Veronika's place

Times they are changing . . .

2012-01-22T09:11:00.000-08:00

. . .but changing back to a more normal time.
A time when quality, not quantity ruled and when cooking was part of family life, not a celebrity game on tv. It is the time of our grandmothers when the stove always was full of pots bubbling, when the oven always had a cake magically turning golden, when one remembers standing there in an amazement comforted by the smells of home. How ever did they do it?
You are about to find out...

In this blog you will find recipts of delicious traditional continental food, tips on what to have in your larder and how to, with minimum effort, create sumtous dishes. So come along, won't you ?

Kitchen table philosophy

2011-09-03T06:50:00.000-07:00

For me, autumn is always some sort of end of year. Summer is gone and the schools are about to start with a new year with renewed energy. And I, although not having had a vacation, again, this year, still feel energised and ready to go.

But this year is different, not in a bad way, but maybe in a more profound one. Maybe even a more “introvertly” profound way?

Lately I have been more and more finding my way in my new found life here in the countryside, here in England and even here as a mother. One day goes after the other, seemingly similar, an everyday sort of existence that quickly goes by without making you ask any questions. Until one day, one moment maybe when you against all odds a put in front of a choice and you ask yourself “what do I want” and the only answer is a silence (maybe with a small echo from your question! ). You simply do not have the answer, you do not know what to choose, because you are not there.

Earlier this year I went to Prague and went through a return to places, lives and emotions past and for a moment I thought that I had retouched with myself, that the silence have turned into a whisper, just amplify it a little and we are back in business. But of course things are not that simple. On the contrary, they get more complicated.

I really enjoy my life, that is the paradox I think, I really enjoy to be active, to do millions things at once to juggle all sorts of projects (I even learnt how to juggle once as a pet project, really) and I do not want to give anything up. I love my cooking, I love my sewing and all those housewify things that I do. I love my gardening, although I secretly long for a gardener to do it for me instead. I do not want to give these things up but they quarrel with what I have to do, and that is my creative life whether it is my writing, my films or my pics, I need to do them or I will go mad (I know I tried it !). Not to mention that I since soon 5 years back am a mother and that is definitely something that doesn’t link well with overly introvert examination and realisation and analysing “who am I, really !”

But if I don’t analyse like that how will I get the voice back that previously guided me so well, through my studies, through my life and my choices.

I think the clue to all this is to realise if the road I am on is the right one. There are so many to choose from, how can I know that the road I am on is for me, not knowing where it leads to. I think women some time ago had an easier task. There were only a limited amounts of roads to take so the choice was not as hard. And within these roads they could create their own little paths to realise themselves . . . . I am not suggesting to turn back the clock and to return all ladies to their ties by the stove. But is there maybe something that we have lost along the way to freedom?

I do not know, and probably I will not find out. But for now I will let this midlife crises do what it pleases, because the apple cake is burning in the oven, my son wants a story read and my husband complains that the house is in a mess! I wonder if this ever happened to Hitchcock ?

What is in a name . . . .

2011-04-25T01:28:00.000-07:00

I have pondered about this for a while now, how much does a name of any sort reflect on how we are perceived, whether it is a name itself , or of ones title or ones job, how true is it really.

This is the first time I live in a country that is in no way related to me. I have lived in Czech before, but my maiden family name is Czech so that was sort of well descriptive, didn’t give any surprises. In Sweden, I was born and grew up so I had the support of my friends to know that I fitted in. And also you could hear that I am Swedish as soon as I spoke.

But here, they hear that I am not English, obviously, then they read my Polish surname and immediately an image, remote from which I actually am, appears in their mind and it is not only an image they see, it is also a whole story surrounding that image.

In one way it is good, because when they do meet with me and I explain who I am really, then I will be remembered (the crypto Pole who is actually a Swede but not a real one since she is Czech). But it is, in a time of quick, fleeting contacts a very hard, almost, struggle to be perceived for what you are and what you have to offer from the very beginning. And being a filmmaker to that, rings in many people’s ears, especially in the province, as beret wearing, gloomy, angst filled, good for nothing who takes himself, and his self proclaimed greatness, too seriously, while chain smoking, sipping red wine . . .Now, I am none of those things, except the occasional red wine, and yet this is what I have to calculate with when networking with other people. A friend of mine suggested to create a work name to use when working only, but isn’t that a little strange when they do find out? Because they do find out!

And on the other hand we rely so entirely on names to guide us, to know what we want, to know who we are dealing with, even where we come from. So what to do when names no longer represents a reality. Or have they ever done that?

Of course they haven’t, but for a vast majority, the easily manipulated populous, the names have given a possibility of easily (because that is the key word with this group) defining and organising the confusing world around them. And even give them a political opinion and agenda. It is this generalisation of the world that slots people into boxes and those boxes are fixed, tagged and labelled. And if you do not fit into one, there will not be another box made for you, but you will be forced into one, until you pop out and then you are placed in another one. And you need to be in one.

