Paris (Aeroplane Remix)

Bonjour-eh.

Paper Aeroplane

Soft sunlight falls over the city, as though it were a late Free State afternoon and not an early winter's morning in Mzansi. The buildings are carefully folded origami, God playing Tetris badly with their arrangement. Row upon row of trains like tiny pieces of Lego. I try to spot the Nelson Mandela bridge, but we are already passing over Ellis Park Stadium. When the FNB Stadium appears, tiny from this height, I poke my neighbour and say: "Look, it's Soccer City!".

The silly man only replies that the one in Cape Town is prettier, and that we'll pay for these stadia for years. How can you not appreciate the view, Mr Suit? Johannesburg is saying Welcome Back, and you fail to acknowledge her beauty.

You see, I came home, yesterday. It was only one week, but it felt like time had stopped; it felt as though I had been given a time-out from my life just for a week. Here, the news regarding Zuma's painting was still the same, I had missed nothing at the university, and all the people were still exactly as I had left them.

But Paris also felt like going home.  I still know my way around. I still know how to surf the metro without holding on or falling. I still know where to get what I need. Seeing my friends again felt like I had seen them only yesterday, not two years ago. Getting on the plane back here felt like coming home and leaving it at the same time. Sure, Paris is not where my family is, where the house I call home is, where most of my friends live, or where I feel like I know every corner. But that city is not a stranger to me either. It is like being a perpetual tourist and being perpetually home-less at the same time; it is feeling a sense of belonging to more than one city.

The hello goodbye boys

My hangover has stolen any attempt at being very articulate from me. In a few hours, the plane and I will be heading north, so I'll see you in a week ( avec des cadeaux).

7007

Hello,

My blog has been read more than 7000 times.

Simply, thank you. I hope what I post on some level resonates with you, whether it is for a moment or for a lifetime ( or anything in between).

Sabine

Ne me quitte pas

Oh yeah. This time next week I'll be in Paris. It is different from a holiday, because I have no need to go see the Louvre or the Sacre Coeur or climb the stairs of the Eiffel Tower. I just want to spend time with my friends, and smell a different air. I am so excited to sit in the Metro and watch people. Or to buy books which I cannot order here. Or to go to H&M. Or to eat a fresh baguette with the supercheap Mozzarella that floats around in a little bag on top. Or Kinder Pingu. It will be great. Greater than great. Awesome.

So excited. SO excited.

You're going back

We went to the Neighbourgoods Market today in down-town Johannesburg. On the website it states that "the market reflects our commitment to urban regeneration and the goal to revive and reinvent the Public Market as a civic institution. Market-goers can expect to find an assortment of goods from local artisan producers, purveyors, gourmet merchants, specialty cooks, regional farmers + estates, as well as a selection of local designers". We had previously been to the market in Cape Town, which was wonderful, so I had some high expectations for the Joburg version.

And it is also very cool. The emphasis here is on cool. All the hipsters descend on a very select corner of the inner city, clad in their coolest attire (skinny jeans, plaid shirt, Ray Bans for the gents, and some kind of This-is-meant-to-look-like-I-just-threw-it-on for the ladies), sipping smoothies or Moscow Mules and eating sandwiches that cost R60. I mean, it is a nice atmosphere and it is fascinating to watch everyone, but man, it is a pretentious get-together. No one would want to live in the area, because the inner city is not exactly the safest place, but come Saturday, this is how the mostly white upper-middle class cures its (political and real) hangover.

Look, the market is great. Everything looks supertasty and all the products are high in quality, but I don't know how much it contributes to "urban regeneration". The people from the surrounding area can by no means afford to shop there. I mean, who can pay R50 (€5) for a miniature slab of Honest Chocolate? This market is more about personal indulgence for the rich than it is for one to do one's weekly grocery shopping at. Go for the atmosphere and to observe how the slickest of slick are glued to their sunglasses, but stop at the Pick 'n Pay for your milk and bread.

After the market, we headed to the Johannesburg Art Gallery, which is just around the corner, but seems to be situated in a completely different world. We were driving through almost empty streets when suddenly there were people EVERYWHERE and we were in the bus lane. It was funny, scary and interesting all at the same time. Whereas at the market it is 95 % white and with financial resources, we were suddenly stuck in streets where it is 99% black and with low incomes. It was a strange contrast.

The gallery is next to the Joubert Park, where people and trash overpower the lawns. Beyond the fence, however, there was almost no one in the museum. It hosts the largest art collection in Southern Africa, larger even than South African National Art gallery in Cape Town, but the throngs of people outside did not seem interested at the visual information at their disposal. and entrance is free, so there is no real excuse not to go and have a look. I wonder if there could not be some way to integrate the park's visitors and the wonderful works present in the museum, preferably in a way that could be income-generating for the area.

I'm home now, but today was just fascinating: within minutes, we had gone from an elitist market to streets overflowing with people to an empty gallery. Such a weird and wonderful place, Johannesburg.

I fink u freeky

Who needs Die Antwoord when you've got Gazelle.

Into the Ink

the beast in me

Apparently there is a new trend towards honesty in the blogosphere. Confessions of a Pretoria Chique shared her issues, and here is a whole list of bloggers who decided that now is the time to show more private aspects of themselves. If that is what they feel they need to do, great. If it somehow makes you feel better, brilliant. If thousands comment that they now feel closer to the blogger, or have the same issue, or can relate to this revelation, good for you.

