Caress me deep
As minds wander and drift apart from my soul
It is only then when I become One
Distribution of senses balance a force
Blending into the peaceful light
They are One
The soul of the night
Faded, they roam
Bashful tears beneath tightness of skin
Release me into the calmness of light
Dimness of life-giving fear
Why is it that I don’t have you near?
I’m going to show off a bit today by letting you all know how I managed to create my music and started my online shop. This isn’t new and so many people do it, but the novelty is that as soon as I think I’ve learned it all comes something else that I didn’t know I didn’t know! Some things work better for some than for others. I’ve chosen to upload my files on Sound Cloud and sell my albums on Nimbit. Lately though I’ve had a dilemma. Should I offer all my digital work for free? Especially since I’m just starting out? What are the pros and cons?
I’ve been learning how to use Adobe After Effects CC and admittedly I have been frustrated with myself for not picking it up as quickly as I’d like. After seeing the video tutorial and learning that a professional took 3 months to learn it, I was easier on myself. Every day I watch a tutorial or two on Adobe TV. I try not to panic and absorb something from the session. I won’t bore you too much with the details, but in just 3 weeks I managed to edit and create some effects on my video clip that accompanies my poem, Her Best Dance.
Creating Digital Poetry
Today I’ve been playing around a little with Photoshop because I want to create an animation for my next video. I’m not sure what that will be yet and will allow my inspiration to lead me. I received the book on Choreography that I’ve been waiting so long for Choreography, A Basic Approach Using Improvisation By Sandra Cerny Minton. Plus Dance Anatomy Jaqui Greene Hass. I’ll be doing up a proper review on these after I’ve finished reading them so look out for them on Squidoo if you’re interested. After reading the first section I realized that I’ve been doing a lot of it instinctively. I plan to use the book as a guide to my other creative work. For example, the book discusses time for incubation, which is when you allow your ideas to churn in your subconscious.
What I have been doing is looking for inspiration in my poems. What this book will help me do is consolidate this process and give me direction towards proficiency. Everyone has room for improvement and I’m far from perfect. This is what makes this process disheartening but at times refreshing to know that I have clear goals. Another aspect I’ve learned is to be realistic with my abilities but work towards improvement.
Tonight I hope to write up the ideas in my notes for poetry. It’s been a while since I’ve done that. In fact, I’ve learned not to panic or be hard on myself during these periods. I remind myself that it’s not writer’s block and in fact it’s healthy to have a tangent of interests and creative projects. They will all come together soon at one point. Today I’d like to share with you all my digital visual poster. I hope to do a proper write up on how I created it on Squidoo. This poster is made up of images that I found on the internet, so in showing you this I hope I don’t breach any copyright rules. If I do, I’ll take it down straight away. In any case, I plan to create a visual poster using my own mix of photos. So I look forward to sharing this with you soon too!
Lately I’ve been searching for people in the community who are interested in the kind of performances I want to do. I’ve written some emails to links I thought would be interested with no response. Are my ideas so far out that they are unreachable? Should I keep trying? Or just keep my work online and for my own enjoyment?
Thank you for reading.
Hope to hear from you in the comment box below. Likes are also appreciated.
What I do know about my grandmother is what my father always told me. “You have her voice, you have her eyes.” She had style. I saw a photo of her published in a book. She was posing for the camera in the most distinguished way with my grandfather next to her. I stared at the old photo hard, trying to see some of her personality that I could take away with me. I dearly wanted to know her and perhaps learn more about myself so I created her in my mind.My grandmother was just 15 when she met my grandfather, who was much older than her. It was illegal to marry that young in Greece so they went to Marce, France. So the story goes.As a baby she sang to me. It was over the time we visited Greece. I have the vision of her cradling me in her arms and it won’t leave my head. Tragically she died young. She had diabetes and for some reason did not care for it so it spread. The doctors needed to amputate her leg because it got infected and she died because of the loss of blood.If you ever visit the island of Kalymnos, you will find a statue of a woman holding a ‘laina’. She is the symbol of strength for the island. The woman worker who prepared the house. She gathered food, dealt with household chores and cooked for the family. How interesting that in such a male dominated culture a woman is the symbol of the island. She’s interesting to me because of her beauty, strength and grace. Likewise, my grandmother is highly spoken of and my grandfather who was great in his own way, seemed to be her shadow.
