Recently I made a brooch for a woman who loves airplanes. When I cut from felt the first plane in my life and sewed it with a purple thread on a black square, I remembered how much I like making and wearing brooches. Fall leaves, umbrellas, fat cats, birds, butterflies, vintage phones, doggies, and strawberries. Shapes took out from reality sprinkled with feelings and meetings.
Continue reading
I want to put light on the small things, like a cup of coffee on the table and the memory of somebody’s touch on this cup. These ordinary things are important because they are always with us, independently of the places we live in.
– so said Keyvan Sarreshteh – a multi-disciplinary artist based in Tehran. The author of the performances: Stage Direction, and Apart-ment. Those plays caught my attention the most during New Narratives – an online showcase of contemporary Iranian theatre organized by my friends Sepehr Sharifzadeh and Raha Rajabi from NH Theatre Agency. I have described this event in the June article. Now, I invite you for the first interview with an interesting artist I met.
Continue reading
At magical Kenneys Bookshop & Art Gallery, I had no idea I was walking over to a bookshelf with poetry. I realized it when I pulled a thin publication from the shelf with the interesting title The Elephant in the Corner. The poems it contained reminded me of the taste of every morning coffee I drunk on a graphite sofa or in completely unfamiliar chairs. Aoife Mannix – an Irish poet born in Sweden knows the smell of rented furniture and she does not afraid to present emotions that I am sometimes scared to admit, although they live with me.
Continue reading
Your heart knows the way. Run in that direction.
Rumi
We scroll the reality like a Facebook wall, but the excess of stimuli kills our sensitivity to ordinary things. Sometimes, we smooth our faces in Photoshop because we do not like visible fears and naive dreams. Meanwhile, theatre reveals the truth about being who we really are and what we long for at the bottom of our hearts.
Continue reading
A few years ago, I got an idea for a book about middle-aged women who consistently work with passion. In Ireland’s humid and changeable climate, I met many self-satisfied women, and they made me love my graying hair. I made interviews to find out how they keep fire in their hearts and shape into action. However, when I wrote seven chapters, I locked them in a file for four years. Not because I didn’t want to continue with this idea, but simply because I didn’t organize my time to work on the book.
Continue reading
Outside the window, I hear the sound of a hammer hitting the metal sheet. My cup of coffee is touching the saucer sonorously. A knife creaks on the glass board as I cut the bread, and the bottle of olive oil hits the worktop. Even though it is an ordinary Wednesday, I put on my blue flamenco shoes which I brought from Cadiz, and tap out my internal beat on the kitchen floor.
Continue reading
The blue outside seems Portuguese, although it will come Irish rain in an hour. The first sips of my coffee taste of the waves, and I feel the slight swaying like on a boat. Where to go today? I try to revive hope by painting my nails cherry red. Himalayan salt twists my hair as princess Merida has in Brave. I follow my voice.
Continue reading
I was not prepared to seek God. After all, I did not have contact with him at long tome. That is why I was completely surprised by the proposal to start searching God at home among the pots and the pans. However, I agreed.
Continue reading
Blue Monday was introduced to the calendar as the most depressing day of the year by UK psychologist from Cardiff. January is probably very gloomy and wet in the Welsh capital located on the Bristol Channel, major inlet extent to the North Atlantic. I can imagine it because we have in Ireland the same, even worst.
Continue reading
Recently, I have been translating the poems of my favorite poet Michelle O’Sullivan into Polish again. The first piece from the book The blue end of stars is preceded by an interesting quote from the Czech poet and scientist Miroslav Holub. In surprise I find the answer that I have been looking for so many years.
Continue reading