But let's be honest, then. Is it not easier to tell an anonymous hive of users about your feelings than to tell the people in your inner circle? We are terrified of saying, to their faces, the truths about ourselves out of fear of being rejected. Online, this is a non-issue simply because it is not real. Honesty might be real, but the people that read your blog are not flesh-and-blood to you. Their opinion won't enormously affect you. Sure, some people get hounded online and some have even committed suicide as a result ( this article on cyberbullying in South Korea is an example), but to me, it does not have the same effect if PettySharkThief098 calls me a ugly racist bitch or if one of my best friends does it. The reason? You cannot know me simply by reading my blog. This is just a facet, it is just the part of me that I want to represent online.

Sure, I know some of the people that I see on a daily basis do read what I write and that they might connect my stories to conversations we have had or places we have gone to together. But not one them ever comments. I can write ANYTHING I like and no one writes a meaningful comment. My guess it that either my writing is super-boring, the topics are of no meaning to them or, we have talked about this in person, so it is unnecessary to rehash it online. Blogging is like the super-size-me of Twitter, it is an ego-boost in paragraphs and I have no illusions about this being more a project for myself than for anyone else.

I think it is great when people are being more earnest (and this does not equal maliciousness). Previously I have said that in my own family we suffer from a let's-not-talk-about-it disease, so in my mind saying what is on your heart can be a positive release. However, I must admit that some things should be kept to yourself. Not every intimate detail of my life can be shared here. On the one hand, I don't think I am all that interesting, and on the other hand it's like Florence sings, "I like to keep some things to myself". I understand that this was not the task set my the Things-I'm-Afraid-To-Tell-You campaign, that they merely wanted to feel reassured ( and reassure their readers in turn) that everyone has problems and quirks and that it is all perfectly normal.

I just kind of feel like it is a superficial gesture. As I said, if it helped a few people, that is awesome. But everyone will continue posting about clothes and baking and nice photographs and where they went ( and I am not exempting myself from this). People might cheer you on for being honest in a post in between the happy posts. But all my life I have been told I am too honest, that I have no tact, that I should think about what I say before I do so. New people have been pre-warned by my friends that I am "too honest", so they should not be offended by what I say. ( I say WTF ,by the way to that, now).

So here is my lesson learned, fellow bloggers with much larger audiences. Honesty is not what people wish to read about. They find the occasional whiff of it refreshing, but because the news just keeps blasting negativity and corruption and PROBLEMS at us I would bet that most readers just want to quickly glance at beauty and find some inspiration in a dreary day. Hell, this post is probably waaaaay to much reading for most people.


Here are my honesty points for the day:

- I don't know what to do with my arms when I try to fall asleep, so I fold them ( imagine the don't-talk-to-me body language pose).
- I miss my dogs more than any human that has died in my life ( granted, only my grandparents have died and I did not know them well).
- I see my musical taste as being one of my redeeming qualities and will judge you for listening to PitBull ( or similar).
- When I don't have to see anyone over the weekend, I don't wash my hair or wear a bra. It is quite liberating.
- Often, I want to shout at other students that they should stop being fucking idiots. Yes, the F word is needed because most of today's youth is too self-absorbed ( haha says the one who writes as an ego boost) to notice how their idiocy is impacting the world.
-I know I make spelling mistakes, but honestly, I am too lazy to reread what I wrote.

That is all.

I call it art

Pieter Hugo, Owen Knibbs, Observatory, 2005

I read I'm sick of pretending, by Glen Coco, yesterday and must agree that often, I have no idea what art is. In first year, the one lecturer asked for a definition of what art is, and some people were fairly certain that they knew, that they could define it, dictionary-style, in a paragraph. Three years later, I am more clueless than ever. What is art? What is it not? Sure, I know about different movements and ideas that were more present during a specific period in history, but I don't know if simply calling something "art" is enough.


These are some of my favourite works, simply because I like looking at them.

Jean-Etienne Liotard, Das Schokoladenmädchen, 1744

Edouard Manet, Gare Saint-Lazare 1873

Vincent van Gogh, Almond blossom, 1890

Wolfgang Tillmans, Peaches VI, 2001 

Pablo Picasso, Two crossed hands, [sa]

Quarter past wonderful

Unexpectedly
I found
this
in the National Geographic.

Boston's Old Customs House in Hotel RoomI, 1999

Santa Maria della Salute in Palazzo Livingroom. Venice, Italy, 2006

Manhattan View Looking South in Large Room, 1996

All images are via Abelardo Morell's site, it is just beautiful. 

Also, here is a link to National Geographic's video on the Camera Obscura article that features Morell. 

Camera Obscura - Video, Camera Obscura - Pictures, More From National Geographic Magazine

Don't say no,no,no,no. Just say yeah yeah yeah...

Now this is the way to a girl's heart: graffiti. ( this one via the Laughing Squid)

Eastern Market, Detroit Proposal (Marry Me Tizzie?) from Tizzie Onderko on Vimeo.

The wall was later updated with a little "she said YES!". Yay for happy marriages.

Great graffiti always makes me want to grab a spray-can and go out into the streets. After I saw Exit through the Gift Shop, a friend and I defaced some of the political party posters ( at that time the country was nearing some kind of vote, I am guessing for local government? As in the area one lives in, not national government). I accept that that was quite lame, but fun none the less. 

South Africa is not really synonymous with graffiti, and my best guess is that because we no longer really live in the cities, but in suburbia, there is no real graffiti. I know in Cape Town and Joburg there are a couple of artists though ( like Faith47, who features in the film The Creators about artists in SA). But in Pretoria? I haven't seen anything. Perhaps in other parts of the city? 

I'll have to look into graffiti here some more, it seems like an interesting topic for weekend excursions.