The Pull of A Spiritual Bond
Chasing My Roots
I look and act like my grandmother. She is the one I hold onto. She is my dream of who I want to be; graceful and kind with a thorn by my side, that allows me to breath among human kind. I remember her, I have a kind image of her. A young woman, the reflection of a mother of the past. Living a life of the now, holding onto that while everything else is destructive and in ruins. The tension love holds, the veins I hold in place and the heart I guard for dear life. Oh how it plays in my mind, that thought I left behind in the anonymous land I love.
Every time I visit Greece I’m immersed in emotions that haunt me in beautiful ways. I yearn for these feelings when I am far. Do we all feel a spiritual bond with a specific family member? Or is it just me? Are my genes so strong that they are pulling me in her direction or am I over-romanticizing the thought?
I ventured abroad 10 years ago to find my roots as I searched for clues to my identity. It’s a funny ole thing to do because one might think they they already know themselves. But I needed to search my past and it wasn’t because of untold stories. I was drawn by my past spirits. A home will always have this power of attraction. The problem was that I was pulled between Greece, the origins of my family and Australia, the place I was born and grew up in. The power of this pull eventually came from different directions as I made my home in different cities of Europe. And attracted me so deeply to Paris.
I have family living in France that I never met properly. I’ve seen them once when a few members visited my aunt in Kalymnos. It was the first time I heard Greek spoken with a French accent. It was delightful and I pondered about visiting them. But what would I say since they are now so distant? And besides, the bond I have is with my grandmother.
When I visit Greece again I will search for the photo of my grandparents and add it to my post.
By Bike To Australia & Back
Inspiration of Greece
A story of poems that illustrates a continuous beginning. Fresh and anew again and again. My poems are about absorbing the world around me with a pencil and paper in my hand. The way I see my life and the lives of others as I build my own outlook. There are poems for every mood in each chapter, sequenced like a story. A story of every day life, love, family and travel.
The Romance With My Art
Oh how I yearn to learn the language and live in France one day. Paris is the place for artists. It’s where one goes to create, to be appreciated, to discover and to be discovered. It was where I had my portrait done and where I returned again and again for various reasons in my life. When in doubt, I always turn to Paris.
The last time I was in Paris I danced! I wrote my impressions and formed them to created poetry. I love being with my arty friends because they don’t see me as weird. They yearn to have their senses challenged in the same way as I do. I talk to them about my ideas and I can see in their faces that I’ve triggered something. They speak with no words and I then know I’ve created a spiritual bond. Just like the one I have with my grandmother.
Poems That Touch The Soul
“Sometimes we need to step away from our immediate surroundings for all to become clear and find truth.” I started writing to introduce my poetry book. Included are color photos of our dance adventure in Paris. If they give the same impressions as my own, you will experience unexplained emotions that can never be replicated or told again.
I continued to write, “This is true for myself. It is how I came to write my poems as I realised my subconscious love and passion for dance. My varied life experiences at home and abroad led to self-discovery and a realisation of a life of dance that I have always led that relinquished my disappointment of lack of pursuit.”
I explain my nomadic life and it is this life I have led in the pursuit of finding my artist self, the spirit of my grandmother.
“Life is dance, and without dance there is no life, and love for these are inseparable. I’m a dancer and poet at heart. Two inseparable art forms, one soul. “Poems that touch the soul & don’t adhere to the pattern of life”, refers to a nomadic lifestyle that lends itself to reach the unexplored self. This is an art form, one of its kind because it can dance and has always danced. It unites strongly through poetic philosophy that delves into ethical boundaries, aesthetics, education and love. A concept that encompasses and revolutionises a soul. It becomes true in its purest sense as every word put to paper is felt by my heart and a final breath celebrates creation.”
