Egon Shiele: Sitting Woman with Legs Drawn Up

One of the multiple benefits of living in our house Clapham for some while ( 3 years) is that we have discovered an artist: Egon Schiele. The portrait of Sitting Woman with Legs Drawn Up (1917) that apparently is exhibited in the Narodni Galerie ( Prague) was hanging in front of us when sleeping for a roghly 800 nights. Joan says that he likes the portrait because recalls Marta ( may be after getting up and going to the gym)- other might well think different. But see, the life of this Austrian artist is worth it.

The life story if Egon Shiele is an interersting one . Bron nearby Vienna in 1890, his father died before a deteriorating mental condition aged fifty-four. He met a large array of Austrian artists such as Klimt and von Guetersloh and as a result of the latter got into erotic sort of painting. In 1911 Schiele met the seventeen-year-old Wally Neuzil, who was to live with him for a while and serve as the model for some of his best paintings. They had problems in setteling down and were contronted quite often with the disapproval of the inhabitants govern the sort of erotic nature of his drawings. In 1912 Schiele was imprisoned, to await trial for seducing a young girl below the age of consent. When the case came before a judge the charges of abduction and seduction were dropped, but the artist was found guilty of exhibiting an erotic drawing in a place accessible to children. The year 1915 marked a turning-point in Schiele's life. Some time in the previous year he had met two middleclass girls who lived opposite his studio. Edith and Adéle harms were the daughters of a master locksmith. Schiele was attracted to both of them, but eventually fixed his sights on Edith; by April 1915 he was engaged to her. Schiele and Edith were married, despite her family's opposition, in June 1915. Four days after his marriage Schiele was called up for war. Schiele's army service did not halt the growth of his reputation - he was now thought of as the leading Austrian artist of the younger generation, and was asked to take part in a government-sponsored exhibition in Stockholm and Copenhagen intended to improve Austria's image with the neutral Scandinavian powers. In 1918 he was invited to be a major participant in the Sezession's 49th exhibition. For this he produced a poster design strongly reminiscent of the Last Supper, with his own portrait in the place of Christ. Despite the war, the show was a triumph. Prices for Schiele's drawing trebled, and he was offered many portrait commissions. He and Edith moved to a new and grander house and studio. Their pleasure in it was brief. On 19 October 1918 Edith, who was pregnant, fell ill with Spanish influenza, then sweeping Europe. On 28 October she died. Schiele, who seems never to have written her a real love-letter, and who in the midst of her illness wrote his mother a very cool letter to say that she would probably not survive, was devastated by the loss. Almost immediately he came down with the same sickness, and died on 31 October, three days after his wife."

Kentishers at last

We are “kentishers”, at least for a year! This is how we now regard ourselves from last Saturday, at 2pm. New home, new identity. Kentish Town looks like a lively area, full of stuff to shop around, to visit & to get to know. Previous place was good, but may be far away from downtown, this seems the loophole of Clapham, trendy & quiet, but may be too much! Now we seem to find in Clapham the problems we didn’t care of before. Provisional conclusion is: south London is great for middle aged couples with kids, not yet our cup of tea.

While strolling down Kentish main street, we seem to have discovered the for the moment “best pub” off Camden Street (“the abbey”). After the pub, next is figuring out where is Marta’s gym (still undecided) and Joan’s preferred supermarket to fatten as much as possible. The flat looks gorgeous, small but cosy, not as fashion like as we might wish for, but it will become for sure the best place we have ever been in London. The main strength is our garden, perfect for barbecues, sunbathing and may be dinning outdoors in summer time. But don´t get us wrong, not that we plan to get into the world of gardening -may be Marta she reckons. Gardens bring peace, space to relax and may be to become "urbanisation aware". See, a couple of fatty squirrels pop into the garden every other day, wandering for a while to find out whether we were keen enough to hand them etable stuff ( we were not!). Meanwhile, some shameful looking cats from other neighbouring properties elegantly pass by as if the garden fence had never been build up and finally blackbirds constantly are in and out, playing "hide-and-seek" as if it would not be cold outside.

The inside of the house is not so good yet though fine. We seem to have already decided the colour we will paint the flat, sort of "grey white" that Marta finds “very modern”. Next question was though : who paints the flat? Marta looked for some people to come and help us painting, but it happened to be a”polish band” that asked for 540 quid to paint two rooms (may be they saw the merc that Hussein drives and though it was ours) , so we asked to a friend of a friend to come, an Argentinean who got the flu precisely the day he was supposed to come in. He seems nice guy according to the references but we already see ourselves painting the flat after Christmas, I know : lets give him a chance.