But then there is a certain type of people, who has had different experiences, lived through different things, met different people and they will take the extra time to look beyond the name, who knows that if you look hard enough you can get surprised. And the funny thing is that this group of people is a cross section of all classes, you can find them among builders, among shopkeepers, among the upper classes and among the lower ones. These are the ones that we should look for and when we find them keep hold of. Because these people are the real builders of a good strong and respectful society (not tolerant, hate the word tolerant, I do not want to be tolerated, I would like to be respected though). These, and not the politically correct, bland people who will mark words, and names, and gets offended by their own gender, are the ones who will create a happy, inclusive and prosperous society. If that is what we want?

Why make it simple . . .

2011-04-17T11:45:00.000-07:00

Now I am truly off. First lines of a new idea for a new short have been written down and I feel quite excited. I remember this phase; it is one of the more pleasant ones when you think that your idea is so original that no man in the history of humanity has ever come up with such an idea. But this phase is sharply followed by a more unpleasant one when, blushing, I can’t believe the gobbledygook I am writing and the unforgivable pride I find myself guilty of in thinking that my idea is in any way original. But does it have to be original? Or is everything, all the ideas linked in an endless chain through history?

I guess it depends ultimately on what view one has on the position of the individual in the society. Do you believe that we are born into a culture and there is not much we can do about it, or do you believe that every child born is an original, unattached, blank canvas? Is a child an original or an improved copy?

Seeing my own boy, this mixture of two European cultures, Polish and Czech (plus a whole encyclopaedia worth of other European influences) genetically and two other European cultures as influences (Swedish and English), one can clearly see that the genetic are stronger than the acquired. He is not a Sweden not English, he is too frozen for that (!), in his ways, in his way of thinking and in the way he looks. But he would completely fit into a Polish or a Czech surrounding, even behaviourally. So although he is unique, he is not original. And I think this is a good lesson to be aware of. You do not have to be original, but you should always add something of yourself to the stew. It has to be true, and by being true it becomes unique.

Sweet Dreams

2011-04-13T02:16:00.000-07:00

So turning over another leaf and trying to ignore pondering about life in general, that never ever leads you anywhere and listening to my Angel Maxette, I concentrate on here and now and on what I know best.

We have now shown Nemo to quite a big group of people from different surroundings and with different interests and they all have one thing in common (besides really liking the film) and that is the question, “what is the next one”. Slowly (because that is how I am constructed!), I start to realise that Nemo could be the start that I have been waiting for most of my life, the start of realising the films that has lodged themselves in the back of my mind and sits there like couch potatoes in their undershirts, bellies hanging out and a beer in hand watching “footy” on the “telly”. Now I have the chance to get them out and get them exercised.

There is no lack of ideas, fortunately I have never had that problem, but it isn’t as simple as having an idea and then finding ways of realising them, I am too much of a realist in life to think that. I do not have an endless budget, currently I have no budget, so I have to make sure that the ideas are being developed into a more generic form but without turning the whole idea into a thesis. I also need to keep in mind a way of realising the film without having a budget like Avatar.

So how do I go about it? How do you develop an idea when you have strict limitations, or maybe the best ideas comes from limitations? Maybe if I think of the whole realisation and creation of the film (as I think of my current state of mind) as a ball of yarn that has been through a cat house (hihihi, that is descriptive not only for the script, I fear)and I need to unravel it into a straight thread. What you do is you try and ease it into a bigger more airy ball and then you pull all the different loops until you find something that could be the start of it. It is not a very nice process, with a risk of not only snapping the thread, using too much frustrated force, but also there is a risk of turning you totally mental with a blood pressure of a stock broker.

But at the end could be a dream coming true, so for me it is definitely worth it, even if I only come half way to the dream , it is such an excellent dream, a small part of it would be worth it. Because what else is the point with dreams if not realising them?

“So until we meet again and the case is solved!”

Home is where the heart is...

2011-04-09T02:51:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a trip with a friend to my Prague. We went there with an excuse to show Nemo and since I have been missing Prague for so long and she had never been, we thought that we would sneak over for 2 days. What can happen in two days, right?

But as I was sitting in the restaurant Cihelna by the water overlooking Charles Bridge and those beautiful buildings lining up like heroic soldiers on the other side, I realised that I thought of this place as part of my family. There in Rudolfinum, my grandfather, who always bought season tickets, took my mum as a child to concerts. Across the street, in Umprum, my father studied and I knew which window was his studio. Further up stream, at the place where the New Stage of the National theatre is, my mum grew up, with her window facing the long corridors backstage at the National Theatre. Defying sleep she used to watch the actors rush through the corridors in full costume and then slowly walk back exhausted after the performance. It was then, she was about five, that she decided to become an actress. How can Prague not be the obvious place for me to live?

I have lived in different places, including Prague, and in every place something was missing. In Sweden it was the warmth of every day interaction, in England it is the lack of roots and family and in Prague it was the small minded view on the possibilities in life. But then it was ten odd years ago I left and I was also ten years younger and in ten years Prague has changed, I have changed.

