tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144236922024-03-12T21:21:28.759-04:00StefanWritings and MusingsStefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.comBlogger619125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-46540542658931575392016-01-28T04:06:00.003-05:002016-01-28T04:09:19.638-05:00Yoga Teacher Training: The Journey to Day 1Last weekend, I started my Yoga Teacher Training at Yogacampus hosted at The Life Centre in London. The process of arriving at the decision to apply to this training feels like a process that has been in the works for a long time, forever even! I have been thinking about becoming a teacher for years and waiting for the right alignment of factors. Last summer, something clicked. I knew I had experience to share, I knew I wanted to teach.<br />
<br />
And it has been forever. If I search through my emails, I find that back in October 2008, after four years of yoga and after finishing my undergraduate degree, considering my next steps, I had written to one of my dear teachers, Amelia, for advice. Even then, I claim I'd been considering the idea for a while. She responded with great enthusiasm and, reading the letter again now, I see indeed that she was and is right -- I will never be in a class the same way again. Fast forward eight years later (at least!) and, finally, here I am.<br />
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Well, perhaps not so fast. In the correspondence (gotta love the personal archive of Gmail), I express my hesitance in finding the way forward. Finding my style, finding my teacher. I know I asked a few people for advice on Teacher Training and got all sorts of different answers. Stay local. Go international. Do a quick immersion. Do a long intensive. Etcetera. I wanted someone to give me THE answer, but as life progresses and continues to testify, there are no 'yes/no' answers to the questions these days. And while I know I was foggy with what I wanted, I was also pretty clear with wanting to find a creative, personality-accepting style/training because the best yoga classes I experienced were always a journey for the subtle body, coaxed along by the warmth of humour and smiles. I couldn't bring myself to do a rigid Astanga or Sivananda style training.<br />
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And while style was a big consideration for taking the plunge into a training, I was also convinced that I needed to be advanced to undertake the big step. That has been a HUGE stepping stone in my mind. And the more I chased the advanced positions and the need to have a very regular physical practice and whatnot, the more I found I needed to relax into my body and listen to how it wanted to move and how far it wanted to go. Which, in retrospect, was quite an important part of the path.<br />
<br />
So last summer, after the upheaval of new degrees and new jobs and new homes had finally settled to stability, I felt I was in a place to decide on a training. Something just clicked after all that time.<br />
<br />
And it's funny, for all my thoughts of needing to be advanced, the training initially threw me for a loop. Starting my teacher training last weekend, I found that the approach was different than I expected. Or different than how I thought it would be, or how it would match up with my experience. We didn't jumping right into sequencing because everyone was so advanced and experienced. Instead, we were breaking down poses to their foundations. Teaching for beginners by building poses from their most basic, most pure dynamics. It's funny because my previous post had been about not being able to remember being a beginner and now, it is all about getting into the mind of the beginner and building the pose up for those more experienced.<br />
<br />
And so it begins. Lots of anatomy, lots of sanskrit, a new approach to my home practice (not just doing my thing but exploring poses and exploring sequences), but it is all very welcome. At long last.<br />
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<br />Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-31987560859982062032015-07-05T10:15:00.000-04:002015-07-05T10:15:02.472-04:00My First Yoga Class?Along with the refrain "I know nothing about art" when I tell people I work in a contemporary art gallery, I am also told "I could never do yoga, I'm not flexible" when I tell people I do yoga (....and this also applies to cooking). While many people are wowed by yoga positions (as it's the only "showable" thing often associated with the practice), yoga itself taps into so much more and is such a rich and complex experience which isn't about flexibility at all but about accepting your body and where it is as well as what it can do.<br />
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Flexibility should never be a deterrent to try yoga, because the practice, beyond the poses themselves is about the breathing, about the mind observation, about the meditation, and about all that comes together <i>with </i>the body. And those frustrations over flexibility can be the most instructive struggles as questions bubble up: where does that frustration come from? what is your relationship with that frustration? what does that reveal about your relationship to your body? What does it reveal about your expectations of the body? This rich dialogue can come through in every yoga class, even within one pose. At the end of the day, we all have a body, we are all breathing, we are all thinking, we are all living and feeling and struggling and thriving. We can all do yoga.<br />
