Being Old #1 - The Feminists

I've been writing down a series of names on a mental list of people that got old in a great way. And by this I do not mean the "age gracefully" thing of popular fashion magazines or the "dress appropriately" doctrine form the hairdresser salon down the street. I mean people that when you compare them across 2 or 3 decades look as beautiful in both times.

Why? good question. It's not that they didn't get wrinkles, grey hair, that their bodies didn't chnage. They did, and you can notice. But somehow, these people look great. I guess because they, in a deeper level, look themselves. Time or convetion has not tied them down and they have not wither away. They are vibrant and look passionate as always. I think that may be the thing: they look the same in a deeper sense.

So, here are a couple of people that model the way in which I would like to age.
Chapter 1 - The Feminists

Gloria Steinem



Simone de Beauvoir

Winter - an unfinished manifesto

Many have said that there is nothing like a good snowy winter. Those temperate climates, like that of my own Mediterranean origins, are just “boring” or “not real winter”. Happy faces, “Christmas is almost here”. Ah… how good and cozy is it to be home, by the fire, in our warm house. And then to go skiing, snowboarding and to play in the snow. Who wouldn’t like snow? It’s winter: rejoice!

And this is when I conclude we are living in the end of civilization. For me, all this enthusiasm, this unconditional love of the cold days is a symptom, one more symptom, of the decadence of our society. We have become so disconnected from the world outside our cheaply-over-heated pods that we do not remember what winter is all about. I’ll tell what it is all about, what it is been all about. Winter is about struggle, fight to stay alive. Winter, the winter with snowy and negative temperatures, is the time when food is scarce, animals dig in for roots and grass under the white. Winter is about eating all you saved up, is about making it through. Winter is about stillness, death. Winter is small days, fighting for light, for breath, and long nights of quietness, of waiting. Waiting to move and live again. Wait for colour to return.

And, so what? you say. Has our society not given us great progress, art, leisure, why should we not take advantage, reap the fruit of our labour and be happy with harsh winters, insulated in our synthetic suits, warmed by cheap gas in our elaborate houses?

And this is when we should remember that not everyone has a house. That the same wonderful magical society that gave us the skiis, and the lamp and the electricity and the heath, gave some of us nothing. Gave some of us struggle for life on the streets of our cement forest. A struggle harsher than of any other medieval farmer. Because it is a lonely struggle, a fight to combat what others love.

Next time you are happy they say it will be cold. Think of them. All of them that cannot afford the lamp, the heath, the house, the insulation from the harshness of nature. Don’t dismiss it, don’t act childish. Think of what winter is all about.

And find beauty in it. There is always beauty, even in winter.

Autumnn Flowers Throw

[My first decently complex project in crochet, done without supervision (yes, I was working unsupervised with a crochet hook.... be scared...very scared... =) ]

This small throw materializes what Fall is all about for me.

Its colors remind me of the leaves turning hot-chocolate brown and into warm shades of red, of greens getting dry and of the myterious grey skies. The throw looks perfect over a bed or a sofa when the warm weather leaves and cozy evenings by the fireside arrive. The fact that it is made of leftovers and scraps from previous summer projects also means a lot to me, because Fall is about getting back home and weaving together all the bright beautiful memories from summertime. This throw is about calm, peacefulness and that sense of satisfaction with small things that I always associated with Fall.

Inspired by a Phildar model (specially the flowers) in Phildar No. 805, Mode & Crochet.

Soundtrack

Some of what I listened to when I was crocheting this - I think crochet I better done listening music. Knitting requires a movie or a tv series. Someone should find out why. Or maybe not.


In the morning:


In the evening:

I call it "Joni Mitchell psychology"

I should be in bed.

But I was just thinking.

When you are a Joni Mitchell fan, you know you are doing fine when you compulsively listen to "Song to a Seagull" instead of "Blue". The domestic bliss motif applies better than the sad break-up album: you're fine.

I' m fine.










"She was somewhere being free"

It was beautiful. It still is.

Convocation is murder

Convocation? Who came up with this? It is a most bizarre mixture of ceremonies that might just be the most uncomfortable thing to sit through ever invented.

