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