...and life goes on...

 Meanwhile, in Pokhara, Lake side, life goes on as usual, except for a few détails. It's full season and there is very few people. The streets that usually carry plenty of tourists going paragliding are now empty, only a few cars and local buses passing once in a while. The restaurants are almost empty and in the sky, no body is flying. The trekking shops have no treekers around. In the next 2 weeks, the few tourists that stayed will soon leave. Few will come in. A new grafiti appeared on the wall and the days pass to the sounds of the speakers and the frogs. This year, it's going to be a very quiet season on this side of the lake...

What next?

"For how long can people give kilos of foods? I gave what I could, now I need to work and money to keep going" says my nepale friend as we talk about the current situation. They all know it will be a rough year for everyone here, the futur looks uncertain, even more than usual. This is the real question, how long will volunteers show full support, how long can people donate? For now, the kilos of supplies keep packing up direction the mountains. For now the kilos of food, tents, blankets, medical supplies keep on coming, but for how long is a question to ask. For now, it's wonderful to see all get together and help as best they can. But once the tons of supplies are distributed and once the donations slow down, the work will keep going on for a long time after. For those that know Nepal, we know the difficulties of the country, and they are deeply rooted in the political and religious system of the country. If the maoiste revolution threw out the last Hindu King (from muslam family, but shhhtttt, it's a secret;), since the revolution which was 10 years of civil war, the new governement did absolutely nothing of what it promessed during the revolution. Does this story sound familiar? Seems history has a tendency to repeat itself...same same...but diferent this time...

Nepal tattoo

 

Rise Nepal.

 



On the 25th of April, I took the bus from Pokhara to Kathmandu for the 5th Nepal International Tattoo convention. Since the first one, I only missed one convention. In the tattoo world since a couple decades, I am not a convention type person. I only went to the Paris Mondial du tatouage a couple years ago, and to the Kathmandu conventions. I'd rather be in the privacy of the shops.

I remember the first one years ago. Thanks to Mohan Gurung's team, it was a week and more of nepale artist meeting each other for the first time. As tattoo is ancient tradition in Nepal, the modern tattoo world is just discovering it. Each year the convention becomes a meeting of old time freaks, long time travelers and of course plenty of tattoo artists. They meet in the Yak and Yeti hotel, a superb 5 star hotel on King's Road, filled with old photos of Once upon a time in Nepal. If the convention is filled with many buddhas, shivas, ganesh and other popular god figures, the modern touch shows it's way. People like Alchemink and Kenji Alucky with Black Ink Power represent amongst others the modern and ancient tattoo scene mixed together in the best of ways. The london based KaliTattoo studio has been present every year, with the scarcification and silicones implants. Many names pass through every year, and it is always a time to meet new friends and to enjoy some time with those that came from far to visit for the occasion. April is freak time in the city of a 1000 gods, Kathmandu, and this year sure was a special one...

Swoyambuh and mutu

Buddha eyes

 Swoyambhu: the Self made land.
According the legends here, the Kathmandu valley has already seen a few civilizations come and go. We would be on the 3rd one, some scriptures say. Each time, Manjushree, a god form being all of Buddhas wisdoms, takes her large sword and makes a whole through the mountain, letting the water out of the valley. The legends say that Swoyambhu is the first one to rise up from the lake. Geologist find the same result in rocks study. The valley has been Under water a few times already and rises again. Manjushree is the protector of the Kathmandu valley, and one could think it is a form to give to earthquakes that have regularly been shaking the valley 1000's of years. Swoyambhu sits on top of a hill, the damages are very serious. So bad, that a couple days ago, during Buddha's birth, death and enlightment day celebration, the temple was closed to the devotees.

Durbar Square

 Siva Parvati temple still standing

Kathmandu's heart is broken, with it goes a part of nepale heart. This is what's left standing of Durbar Square, the ancient administrative center of the capital. Once upon a Time, we all sat on the step of temples enjoying a cup of chai, chit-chating with friends. Sitting on the red bricks steps, surrounded by so much history and beauty was simply daily life. How much of this UNESCO heritage will they be able to save? The buildings are cracked, very cracked. Much, way too much, will have to be destroyed in order to be rebuild. Once upon a time...

Asu nepal

A pagoda

 

It's been a week since the Big Shake. As the fashion media effect is buzzing down on Nepal situation, the people are still there. It will take a long time to rebuild, to heal from this trauma. The political situation will also do it's own growing due to the events, but I'll keep politics away for now, as the immediate need is to organize the help. There are those that need help, and those that give help, but mostly everyone does what they can with what they can. Those that usually do nothing, still do nothing, and those that usually are active are double active. Seems that through life drama, we get to the chore of people...



