I saw a lot of colour this year -- unlike the traditional south Indian kolam patterns, which are made from white rice flour. I like the plain ones better -- but what do I know?
Kolam for Pongal
It's the second day of the Pongal festival. In the morning I walked around my neighbourhood, photographing the rice flour kolam patterns which women (in this area, they are generally servants) make outside their gates. All of these feature the clay pot in which newly harvested rice is boiled until it overflows with abundance; and stalks of sugarcane.
I saw a lot of colour this year -- unlike the traditional south Indian kolam patterns, which are made from white rice flour. I like the plain ones better -- but what do I know?
I saw a lot of colour this year -- unlike the traditional south Indian kolam patterns, which are made from white rice flour. I like the plain ones better -- but what do I know?
New Years Day, 2013
I went out at 8:30 in the morning. The grounds of the hotel were completely empty and silent, as though everybody had danced themselves into a deep, fairy-tale sleep. I walked around taking photographs of sunbeams filtering through the tall trees.
I passed the little temple to Ganesha, who looks after beginnings. A hotel employee, the first person I had seen, was sitting on a bench, praying. As I passed he finished, stood up, and rang the temple bell three times. Suddenly I heard voices from all sides, as though he had signaled for the world to wake up.
I passed the little temple to Ganesha, who looks after beginnings. A hotel employee, the first person I had seen, was sitting on a bench, praying. As I passed he finished, stood up, and rang the temple bell three times. Suddenly I heard voices from all sides, as though he had signaled for the world to wake up.
Calcutta / Instagram
A few photos which I took in Calcutta / Kolkata in October:
The Taj Bengal hotel
breakfast (the most attractive part, at least)
dawn, over Calcutta's big sky
a morning walk behind the hotel (red rooftop in the distance), crossing a bridge over Tolley's Nullah
Bhowanipore War Cemetery
perhaps this does not mark a warrior's grave, but it touched me
A side street in Bhowanipore
a lively morning market in the narrow streets across from the War Cemetery. A butcher.
a temporary vegetable market
freshwater fish
a water tower, I suppose. what colours and shapes!
Durga puja. The demon victim and the lion vehicle are looking equally apprehensively at the goddess, who is not overly concerned about where her spear-point is going.
puja implements in a small pandal, waiting for the priest
The City of Contradictions
Going through old things I'd written, getting ready for a visit to Kolkata, I found this forgotten scrap:
The City of Contradictions
The girl walks on her knees.
Her feet end at the ankles:
she was caught in a contradiction.
People live inside the window
which is inches from your window.
From the corner of your eye
a wedding band
marching
away
from
you
The rickshaw-puller clangs his
dull bell, waiting to drag you
to the innermost chamber.
Jasmine at the burning ghat.
Friend, whose ashes are these?
Some instagram photos, taken in the last couple of months:
frangipani
a water lorry's hubcap
the door of a small, portable shrine
a rice flour kolam pattern
dinner at On the Rocks
the swimming pool at Radisson Temple Bay
wild mushrooms grow among tree roots after the rain
High Dive
I took a high dive from a pair of grass-green platform shoes once in Boston Garden, in the Spring. The weather was wonderful, sunny and warm. I wore a long dress in a floral print, which I had sewn myself. I felt as stylish and beaufitul as I ever could, which seemed like a LOT. An old man passed me and said, "You look like the spirit of Spring." And I did!
Just-like-that I toppled from my pedestals, thunderstruck, onto my knees on the pathway. A man approached with a look of sympathy and said, "Need any help?"
I smiled a gallant smile, gathered myself, and walked home barefooted, swinging my green shoes from one hand.
The Last Day of the Year
The last day of the year. In the morning I walked in the hotel gardens. The air was cool, still, damp from rain in the night, almost no one stirring. A brown rabbit left the brick pathway and moved into the base of a row of shrubbery. A bird flew up – black, with a blur of russet wings, reminding me of a sad-eyed, perhaps larger bird I had seen once years ago, in Goa.
Yesterday I tried to take pictures of an after-party scene: a row of covered chairs, arranged as if in spectral conversation, tawdry in sunlight, with a burnt candle and discarded flowers. In my mind I sang
So, quiet, endings, and a song, on the last day of the year.
Listen to The Party's Over.
Lyrics:
Yesterday I tried to take pictures of an after-party scene: a row of covered chairs, arranged as if in spectral conversation, tawdry in sunlight, with a burnt candle and discarded flowers. In my mind I sang
The party's over, the candles flicker and dim... (lyrics below, from here)But my camera saw only this:
So, quiet, endings, and a song, on the last day of the year.