Since I have left Prague I have only come back twice, making this last visit the second and altogether in the ten years of separation from Prague I have only spent a week of visiting it, so my view in the changes in Prague are very naive, unfounded really. But during this last visit, meeting an old friend and seeing the business he is building up, a lovely coffee shop called “Friends”, not to be missed, seeing that it is possible to have ideas and realising them, ie living a life of ones choice makes me think that maybe during our 10 years Prague and I have developed in a direction where we can create my life together. But then I walk down Narodni, a boulevard de facto, that in its prime was filled with coffee shops and book stores and galleries, with Klasterni Vinarna as an exclusive spot, where the street lead you through these elegant spaces down to the culmination which was the river and the view of Hradcany. To now see the street filled with gambling shops, thai massage offers and cheesy (sorry for the pun) fast food pizza places , makes me realise, that the Homo Sovieticus people that I fled from the last time, still exists and their mission to make other peoples life as grey as possible, is not completely failed.

So can I live there? Should I take the leap and pack the family and go back? Or is it just a nostalgic dream? Would I be accepted? Would I be able to create a life for me and my family?

The problem lies in that I sincerely do not know the answer to any of the questions. If I did I wouldn’t have a dilemma. But then there is the fact that sitting on the plane back to England I felt that I was leaving home. And that is an argument that is really hard to beat..

Yours in Confusion

Veronika

Life as a Dream

2011-02-03T06:06:00.000-08:00

What is imagination good for, really? Are there not enough stories of tragedies and of joy in the real life, in news for instance, to satisfy our voyeurism (the basis of our story telling, I am sure that the first story to be told was a gossip!!)?And are there not, after thousands of years of storytelling , enough stories in our common tradition to render all new attempts on retelling, pointless? Why do we need more? How come we still get excited (well I do . . . .) when a new author, describing as promising appears on the world media scene and how come we still have a thing like the Nobel Prize in Literature, no other art form have been celebrated in this way ? Literature is still first page stuff, although one must be excused for thinking that all stories have already been told?

But isn’t literature, and poetry especially, the most intimate of art forms? Isn’t literature a window into the human internal dialogue? Surely story and history (news or gossip if you wish) are two ends of a spectrum. We can live without the gossip (although it would be boring), we can even live without beauty (better not tried . . .) but we cannot live in separation, we cannot live in loneliness, we cannot live in a vacuum. We need to speak and to hear others speak and this is what literature fulfils. With literature we get a unique insight into the mind of a fellow human being, we get a glimpse into someone else’s most intimate self, we literary hear his/her mind.

In a world where we are more and more detached from each other, where we rely more and more on computers and social medias (what a paradox !) to stay in touch, literature becomes more and more important. No other art form has this level of intimacy, film or theatre merely visualises an internal process, but with literature you can hear it, live it, put a face to it, maybe a face from your own world.

I do not read all that much, I haven’t really got the time, but I do have my books that I read a couple of pages from and then maybe a couple of days later I read some more. I like this, it is more of a dialogue like this and you tend to live more with the book. The book I have on the go now is Llosas “Conversation in the Cathedral” which I highly, highly recommend. And it is such a book, and such a writer that he really overwhelms you with his world and characters. You start to remember scenes from the book and they feel like your own memories, characters start to speak freely in your mind and you rely on them like real people. Wonderful, but I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to read the book, in one go. It would take over your world completely, become your own like a day dream and, unfortunately, we all need to function in a reality and not in the intimate dreams of our inner mind. But thanks to books, thanks to the wealth of literature and the glorious spectrum of different writers, we all can, quite without getting raised eye brows, slip into our own inner world and dream about a different life, even if it is just for a minute . . . .

To Achieve Succulence

2011-01-20T05:51:00.000-08:00

I have a new way of baking a cake. Well, actually it is not new, my great grandmother used to bake cakes like this, my mother told me. But this new way, this new process, creates fantastically fluffy, light and very yummy cakes. The ingredients are the same only the process has changed. And while I was stirring the batter, trying to screen out my sons desperate pleas that he wants to lick the spoon, I thought that maybe this could be applicable to other fields than cooking (or baking).

When writing stories I find it sometimes that it isn’t the idea that is lacking, but a good, inspiring way of getting the story down on paper. I write something, it doesn’t correspond to the idea nor does it inspire me to develop the story in a different way. So I get myself entangled into the whole thing and then it is time to do something else (as a mom of a 4 year old I never own my own time). I try and sort it out, or as my professor always said “keep banging on the door on imagination, and soon enough it will let you in”. But what he wasn’t saying was what to do when the imagination is there but the craft of getting it out is out of practice? Is there something like a craftsmanship when it comes to art? Yea, according to my late father, of course! No, when you ask the ruling arts elite of Sweden and other such western countries, anybody has the right to express themselves and all expressions are interesting. ?

But if there is a craftsmanship involved in Art, then surely there should be tricks of the trade, ways, systems to create a more fluffy and succulent story/script/etc?