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And when I try to think back to when I was a beginner, try as I might, I can't remember. I know that I did a Hinduism course in high school which involve a yoga practice which definitely predates my very regular yoga classes with important mentors Caroline and Amelia when I was at Harvard. But those first classes? I don't really remember them. While now I do know the basic positions and many advanced ones too, every class is new when I am being taken on a new journey, introduced to new poses and maybe reintroduced to the nuances of old poses. So, in a sense, every class is my first class.<br />
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<br />Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-35921361597400432262015-06-17T07:10:00.001-04:002015-06-17T07:10:19.838-04:00At least it's not rainingMid way through June, one would think that the sun would be out in full force and every weekend would be beach-worthy. In London, however, this is not the case.<br />
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While the days are fantastically long where daylight is concerned (the sun finally wanes around 9pm these days), the quotidian weather leaves a lot to be desired. A chilly wind has persisted as we head towards the summer solstice.<br />
<br />
The response to not inclement although not quite pleasant weather usually is: 'Well, at least it's not raining'. Such a phrase seems initially optimistic, however, the way it is constructed reveals more of a positive negativism. It really is just a milder version of: 'It could be worst'.<br />
<br />
'Summers' here tend to be mild and long, or rather the waiting for summer tends to be mild and long. The running joke here too is that a few days of hot, sunny weather are the entirety of the summer season, whether they come in April or May or in September. I remember the line from a French movie, whose name I don't recall, in which the main characters passing a park in their black cab in London remark of the zeal with which the English sunbathe at the first suggestion of warmth and sunlight. It was funny because it is true. Whatever the tinge to the optimism of the English there is a seize-the-moment mentality when it comes to the sun's rays, a welcome yet inconsistent guest.Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-83626687269765602382015-05-13T06:14:00.001-04:002015-05-13T06:16:33.582-04:00Poems of Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: Times; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Surging into summer, the first bright harbingers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: Times; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">of spring begin to fade, their optimistic colours awash<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: Times; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">in the brightening sun. Purple streaking into white radiating<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: Times; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> from the tulip's sex, anthers cluster close to the central
pistil, dust,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: Times; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">like ashes, shedding to the fading petals. Black pigment the
remnants of words</span><br />
<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: Times; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">penned in blossom, words written in the wind, now evaporated like the mist of dawn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photos by <a href="http://www.ewazebrowski.com/">Ewa Monika Zebrowski</a></span></div>
Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-7875144028159925862014-09-15T17:36:00.003-04:002014-09-15T17:36:52.792-04:00At day's endSetting Sun, <br />
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I know exactly what you mean.<br />
Save your explanations and excuses.<br />
<br />
Wherever it is you are gracing with that light,<br />
that heat I know within, it is enough<br />
<br />
to know the sun is shining somewhere.<br />
Fare well.<br />
<br />
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<br />Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-73630534810673738562014-09-06T08:53:00.000-04:002014-09-06T08:54:35.078-04:00Before the Darkness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">I love how a candle glows in the darkness just after</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">it is blown out, it continues to glow,</span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">like the blood-</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">red memory of the sun through shut eyelids, </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">a spot </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">like an ember, in that liminal state between, teetering</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">until the wick takes its final gasp, brightening </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">for a moment, soft </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">firework, </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">before exhaling, </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: start;">into black.</span></span></div>
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<br />Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-15165511914988953872014-08-24T01:42:00.004-04:002014-08-24T01:42:51.503-04:00Time, Suspended<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I entered the room, bathed in silence, a
man dressed in black came and took my hand and guided me to the central
pedestal. And there we stood, quietly, breathing, eyes closed, surrounded by
others, stoic and immobile. People descended, new people were guided, hand-in-hand joined to their guides or solo, standing, waiting, stilling the mind.
