how does it make you feel?

I was sitting in the Berlin underground, or the U-Bahn, with my new friend and co-worker, Jing, on our way to a cheap fabric outlet in Spandau. We had been lucky enough to get seats and a few people were standing. Sitting across the isle from me was a lady. I guessed she was in her 60’s, although her clothes; leggings, a purple bomber jacket and furry boots, might have looked more in place on a slightly younger person. She was a little plump round her hips with blond hair that she wore up and a weary. She wore no make up. Suddenly, a man, obviously not of German origin, started playing a violin in one of the isles, close to where we were sitting. He played beautifully and almost everyone started reaching into their pockets and purses before he had even finished a song. When he walked around with a little paper cup collecting contributions from us, most people smiled and some had even applauded. Although the lady opposite didn’t look like she didn’t have a lot of money she gave some to the violinist and thanked him dearly, taking his hands in hers. Her face had brightened up when she smiled and I noticed how pretty she actually was, and cold imagine how she had once been very beautiful. When the busker had finished collecting, she signalled to him, asking him to play more, which he did. At the next stop he got off and again a few people applauded. As the doors closed, blocking out the sound of the man tuning is violin on the platform, I looked around the carriage to find it full of smiling faces, a much warmer atmosphere than I am used to on public transport.

I had just looked away from one of these smiling faces when another young man came down the isle, stopped by where we sat and started addressing us. I was trying to explain that I didn’t understand, my German not being very good, when the lady opposite, still smiling and staring dreamily at a distant point, interrupted. A few more women sitting around us joined into what became a somewhat heated discussion, which I also didn’t understand very well. What Jing and I got from it was that the ladies were asking him why he wasn’t working and explaining to him that they had to work hard for their money and why should they give it to him. The man argued a little and then got off at the next stop. No one had given him anything and the atmosphere had suddenly shifted. There was an embarrassed air in the cabin and most of us went back to the normal procedure of avoiding eye contact.

not flirting, just friendly..

I have been told that I flirt. That I am a flirt. I’m not by any means trying to imply that I don´t. Anyone who knows me would laugh at me if I even tried, apparently I have been practicing this activity as long as any of my family members can remember as my grandmother is happy to tell anyone who is willing to listen.
In fact I like flirting and I will even go so far as to claim that without it life would be just a little bit less fun and am certain that many situations can be improved by a little flirting.

On the other hand, sometimes I don’t think I am flirting and then people still claim that I am. I am not sure what to make of this. I really don’t think I am so unaware of my behaviour that I do it constantly without even realising.
Come to think of it, what is the definition of flirting anyway?

flirt v
1. vi to behave in a playfully alluring way
2. vt to flick or jerk something

n
somebody who behaves in a playfully alluring way

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Aha. Playful. This must be the key-word. So. What if I am behaving playfully but not in an alluring, but in fact a friendly way? When does playfulness cross the line and become flirting? I could argue that just being playful always has a certain allure to it and is by that definition always flirting. Another possibility is that the presence of allure part can be determined by the 2^nd or even 3^rd party and is therefore always a matter of interpretation, even an imagined factor.

‘Allure is in the eye of the beholder’?

I think in fact that simply being playful and nice can often be mistaken for flirting because if you are nice to the people you meet they are generally more inclined to liking you, and are also more like the conclusion that you might like them in turn. Often they will be right in assuming so, although the nature of this liking might not be clear at this point. I can recall more than one occasion where I hoped and even assumed that someone was flirting with me when in fact, they were just interested and enthusiastic about whatever we might have been discussing.

Does this indicate that if some people’s mischievous eagerness, or even just honest friendliness is commonly mistaken for flirting that perhaps people in general are not friendly enough,. On the other hand some people might argue that I, or anyone else who is subject to frequent accusations of flirting, should reduce their friendly- and or playfulness to avoid these kinds of misunderstandings.

A third option, and probably the most realistic one, is to accept that flirting will always be subject to interpretations and therefore misunderstandings and if we can’t beat it, we might as well try and learn how to deal with it.

Venice, boredom and being in love.

When I wake up in Venice and open my eyes I look up at the most beautiful ceiling I have ever seen. It is so high, that one could easily fit another door above the one we have already. I am sleeping in the living room of a flat, a few hundred years old, beautifully decorated and right in the centre. It is owned by a Venetian family but is presently being rented by Ittai who is staying in Venice for a few months to read art history for his PhD dissertation and was kind enough to let Amelia and myself stay with him during our visit here.
Venice has been interesting. Nice. Slow. I spent the first days with Amelia looking at contemporary art at the biennale and strolling around the city. The loudness off my footsteps on the stoned pavements has never felt more appropriate. The city is like a maze, lots of tiny little allies often leading you to a dead end or a canal so you have to turn around again. Everything is old and everything is beautiful; the churches, canals, the boats and little bridges. There are no cars too, which is wonderful.

