But at 16, dear parents of the future, things do get better…

Your teenagers will slowly but steadily come back to planet earth after skillfully breaking out of their hormonal shell & ending that oppressive road trip they’ve been on for so many years.

The conversations rejoinder, your opinion becomes valuable again,  the grades go up, the weekend trips more appealing, the music a little less loud & interactive family dinners pick up where they left off not so long ago.

Reborn.

Best friend.

And while Alessio is marching into adulthood I’m laying the groundwork for Charlie next year…

No worries, everything’s peachy…

OOH LA LA!

“You’ll have to fall in love at least once in your life, or Paris has failed to rub off on you.

E.A Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly.

You never have to ask me twice.

Paris inspires and that’s exactly what I needed.

Inspiration.

Even though we had to work, sharing ideas takes another groove when it’s with a view of the Eiffel tower, a bottle of red & the bistro buzz on the terraces you can only find in la ville lumiere.

There is something intoxicating about Paris and her medieval streets, her grand boulevards & majestic trees. Her alluring galleries, angelic theaters and the statuesque buildings that breathe history upon you.

The city of light where the stylish Parisienne’s & the elegant Frenchmen make for a perfect cosmopolitan atmosphere that implies you are living the Truffaut days all over again.

But besides all its beauty my eyes still wander towards the unusual.

I planned on photographing the city when she was still trying to wake up but the weather got in the way, so instead I clicked through my odd eyes in search of a creative spark.

At the end of my days in Paris I quickly showed my pictures to a friend, she comically replied:

“Were we on the same trip?”

If you love Paris she will love you back.

Spiritual effort.

She knows she has my heart.

L’innocence d’un enfant

“Don’t you wish you could take a single childhood memory, blow it up into a bubble and live inside forever?”

Sarah Addison Allen, Lost Lake.

As I was sipping a glass of champagne in my best friend’s garden, I caught a glimpse of my past.

A lone bottle of bubbles instantly took me back to my childhood in Holland & Austria.

I remember anxiously waiting for my grandmother to finish up washing the dishes in her & my all-time favourite house in Haarlem, so she could fill my container with “Dreft”.

She would always squirt an extra drop of that soapy magic knowing this was the key to seal the BIGGEST bubble imaginable.

After an afternoon outside it was home baked, dark brown bread with chocolate sprinkles & a glass of milk.

I still have my grandma’s antique sprinkle pot, milk cups & jug that once belonged to her mother…

It makes the fact that my kids continue to use my childhood memories even more special.

My brother Patrick

In the corner of the garden was also a chair, one of those rainbow coloured, plastic chairs.

My six year old self instantly remembered sitting and drawing in a same type of chair in Austria, in the middle of our heavenly garden, leading to the lake.

I would spend hours observing the world, always wearing my knee-high white socks.

Butterflies would fly past, birds would sing and I would continue to draw until nature turned off its lights.

I loved our holiday home in the countryside; just us; mum & dad, my 2 brothers & the lake, in touch with nature.

We would  fish, go boating & dive endlessly off the wooden deck into the cold water of the lake.

I always wished for it to never end.

Ossiacher See, our private entrance from the garden to the lake

My dear brothers & I in our garden in Austria, I still make faces like this 😉

Summer turned into fall and fall into winter.

Weather was never a hindrance for a Dutch child, often I’d put on my wellies after school to go for long walks at the beach, Bergen & Bloemendaal being my favourites.

All I had was a ball & my bright red jumping rope.

No matter how strong the winds or how low the temperatures “uitwaaien” was part of your childhood.

“Weer of geen weer” ( weather or no weather )

I can still recall the smell of cinnamon tea and feel how my face used to warm up into 2 enormous red cheeks.

Thinking back, we didn’t yearn for much; as long as we had “outside”

Hula-hoops and chalk to draw hopscotch was all we needed.

As I finished my glass of champagne, I wished for a second that these bubbles were made of soap, I could go home in Gemma’s dark blue wellies & paint myself to sleep.

Thank you for your friendship Inky & the lovely day we wrote this post.