A breathing human monument, a moveable Stonehenge.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Experiencing Marina Abramovic’s '512 Hours' at the Serpentine is transcendent. With an open spirit and respectful
demeanour, the entire experience becomes a meditation. In an adjoining room,
cots, scattered in no particular order welcomed participants to lie and ponder and dream
and rest. They were covered in colourful sheets by members of Abramovic’s black-clad team
of assistants. A quiet room of contemplation, a peaceful ward brightened with
pops of colour, all bathed in the to and fro of sunlight streaming in through the
windows above. I stood and watched, and breathed as, in silence, a room
full of people lay in their own meditations. On individual journeys but on
parallel paths. As a woman arose from a cot near me, she caught my eye and
invited me, silently, to take her place. The simple connection, the simple act of guidance – like the man dressed in black taking my hand – was contagious,
somehow that parallel path we were traversing together in this exhibition space came to an intersection
in a simple yet powerful way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The final room features the most amount of
motion (which isn't really saying much). It also had an incredible cinematic quality. From the doorway you see people walking along the length of the room with very slow and painstaking care, their measured
movements slowed down, conscious of every move of every muscle that makes up
the experience of walking. The scene reminded me of those from theatrical plays
where all but one actor freezes – a tableau of a moment in time. But here, the
movement, in extreme and personal slow motion, was stunning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">A truly powerful experience, especially
for me who values introspection and meditation so much. I can only imagine this
is a preview of the Marina Abramovic Institute planned to open in upstate New York in the
coming years (designed by OMA). There is incredible potency in locking up all your time- and
communication-devices and just bathing in pure quiet, experience and connection.
Slowing down, reflecting in, connecting back ... after a few moments, you
can hear your breath, and hear your own heartbeat pulsing subtly through your body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-40942420700486165992014-08-08T20:12:00.002-04:002014-08-08T20:13:02.592-04:00Just Visiting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n1-8J_GWRr8/U-Vkl0-h56I/AAAAAAAADMU/jz3MM26X_CU/s1600/10576207_796431880388854_444410943_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n1-8J_GWRr8/U-Vkl0-h56I/AAAAAAAADMU/jz3MM26X_CU/s1600/10576207_796431880388854_444410943_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Driving into Montreal, the Five Roses Flour sign blinks red above its silos, an unofficial welcome back to the city after a drive down to the United States.<br />
<br />
It is my last full day of a two-week trip back to Montreal and it has been filled with lots of family time and special moments. No matter how many phone calls or Skype calls, nothing really replaces time spent with cousins, sisters, brothers, parents in real time, in real presence. There is something affirming about family time, at least for me; we've had a whole life together, a constellation of moments we all share, people we cherish.<br />
<br />
Even for all its maddening qualities, challenges and quirks, Montreal will always be home for me. These streets are familiar, this mixing of English and French, the great diversity, the funk and the fabulous. The sometimes languid pace of life here can leave something to be desired, or, conversely, it can be wholly instructive; time to check in, slow down, enjoy. The formation one gets growing up in this city is so incredibly unique and irreplaceable, and there is something ticking in the heart of this little metropole.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it's just an ideal summer foray that has me in a deeply reflective mood. Maybe I would not say the same in the frost of winter. And it is not to say that I am not incredibly blessed with my life in London at the moment; I am exactly where I need and want to be. Just throwing out some mad props to MTL, ma ville, ma patrie. Cheers to Montreal.Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-34356740137203619222014-05-09T09:24:00.001-04:002014-05-09T09:25:43.690-04:00Get in the boat.<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;">At Frieze New York 2014 opening today, artist Marie Lorenz is offering tours of the East River in a handmade rowboat (below). </span></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YVM3uC-jZPU/U2zUEDVVnoI/AAAAAAAADII/izw8CEE5dYw/s1600/09iht-rartfrieze-3-master675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YVM3uC-jZPU/U2zUEDVVnoI/AAAAAAAADII/izw8CEE5dYw/s1600/09iht-rartfrieze-3-master675.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white; font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;">It reminds me of Joana Vasconcelos and the Portuguese pavilion (below) at the Venice Biennale last year with its wild interior and azulejos decor also went for a meander from the fairgrounds.