First, there are people in silence with tears in their eyes, standing… it all reminds of church: mass or a funeral maybe? Then the gowns: somewhere between the priests’ gowns and the bad costumes you make for Carnival in school (always turn out oversized and shapeless). And then there is the pipe band…. Oh, not what you’re thinking about. It is not like the Celtic stuff I go to hear in the summer. It’s like a military pipe band, neat and appropriate, regulated and disciplined. I love bag pipes, and I hate the pipe band. It’s not music: they are marching sounds of boots hitting the floors. It makes it look like a military parade.

And then the wedding-like profusion of pictures being taken. If people could come out of their bodies and see what they’re doing…. It’s a picture that is there just to stand on a wall, and not just 1. Oh, no, tons of pictures…. Seriously.

And the congratulations. Congratulations for what? For having made it this far? Please… it is so artificial.

And why is it artificial? And here we get to what essentially is wrong with this funny procession of hats and gowns and uniforms and “everyone rise”. It minimizes the work everyone does during years. It minimizes learning. It implies the degree, the symbolic framed paper, is what everyone is working for every day. And it cannot be, it should not be. More than that, when you say congratulations to someone because they are finishing their degree, you are missing the congratulations you should have yelled each time they achieved something more, they wrote a beautiful essay, they answered an exam thoughtfully or came home exited because they just understood something.

Yes, convocation is like a wedding and a funeral. It is a wedding because it is the unnecessary celebration of what cannot be celebrated, of what must lived and valued every minute – knowledge and the pursuit of understanding. It is a funeral because, in displacing value from the ordinary achievements of everyday life to this ceremony we must be killing in ourselves all the thirst for comprehension that used to drive our daily lives as students. We are killing the student, the learner, the thirst.

Convocation is not even a funeral. It is murder.

On dancing

Everyone should dance like The Housemartins. At least that's my take on it. Imagine how much more fun life would be




(I know, this is a post about pretty much nothing other than pure enjoyment. Right now, there is nothing else to talk about. All my creativity has been exclusively redirected to my assignments which are awesome, but could come one at the time please!)

Crafty updates - Neon, Jackie O and general summeriness

Here are some of my latests creations/works/projects/crafty achievements. A duo of colour and hard work (it took a whole summer and my mother's precious help for the back of the skirt). But, here they are, a mix of a Jackie-O psychadelic menthol jacket and a practical neon coloured 80's-invoking dress.

(Click on Ravelry link to see the project page)

The 80s Summer Dress

http://ravel.me/FilipaML/1htsb


The Matching Jacket

http://ravel.me/FilipaML/eiwm9

Male Allies?

The Women's Center I volunteer at is currently developping a "male allies project". A male ally... a male ally...

A male ally to the feminist cause, be a male ally. What does this mean? For me this makes little sense. A person becomes an ally to a cause they support, but is not theirs.

How is this not a cause for men? How?

Men that feel they do not have a front-row sit in the feminist movement (as broad as it is) are exactly like white americans in the 60's who felt that the civil rights movement was not their cause. How can it not be your cause once you recognize its value?

Women constitute half of the population, roughly speaking. They are the mothers, sisters,collegues, friends and partners of these "male allies". Their issues, are men's issues. Patriarchy isn't a one way thing. It is complex and global and affects all in a society. How can defeat oppression of 50% without having the "other side" (is there sides here?) working on it too?

Men shouldn't be allies. Men should be in the central positions, by women's sides. Resognising women's first-person experience, and valuing their own experience.

The counter-position obviously goes on the line of "men will just highjack this whole operation". That is counter productive. If in the feminist movement we cannot work internally towards living ideals of equality and equal commitment, what is the point?

Main point: if men are interested in being part of this huge project (if passivity, that big obstacle is falling down) why do they have to get "ally" status? Why aren't they full members? They are people, like us. If we can all fight together, it mean the fight can be won.


"We have to free half of the human race, the women, so that they can help to free the other half"

Emmeline Pankhurst - Sufragette 100 years ago

Can we start freeing the other half too please?

All alive, all well

I'm back to blogging (still in September)

Made a few changes around here.