Listen to The Party's Over.
Lyrics:
The party's over, it's time to call it a day
They've burst your pretty balloon
And taken the moon away
It's time to wind up the masquerade
Just make your mind up
The piper must be paid
The party's over, the candles flicker and dim
You danced and dreamed through the night
It seemed to be right just being with him
Now you must wake up, all dreams must end
Take off your makeup, the party's over
It's all over, my friend
The party's over, it's time to call it a day
They've burst your pretty balloon
And taken the moon away
Now you must wake up, all dreams must end
Take off your makeup, the party's over
It's all over, my friend
It's all over, my friend
The Inner Life of Things: Road Roller
Some inanimate objects seem full of character, to have a kind of machine-consciousness. I felt like that about this small road roller, which I photographed in Coonoor, in the hills of south India.
I altered the photograph with a Lomo tutorial, and copied the background from a Soviet propaganda poster.
fonts: Kremlin, tahoma
elements from designerdigital.com:
Katy Pertiet roughed up solids finest paper pack
Anna Aspnes finding my way fotoframe
I altered the photograph with a Lomo tutorial, and copied the background from a Soviet propaganda poster.
fonts: Kremlin, tahoma
elements from designerdigital.com:
Katy Pertiet roughed up solids finest paper pack
Anna Aspnes finding my way fotoframe
5 paise
I 'saw' the cover of this book in my mind's eye as I was walking up on the flat roof of our house one evening: 5-paise coins in a harlequin pattern. My late, thrifty mother-in-law left a bag of coins behind. The smallest denominations have all been demonetised now, as inflation has taken their value away. But I like their varied shapes.
Making a little book like this -- 4.5" x 6.5" -- doesn't take much time, but I like to think lazily about how it should be, and how to go about it; to anticipate.
I cut the covers from an old book, and folded the pages. I used various inkjet papers in white and neutral colours. There are six sections/signatures. I painted, collaged and numbered the first page of each one. The third signature has an Urdu number 3, just to give the person turning the pages a little surprise, and a photograph I took of Badshahi masjid in Lahore. The Urdu text is a recipe for egg-and-tomato pulau, because I didn't want to tear a page out of a book of poetry.
I measured and punched holes, put eyelets in the covers, washed the coins and glued them on. Then I kept everything ready in a small basket -- covers, paper, curved needle, waxed linen thread.
Sewing the book took about 15 minutes. And now... what? It waits.
Making a little book like this -- 4.5" x 6.5" -- doesn't take much time, but I like to think lazily about how it should be, and how to go about it; to anticipate.
I cut the covers from an old book, and folded the pages. I used various inkjet papers in white and neutral colours. There are six sections/signatures. I painted, collaged and numbered the first page of each one. The third signature has an Urdu number 3, just to give the person turning the pages a little surprise, and a photograph I took of Badshahi masjid in Lahore. The Urdu text is a recipe for egg-and-tomato pulau, because I didn't want to tear a page out of a book of poetry.
I measured and punched holes, put eyelets in the covers, washed the coins and glued them on. Then I kept everything ready in a small basket -- covers, paper, curved needle, waxed linen thread.
Sewing the book took about 15 minutes. And now... what? It waits.
Horsies
The inner life of things, scrapbooking division. These horses are pensive, but ready to do their duty.
oh, right, Mother's Day...
I made this picture of my mother from a photograph taken before her marriage, in 1948:
I used an old book page, with very soft paper. I had made the background before painting her face -- it's not that I made her orange and green and polka-dotted deliberately. I loved her, anyway.
I used an old book page, with very soft paper. I had made the background before painting her face -- it's not that I made her orange and green and polka-dotted deliberately. I loved her, anyway.
Stars and Stripes
I've inaugurated the watercolour book which I showed off in the post just before this one. I wanted to paint something without a plan, to watch the colours and learn from them, to get away from what I usually do. I began with a star and let it grow.
A Watercolour Book
Someone gave me a pretty wedding invitation; the paisley motif on the front inspired me to make a little watercolour book:
Coptic binding, with eyelets
The inner cover paper was cut from wrapping paper
The paper is Fabriano Artistico 140 lb. watercolour paper. The book is 6 1/2" x 9"
Coptic binding, with eyelets
The inner cover paper was cut from wrapping paper
The paper is Fabriano Artistico 140 lb. watercolour paper. The book is 6 1/2" x 9"
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