But there is no danger in daring a bit

It is fall and I have been travelling. Fall already! Time for apple pies, pumpkin pies, orange landscape, red maple leaves and perfect light for photography.

I love fall. So I have been busy with work and exhibitions and exploring my beautiful Montreal and the unexpected beautiful cities and landscapes around Quebec.

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Our little tent on a cliff in Les Escoumins

 
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For those who love reading, traveling and walking

I know it might sound redundant but not everyone who travels actually likes a good walk on a foreigner city. Hence the title.

But if you do like walking and traveling and if you also have a thing for books I wanted to share a trick I do almost always: book itinerary. Yes you heard well! There is nothing more captivating then walking a path that was described on a book you loved, I guarantee.

For instance, check this map of Mrs Dalloway walkabouts:

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Road Trip – part I Teiaiagon (aka Toronto)

When you leave your country it usually comes to you how much you haven’t explore it as much as you should/could. There is always a feeling that you could do it later because you think it will always be there and you will always be there but is not always the case (intentional repetition of word always).

I had that feeling quite a few times in my (short) life and I am sure I will still experience it in the future, although this time I decided to do something about it: road trip everywhere I can while I am still in beautiful Canada.

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This could be anywhere

When I stepped back in Montreal there was a feeling of comfort. The fulfilment and excitement that arouses when we finish a task, a mission we were not sure how long would least but it was finally done and we are  finally coming back home.

Unbeknownst for most and myself there was also an anew feeling, as if all was the same but not, a book you remember very well but now the narrative is a movie sort of feeling, do you know what I mean? If not, try reading Game of Thrones and watching the series. You will understand that although is the same story the story isn’t the same and so far we can not say for sure that they will both end the same way.

But back to coming back to Montreal… It felt old and usual but with some missing characters and suddenly all was different, I was in some other story that wasn’t mine or that I was unaware I had to write (or rewrite). On the midst of all those feelings it seemed to me that Montreal could be anywhere, the streets were the same but the people on it made it look like and feel like anywhere. Maybe a dystopia, maybe just a resemblance with some other part of the world, regardless! I wasn’t home anymore.

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Diane Arbus/The Estate of Diane Arbus LLC. 

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Saint-Henri-des-Tanneries

 

Moving back to Montreal meant moving back to Saint Henri, one of my favourites hoods in town. I am not sure what made me like here so much: the proximity with Canal Lachine, the underdog vibes, the cultural vibrancy or the punk, bearded, coffee lovers we see around in the streets. Perhaps all of it.

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Long ride home.

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Home is wherever I am with you, says the song. So after 2 years in Australia I am back home just to find out that home is not here. But Montreal is beautiful even when it is not, amidst its cracked streets and dirty sidewalks there is a certain charm in the old tiny houses of Saint Henri and on the green once copper roof of churches everywhere you go. Continue reading

Son regard

I got in the movies a little late but I am always on time, or early. In fact I am early most of the time. To all events.

The theatre was empty and I chose my favourite row. It is the one not too much on the higher part of the theatre, but not to low neither. It is on the perfect high, the one you can see the screen without too many heads in front of you and you have the feeling that the room is small enough and the screen big enough. Or maybe is a feeling that you are home, with a big screen, you don’t see much of the room. I was alone on that late sunny afternoon. It is always sunny here on the sunshine coast, no kidding.

My heart was heavy so I was at the movies. Art in general seems to help with my rampages of depression and desperation. I sit in front of a paint, a photograph, a music, a movie, and it feels that it all makes sense, it is ok that there is no sense. They have it all figured out. And I keep moving.

And I was alone at the movies until a guy walks in, curly hair (was he blond? I couldn’t see anymore), popcorn, coke? He walks as if there are rocks on the floor, is he afraid to stumble? I am not sure. I wish for a moment he would walk pass me, sit very far because I don’t appreciate popcorn eating noise when I am at the movies. In fact I can barely handle any noise at all at the movies. But he walks in rocks and sits beside me (perhaps we share the same preference for middle row seats?). He should be at the beach I thought. But heavy hearts are heavy hearts after all.

I can see his eyes and they are black, and his hands are light and feverish. But I pretend I don’t see. I pretend he is not there and I am not there neither. Could I just silently move to another seat or that would be too mean? I decide to stay because the movie is starting, and I don’t like noises in the movies. (I think he doesn’t like it neither, although he has popcorn).

The movie is so beautiful that I forget everything. I forget he is too close, so close in fact that  I can feel his arm touching mine. I forget I can see his eyes crying, son regard, son regard qui veut. He wishes so many things. Untouchable things.

He cries beside me like we were forever friends. And I cry too, but I hide it, I hide everything.

He cries because it is beautiful. Is the beauty that hurts both of us, is too much, too unbearable, too unreachable, too beautiful.

Youth by Paolo Sorrentino

Youth by Paolo Sorrentino

Life, the big unknown. All our emotions are so important, including the fears – perhaps most importantly. Fear is also such strong feeling. Is it what keep us moving? “Emotions is all we have left”. And love.

I left before the credits. I usually stay until the last word, but not this time.

The movie is called La giovinezza. And it ends with this song,

K

The strange case of Meredith Oh

3am and someone is knocking at my door. Still between two worlds I don’t bother to leave the bed thinking that it is just a dream, an eco from a dream. Knowing no one in my building who could be knocking at my door? The knocking persisted and giving up my warm bed I walked slowly to the door:

Sorry to bother you miss. I am agent xx and this is detective yy, we need to ask you some questions about your neighbour Tennessee Brooks, his body is outside and we believe he just jumped from his balcony few minutes ago. Still not sure of what was happening I said I didn’t knew any Tennessee Brooks. But he left a note for you in a sticker on his fridge, said agent xx, see? and he shows me the note: K, high tea on Thursday, bring her a sample of balkan hair.

Meredith's hair, photo by poshdrosofila thibault

Meredith’s hair, photo by Poshdrosofila Thibault

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