Rummaging through a local charity story (my latest entertainment (ohh I really know how to kick it!!!)) specialized in book and sheet music, I found a little book (for £1, isn’t it sad?), it was “Aspects of a Novel” by E M Forrester from 1944. Now if Forrester knows anything it is how to construct a novel. But how can somebody that wrote in the first quarter of the last century, teach me who to write stories for the readers of the 21^st century. Soon there will be a whole century between us, his readers still wore hats and behaved elegantly, my readers (I know it is me and the next door cat but I am speaking theoretically!) are people who communicate using machines. But reading the book I came on to the chapter where he compare different authors from different eras in human history, presenting that they are exactly the same. The emotions are the same, people are really the same and their life’s are materialistically different but not different in profound matters. He went so far as to present a short “bon mot” – “History change, Arts stand still” Glorious !

But how does this help me with my writing? Well, it gives me hope, hope that someone before me has been through the same thing, hope that I can maybe learn how to write. Hope that says, that if I have the ideas, the rest is technicality and something that can be exercised.

Now my baking is second nature, and the cakes are really yummy. I should now exercise this with the writing. But there is one last problem. Making cakes has a side product which is a spoon and a bowl full of cake dough, that can keep my son’s attention for a good half hour while he with serious concentration licks clean. Writing doesn’t have that side product!

Unless I bake a cake every time before I sit down for writing? That’s a lot of cake! ....Yum!

Say what ?

2011-01-14T07:29:00.000-08:00

Yesterday evening I watched, for the first time since months or dare I say years, an old re run of a film (I usually manage to read a couple of pages before I fall into oblivion let alone watch an entire film). It was the Somerset, humoristic cop thriller Hot Fuzz, a film I last saw still living in Sweden. Then I laughed, enjoyed and nodded understandingly to the plot, but I actually didn’t have a clue that this film is a piece of soc. realism with a humoristic tone. Now after living 5 years in Somerset, seeing that film again made my laugh choke in my throat. Because, the crazy ideas, I thought then, of the director have proven not to be invented, the genius of character, as I thought then, are replicas of true characters in the Somerset country side. It was so precise that we could, my husband and I, set names from our lives, on the characters “look that is Frank, look that is exactly like Karen, look that is so like . . .” And even the relationships in the film, or the different groups, un canny !

Unfortunately, what that has done is to strip the poor director from his laurels and expose him not as a brilliant, astute story teller of a director, but as a humoristic documentary film maker, not that it matters but it matters when it comes to the piece of film, art you might call it, and what it wants to communicate.

To take an example, do we, as Westerners really understand Kurosawa’s films? How can we understand the art work of a director who doesn’t speak the same symbolic language as us? How can we understand the issues raised in these films since our lives are so different to those of Kurosawa? And does this matter?

Well it does matter when a director has a singular point to make, when the whole film is based on that point and only on that point. Those tend to be the simpler forms of communication (read South American soup operas a la Esmeralda !!) and then you need to know exactly what is being meant or you get hopelessly lost. But when there is a giant of a director (read Kurosawa) with such a profound storytelling, with such epic way of telling the story, even the blind would find something to relate to him. His story telling transcends all cultural and philosophical hindrances (how is another story and something better left to the more clever) and goes into the realm of beauty. And beauty is the language of the heart and not the mind. The mind will find its story no matter what, and no matter what the director intended. And the heart, as we all know, is blind and will not adhere to dictate.

So where does this leave us? No, we can’t understand Kurosawa, I do not think, and no it doesn’t matter. What we get from his works of art is beauty and a message that our mind puts together for us based on our lives and our world. Kurosawa speaks to us in the language of truth, profoundness and sincerity and those are universal, human virtues, and that we can understand no matter where we come from. And when it comes to Hot Fuzz, I enjoyed it in Sweden when I saw it and I enjoyed it now, but on other premises.

I do not, I feel I have to state, for one moment imply that Somerset is as remote as Japan (although sometimes speaking to the local farmer, I feel like I’m coming from the moon, and I find myself searching desperately for a dictionary) but it does take a while to learn the ways of communicating and the ways of living in this similar, yet, very different culture. To be honest, it takes the same sort of effort meeting new friends or relations as well . . . and some of my friends still do not know what I am saying when I speak. Maybe I should change my name to Esmeralda ?

The Unknown Entity

2011-01-03T06:31:00.000-08:00

There is something so innocent with a new year. Untried, never before encountered, never before tried. No one knows what to expect since no one has been here before. Some make plans, some promises, some have great belief in the New Year, like a new start a new chance. I am that someone, I admit. I make great plans (sometimes I suspect that this only gives fate a direction where to best mess up things for me . . . but nevertheless I cannot help myself.) and I tend to view the new year as a physical being, like a work colleague, someone who spends a lot of time with you, someone you share your life with to some extent but someone you keep at a slight distance since he can, whenever he gets the opportunity, betray you.

But now, when the New Year is so young and when I still feel I have the upper hand, I find myself engulfed with great enthusiasm. I make wide plans (how I, single handed will change the word and while I am at it I will rebuild my pond), I can’t wait for the next day, I can’t wait for the ordinary work day, when I know that people will be sitting at their desks and I can pursue my new born plans. And I cannot wait to be a year further on, knowing all the great things that had happened. All again filled with enthusiasm and hope.. . .