Besides painting, we have got ourselves ino the business of furnishing the flat last weekend as well. Indeed, all happened when we suddenly decided that moving flats was not torturing enough in itself, so that we should go to IKEA on a Sunday afternoon ( despite the day before we just moved in). Initially we thought we had an acceptabe time to go, may be slightly tight but still (we were still at home at 3pm). Now, it was in fact much worse than expected, instead of shutting at 6 (as we expected), they seem close at 5 on sundays, and rather than being an accesible place to get to, it took us about 20-30 minutes walk to get there. At the end, after running for a while and becoming kind of "anxious" (we really feared the idea of ouselves getting back home with nothing done) we got there. Accidentally, we managed to get in at 4.45 and Joan speeded up to buy all what looked attractive to him while Marta was more focused on the urgent needs. Besides Marta was busy removing from the trolley all what we didn’t need but that Joan emotionally managed to pick up, which happen to be lots at the end. Finally we succeed in buying some right stuff, not all we need though, so we have to go back or go somewhere else but it was good. We made our way back by hiring a cab. IKEA provides cabs to drive you home with the stuff bought; problem was that we were assigned a car who had already an assignment, so there wasn’t enough space inside and we were literally squeezed in somehow. An inexperienced driver managed to find the house thanks to a router and we got home safe. Hopefully from now on, the flat will not be anymore the object to our writings , let's keep hoping.

Christmas Party " LSE group" by Joan

Yesterday, Tuesday December 6th, was the LSE Health and Social Care Christmas Dinner. Unlike previous years, this time the party was in a restuarant in south London, "bankside restaurant". The usuals were there: Ali McGuire , Maria Raikou, Elias Mossialos , Mrigesh Bathia and two visitors (Julio Lopez who came visiting from the Canary Islands see the attached photograph and a guy from an African country that I can't remebers right now, just like Cervantes) . We were a sizeable number of pople in four tables and next table was Julian Le Grand ( back from No 10) with all the female visitors and PhD students.

A dinner like this can be interesting, in fact got to know that for instance Bathia is from a place near Goa called "Damao" ( west coast between Bombay and Surat) and that he even speaks some portugeese. People kept discussing about economics and bitching for a while. Julio did'nt stop asking for " a polish for deseart" every time the polish waiter would pop in and I don't really have much to tell as had to leave early (9.30) to meet some friends that had arrived from Valencia (Ricard Meneu and his wife) and Marta. Apparently, people in the office have just told me that the party lasted up until 4 am and I was not there,....mmmhhh,.... good for them,..at least I can say that last year had enough of this, that I did not had to had aspirin this time, that we are not 18 anymore even if we act like if we would,...all bad excuses,...next year will go partying.

Electricians are great, but just some,…

During a week or so, the fusses at home have been running dodgy, nothing we could do. The alarm went off, the washing machine as well, then it was the turn of the boiler and therefore the heat. As is common practice we called the electricians. Two electricians came, one was no more than 20 and used some crap arguments about moisture,..... too bad! The other one was a Greek immigrant that literally bullsheeted for ten minutes, said the whole system wasn’t save and ended up managing to leave the hoouse without doing any work and asking an awful lot of money,..was sent to hell!. Joan could have stayed for a while just like that (at the end of the day we are moving in two weeks time -he said), but Marta could not ressist and after complaining to the landlord ( who still is in south Africa) we decided to call urgent electricians for next day at 10 am to come over and not to leave until the problem would be sorted. On Tuesday morning, a guy form South Africa that works in a company we found after a random search in the google came over. He definitely did his best in sorting out the problem, was nice guy and realised how bad teh situation was. He managed, thanks to God we are not going to get up freezing every morning, Marta will not complain for not sleeping next to each other and we ended up with two main thoughts. One is that life before electricity was really hard, especially in winter. Second, electricians are great, but just some, those that came on the first place did not felt like doing proper work.

