This blog will be dedicated to the beautiful passions of life: Food, Film, Football (Barça), Philosophy, Literature, Art and Humanity.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Prelude to battle
I have not had time to paint any new pictures, busy preparing Christmas and working on my film, which is slowly slowly going somewhere even if that somewhere is nowhere near where I want it.
Some people might have heard of my grandmother.
The one who is in touch with pixies, elfs, but not hobgoblins.
The one we believe was Napoleon in her former life and the one that can be funny, but can be annoying.
The only person in Iceland who seems to like Davíð Oddsson, the head of the central bank. My dear Davíð, like she calls him.
A while ago she asked for a Liverpool picture, as she had read in the paper that a young boy who was dying of cancer was taken to see a Liverpool game by the Icelandic supporter club. It was one of his last dreams. She wanted to give the supporter club, that was later created in his memory a picture.
I am not sure if it is too "erotic" for them, or...
Next on for painting, are pictures from el clásico, I already have them in mind.
Violence and sexuality.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Final ecstasy
It had to be in the last minutes of the game. Samuel Eto´o who loves little more than scoring against his old club, the club invited him to Europe as a fifteen year old, the club who forgot to pick him up at the airport when he arrived in shorts on a snowy winter day.
Madrid were kind of in control of the game and I admit that I just knew that they would score in the final minutes. They were Madrid. It would have been so typical. Playing like a Logroñes or another team who aspires to little more glory than get a point against the big teams.
Barcelona were anxious, too anxious. It had all been about revenge and as we all know revenge is not a very constructive word or action. They tried and tried, but Madrid marked Barça´s main men very well, with legal and border line tackles.
Messi received three hars tackles on his ankles in the first minutes. And so it continued until in the final minutes when Eto´o scored from a corner. Yes a corner, Barcelona have scored from more corners in twelve games than previous two years.
In they dying minute Messi scored a beautiful goal that sent 98 000 spectators into an ecstatic frenzy.
I walked home through the snow with a sweet sense of victory.
Hopefully it is only the beginning.
I leave two extracts from Cadena Ser - a Madrid based radio station.
Paintings to follow.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Last time Barcelona met Real Madrid I watched it, we all knew what would happen, but I decided to watch it and be in front of the television on time. On time to see one of the greatest humiliations in recent times (external humiliation, some would say fictitious humiliation). I wanted to watch el pasillo, when Barcelona were forced to clap their and my eternal enemy on to the pitch. To congratulate them on the title. The title we were never in the race for. Not only that hurt, but what came after was equally painful. I can´t remember the result, I can´t remember the game. I just know it was painful. In order to never ever forget. Almost like the most awful human causes and actions I decided to paint el pasillo. I never wanted to forget, I wanted that moment to be stamped in, rubbed in. It is something I simply do not want ever to live through. Again. (at least not for some time). Some moments have to be worked through, go through their psychoanalytical cycle to become something else.
I am not sure what will happen next week, worst case scenario 6 points ahead, best case scenario 12 points ahead. Real Madrid arrive wounded, hurt. It only remains to be seen if they have the strength to rise above or if they will sink further.
Monday, December 01, 2008
News from a Frozen Island called Iceland
Here is a blog by someone in Iceland
Love the picture of the woman sitting outside the parlament with her dog.
Our parlament is so tiny. Ha ha ha.
I went in there the other day to pick up car keys from my mother´s friend who is not in the government, but in
So many people are attending. almost 10 000 a week ago, last saturday only about 4-5000, it was minus four. I was working.
Now people have invaded the central bank, demanding explanations.
We have accepted IMF´s loan. Apparently to strengthen the krona, to allow it to fall further.
Shame shame shame.
On mondays there are citizens meetings. There have been three. I have attended two. On the last one they demanded that the government show up.
They felt forced to after failing to attend previous two. Had to answer questions. it was packed out of the door and
broadcast live on television. I spoke to someone in the hospital, an old man. He thinks they should or we should have elections.
It was quite an experience to be there. To look in to people´s face. it was fairly civilized, but oh they are angry. Middle aged woman so disgusted by the situation.
yes in a way we could see it coming. But how complaisant human beings can be. Now it is looming them in the face and I guess people won´t forget, like with wars in a far away country, as they are reminded each month.
Jón Ásgeir, one of the big business man here, if not the biggest one is offering people to do their christmas shopping interest free for six months in his supermarket Hagkaup. Buy on credit. Has been the motto of this tiny island for so long.
On the other hand, I am having trouble with a hoblegoblin.
First he hid a mini dv tape, now he has hidden one woolie sock. Not sure what I can do to get in touch.
I had a shower, wore woolie socks before the shower. Not in the shower.
Then suddenly it was not there, only one of the pair. So strange. It is a thick thick sock.
So difficult to just disappear.
On my night shift last night I was hearing stories from a farm.
Weird ones. How things just moved. Only two woman living on the farm.
they are definetely being tricked by this hoble goble.
In the cow house there is a wooden stick, really heavy, suddenly with only one person in the cow house, it had travelled 6 metres.
One woman was riding on a horse, just before a crossroad she saw a man with four horses. White horses.
He looked old and was the old man from the next farm. When the woman arrived to the crossroad the man just disappeared. With the four horses. She later spoke to the son, who said strange - my father has not gone horseriding this year at all.
And last year another man told me of exactly the same story about my dad, seeing him with four white horses in the same place.
Hobgoblins are fun, but they can make you slightly squizoid.