Anyway, all the best to you all, and may all your plans be successful and all your dreams a step closer.

Veronika

So this is Christmas . . .?

2010-12-23T02:22:00.000-08:00

Quickly, quickly,baking, wrapping, playing with child so he doesn't grow up deprived, smiling at husband and trying not to faint. And swearing, of course in my mind, do not want to upset Santa, why I didn't start in August with the preparations. It should be a rule of thumb, when the shops strategeically places their first plastic Santa replica in your eye height, then you should start buying presents and sending cards. And I didn't, so here I am. But there is a deadline, this is a positive, that differs from the everyday panic that I do not seemt to be able to shake, when we all sit down at the Christmas Eve table, and tuck in. And then I see the expectation in my sons eyes, which fills me with Christmas spirit and joy and I would do it all over again in a heart beat.

Merry Christmas everyone, let's enjoy eachother and Thank God that we have each other.
God Jul och Vesele Vanoce !

Veronika

In Search of Imagination

2010-11-17T07:43:00.000-08:00

My boy is at home sick, the weather is dismal and the crisis is hitting everyone around. No matter the brave faces everyone is affected. It is a hard climate on the job market or free lance market or business market, everyone is holding on to what they have and any treasures are not shared but are hidden deep in the mattresses. I know, I do the same. And in such a hard environment, the impact of the reality around you is hard, unforgiving and brutal and dreams are hard to come by.

And it is exactly in this moment when imagination is of utmost importance. We need to dream, invent, fantasize and be inspired (can one be inspired without imagination?). But why are good, visionary ideas so scarce (are they)? According to Richard Kearney in his book “The wake of Imagination” (ok an old book, but with a lot of wisdom) we live in a society where the image has taken over from the book as a artistic authentic impression. The image is so closely linked to a consumerist view of reality that “the image precedes the reality it is supposed to represent – reality has become a pale reflection of the image””And so we observe that “art images” increasingly serve as parodies of “commercial images” while commercial images serve as parodies of “art images” “art has become anti art”. This confusion threatens to hollow out the culture heritage that has been growing since the beginning of civilisation. Of course, this has always happened, civilisation is nothing static but is a living evolving being that will be affected by different influences. But one should be careful of what impressions we are submitting upon our fragile imagination. Since the world rejects vacuum so the void after a rejected impression, will be filled with something, the commercial imaginary that is, but it is a artificial imaginary since it is primarily commercial and not creative and it threatens to affect more areas of our mind than only the imagination, or as Kearney writes “our inner unconscious has not been spared”. It affects also our expectations of life (the notion that one has to be ecstatically happy every second of the day and if not then something is wrong, is something new and something we have been fed recently) or views of relationships (now the family is not a permanent fundament and marriages are expected to last only a few years) and even how we view ourselves and our role in society (men should be metrosexual and women “emancipated”). Proudly did we get rid of taboos, got rid of tradition and in the name of liberation we agreed that anything is possible. But haven’t we “thrown the baby out with the bathwater” so to speak? I believe so. I believe we have lost more than we have gained and therefore I want to use my humble blog to get back to basics. No, I will not revert my household to the 1700 nor will I throw every bit of modern technology out the window. No, I want to remind you, whoever you are, and myself about the meaning of imagination since it is important to know what we as a society have lost and if some lucky loner still posses it, know what he/she should be careful not to lose.

Kearney have identified “4 main meanings of the term imagination:

1) The ability to evolve absent objects which exists elsewhere, without confusing these absent objects with things present here and now.

2) The construction and/or use of material forms and figures such as paintings. Statues, photographs etc. To represent real things in some “unreal” way

3) The fictional projection of non-existent things as in dreams or literary narratives

4) The capacity of human consciousness to become fascinated by illusions, confusing what is real with what is unreal”

Our mind, fantasy is a fantastic treasure but a treasure that will be lost if we do not exercise it. So my suggestion is, sit back, close your eyes and let your mind wander . . . .

Happy day dreaming!

Thinking is painless . . . for most!

2010-11-11T02:23:00.000-08:00

Many years ago, a friend of mine asked me, How do you do to have ideas? I tried to answer her, embarrassed as I was, almost as much as her, as truthfully as I could while I tried to think of what it was she actually meant? She was an intelligent girl, surely she had some clue of how to actually conceive ideas? I lost contact with her, for different unpleasant reasons, but I have through the years often thought back to this question. It is a question that to me sounds so odd (like how do you breath) that maybe there is something in it. Can it really be so that there are people, without ideas? Aren’t ideas something fundamentally human, like speech?

Ideas by itself is nothing, you cannot have ideas in a vaccum, there has to be something triggering them. For me, ideas are intrinsically linked to interest and to the question “what if? Artists tend to have an interest in things humane, how people live, thought processes and destinies etc. Engineers in machines and construction. Economists in how companies find their ways in markets. But the process for the idea to take shape is the same. You look at an issue, something of substance to you and then you start playing with it, like a small child asking 56 questions a second, until something grabs you as an alive entity, strong enough to stand on its own. Suddenly you have before you something, a model of something that is universal and true. Simple.