Things are very peaceful. Not boring, peaceful. Amazingly so. Work floods in from everywhere, but it is beautiful to do. Specially something I am studying now



Spinoza is absolutely fascinating. Complicated not blogging material. But I think this man in the 17th c, was in so many ways beyond our modern day.


I've also fallen in love with Eugen Hutz and Gogol Bordello. Why didn't nobody tell me about this before?



Instructions for use:
Listen, loud on headphones late at night and dance. Try not to make a lot of noise. Given in to complete decadence and enjoy.



"People got to get up early and she got a boyfriend and this whole thing is one big dissapointment".


So, gypsy punk and 17th century philosophy? Strange days seem to have found us.

All for now. I need to crochet a blanket. It's getting cold.

summer sun

Long time no see! Oh well, it's summer. It's time to forgive and forget.

To forget yourself, the world and everything. Walk down the beach, feel the sand and the sun, forget. Be out in the garden, paint and water the plants, forget. Eat a family lunch, dance in a French nightclub, drive through field of golden wheat, fly over to green esmerald islands and walk the dusty streets of an Indian metropolis: forgive, forget, forgive, forget. Everyone, everything, yourself. Summer is theraphy for us all. All you need is summer.

(Thinking in advance, September will bring a radical change of look, maybe a change of theme, and a new regular blog updating).

For now, Summer:

Amanda Palmer, I love you.

A brilliant one by Amanda Palmer and her man Neil Gaiman!

The proof for Quantum mechanics

Compton Scattering

-Electron bound to nucleus
-A photon comes in and interacts with the electron
-The electron is going to be forced to vibrate due to the force
-Radiation will be emitted at the same frequency as the emitted wave

(from my roomate's notes)

Let your poetical interpretations flow.....

Animalistic

I have lately come across this word, this interjection, this brief and succinct argument: "animalistic". What I say, what I propose, what I do: it is not wrong, but it is"animalistic". It is low, inappropriate, it is unnecessary and uncontrolled. It is "animalistic".

This makes no sense to me, this disapproval. What is this "animalistic" argument? It seems the only way to get around it is to start off by saying we should not be animals, not act like "animals", "savages", "inhuman" they say. We can not behave like other animals. Because we are different – we have different natural adaptations, one being community-life, other being culture. But we share so much, most of our attitudes and behaviors. I am an ape, a primate, a mammal, an animal. And is it not proper it be so? What should I be if I did not have an urge to eat, drink, be with those I am attracted to, stay alive, stay safe, and protect my kin? What should I be if I was not "animalistic"?

What should I be in this world? What would be my context, my reason for my being here on earth, if I was not "animalistic"? I would be so disconnected from every life form on this planet, I would feel so utterly meaningless… My fellow human beings are not enough. I need to feel I belong here, on this soil. And I do. I am like the ant I see on the garden, I am somehow like the ant. I am part of a far greater biological context. I feel at home, like this, "animalistic". No moral code that takes this away from us, this connection, this meaning, is legitimate. It aims at creating a vacuum, emptiness inside our minds without anything being particularly problematic about what we had! It is then that all those other "searches for fundamental meaning" come into scene, all the postulation of entities and supernatural forces at work. We are not simply searching for profound meaning then, we need to search for the most basic one! Because we are basically lost, because we are like a fish outside of water, a child taken away from home.

We are stardust, million year old carbon, we are golden. And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.

"Crazy on You" - The song I can't get out of my head

My little 70's obsession for 3 days now....

The Scene (Virgin Suicides by Sofia Coppola, 1999)



The band (Heart, from Vancouver B.C., very popular in the mid 70's)



The song




People sometimes write really catchy stuf....

Movies I've seen lately

This is the compilation of many posts that were planned and put aside lately. But, I like what I have been watching: I am riding a wave of cinemat
ographic luck, and it is worth celebrating

Annie Hall (1977, Woddy Allen)



Woddy Allen. I never thought it could be so good. Specially after "Bananas" I thought: he doesn0t get better than this. But yes, he does. profound conclusions about everyday life, hilarious scenes, great dialogues, characters and just that unpredictability that runs thorugh the whole movie. Yes, unpredictable, that is the feeling. His creation of unreal/surreal/meta-real situations out of an ordinary story plot are brilliant. I just laughed and laughed untill the last minute.