2072 nepal

 

They knew it was going to come. The big One they called it. Every 80 years or so, the earth shakes the ground as the mountains grow a bit. Every year in Kathmandu, it shakes a little, just a little, but no damage done. We get used to it, that's life, kie garne (what to do) they say in nepal. But this year was diferent. The scientist say that it's not over, but nobody knows when, it could be soon, it could be in a decade, no body knows, but it's enough to think deeply about life.
The day before the quake, I went to Kathmandu for the 5th international tattoo convention, which I have attended since the begining. Kathmandu was full of people, it's season time, and festivals bring much people during that time of the year. It was a normal morning, a normal type of day. We were having morning tea with a friend in Thamel, when the shaking started. Survival instinct kicks in automatically. As part of the roof falls in front of us crushing a passing car, we run inside next shop. A chinese couple holds each other, the lady cries, my friend and I hold each other hand, no panic, we stay put and let it pass. Nothing we can do, legs are like paralized by the tremors. A few seconds laters and the earth stops shaking, but our legs and hearts still shake. The car is empty, totally crushed, the driver ran out in time...

Kumari

Kumari

Pokhara, Fewa lake...

Fewa lake

Jiddu

 

"A mind that is unafraid is always alone, not isolated, but alone. It is only the mind that is frightened, anxious, guilty, greedy, envious, that is always seeking company, afraid to be alone."

 

I remember the first time I laid my eyes on Jiddu Krishnamurti. I was in my early 20's, living in San Fransisco. At the time, I was enrolled at the Community College, where I ended up getting a Bachelor of Fine Arts, now called a Bachelor of Science. For the arts classes, I mostly registered in the courses offered at the Fort Mason campus, by Fisherman's Warf area. The small campus was by the ocean and that alone was enough to make me happy...

Tattoo: the 10th art?

 

Panam, the old Paris. Quaie Branly Museum, Tintin, the famous Hell's Angel of the tattoo world, organized a retrospective of the tattoo arts. I put Grouch on my headphones and walk the quais. The sky is as blue as blue gets, the river Seine shines, it's morning time, the museum opens it's doors. The quain Branly Museum is home to the traditional arts, the old forgotten stuff that makes us dream of the once upon a time. In a square modern building, the sculpted bones, shamanic masks and ancient fabrics take us through a journey back in the river of time.

Lacanau beach

 Lacanau beach
Atlantic ocean, Gironde,  France

Kathmandu graph

 

Graphitis round Kathmandu...

Angoulême

Submission

 

"Women don't have to be intelligent, in the sense that we give to this word: she must be an expert in the pleasures of the flesh and in good caring. Here stops her role, even if she lives with men, and that is why the liberation ideas of which we get our ears full at the moment seem to me absurd."
Joris-Karl Huysmans

This sentence by Huysmans, the inspiration for the book, could resume the scandale of the moment in the french literary world. Welcome to Submission from the loved and hated writer Michel Houellebecq. If some scream to the current politically incorrect anti- islam, this book appears to me as a question between man and woman relations, which are seen as the base of human resources economy. Islam in this book, is nothing but a timely escuse to discuss religious notions in general, and of the totalitarian systems that religions can create. The real subject at the center of the debate is the dificult relationship between men and women. Decadence of the modern world, politics, the limits of individualism with it's multitude of identity crisis, a little sex and a little god, some good wine and a good meal, Houellebecq is at his top.

Winter sea

Alone
I breath
Open space
The sound of the waves fill me up
All one
I walk

Oleron island

Speaking with walls

"What is it?"
"It's a wall"
"But what does it mean?"
"It's art."
"But what is the meaning?"
"It's for nepale blind dwarfs."
"Ah ok. Ramro cha."
So, we took a wall, a long and grey wall. The wall smells like piss, the ground covered in garbage, it's a favorite spot of the many glue kids of Thamel. Here they gather, squat next to the street dogs, hide under their caps and sniff the glue hidden in plastic bags. Glazed eyes watch life pass, the days are glued together by the sticky goo that takes them to oblivion. The kids look at us bring paints, spray cans and notebooks. We're not here to beat them, we even speak with them. Instead of rocks in our hands, we have paint brushes. So we chose a wall, a long and grey wall. Gonna put colors on this wall, gonna bring some art into the streets, gonna share a dream, gonna make some art. Gonna be like the dogs that piss on the wall to mark their territory. We're crazy artists, no body will stop us, we are ghosts, we pass through and only leave colored shapes behind us. For no reason at all, we play with kaos and give it forms we like...

When the earth sleeps

All is quiet
Covered in white, crystals reflect
Flip flop
Melting water drops under the sun
Flop flip

Fun

Kathmandu night 2

 

Katmandu night

Kathmandu wall

 Night work

Dust and mud in Kathmandu

A new plane ticket. Direction: Kathmandu. Everything is packed, ready to go. The train from Normandie to Paris, the RER to the airport. All is fine, it's time to fly again. All is ready, except for one thing. In line for checking the bags in, I realise that I forgot my passport. God damned, first time I do this one. Some would say it's a sign, I did not really want to go, or I simply should not go. People like to see signs, trying to find meanings in the chaos we call life. Things have to make sense many think in despair, hold on to anything, anything at all, but hold on, do anything you can not to let the vast emptiness of it all swallow you in the river of meaninglessness. Sunyata whispers, samadhi some call it, so many names to name the unknown. 
So, I forgot my passport, that's enough sense for me, shit happens when we don't check twice. Take the train back to Normandie, buy a new tiket, kiss mam again, train again, RER, and 3 days laters I am back in line at the airport. This time I get on the plane. I'll remember not to make that mistake twice. Lesson of the day: a plane ticket. Learning always has a price, being absent minded comes with extra tax.