But there are crucial moments in this with the most dangerous part being the part of playing. You have to let the idea spiral, or as my professor used to say, one has to keep knocking on the door of imagination, you have to let it go, work on it, do not let it stop. It means you have to stand your ground, looking for the truthful moment and not be affected by fashions and how “other peole do it”. Stay clear of quick fixes and look for the genuine. But that in turn means that you have to know what you want, you have to know what your “story” is and stick to it.

Today I find to my amazement, a world around me full of artists. People who never in their life showed any interest in the arts, never even been to the museums, never read a proper piece of literature, suddenly finds the need to express themselves through an artistic medium. Just look at all the talent shows where thousands line up, all claiming to have a need to express themselves. How come, what has happened?

My explanation to this, could be consider slightly radical, so please be ware, is that there is too much shit around. Everywhere you turn, you find quick fixes, where ever you go you find clichés, already conceived ideas (by someone else) who are being put together with other stolen ideas to create something that resemble a piece of art. But it doesn’t have anything alive in them, just aesthetics, if you are lucky. We need to clean it out and put it in the right place because what it does, is it desensitise us from seeing the true expressions. We need to start asking for more and not settle for a fast food concept of thinking. We need to think more, not meditate, not humhum sitting with your legs crossed, just purely think and see where it will take you. It could be on a fantastic adventure or romantic situation. It could be a hilarious concept or a fantastic piece of art. And it will be only yours

So try, let’s have some ideas, trust me it doesn’t even hurt !

Spiritual eating

2010-10-15T05:15:00.000-07:00

There is a place in Glastonbury that is extraordinary for me, and there is a place in the place that is just my absolute favourite building. It is the Kitchen in the Glastonbury Abbey. It is such a fantastic place, it is one big square chimney where in every corner, they cooked something different, one corner was for baking, one for meats, one for fish and one for veggies, incredible. This place is such an inspiration because it shows me that creativity and spirituality can be found in many fields. The monks at the abbey, had the great church for their spirituality, of course but they also had the food from this kitchen (one of four(!)) they had the blossoms and later the fruits from the orchards.

In the Abbey kitchen, next to the door is a prayer which reads:

Give me a good digestion, Lord

And also something to digest

Give me a healthy body, Lord

With sense to keep it at its best

Give me a healthy mind, O Lord

To keep the good and pure in sight

Which seeing wrong is not appalled

But finds a way to put it right

Give me a mind that is not bored

That does not whimper,

Whine or sigh

Don’t let me worry overmuch

About that fussy thing called I

Give me a sense of humour, Lord

Give me the grace to see a joke

To get some happiness from life

And pass it on to other folk

That is a prayer, for everyday and for every home! And for everyone

To keep calm and carry on

2010-10-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

For the first time, since I’ve started with this blog, I’ve been unsure what to write about. For the first time I’ve had an actual audience for what I’ve written and it, the audience, you, has been very kind to me. I’ve actually met people who’ve read this blog and now I do not want to let them down. What can I write to make them read this blog more and more. I realise, of course, that this is the wrong question to ask. I cannot write to suit everybody and the question is whether anybody (apart from myself) expects me to? I have to retrace my steps . . . I started this blog to show (and to remind myself of) that one’s creativity can get its expression in the smallest of things. You do not have to make super huge block buster films to satisfy your need as a creative film director. You do not have to write the big novel that reveals the truth about life and death to be a writer. And you do not have to exhibit in national galleries to be a painter. You can do all the above in your everyday life, in the kitchen, in the garden or on family walks in the fields. What you mustn’t do is ever, ever give up and “don’t do”. I have done this terrible dead of “not doing” for too long and as long as they will be selling small note books in Tesco, or cheap digi cameras in Argos (found one that looks like it is built in Lego, so sweet, I just need to have it! ), there is now way I will be giving up again . . .No matter who much you ask me to ; )

Let's Nigella the garden!

2010-10-05T03:20:00.000-07:00

The branches are becoming bare, and the smell of slow rottening leafes is spreading. My veggies are coming to a culmination, tomatoes hangs so heavy that I need to prop them up with sticks. It is harvest time. This year I planted a couple of Artichoke plants (they were on sale and it felt like a little bit of extra luxury). I planted them all but forgot to read the label that came with them, and I didn’t realise that they grow to a height of ca 1m 40cm and they need a lot of space (I planted them next to the very productive tomato plants) so only one survived. But thanks god for that, there is only so much artichoke one can eat. This one little enormous plant is a monster of 5 heads! But they are so yummy !! And it really is such a romantic luxury, I cooked one in just salted water and a little bit of lemon juice and my husband and I shared the leaves and dipped them in some homemade mayonnaise. To that a glass of chilled white wine, and suddenly all stressed from the day is gone, like magic.