I must admit though that I have a slight problem with Venice, and that is the tourism. Even now, off-season, when there are actually not so many tourists the city is still a tourist city. If you are not into expensive designer clothes, souvenirs, ‘art’ galleries/shops, delicatessens, restaurants and being taken around on gondolas I find that you quickly run out of things to do and explore. If there was a little treasure, a little church, local café or curiosity shop, it has surely been discovered by droves of people before you and is catering for the masses already.
Of course it is contradictory and even hypocritical to complain about tourists when that is exactly what I am myself. But I think you know what I mean, the feeling that whatever I choose to do, someone else will have decided what it is that I am going to experience.
In a way it feels like I have been spending the last 3 days walking around a museum, and even if it is incredibly beautiful and interesting I’m quite ready to go and get on with my life.
Yesterday Ittai took me over to another smaller island of Venice called Giadecca. It was quite refreshing. It’s the old industrial area, now more residential it seems with newer buildings and few tourists. Still very charming and beautiful but in a different way, less romantic somehow and more alive.
But on the whole, and maybe a little ironically, the best thing about my stay here has been to see and spend time with Amelia and Ittai and to look at the biennale. It’s really great to see such a wide range of contemporary art from all around the world, some of which was really excellent. So interesting, thought invoking and wonderfully inspiring. Just what I wanted before I go to Berlin and finally start making my own stuff again. Perfect!

Today I have decided to stay at home for most of the day and work. Possibly I will make soup.

Oh, and one more thing.
I realised yesterday that exactly one year ago I was in Pula in Croatia with Gagi. Most people who know me will know the story, we had met 2 months prior to that when I was in Belgrade and not seen since. When we decided to meet again in I was a bit nervous. 5 days can be a long time if it is not a good time. Luckily it was.
5 days in Pula. 5 days in Venice.
I find it interesting to compare the two experiences.
Pula is also a small city with a lot of old beautiful buildings and although it is not as touristy as Venice, there is perhaps not an awful lot to do at this time of year other than to walk around, stop for a coffee or a bite to eat and go early to bed. And although I have actually been to see a lot more while I’ve been here and had a good time my with afore mentioned companions here, I also admit that I have had to make more of an effort not to get bored in-between.
I don’t remember ever being bored in Pula. Most of the time we just walked or lay around and looked and talked and if we had nothing to interesting say or to look at we could just cuddle and kiss or gaze into one another’s eyes which can be an endlessly exciting activity when you are as infatuated aswe were.
I’m by no means suggesting that being with a lover is the only way not to get bored but it is definitely a great antibody when there is not much else to do.
And isn’t boredom the worst thing, many people’s idea of hell even; the eternal waiting room.
Is this perhaps one of the main reasons why falling in love is such desirable thing, because of the simple fact that it is guaranteed to prevent boredom in any situation?

Happy New Year!

It was my first time celebrating Halloween, and thanks to StrangeWorks it was incredible! A procession of spirits marching the streets of London with lanterns, masks and giant puppets, chanting and singing to live music and the toll of the bell summoning out the dead. Afterwards soup was served and friends were united in a frenzy of dancing to wild gypsy music. (more pics from the parade can be viewed at the magick's website here)
I have found out, and you may know this, that the festival originates from the Irish festival Samahin, the end of summer, sometimes considered the Gaelic new-year. There was also a belief that this night the boundaries between the worlds of the dead and living were broken, allowing the deceased back to earth, and to ward against their evil it was tradition to light large communal bonfires. This is reminiscent of the Icelandic New Years Eve at the end of December when the ghostly elves of our country, almost equally feared as trolls, would move their dwellings and roam around the countryside. Then, like on the night of Irish new-year, it is an old, established tradition to light bonfires that burn into the new-year. I like to draw this parallel because in a discussion with a friend recently we concluded that Halloween, or All-Hallow-Even, is really the best and most appropriate time to celebrate new-year. This time of year always seems to be a much bigger turning point in my life, and society in general than the new-year we celebrate usually. I therefore have started a new year as of last Thursday.
And that day I had a slightly odd experience where I found myself walking alone through Hackney for half an hour dressed in a dirty and torn costume from the night before. A lone bride in a pale blue wedding dress with a flowing full-length skirt and a giant lace turban garnished with a big white flower. What was special about it though was that in a way it seemed to me to bring together the myths of the Icelandic and Irish new-years-eves, the traditionally blue-clad elven lady of the Icelandic fairy-tales, wearing what was slightly reminiscent of an Icelandic traditional costume, exept not so glamorous, more like homeless dead of Ireland, lost between worlds. In fact I felt almost invisible at times and if it hadn’t been for the stares and grins I met on my way I might even have believed that I was.
In the end it was a relief to get back to where I had started the evening and to change into my normal clothes, although I cannot deny that I also felt a slight sadness, or regret for leaving the magical space I seemed to have stumbled into for a little while.