Nano

Kathmandu, Nepal: Nano, a text in french for those that speak frog or use the bable fishes.

Angels

The garden

 "The grass is not greener on the other side, it's green where you water it."

After my visit to the island, I went to the garden. I wanted to learn permaculture techniques, so I found a teacher and a garden to work in. The garden was huge and the teacher was a contemporary painter and a great gardener who has devoted 20 years of her life to make the garden what it is today. A quiet woman, she knew all the plants and gladly shared her knowledge with me. We have to be greatful for our teachers, and I thank this woman for being my permaculture teacher and friend, an amasing artist who I am glad and extremely lucky to have shared some time with. Her philosphy is simple and best: Art is life, Life is art. She knew I needed to put my hands in the earth, I wanted to be outside the whole day and make the body move. I wanted to hang out with the birds and drink fresh water. I needed to do Gaia Yoga, so in the garden I was...

Shades of red

The news

The news
Pencil on paper

Snails

 Snail

The island

I took the big jump and I dove inside. I landed on what seemed to be an island. I was on a white sand beach, blue crystally water waves making sweet love to the land. In and out, in and out they went. The light was bright in the sky, shining of an almost synthetic glow. As I looked up in the sky, I saw that it was moving and changing constantly. I started seing images passing, and the images became scenes from movies. The sky appeared as a giant technicolor screen on which were playing all the movies, books, and information I gathered through my life. After a while I got up on my feet, and I started walking.

Maya

Maya

Monoprint
Maya

Lovers

Lovers

Monoprint

Self portrait

Self portrait

Charcoal on paper

Turiya

 Turiya

Shades of green

 

In and Out

Looking in

Looking out

Ink on paper

Bodhi

Bodhi

Subway

 Forget

Gurdjieff on art

Gurdjieff has divided art into two categories. The modern art he calls subjective art. The ancient art — the real art — the people who made the pyramids, the people who made the Taj Mahal, the people who made the caves of Ajanta and Ellora, they were of a totally different kind. He calls that art objective art. Subjective art is like vomiting. You are feeling sick, nauseous; a good vomit helps you to feel good. The poison is thrown out, you feel relieved. It is good for you, but not good for others. Now, in the name of modern painting, you are hanging vomited, nauseous, sickening things in your rooms. In the name of modern music you are simply getting into crazier spaces within you. It is subjective art. Modern art is childish — not childlike, remember, childish; not innocent but stupid, insane, pathological.

Shades of blue

Zen and Shakyamuni

"Amongst millions of the poor, Shakyamuni was son of the rich. His father, the king, gave him all: a palace surrounded by wonderful gardens, the best foods, luxurious clothing, the most beautiful bride, hundreds of servants. Locked up in his luxury prison, he did not know the servants misery. All of the sudden, like a little bird that fell on his head, the futur buddha, just like a girl, was taken by a panic attack... Reality was not what he believed it to be!

Flowers

New chapter: seeds and salad

"But says Alice, if the world makes absolutely no sense, 

what keeps us from inventing one?"

I need fresh air. After 3 months of meditation, sitting in the same room, I need the body to get back in action. Fuck zen, fuck meditation, I ain't a monk, I join the world again and I need action. So I take the car, turn up the radio and I drive south. Direction: unknown. I first stop by some friends, the body wakes up. Dishes under the rain and wind, a bit of work in the garden, speak with a girlfriend, it feels good. A few days laters, back in the car for another friends visit. This time it's party time. We eat, drink and pass the joints. Wake up for more drinking, moments of smoky oblivion, time stops, it's artificial paradise. A few days are spent in perfect harmony with the sunsets. A night by the fire, we dance under the stars, we put our heads on drunken knees. It's good and that's enough. I make a tattoo, then 2, then 3, a bit of blood, we carve memories to better remember that it all will pass. We start building a new tippie, enjoy work together. 1,2,3 lift up that star for the roof on top of our heads.

Fractals

 Bubbles

Butter fly

Pinguins serie 2

 On top of the world

Reality

Life, death and love: keep on breathing

It’s been a long time since I wrote. It’s not from a lack of something happening, on the contrary. Too much has happened, too much at the same time, way too much. So when we get a big meal to digest, we need to sit, time to digest. So I sat, I digested for a long winter the new events that are unfolding in my life. Death in the form of the lung cancer of my dad, love in the form of separation from a husband, 6 years passed, it all fell apart in one instant and I found myself back in my home land after 25 years of exil, back at ground zero to witness the ravages of cancer at my parents house. What happened? What did I do to get to this place?