So my plan for next year is to devote my raised beds to lovely, yummy, romantic, luxurious veggies, like the artichoke, like the plump red tomatoes, like maybe some courgettes? I want to plant them not only in my raised beds but also in my flower beds, an artichoke is a spectacular, structural plant as is the brussel sprouts (my has turned into a mutant size!), they could add a lot of interest to my flower beds that tend to be too restrained. I need something more wild in there, something that would reflect who owns the garden, that it isn't a nice old lady called Hilda. I think my mutant veggies are just the thing.

This year I also tried to grow root veggies from pots and it went very well, just needed to add some ash from our fireplace to the soil and the carrots really loved it. They won’t grow big but they will be sweet and tender and yes, luxurious.

I do not run a farm or a big commercial veggie field, I have a small kitchen garden and since my cooking for me is a creative outlet, my garden should be too, and it should look like one aswell, and contain things that inspire me. Make it romantic, passionate and sensual. Yes that’s right, let’s all Nigella the garden !

Return to lives past . . .

2010-09-26T01:52:00.000-07:00

I’ve been writing lately, finally picking it up from 5 years ago. Because I used to write, all the time, diaries, things I’ve seen, unfinished synopsis of “great” novels. Everything. My world for me was something you could write down, formulate. If you can’t describe it, it isn’t there. Then life started to demand attention and I obeyed, building a business, starting a family etc, but lately, the last couple of months, I’ve started again. I’ve started by writing down things I liked, that I heard on the radio, sentences, in a note book, then I started to develop them and now I am almost self going, my imagination has finally started to give me ideas for text. This is all basic, I think to proper writers, but for me it is a revelation. I was thrilled, and I have written note books full in these couple of months. Until last night. Last night, my writing went well, my stories were developing, my sentences felt relatively fresh and then I put the pen down (yes pen, my boy uses my computer to watch Shrek on and I am left with the pen), read through and realized that I cannot offer this text anymore. I am writing down what I know, the text ads its own (I believe the text has it’s own life, like words that sound different to when you pronounce the,) but when I try and pick up the idea, nothing new has been added. Can it be so that I am out of experiences, that I can dip into, to support my imagination? Can there really be something like running out of experience? So this morning I went for a walk, well, just up the garden for the latest batch of tomatoes, and walking back I looked over the field opposite my house, a view I’ve seen a thousand times at least, but this morning it made me stop in my tracks. Before me was something like out of a Turner painting (hey, the guy was a realist !), a soft fog rolled over the hills and the sun was barely shining through it making the melted frost glisten in the light. In the middle of this the cows were already calmly grazing the remains of the grass. And it hit me, as I felt my energy and inspiration return, this is what I lack, this is what I need and it dawned on me, when was the last time I picked up a painting album, when was the last time I read a real novel. When was the last time I was so submerged in a creative expression, either my own or someone else’s, that I have forgotten about news, politics and other garbage the info society is feeding us. Why is it important to me to know about every misery happening anywhere in the world, why am I supposed to know everything barely known people do, how does that help my own little life? I need an intellectual detox! We are fed so much pointless information, that only makes us aware of our own insignificance and the powerless lives we lead, when in fact it really isn’t like this. Life is glorious, it is inspiring and it is joyful. I feel I need to regain it, decide for it myself. Make up my own mind and have views not adapted. And this time I will not be detoured!

So let's pop some good music in the player, read a good book and take the camera (and my family, they can come to) for a walk.

What a lovely way to start a Sunday !

MAXimum friends

2010-09-20T13:50:00.000-07:00

I have a friend, a great friend, someone I count as one of my closest ones. Yet, we do not have any common memories,(except when we got extremely drunk on a delicious Caribbean drink in her gorgeous flat in Boston, we all thought it was a lovely fruity juice, then the percentage kicked in and we all started to sway) like you have with your best mates growing up, we have shared some really fantastic conversations, but they seemed to be cut short, we never seemed to have finished them. Still she is very, very important to me. Maybe this is what real friendship is about? I do not have to see her every day, although of course I would love to, I do not have to speak to her every day, I just know that she is there and exists.

Hopping around through different countries and living in different places every so often, most of my friends are at a distance, most of my friends live in different realities from me but when we meet it is like these different realities go for a break and we can just chat. Of course places like Facebook, make it possible for me to follow their lives closer and I have to admit, sometimes I just stroll round the pictures my friends posted on their page just to get close to their reality for a while.

So what is it in a person that is not physically close to you, to be your friend, someone close. Of course I have my interpretations. You see, I believe in Angels, and I believe in an Angels many guises. Some of my friends are in my mind, Angel messengers, put on this Earth to tell me something or to kick my butt. I think my before mentioned friend is one of them. Some other friend have just a piece of an Angel in them, something that makes me feel good and helps to steer me in the right direction. Some friends, now former friends, have fallen angels that fooled me for a while but then showed their face.

In any case, my friend Maxette, is to me the closest to an Angel I can find. Come to think of it, why don’t you decide for your self . . .

http://www.karibisktyogaskratt.se/

What do you mean?

2010-09-19T05:39:00.000-07:00

Today is election time in Sweden and it is a historical opportunity the Swedes have. If the government would be re elected it would be the first time in 102 years that a right wing government is re elected. Amazing!