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tRRuSPNJ1J0/U2zUEJFOoNI/AAAAAAAADIM/98G9lM7CelQ/s1600/8e53b_oct7_portuguese_img.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tRRuSPNJ1J0/U2zUEJFOoNI/AAAAAAAADIM/98G9lM7CelQ/s1600/8e53b_oct7_portuguese_img.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white; font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;">There was also an incredible 2011 project a few years ago at the Wapping Project featuring the finale wedding dress from Yohji Yamamoto's 1998 collection worn by an illuminated mannequin suspended from the ceiling above a flooded former boiler room. The only way to experience the work was 2-by-2 in a rowboat. The installation project was part of a feature of the artist on in and throughout the V&A.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #073763; color: white; font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;">So are you getting in the art boat? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #073763;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;">I am a fan of committing to these meditative voyages, as the usual modality</span><span style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;"> for viewing art (art fairs especially) seems to crave immediate impact at a </span><span style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;">speedy pace</span><span style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;">. Getting into the boat and going at the slower pace, swaying with the water, or advancing with the human efforts of the paddle, rewinds our technological evolution, it acknowledges our roots, the path traversed. There is a journey. There is another perspective to embrace. I come back to the art, back to close observation, getting lost in expression, experience.</span></span></span>Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-7099070721395279852014-03-23T13:26:00.001-04:002014-03-23T13:26:43.894-04:00Heavy with Lightness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uOCyDQ5MCxY/Uy8U--T44SI/AAAAAAAADGA/jhyAVXXMOS0/s1600/10003904_10101315361057691_1641989276_n+copy+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uOCyDQ5MCxY/Uy8U--T44SI/AAAAAAAADGA/jhyAVXXMOS0/s1600/10003904_10101315361057691_1641989276_n+copy+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
About this time of year, the trees float, their branches<br />
disappear, blossoms from head to toe, 'Symphony<br />
in White Number One'. Bare, stark, jagged turns<br />
lithe, bright, ethereal. Winter's heavy white gives way<br />
to spring's delicate hope, fluttering. Blinding erasure, sun caught<br />
in your eyes staring up, enchanted, heavy with lightness.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SF81lIg-_Yk/Uy8XnuguCfI/AAAAAAAADGM/mIqJCizWbik/s1600/Whistler_James_Symphony_in_White_no_1_(The_White_Girl)_1862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SF81lIg-_Yk/Uy8XnuguCfI/AAAAAAAADGM/mIqJCizWbik/s1600/Whistler_James_Symphony_in_White_no_1_(The_White_Girl)_1862.jpg" height="320" width="158" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James McNeill Whistler, 'Symphony in White No. 1', 1861-62. <br />Oil on canvas, 215 x 108 cm (National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.)</td></tr>
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<br /><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">From National Gallery of Art website:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">When Whistler submitted <em style="border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The White Girl</em> to the Paris Salon in 1863, the tradition–bound jury refused to show the work. Napoleon III invited avant–garde artists who had been denied official space to show their paintings in a "Salon des Refusés," an exhibition that triggered enormous controversy. Whistler's work met with severe public derision, but a number of artists and critics praised his entry. In the <em style="border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Gazette des Beaux–Arts</em>, Paul Manz referred to it as a "symphony in white," noting a musical correlation to Whistler's paintings that the artist himself would address in the early 1870s, when he retitled a number of works "Nocturne," "Arrangement," "Harmony," and "Symphony."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Whistler used variations of white pigment to create interesting spatial and formal relationships. By limiting his palette, minimizing tonal contrast, and sharply skewing the perspective, he flattened forms and emphasized their abstract patterns. This dramatic compositional approach reflects the influence of Japanese prints, which were becoming well known in Paris as international trade increased. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Clearly, Whistler was more interested in creating an abstract design than in capturing an exact likeness of the model, his mistress Joanna Hiffernan. His radical espousal of purely aesthetic orientation and the creation of "art for art's sake" became a virtual rallying cry of modernism.</span><br />
Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-31581070941095542832014-03-17T14:21:00.002-04:002014-03-17T14:23:09.234-04:00Quotable Quotes: Nigella in Observer Food Monthly<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nOsH26NIKgA/Uyc9JYOb_-I/AAAAAAAADFk/Q5zGS95xL5o/s1600/London-cheesecake-011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nOsH26NIKgA/Uyc9JYOb_-I/AAAAAAAADFk/Q5zGS95xL5o/s1600/London-cheesecake-011.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nigella's London cheesecake. Photograph: Martin Poole.</td></tr>
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(I like to think of baking as a mixture of chemistry and poetry.) All human beings have a deep-seated belief in, and need for, transformation and I feel that baking appeals to that instinct, in a way that - at the risk of sounding naff - soothes the soul.<br />
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-Nigella Lawson writing for the Observer Food Monthly, 16 March 2014<br />
<br />Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-62953838031561863032014-01-12T09:02:00.002-05:002014-01-12T09:04:01.590-05:00Return.<div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<span style="color: white;">To be honest, leaving Montreal and returning to London, I was on the fence. I had been home for 20 days and had enjoyed a luxurious amount of time spent in the simple but profound presence of family members and reconnecting with a few friends. It was full of comfort (well, with an intermittent spat of drama, as is to be expected around the holidays). But mostly my heart was full from the time being back with my parents, my brother, my sister, brother-in-law & nephew and so many more. My aunt and uncle, my 99-year-old grandmother, were all just a short car-ride away. There is something lovely about the proximity of family. So London seemed to be tearing me away from all that, I've begun wrestling with the future and whether a move back to North America made sense in the long run, questions, doubts, all those ruminations of the new year and time away from the daily flow.</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Yet, fresh off the plane and immersed right back into the workplace, I quickly remembered the community I have become a part of. I am blessed to work with a group of people who bring a wide smile to my face. Especially in the art world, it is unique to find a work environment that feels almost familial, the respect and fondness that exists between employees. </span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">And then the weekend, a return to Broadway Market and all the familiar faces of vendors waving hello and friends milling about, small dogs and small children, such a beautiful humanity about the place. I couldn't help but smile. And to my surprise, I ran into a few friends, unplanned, at the market, at a random train station -- life's serendipity and happenstance. Here is the life I have built up, slowly budding and presenting itself. Here it is a celebration of life and community. Here it is where I am and where I am meant to be.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--6UTZBZVb9c/UtKgVMg6VRI/AAAAAAAADDQ/sdeIcqiyBsA/s1600/BroadwayMarket+Return+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--6UTZBZVb9c/UtKgVMg6VRI/AAAAAAAADDQ/sdeIcqiyBsA/s1600/BroadwayMarket+Return+2014.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: white;">Sunshine over Broadway Market</span></td></tr>
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Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-51718454463612632542013-11-12T04:05:00.000-05:002013-11-12T04:05:39.669-05:00Flaming December<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CM62qLak4M0/UoHsDwnaAFI/AAAAAAAADBI/DRkldrimSes/s1600/photo+1-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CM62qLak4M0/UoHsDwnaAFI/AAAAAAAADBI/DRkldrimSes/s320/photo+1-1.JPG" width="230" /></a></div>
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I saw the cover of Vogue for December 2013 and my brain set on fire. I'd seen this pose before, I knew it from art history. Without intending it, a voracious need to Google and solve this compare-and-contrast suddenly overtook me. And after too long searching various iterations of reclining women in dresses, I found the match in Frederic Leighton's 'Flaming June' of 1895. Quite the thrilling evocation, demonstration of timeless inspiration. Would make quite a thrilling start to a high school art history class...</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zK-y2555po0/UoHsD1sblVI/AAAAAAAADBM/PeBts493A6E/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zK-y2555po0/UoHsD1sblVI/AAAAAAAADBM/PeBts493A6E/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-60260235993744308932013-10-24T15:22:00.001-04:002013-10-31T08:10:42.158-04:00The Power of the Noodle<div>
Refrain: it's been a while.</div>
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It's been a long few weeks and now I resurface from the frenzy and flurry of Frieze. More like bobbing to the surface. Such is the energy-sapping nature of being alert at all times during an art fair. Don't get me wrong, it has been stimulating and invigorating. But now time for recharge.</div>
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Last night, for the first time in I don't remember, my trajectory was direct, straight home from work. It felt so foreign to return to joining the sea of commuters homebound to make dinner and relax. My mother flew in from Montreal to join in on the Frieze madness and it was a joy to share my daily life with her for a week-- but it too feels foreign to not have her in the same time zone, a tube ride away, to share a hug and debrief the day's activities. And now the return to the sometimes-solitary adult ex-pat life.</div>