This poem illustrates the journey of finding my artist self through my grandmother of whom I’ve never met. I can feel it. I do have her voice, I do have her eyes. And what more, I have her name ‘Maria’. Traditionally girls are named after their grandmother in Greece. I chose the name Malena which represents my artist self.The poem is published in my book, Sudden Clarity. Last night I created an audio for this poem just so I can share it with my readers.
Colors emerge with age
Rusty browns and creamy whites
Classic and timeless
Up to the present day
Poise and stance romanced
I searched for the thought in my head
Like an apparent fate
That raced to catch the bait
Only to return home instead
I went in search for you
I found you
And ironically returned without you
Hidden virtue of love and sacrifice
The torture runs again and again
The thought remains in my head
To let go of it
And free it
Is a symbol of love
Freedom of self,
A vision of self
Is a hidden virtue of love and sacrifice
And there she was
I saw her from afar
I looked back
And there she was
I saw her below
And I thought that was me
I saw her near
Enclosed in a city
In a coffin
I saw she was
It was a coffin for me
Like the flowers he gave
The frozen flowers,
Like the photo
Of the love
That buried her head
Two decades apart
She unlocked her heart
It was a place
He buried his head
People walked by
Without a care for a soul
A heart, a body
When it grew old
And youth, a past
A curse to bear
Use her, describe her
Malena was her name
Was her ultimate aim
Ich habe eine kofer in Paris,
Was her claim
I might be related to the Greek Australian journalist John Mangos!
Did you know that I might be related to John Mangos? Whether it’s fact or fallacy, I’ve been told this all my life. Before I changed my maiden name, people asked me ‘Are you related to John Mangos?’ all the time!
“John Mangos has had a thirty-six year career in journalism, the past thirty-three years in television. He is currently a news presenter for the Seven Network and is a regular guest on the Sunrise and Morning Show programs.” http://www.johnmangos.com/biography
I adore the piano. I’ve always wanted to learn but never had the chance. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. My role in life is to appreciate this beautiful piece and write poetry, dance and create in other ways. Enjoy this piece. Thank you piano fingers.
The Balkan Princess
I dreamed of floating in the air through the high ceilings of a wide open church over the seats and the empty rows. I flew and glided through the wide open door. The alter and I almost met and all of a sudden this image was gone.
As a girl I listened to church music every Sunday. I sat attentively at the seats right up the front where I could be seen. I was visible and the words could be clearly heard. The echoes were like the light of the angels of the highest God shining on me.
I memorized each word and the lyrics were inside me when I returned to the same place God lived. I didn’t understand the words. No mortal being translated them to me. I loved the sound of the voice. That was enough. I made up the words in my head without realizing what I did. I was creating my story. Does everyone have a story? Can they make it up for themselves? Or do they follow the path already built? What of sin? What of virtue? Who is the almighty judge of what I truly believe?
Travel allowed me to find different parts of me in the places and people I met. Making connections with different parts of my life and seeing the bigger picture gave me perspective.
I learned everything about the concept namely teaching based on a time and setting. My life aspirations led a deep urge to dedicate more time to my teaching. Though it was now diminishing because of a reason I couldn’t explain adequately in words.
Inspiration was my friend and all of a sudden I found myself lonely. I woke up one Sunday and admitted that I didn’t want to be a teacher and this enabled me to be myself.
“Let’s go to Belgrade!” Alexo said, one beautiful Sunday morning in Novi Sad.
I didn’t feel up to it because I was tired from partying the night before. I knew Alexo was also tired, even though I was excited to see a new city and a football game.
“We can always see Belgrade another time,” I gallantly said, giving Alexo a way to opt out.
But Alexo seemed to have made up his mind.