Corre-cuita i canvi de pis

Doncs mira "si",... en dos dies ja és desembre. Mentre els assistents dels vols d’easyjet et recorden els dies que falten per nadal en plan “ei, que venen el reis!”, ens n’adonem que no fa res de la “vuelta al cole”, que no hem fet vacances, que ve un hivern canyero o gripós, i que malauradament, el xollo de pis on vivíem a Clapham l´hem de deixar.Aquestes dues setmanes han estat flipants, mirant pisos per "esmorsar, dinar i sopar"...alguns venedors tenen la barra de fer-nos creure venim de la Ceba i que un detritus de pis és collonut, quan saben que ells no hi viurien mai…

Pero finalment n´hem tronat un!!! La cosa va passar ahir, dia 23 novembre, quan la Marta va anar a veure un tal Husseyn que ensenyava pisos amb Mercedes Benz. No gaire convençuda del pis per la descripció, es quedà flipada en veure'l, millor dit, al veure la terrassa del pis ( ja descontava les "barbeques" que montarem a l’estiu).

Tot plegat: un basement bufonet, "monillo" vaja . El problema era que a les 5 de la tarda venien una altre parella a fer la paga i senyal. Així que, a partir d’aquell moment es posa en marxa la situació d’alerta vermella . A les 4 en Joan fa un "mira- i paga-el-dipòsit”, i ja és nostre. Deixem per la historia, és a dir quan siguem més vells (i tinguem nens, nebots o totes dues coses), la resolució del research question: realment era certa la parella que venia a pagar a les 5 de la tarda, o tot plegat va ser una excel·lent operació comercial en plan ‘afer turc’ d'en Husseyn.

Anyhow, finalment respirem,..... un problema menys, .....a la Marta no la faran fora per dedicar hores de feina a ‘coses personals’ i els ‘profes grecs’ amb els que treballa en Joan "tocaran els collons" una mica menys sovint,..... i malgrat teniem encara dues setmanes abans no ens fessin fora de Clapham, no calia patir ansietat innecessària. Feina feta, ahir ens merexíem una bona birra. A més, a la casa de Clapham els ploms s'en van cada cop que plou (o això pensem), els xispes diuen que calen canviar tots els cables,...així que hem de dormir mes junts a la nit, tot te la seva part glamourosa.Quan pensem en la zona de Kentish Town ens ve la clàsica rialleta per “lo guai” que és: a al vora de la zona “pigella” de “ Hamstead” i a només una parada de la zona alternativa de “Camden”. Així, tot i que l’any s'acaba i Déu és nat, vivim al carrer Alma street (Kentish Town), in a short while, december 15th onwards, all welcome.

About our neighbourhood: Kentish Town

Kentish-Town, a suburban district and hamlet in the parish of St. Pancras and borough of Marylebone, county Middlesex, 3 miles N.W. of St. Paul's. It was anciently called. Kentistonne, and now constitutes the prebend of Kaunteloe or Cantelows, in St. Paul's Cathedral. The greater part of the land is held under lease by the Marquis Camden through the Jeffreys. The town consists chiefly of a line of buildings extending along the road from Camden Town to Highgate Rise, and several good streets recently formed.

Marriage? What`s going on with Catalan couples?

We are stunned after the results of a study published by the Catalan daily "Avui", 4 out of 10 Catalan married couples split up . This is the conclusion of the recent study undertaken by Lluis Flaquer and financed by the catalan ministry of social affairs (directed by Anna Simó). Interestingly, this number is far larger than that of Spain (3.2 out of 10) and slightly over the EU average (3.7 out of 10).

Off course, this does not mean that people should not keep on without marring, but,......... they better watch out before rushing into whatever is conventionally established, think thoroughly about practicalities may be, and make sure they comit "to the same", etc.....though its true that people might change over time,......as they say here "no practice, no rules".

EXCÈLSIOR: a "perfect poem" for november by Joan Maragall

Vigila, esperit, vigila, no perdis mai el teu nord, no et deixis du’ a la tranquil·la aigua mansa de cap port.
Gira, gira els ulls en l’aire, no miris les platges roïns, dóna el front an el gran aire, sempre, sempre mar endins.
Sempre amb les veles suspeses, del cel al mar transparent, sempre entorn aigües esteses que es moguin eternament.
Fuig-ne, de la terra innoble, fuig dels horitzons mesquins: sempre al mar, al gran mar noble; sempre, sempre mar endins.
Fora terres, fora platja, oblidat de tot regrés: no s’acaba el teu viatge, no s’acabarà mai més...