Careful (1992, Guy Maddin)

"Brilliant movie. It is really strange too." And with this comment by the man on the counter I left with Guy Maddin's "Careful". It was so good that I want to watch all his movies I can possibly find - fantastic Canadian cinema! The film is a dark and twisted tale of repressed sexuality, Oedipus and Electra complexes and sibling rivalry in a surreal Alpine mountain. The aesthetics of it are remarkable: made as a 1920's movie, with a perfect mastery of colour effects and those great narrated written pieces. It reminded me a bit of "Nosferatu" at points and, I must say, it is ambitious in wanting to captivate a modern audience with "retro" technology. The thing is: it does capture you, completely, in a weird and yet fascinating web of silences and looks.

Central Station - Central do Brasil (1998, Walter Salles)

On the back of the DVD cover this was described as a "powerful tearjerker". I beg to disagree. Yes, it might excite a tear or two and a knot in your throat. But the movie is so much more than that. The characters are much more complex than what the synopsis could make you forsee. It is a story about second chances, about a boy alone in the world and a woman looking for a second chance at her own life. But neither are ready to admit this to themselves or each other. So a trip across the stunning interior of Brazil transforms itself into a subtle journey into each other's deepest fears, desires, and a rethinking of what each wants out of life. A surprising sequence of events and a powerful soundtrack. This is an example of how to take an ordinary story and make it an extraordinary movie.

Klimt (2006, Raoul Ruiz)


This was probably the exception to the list of sucessful viewings of this month. I had expectations: after all, I love the work of Gustav Klimt and I thought John Malkovich playing him would be tremendous. It would... if only I had managed to stay focused. It was really difficult. The movie is confusing on purpose, I understand. Surrealism is at work here, as far as I know. But I think the idea went too far: I feel lost! Very lost, too lost. Besides, the aesthetic exploration of the work of Klimt was good in certain scenes, but disappointed me in many ways. The end had a "revelatory moment" in which the audience was supposed to realise what they had been watching and its deeper meaning. My opinion: too late, too obscure. Unfortunate, really. And it was not Malkovich at his best, I must say. One great note: the mother-and-sister-madness-scene was very good.

The Piano (1993, Jane Campion)



Haunting and beautiful. The Piano is probably one of the most engaging movies emotionally that I have seen. I had never screamed out of pain and terror, cried of joy and sat there mesmerized like I did with The Piano. The movie tells the story of a deaf young Scottish woman sent to marry in the dark forests of New Zealand. Her passion is her piano, which she transports all the way to the deserted beach where she lands. Against all odds and appearances, a love story emerges. New Zealand, with its mud and darkness is a most beautifuly crafted setting. The music is key to this movie and is moving to a degree that is rarely seen. The themes of colonialism, marriage, love and communication between human beings and are treated in a subtle and sensitive way. The Piano has an emotional force that is remarkable and a magic quality that cannot be easily explained.

The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Long-haired Men

At the age of 17 the young Prophet had a revelation. And around him he gathered his followers and said, on the modern temple of television, "Thou shall not be cruel to long-haired men for theirs is the kingdom of rock'n roll."

The highest form of worship

"Do you indulge in any form of worship?

David Bowie - ahm... Life. I love life, very much indeed."


St. Bowie. Amen.

If there is one thing I love, it's gotta be the octopus

"I'm not sure where Portugal is, (somewhere behind Spain, right?). I don't know what the Portuguese people dress like, or look like. They went from being one of the world's superpowers to being famous for... Nothing, really. When was the last time you watched a Portuguese movie? Portuguese musicians? Writers? Is there really anyone in Portugal? As far as I'm concerned, Portugal was expressly designed to create Brazil, which is an actual COOL vibrant country. The food in Old Lisbon felt the same way. Very meh. Meh-diteranean. The fish and soups we had was just ok and the prices seemed a little steep for the familiar taste. I hear good things about their lamb chops, though! Maybe next time?"