There is nothing more exciting than an entrance to Belgrade by car. The highway was spacious and the cars and trucks filled the streets with energy as they buzzed through. There were huge sign posts in the distance upon approach that gave the visitor a sense of welcoming eyes.
“Please note,” Prince Alexo stated with eager eyes as he slid the soft palm of his hand along the magnificent machine. His long piano fingers played along the café racer as he described each part like a seductive piece of music.
He placed an alternating finger on each part like they were the keys of a piano and the names were the notes.
“Rear sets …. Cool… They go nicely with the body work.” He paused as he looked at Princess I’s reflection through the mirror on the bike. He watched like a hawk with sharp eyes in case Princess me wasn’t listening.
He noticed me glancing at my nails.
“Beautifully painted a hot red,” he continued, trying to regain my attention as I glanced back at his reflection.
She noticed his eyes. They were a gorgeous blue-green that matched the colour of my nails perfectly.
“Bar end mirrors,” he continued to seductively narrate.
“Wheels and tyres, handle bars,” I continued as princess me boldly took over the narration.
I placed one hand on a handle bar and the other close to his body to show the paint on my long shiny aqua painted nails with a tint of silver that glowed.
“The lower fairing was removed to show improvements and additions to the motor. Note the bell-mouths on the carbs,” princess me continued as I lowered my hand to reach his buttocks.
“Got it,” I said with a sudden rush of excitement in my voice.
“Respect,” he said, ignoring my seemingly childish antics that he loved.
“Love the round headlight. It reminds me of the real Super cars,” I said.
“Yeh,” mocked the prince in his defense, “The ones with pop-up headlights.”
“Yeh,” I said in a serious tone to break our laugh with an intimate focused look.
“Let’s go. No need for helmets,” Alexo said with calm demur as we hopped on the bike. “Take this.”
“A black mask,” princess me breathed the words out trying to half-show my exasperation for the upcoming unknown.
No one could have fathomed what was to come from an innate desire to explore one small part of the Grand Balkan Kingdom. What would normally have taken an hour took a third of that time to arrive from the humble royal city of Novi Sad to the grand arena of Belgrade.
The moving vehicles were like fire dragons that ruled the wide open road. They were abundant and fast made of all shapes and sizes. They were coming from one open source but fired through like they were coming in all directions.
Upon passing prince Alexo and princess me saw bill boards with welcoming glorified images of what the city had to offer. It was here where the royal blood line could come to live and breathe again.
My beautiful long dark silky brown hair flew. My black leather mask was placed firmly over the curves of my eyes to reveal the rapidly moving sparks of my pupils. I wore a tight black leather jacket and pants to match. My prince wore the same. His deep fair lightly wavy hair bounced with the sound of the engine’s roar that echoed the sounds of the other engines surrounding us.
There was something special in the air as we drifted naturally from one place to another with Prince Alexo as my guide. He told me stories about this site and that site. The city was filled with history.
We finally reached the soccer arena in time for the game. It turned out that it was a significant match and a decider for which team would be champion of Serbia and have the right to play in the European Champion League. A few Partizan fans made it to the stands to get a taste of the atmosphere early in the day. The word was out that the Red Star fans whose stand was located on the opposing side of the Partizan stand on the other end of the stadium on the north decided not to show up in protest of the game being held at Easter Sunday morning.
“Each game is alternatively played at different home stadiums,” Alexo began to tell as he battled against the noise of the crowd. “The Partizan Stadium holds big tradition, being the first place that an Ex-Yugoslavian game was played. The Red Star Stadium is located 300 meters away from the Partizan Stadium.”
As Alexo spoke I took action shots of the spectators, capturing the moment. Red Star in red and white and Partizan in black and white posed for team photos preceding the game. Attention was highlighted at the empty stand in the background from the absent protest of the Red Star fans.
“Partizan fans are always on the south of the stadium and Red Star fans on the north,” Alexo said. “The fans are called Grave Diggers.”