Sobre la posteritat "Sic Transit" ( a El Pais)

Rara cosa esa ambición de gloria y permanencia, esa hambruna de posteridad que tanta gente siente. Una aspiración inane, porque no hay más que mirar atrás para comprobar que los humanos lo olvidamos todo a velocidad vertiginosa. Salvo unos pocos individuos de cada generación cuyos nombres quedan fijados a través del tiempo, los demás desaparecen por completo del recuerdo colectivo, por muy famosos y poderosos que fueran en vida.............

.....A menudo, cuando paso por cualquier rincón de una ciudad y veo la estatua en bronce de algún prócer, imagino toda la pompa, la soberbia, el imperioso orgullo que subyacen detrás. Qué poderosos y altaneros se ven los tipos de las estatuas. Pero la mayoría de las veces hemos olvidado quiénes son, y ni siquiera la lectura de su nombre nos evoca gran cosa. Tanto bronce inmortal, para servir después de mero aliviadero para las palomas.

Halloween party October 29th form 7pm to 2am

(Before the party: Marta, Mariona, Joan and Marc at the Spitz, the famous jazz bar in Spitafielads market, wearing fangs)

On saturday we're going to a Halloween party in one of London's spookiest venues in the cobbled streets of Jack The Ripper territory for a big old Halloween knees up. We'll be a bunch of us: Sarita, Nikos, Mariona, Marc, Ali and all is organised by Sureyya.

The pace is an an entire pub decorated especially for the event. We are told to wear a costume, and apparently there will be prizes for the best and worst costumes.

What does halloween mean? Where it comes from? Here it goes some briefing:

The word itself, "Halloween," actually has its origins in the Catholic Church. It comes from a contracted corruption of All Hallows Eve. November 1, "All Hollows Day" (or "All Saints Day"), is a Catholic day of observance in honor of saints. But, in the 5th century BC, in Celtic Ireland, summer officially ended on October 31. The holiday was called Samhain (sow-en), the Celtic New year.
One story says that, on that day, the disembodied spirits of all those who had died throughout the preceding year would come back in search of living bodies to possess for the next year. It was believed to be their only hope for the afterlife. The Celts believed all laws of space and time were suspended during this time, allowing the spirit world to intermingle with the living.
Naturally, the still-living did not want to be possessed. So on the night of October 31, villagers would extinguish the fires in their homes, to make them cold and undesirable. They would then dress up in all manner of ghoulish costumes and noisily paraded around the neighborhood, being as destructive as possible in order to frighten away spirits looking for bodies to possess.

For Marta's birthday: a poem by Joan Sales

This is a poem from a Catalan writer about life (thanks go to our friend Ramon Tremosa for handing us this text over).

EDAT MADURA (1942)

"El plaer no deixa record.
Només són dolços en el cor,
un cop els anys lleugers han fet folla carrera,
els instants que ens van fer sofrir.

L'home, sorprès, s'adona un bon matí
que enyora la presó, l'exili, la trinxera,
el camp que amb mil angúnies i suors va cavar.
I que dels seus amors el que més persevera és
aquell que més el va fer plorar".

Joan Sales (1912-1983)

Tomorrow " Marta's birthday" (in Catalan)

La Marta en fa “29 i tres dotzenes de mesos”, precisament demà dijous dia 27 d’octubre. Més enllà del "qui dia passa any empeny”, aquest dia és potser l'únic que no cal empènyer.

L’aniversari, és aquesta festa “pagana” que ens recorda el dia que ens van parir. Serveix per “ rememorar també que existim”. Un any més i encara hi som! Conscients per un dia (només un a l’any), de la restricció temporal però també conscients del fet que “res és per sempre”, si el “per sempre” rau en un mateix, és clar.

Tot i que estant en una altre ciutat fa difícil o impossible ser amb tots aquells que ens estimem més, val a dir, que us tenim a tots molt presents. Demà anirem a sopar amb la Marta , sera un dia normal, ella prefeix no agafar-se festa i aquest any, com és convenció, també tindrà un “regalet”,....... no, no ens casem ni aquestes coses,..... només que “els homes (dones) són a les coses, com les coses als homes(dones)”, suposo,...pero les coses no són res comparades amb l'estimació de les persones. El millor regal és sentir els teus "ben aprop"! Aquells que us enrecodeu demà, sempre podeu fel·licitar-la amb un email al Martav@Futurefoundation.net.

