beach voyeur....

if only i could go back,instead i slave to computing, exporting, transcoding, downloading, burning, and unknown errors.

is this what i get for stalking strangers? i'll never do it again. i promise.

keep movin

Russian laser light coming through my window

observation # 589, Kronstadt town center

friends for my other babushka

asserting individualsim

A while back I asked a friend why we didn't customize the paint jobs on our cars. They felt like blank canvases, untapped potential expressions.

island images, no comment

post soviet military island life

I follow you because I like you.

Dear babushka lady,

I like the sound of your walk. I think you're beginning to notice me. I walk softly so my footsteps do not interrupt the beautiful sound of yours. I want to talk to you, but the language barrier is deep. I do not think you would entertain this notion for long. Tell me, it seems the people of Kronstadt do not want to play around in symbolic, foreign, non-verbal, flailing, gesture dances like I do, why is this elder babushka lady?

You leave me little choice but to stalk you and the others until I can communicate in another way. Don't worry I have a plan in the works. Don't be frightened. I am harmless. I am simply a curious traveler who wants to share in a dialogue or exchange of some sort. I suppose I am an artist too and with that comes wanting something from you - your image, your contribution, your essence. I don't want to take it away from you, just capture a layer, a response, a mentality and amplify this signal of yours. You are in control, I promise. It won't really be you, just a representation of you. It will have your energy but not your soul. I think you will like it and even enjoy our time spent together. It is something you can tell your friends and laugh about this strange interaction you had with this foreign girl down the road.

I will get back to you when I have a better way, don't you worry.

All the best,

your new friend Lindsay

sometimes it just takes a little warming up

In effort to communicate that I was a bumbling tourist who could not understand, i froze, held up my lonely planet in one hand and my camera in the other. The yelling babushka soon went back to sweeping.

In other news: head ice queen melted. we shared a tender moment over a frozen grape. amazing how a small exchange can change your entire lifeworld.

i had a plan but plans change

(photos represent the romantic first impressions, this romantiscism proves to fade in and out. I find myself disheartened and beat down by the people here and yet intrigued, perpetually seeking their softness)


I am safe and sound in Brillo padded arms of mother russia
Not sure where to begin
What to say
There is so much
I feel I know so little to comment
histories, relations, social customs, language barriers
I am at a loss for reportage
I will give you glimpses
small tailor made insights
I am totally overwhelmed and clueless in this vast culture
steeped in trauma, victory, bloodshed, movements, upheaval
(sounds like a lot of places as I reread)
the energy is thick and harsh and sassy
Ice queens abound
the women are svelte and sexy in a category unto themselves
"the russian woman"
fierce

there are tokens of culture from the soviet days
but the opening to capitalism oozes and seeps,
it is fastidious
it abounds and feels cheep
usurping the old
disregarding past for plastic present
everybody has a right to be able buy endlessly I suppose
and maybe this history is too dark to pay the homage without some cheap distraction.

ghosts seem to haunt my island
an old military island
the strongest fort in the world
for a period
opened to lay citizens in the early 90's
mostly sailors, sailor families and now newcomers
imagine the secret garden,
meets abandoned soviet military buildings,
general apocalypse
meets new life.
mosquitoes flourish
beer is liquid culture
pigeons flourish
people mosey
there is a sense of quiet
a lack of buoyancy
it is serious
it is thick
memory is present
feelings of past
anxieties of future
harsh realities
steadfast traditions
and bum-rushing newness encircle this place.

on my way

Report from Helsinki airport:

Server: Do you want strong or week beer?
Me: mmm strong
Server: Large or small?
Me: mmm large.


I started reading again.

I have periods of internal dissidence.
I reject intellectual endeavors
Not to punish myself
but i simply develop a strange aversion
a fear begins to manifest
from a dark unknown place
my rational self suggests, "shouldn't you read just a bit?"
and this rebellious self squirms and protests and runs
the rational self begins to worry of normalizing into a submissive consumptive complacency coma
and the rebellious self hold on strong, rejecting, denying, holding, gritting, biting to it's position.
then one day
things change
unexpected
no warning
i casually pick up a book
and realize i can and enjoy reading again.

So here is a quote that I double stared in this passage I was reading.
He's discussing the idea that an art work does not need to break people into a binary of active and passive viewers, that we can all be equal interpreters, to invent our own translations of any work.

"Spectatorship is not the passivity that has to be turned into activity. It is our normal situation. We learn and teach, we act and know as spectators who link what they see with what they have seen and told, done and dreamt. There is no privileged medium as there is no privileged starting point." Jacques Ranciere, "The Emancipated Spectator"

(Confession: I am halfway into the strong, large beer. I am not sure this quote or my introduction of it makes sense here but it's a good thought-think about it.)

I half wish I could grab one of you to experience this new endeavor with me.
Don't get me wrong I'm excited and content solotripping about
but I do think of (probably) each of you in various places wishing I could share it with you.

Enter RussiA....

to be wanted

the curtain awaits
i will pass through if permitted
internet outside
preshower
stealing signals in the wind
the excitement quickly dissipates
on to the next
rationalizations usually squander excitement
it could have been the other one
the one that gives you more things
still it is a fluffy pillow to take on my travels
feathers that help the girl step lightly
my favorite is, "you can always quit if you're not feeling it."
why has that sentiment always brought me comfort.
Peace of mind lies between the layers.
it does today as well
laundry
rain on computer
till the mother land feeds, my folks.
long walk in woods creates small clearing for mental view.
forecast: optimistic
wind carries away old
dreamt of thunderstorms washing away celebrity galas.
good omen on journey
realness awaits.

straight to the moon: banana creation

(not sure where this blog is going, sorry for those who prefer a bit of intellect in their morning cereal)

Depending on our relationship, you may know that i have a knack for creating gastro concoctions. It all started during my witch's brew phase circa 5-6 years old.

This my friends is better than cheese and beans and that's saying a lot considering the source.

Recipe: Slushy Banana Goodness

Ingredients:
Banana
Rice Milk


Peel Banana
Put in Freezer until solid
Take out of freezer, immediately cut into small slices (be careful and use sharp knife)
Put slices in a mug
Pour rice milk over
Mix with utensil until banana refreezes the milk

Result slushy Banana sorbet for breakfast, dessert or anytime. It's a party in a cup. I promise.

I haven't tried it, but I would think you could use any kind of milk, chocolate might be especially tasty.

judgement day

by my calculations today is the day.
it seems momentous but no, they continue
i in the many
one out of the group
patient i wait
continue with the calender
day to night
night to day
dusk to dusk
didn't anyone ever tell you, "pacing doesn't accomplish anything but increase the wear on the carpet."
day three on regimen without
enter cabbage soup

pins, needles & tofurkey jerky

isn't it strange that you can apply for something, not really want it, disregard it and then given the carrot decide that you'll be heartbroken without it.

i wait...

had a dream last night that I was diagnosed with a terminal disease. I was trying to convince everyone that it was okay, that I was ready to go. In my dream i had accepted the eminent demise, loss of self prospects.



















these photos are nearly notes on the journey. two events mashed into one through the skin.