"This was my first foray into non-Japanese octopus. The amount of Mediterranean seafood on the menu was a testament to the authenticity of this restaurant. The octopus was stewed in a tomato broth with potatoes, peppers and a few other items. It was very interesting to find the tentacles ranging from a millimeter in diameter to 1.5 inches in diameter. I was more surprised about the flavor and texture. As far as the flavor goes, the octopus had a very strong distinct flavor that I cannot compare to anything else. It was not so strong as to be unpleasant and the stewed vegetables and tubers that came along only helped. I had somewhat expected the texture to be rubbery and was pleasantly surprised that the flesh was quite supple and tender. "

NEVER, EVER read an America'n review of a Portuguese restaurant.

It makes you feel.... superior?

One thing is for sure: Portuguese food is to be enjoyed by those of educated taste and subtle minds, not by the curious and arrogant in some pseudo-retaurant in Miami.

If there is one thing I love about my country, it's gotta be the octopus.

The Portuguese s(h)elf

It feels funny.

I came into the library to do research on Basque Nationalism. As Portugal and Spain are neighbours, so are their book collections in the library. There it was: Portugal, a big set of shelves filled with books about it.

I looked at the books for a while. They are all old, nothing new has entered the dusty metalic shelves for a while, I presume. The spines are embelished with intricate patterns, decorative forms, some with touches of gold, some with fancy letters, floral printed titles. Faded aristocracy.

They are all big, strong, beautiful books, or once were, at least. They are all dusty, falling apart, their pages are yellow, some brown. There is an ambiance of decay about the shelves, a medieval air. They are out of place, those books should be in an old castle, in a convent. Not in the SFU library. They are all classics, basic important texts. And yet, they all look like rarities.

I feel funny. Like I miss that country far a way because of the books. Like the books were the fellow countrymen that I never found, like we have some common source, purpose. We all come from dusty Portuguese castles, pherhaps. But I also feel disgusted, ashamed of having something to do with these books, all rusty without any metal. Books that seemed to have neglected themselves, unimportant, uninteresting, lackign ambition. Books that rely on their embelished spines and do not even make an effort in their pages.

I pity and admire the books.

Tonight it is 1973 and I'm on a tourbus looking out the window with you

It is the first time I have felt capable of writing for a long time now. It has been a sequence of long journeys, trips, days looking at the windowpane sitting next to the bed, mornings tripping on the asphalt next to the bus stop.

What changed? Not much. Not that much. A movie, maybe... It is cinema, once again. It frees, it moves, it makes me part of something that I never could have been part of otherwise. And there is so much to be part of, so much! We must catch up, so much happened already before we were born. There is so much to see, learn, hear and feel. So much more coming up! It is like the world just cannot be comprehended and yet, we cannot help but trying. The merit, beauty and satisfaction must be in the attempt.

And tonight I feel like anything can happen. Like I can put on a really large hat and listen to rock'n roll, belong somewhere else, go back to a time outside of time.

Someone asked me today about love, about wanting someone to be with you forever. I do not know, I do not care. Sometimes we really need to stop thinking about this megalomania on personal relationships. We all, as a society, need to tune out of this greed, greed for people. We want more and more love, attention, care! As if that was an infinite resource. Accept it is not, be angry, have your world shattered. And then fall back into your empty bed, slide down to the floor. See the beam of light illuminating the dust in front of you. Close your eyes and stay there, covered in gentle silk and faded cotton. You'll find your balance, your strenght, yourself. In that dusty room.



I will say no more. There is little point, actually. It has been one of those perfect summer days. In my mind.

Electric Blues Mittens

After some months of labour, voilá the blue mittens I have been making.

The yarn:
Sisu by Sandnesgarn 80% norwegian wool and 20% nylon
and
Kid Merino by Crystal Palace Yarn (for the fury look)

The Pattern:
Drops Design's last winter collection


The Result:

(ok, ignore the fact that the pictures could be much better and consider I have not had a moment of good natural daylight for a long time)


The soft rainbow pullover has issues. Hopefully will be sorted out in Portugal and so I will be able to post the complete and final project. Oh, and the greek cotton pink top/tunic is also under way.

That's the state of the knitting drawer these days....