The leader of the Grave Diggers led the rehearsed songs and chants that were drummed. They continued non-stop throughout the 90 minute duration of the game. The energy filled the stadium. It was the end of the game and firm crowd control stopped the enthusiastic fans from entering the field. Partizan won the game that night and the score was 1-0.
The first half was dominated by Red Star who didn’t capitalize on their chances of goal. Partizan lacked a runner and a supporting attacker. Though in the second half they seemed to push up their talented midfielders and boosted their defense.
Alexo and I walked along a path after the game with a view of the beautiful full night moon. Underneath it stood the biggest Orthodox Church of Europe. We marveled at its size and grace. It also had a story to tell and my boyfriend led me to the figure with an urging movement of my mouth and a ‘let’s go.’
We went inside and lit a candle for our loved ones. We circled around the church a little on the left side and sat down and decided to circle a little to the other side of the church as well. I felt entranced and in a spell as I followed my boyfriend to where we instinctively decided to sit.
As I think about how the day evolved I smile at the memory of the special moment. After the magic yes he placed the ring on my finger. We walked over to the fountain that was in the center of the area and asked someone to take a photo of us. It was our first photo as an engaged couple.
A Chapter in my novel, Do It Like A Dance
Preparing a dance routine takes time and needs to be fun. Creativity for me works best in the morning and I’m patient with myself during the day when I can’t quite figure out the exact move I want. If I have the time I work out every day and work out the dance in a short intense period of time. I find this works best than breaking it up over a longer period and losing the feeling and sequence of the dance. I need the mind frame for it and it’s often harder to switch off from work.Everyone’s different. When is the best time for you?
Every step of the process counts, so if you have worked out a move you don’t like, take a short break and try again. Dance freely to the music piece and see what comes. Stuck? Continue to the next piece and then link it back, making connections.
Avoid cliche moves done many times before. Please watch the funny video on how to Contemporary dance to understand what I mean.
Express feelings, change of mood and tempo with enough variety to explore and refresh the senses with a patterned storyline. Achieve a balance. Make it look easy smooth to the eye by practising a lot, over and over again. Perfect the fine details every time you do it. Make it look enjoyable, not a task. You need to enjoy it so others will too.
I recorded my progress as I reflected on the dance. I find writing cumbersome because I want to be on the move. I think by doing so I film myself and when I’m resting at night before bed I look over the progress of the day. I absorb the impressions as my mind takes a rest from these impressions and continues fresh the next day. No one else needs to see it. My best ideas have evolved in my PJs!
Like I mentioned before. I prefer to continue the choreography in one hit, leave it alone and if I’m not totally satisfied it’s best to move on and start a new fresh choreography with new music. Perform the choreography that feels right for you and it might take a few goes at trying before you find the right one.
There’s an emptiness of choreographing alone and this is relieved by the video and editor I use. Eventually, when I get better at it I get to know my choreography and I’m happy to perform it. As I got practice I could then do up a video of my performance.
Distinctively unique, breaks the boundaries of the conventional.
Bold, audacious, different, artistic, open and truthful.
Her Best Dance is a poem from my book Sudden Clarity. It delves into the subject of womanhood and self love. The woman enters the mirror and creates a piece of art. Symbolically this is the act of making one’s self up in the mornings or for a special occasion. Everyone loves dressing up. Although this is about my own perspective men could also relate to this experience. The poem searches for truth and touches emotions never felt before. It allows internal beauty to flourish and flaws to reveal themselves as the caresses of unconditional love invite more of these emotions. They become the reality of her world and she gains confidence with a body that speaks. A mirror is the reflection of this. It shatters, she picks up the pieces, nurtures and dances with them in the most powerful yet elegant way she knows how. I expressed the theme of a piece of art in the design of the video. I had an image in my head of how I wanted it to work and tried to emulate this using the knowledge and skills I had at hand. Next time I know I can do more. I adored this opportunity to be creative with the digital world.