Joan "elkosta"

This our other city "Clapham" (but not for long)

The origins of Clapham date back to Saxon times, specifically a settlement known as "Osgod Clapha". This was pretty tiny, and it didn't develop much beyond hamlet size for quite some time. The Common provided grazing for livestock then, and was still being used for this purpose right up until the start of the 20th century.

The land around Clapham was fairly marshy, and this limited development in the Middle Ages. By the 17th century highwaymen were a common sight on the Common, with Robert Forrestor one of the most unusual. Described as a "notorious sinner", Forrestor rode his horse dressed in ladies' nighties and pinched as much money as he could from passing stagecoaches.

Clapham began to develop at the end of the 17th century, as the Fire of London led to many homeless north Londoners arriving in their droves. Prostitution also became quite big business, although the women concerned mostly avoided the Common, which has now become the focus for furtive night time encounters.

The 19th century saw the construction of Clapham Junction station, and industry grew up around this part of the borough. Industry brought in more workers, and so housing development occurred as a result of this.
The 20th century didn't really see that much more development. Today Clapham is a popular residential district, with a thriving atmosphere and plenty of pleasant pubs, bars, restaurants and shops.

Tim Minchin: Dark Side

Diumenge vam anar a veure les comedies guanyadores del Festival "Edinburgh shows "2005. Ens varem endur una sorpresa amb en Tim Mitchin, un actor d'allò més polivalent i entre les seves lletres aquesta: "this is my country, its where I spend the vast majority of my time. Its not perfect, but is mine......".

Tim Minchin is such a brilliant virtuoso pianist, it would be a pleasure to simply listen to him play for an hour. Any incidental comedy, you could consider a bonus.But, as it turns out, he's not only an immensely talented musician, he's also a bright, quirky and hugely entertaining comedian, too. It's the sort of all-round package of genius that could drive other comics furious with envy.

On the face of it, what he sets out to do can sound very ordinary; which makes the fact he creates something extraordinary all the more remarkable. How many disappointing student-grade hacks might tackle a comic song about an inflatable sex doll with painfully predictable results? Well, this unedifying topic is the subject of his second song, performed in a cocktail-lounge jazz style, and itís unexpectedly wonderful.

Restuarant guai a Bilbao "Etxanobe"

Si mai aneu a Bilbao, us adjuntem una recomanació:

El restaurante ETXANOBE situado en el palacio Euskalduna está dirigido por Fernando Canales, chef y propietario. Cuenta con Mikel Población, jefe de cocina, el cual lleva unido profesionalmente a Fernando Canales más de diez años.Es un restaurante en el que la prioridad es la satisfacción del cliente por medio del trato en un marcoinmejorable con una decoración sorprendente y cálida al mismo tiempo.La cocina es de esas que se recuerdan, sobre todo en la memoria gustativa: rica e intensa de sabor,pero con una estética cuidada y respetando al máximo el producto, que es el auténtico protagonista.

El casament del dissabte

En Natxo i la Maduli es van prometre "amor per sempre " el dissabte 15 d'0ctubre. Noslatres, érem padrins (per primer cop) i varem fer un poema (adjuntem a continuació).





Ofrena del Ram d'en 'Natxo' a la '(Maria) Dolors'

Seguint la tradició del Principat, i fent gala de missatger de l’estimat,
et lliuro "una mes" de les "penyores" de l’amor d’un nuvi ja fa temps enamorat.
Així, núvia aquí tens aquest ram: símbol d’amor i de bona voluntat.

En 'Natxo' ho ha volgut així, tots dos i vet aquí: sereu companys en el camí.
Amics, confidents, de vegades amants, sovint còmplices i ajudants, doncs sí:
vau jugar al "Natxo que bo que estàs" i no us vau poder resistir.
Equip envejable, signeu avui el compromís, per arribar més lluny del que éreu ahir..

Matrimoni no tan sols és compartir, sinó voler seguir, malgrat a voltes patir.
Només així és possible el que els enamorats anomenen la desitjada fi:
"ser per existir". Dolors, mira enrere una vegada més: Montgrony, l' Ebre, Mura i molt més. En fi: "sunshine after rain " com diuen per allí , cal no desistir, la clau del misteri resta en el núvol del destí.

Avui , revetlla de trobada, tardor daurada, ens trobem per sòlida amistat..
Celebrem la vostra mútua voluntat, sí, que heu identificat "roses en el mar": el de la felicitat .
Aquest ram, inici d’una nova societat, ferma i sòlida, digne de catalanitat.

Escrit a Londres a l'Octubre de 2005