While looking for Handel’s ‘Sarabande’ from the Suite in D minor for solo harpsichord at youtube I stumbled upon this ad:
Haven’t seen it in ages. Still, I do remember how exhilarating I found this video the first time I watched it back in 2002. Didn’t buy the jeans though. PS.While we are at it: the UK Lilt Odyssey spoof is not to be missed.
I have at least five unfinished posts pending but right at the moment I just can't find strength to think any thought to the end. It might have to do something with autumn suddenly planting its cold, nacked heel on my throat or the fact that my life doesn't allow much room for dancing. I missed out on the Tango Argentino Festival Wuppertal almost completely save for two milongas. I've been reading a lot though as it's one of those activities that aren't tied to time. And I'm getting this travel itch again. Sometimes I don't even know what triggered this tugging feeling in the pit of my stomach: a picture in the newspaper, a bout of wind - but there it is, tugging away. However this time it occured when I found one of the old snapshots showing me laughing with the head thrown back, the elegant nose of Flatiron building behind me. There were times in my life when every second day I would drive out to the airport and watch planes taking off. I looked at the timetable and imagined stepping out of the pot-bellied airbus in the city with the name I couldn't even pronounce properly, let alone find them on the map. Right now I'm not even sure I would want to explore something new. My skin thinned down to the point of disintegrating and even if I wanted adventure, I could take in just as much. But I would love to go somewhere sunny.
I love Emiliana Torrini. For those of you who have never heard of her - read on. She is a beautiful, gifted woman who possesses the extraordinary ability to nail things down with just few simple words. Some time ago I met up with one of my non-tango friends. These occasions being ever so rare, I did my best to avoid even mentioning tango, but then he asked. I admit I can get pretty emotional at times and I might have gotten carried away a bit. But after a while he made me stop dead in my tracks by just saying in an amused way, "Come on,you are not serious, are you? Take it easy. It's just a hobby". There it was, as fluffy as clichés generally go. How often in our lives do we hear those magical three words? Take this easy and take that easy. You know what? I wish I could, but on the second thought – I'm afraid, I don't want to. Neither tango, nor anything else in my life.
This picture was taken last year in Parma, Italy, where I spent some time working. As you might have noticed, I'm not much of a photographer. So I mostly rely on keepsakes made of memories and chunks of my imagination, boiled down to words. They let swirl themselves at will like pieces of stained glass in a good, old kaleidoscope. Trying to capture the visual side of life often leaves me frustrated. It obviously takes a better artist to be able to strip the covers off the things, leaving them bare, but not naked. However, there were two dogs, waiting for their owners outside of a small bakery. The woolly one seemed very quiet, almost serene, while the other one (evidently a "she") was leaping around desperately trying to catch attention of her pal. She undertook every possible effort to draw his attention to her: barked, whimpered in the tiniest voice, and stuck her moist black nose into his fur. Her eagerness wouldn't let him (it was definitely a "he") soften towards her whatsoever. His slightly averted face showed no signs of acknowledgment, let alone joy. I watched them, spellbound by a display of such human feelings. Briskly whisked away by an impatient, very hungry friend into the restaurant on the opposite side of the street, I still managed to take out the camera and make a couple of shots. Everything and everyone was caught moving and my heavy, old-fashioned "Canon" gasped disapprovingly before coughing up the flash. The shot isn’t much in terms of quality , but I like the direct, white-hot swiftness of desperation in the outline of her body and the cautious remoteness in the shape of his. Good news for every woman on this planet - she was able to restore her dignity after all (that I happened to witness as we settled for a meal outside – so I could watch on the drama unfolding in front of my eyes). How? Nothing easier than that: The very moment she gave up and looked another way his head perked up: having lost her curiosity for him, she became a subject of his interest. Did it ever happen to you? Did you sit the whole damn night in the milonga without ever getting noticed, but the moment you unfastened your shoes, a bunch of guys swarmed by, looking at you incredulously: "You are not already going, are you? But why? And I was just about to ask … You know, it was pretty a busy night". Not for me, no. But then, you must have been pretty busy to notice that. Lately I've noticed a fine difference in a general attitude toward me at local milongas. I don't dance better, but considerably more and with better leaders. There is nothing new und improved about me, just same ole, same ole. . But I'm ready to let go and everyone here seems to feel it. So at once I climbed a step up the ladder of the tightly knit pecking order of the local tango community. Funnily enough,now…When I'm about to leave for good.