But viewing the election from a distance and reading the programs of the different parties, I realise that my Swedish have been side stepped. I speak and read an educated Swedish and suddenly I realise that the way media and political parties use words, that I of course know the meaning of, in another context. Some words are hi jacked so to speak, they do not mean what they are supposed to mean, but have received a political context.

One such word for me is Life style. If you say that “this is my life style” you suggest that you are a modern, politically correct (in itself a strange term, is there only one politic ?) and someone who is open to alternative life styles. Why not say way of life instead?

My conclusion of this is of course drawn towards the arts and more concretely art forms.

I believe that today the most important art form, something that should be prioritised, is Poetry. If we lose the poetry, we lose words and if we lose words we lose ourselves and our identity.

So what so I do with this new found insight. Well, I turn of the news, close the newspaper and look for my Stagnelius book.

Incorporating life

2010-09-13T06:00:00.000-07:00

Leaving the cooking and gardening deep in the weekend and turning towards a very, hopefully productive week. I still find it a struggle though, going from one thing to another, this changing of hats, changing of identities. One minute you are a gardener, next the photographer, next a cook, next the filmmaker. And all the time being a mom on top of all that. But it is necessary, this is how my life looks like,(like so many other mothers life) and would I like to change anything, make it simpler, of course not! I just need to find the red line going through these activities, a state of mind that would fit to all. Find a way to relate. Because, at time, all of my activities need to be combined (writing a script and talking to my son while my husband needs me to find picture for the business and the wind is currently destroying the newly planted quince tree)

Currently when I write a script it absorbs so much more, actually almost everything I have, then anything else and I feel like a power station, that needs a fair bit of time to warm up to start generating the level of ideas I need. I therefore can’t hop easily between different hats, or the power station will choke out!

But I think I am getting there. I have lowered the ambitions in the house and garden (it really doesn’t need to look like “Country Living”), and I have started to play around and impose my creativity in the non suspicious garden. I have banned Cath Kidston in the house and started to incorporate things that inspire me. And my boy, well he is the source of infinite inspiration and joy and someone who makes sure my priorities are set straight so I do not fly off into la la land completely.

It is all a work in progress. Somewhere there is a definite link to join my life together into the creativity I need to express, but where the hell did I put it?

Saving summer

2010-09-12T08:23:00.000-07:00

An amazing day today. It is almost mid September and the temperature was over 20 degrees Celsius. Fantastic, my son was running around the garden in his underwear, can’t do that at this time of year in Sweden. It is also my favourite time of year when nature reaches its maturity, bushes bear fruit, trees suffer under heavy crops and a slow decay of the spring flowers begins. It is the time of harvest.

What I have done today is an attempt to save the taste of this years garden for the wintermonths. I believe that every year the herbs and the fruits taste a little bit different and for every year I am also trying out different herbs. So I collected all the herbs growing in my garden, wild or planted and chopped them finely and let them dry. I tied them in small muslin parcels to be used in stews of sauces throughout the year.

Lovely, the smell is absolutely fabulous !

So what am I on about ?

2010-09-11T05:49:00.000-07:00

My plan with this blog is to write about my way of living, wouldn't really call it a life style, sounds so fashionable, so intented and following a dogma. Do not like that, my way of living doesn't follow a dogma, it follows my history and the history of my family and my creativity. I am swedish/czech, my husband is Polish and we live in England. We have lived in several european countries and in every country we have picked up things, little habits that we like. I would during the year try and show you the habits that we have, show you the foody festivals we celebrate (cray fish festival every august, swedish midsommer feast etc.). So please allow me to use this blog as a sketch book for my thoughts and ideas about my life, my gardens life and my works life . . .who knows where it might lead !

Begin the beguine

2010-09-11T05:21:00.000-07:00

Czech Potatoe Gulasch now that is soul food for an autumn day !
Just a quick note . .well it shouldn't be quick really since this is the first entry on my first ever blog, but my boy will only stay quiet for so long, so it will have to be extremely speedy. Autumn is here and so will also soon be the end of month when the vallet tends to start echoing whenever opened. So I wanted to share with you my grandmothers receipt for Czech Potatoe Gulasch. Not only is this extremely yummy, it is also cheap, wuick and very easy to make.
And here it is:
Pork sausages (the soft german kind, Lidls are exellent)
Potatoes (not new spuds, but the older kind)
Soured Cream
Flour
Caraway seeds (Polish shops have the best and cheapest, are called kminek)
Paprika (sweet) (Also in the Polish shops, called the same)

Cut sausages in chunks, peel and cut the potatoes in chunks and cover with water. Fry the sausages in some oil, sprinkle with a lot of paprika. Pour the potatoes with the water over the sausages and cook until the potaotes are soft. Add heaps of caraway seeds.
Mix Flour and Soured Cream to a paste, add some liquid from the Gulasch and combine. When pourable, pour over the sausages and potatoes. Eat emidiatelly or is very yummy the next day . . .if it lasts so long.
Enjoy
Ohh I hear screaming better go . . . .