Why do I need leg when I have wings.
-wrote Frida Kahlo in her diary. She got polio as a child. Then she had serious bus accident. And after complications, she did have her right leg amputed below the knee. However, this didn’t stop her to living life to the fullest and becoming the greatest Mexican artist.
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You don’t have to keep up with everything, rush here and there… you can just be, look around until you see.
I get on tram no. 4 and go to Katajanokka Island. The oldest district of Helsinki, where the writer Tove Jansson grew up. When I get off I go up the street, but suddenly I decide to go one more stop. I notice another green vehicle, I run and a boy who is walking on the sidewalk, runs first to catch this tram for me.
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I walk through Galway, the blue-yellow Tigh Neahtain bar gleaming in a good mood. People getting inspired from here and now. My favorite Dominik Street winks in the Galway Bay Tatto window. I always knew that this Art Gallery was where I would get my tattoo. Because there is a charm exhibition by Nancy Klain, botanical artist & owner of this studio. And it fascinate me every time.
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It starts at the Gare Du Midi station, where I get off the spray-painted train and immediately run to buy a clasic waffle with sugar. Trains to Amsterdam, Paris, and London whistle in the background. But I only want to be in Brussels. This is where I came to meet my friend halfway.
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On the following Sunday in February, birds chirp over the city. Although I don’t see them at all because I walk a shortcut through the bus station. People spill out into Eyre Square. And I’m finally wearing a denim jacket, this one lined with fur.
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Turquoise crashes onto the rocks along the R336 road. The passing sun illuminates the moorland full of rocks that stretch out like in a movie. We stop in Carraroe at the purple Bia Blasta cafe that Liza once showed me. I’m trying to remember how to say “Hello” in Gaelic because in this region 80% of the inhabitants use this language every day.
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The first surgery in my life is behind me. And I woke up from sleep just in time for the Imbolc festival – spring returning, which Ireland is celebrating this weekend. I wrote here a few years ago that the Celtic Imbolc meets at the crossroads with Saint Bridget’s Day. Meanwhile, I put on a ginger hoodie, light candles next to the ceramic volcano Vesuvius, and turn on colorful lights. And my friend brings me a red primrose in a yellow pot.
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I had no idea my hair was already so platinum until I sat in front of a tribal woman who was rubbing red over her emerald eyes. Beautiful, she was looking into the distance at the people at the cafe tables.
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In our roof garden, large orange and red toadstools have grown, sprinkled with irregular balls that look like rolled-up papers. When November draws in the clouds and starts raining all day long, our toadstools are like living pieces of art, their colours shining through the darkest thoughts.
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–Long day – a guy talks to us in Dudley’s Bar, where we are waiting for a concert by Hania Rani, a Polish pianist and composer. I’m drinking a pint of Blue Ghosts in honor of her new album ‘Ghosts’.
– Oh yes, it’s a very long and exciting day, for us, we came from Galway, because just around the corner in Vicar Street will perform an amazing artist who can do anything in music – says Maciek.
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