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Today, I still felt drained; somehow I expected one night at home to act as complete recharge. Near the end of the afternoon, thinking of heading home and cooking, my lethargy kicked in, bemoaning -- or perhaps just whimpering -- to not being ready and not being up to the task. Solution? Soup. Noodles. Koya.</div>
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When I am feeling run down, my panacea has always been a good bowl of soup. I'm partial to a bowl of pho or a simple broth with thick fresh noodles. Koya, now expanded to have a bar neighboring its quaint ever-popular permanent-queue-outside restaurant, hits just the spot with its, dare I say it, scrummy noodles. The bar serves all the same fixing of the restaurant but somehow not everyone has gotten the memo. Maybe they remain steadfast to sitting at a table or honouring the original; meanwhile, I walked past the queue and right into a near-empty bar and ordered a bowl of solace, a bowl of recharge.</div>
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Fresh udon noodles, simple broth and some thinly sliced scallions served in a thick handmade ceramic bowl emanating heat.</div>
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I left the bar, packed full of people in the span of one bowl of soup, to head home, feeling refreshed and recharged. </div>
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I feel ready to re-embrace life's challenges and charge ahead with new energy. As the Koya website says in its charmingly badly translated mission statement, we 'believing in noodle power'. I believe.</div>
Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-60442058466422928832013-08-22T09:58:00.002-04:002013-08-22T09:58:46.224-04:00Nighttime Rose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GNdfSGI-p9Q/UhYZBCZdBOI/AAAAAAAAC_U/L_Lp_dywTsg/s1600/photo-14.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GNdfSGI-p9Q/UhYZBCZdBOI/AAAAAAAAC_U/L_Lp_dywTsg/s320/photo-14.JPG" /></a></div>Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-66220359876696587112013-08-19T10:58:00.000-04:002013-08-19T11:00:04.965-04:00History in LanguageEvery now and then I become fascinated with a twist in language that contains within it poetic and intellectual dimensions. Recently I have been fascinated with French words for Mr. and Mrs. The words <i>Monsieur</i>and<i>Madame</i>contain within them links to their Medieval history. Broken down, these words literally mean 'my lord' (<i>mon sieur</i>) and 'my lady' (<i>ma dame</i>). What is even more wonderful (at least in my nerdy mind!) is the fact that the plural versions,<i>Messieurs</i>and <i>Mesdames, </i>aren't just simple plurals with an S added to the end, but have preserved the plurals of their pronouns from their older 'ancestors' (<i>mes sieurs </i>and <i>mes dames</i>). Neat, non?<br />Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-13023720078988724112013-05-20T05:30:00.001-04:002013-05-20T05:36:14.354-04:00Elemental ExplorationSomething clicked yesterday, or unclicked, I still can't figure it out. Participating in an AcroYoga workshop, I got to a moment where I couldn't handle it any more, emotions just unlocked and I needed to get outside and re-centre, breathe. It is quite amazing when things align - whether positive or negative - and get you to a profound place. Not that I got to any sense of closure or explanation for it all, but it happened.<br />
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I have felt slightly unhinged through my recent experiences with Aerial and AcroYoga workshops. The purity of taking flight and fully embracing the air element is unsettling, at least for me.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nT7ohlV5gDI/UZnuEdhSG7I/AAAAAAAAC2M/Eq2ApKxankc/s1600/860-03174094fw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nT7ohlV5gDI/UZnuEdhSG7I/AAAAAAAAC2M/Eq2ApKxankc/s320/860-03174094fw.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><h4>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Woodcut, man and the four elements, Hans Weiditz, Petrarch's De remediis utriusque fortunae, Remedies for Both Good and Bad Fortune or Phisicke Against Fortune, 1532</span></h4>
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All this gets me wondering as to the elements and exploring their personal significance. Earth, Fire, Water, Air all harken back to a very basic experiences and everyone and anyone has some sort of relationship to each. What would it mean to lead a workshop where people explore their relationships to the elements? Which element feels more comfortable? Which element feels unsettling? Perhaps it should be a 5-part workshop, exploring each element separately, journalling on certain reflections/prompts, and then uniting the elements in various combinations? Somehow in parallel with the chakras?<br />
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Getting ideas out into the air...Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-48380011093363545022013-05-06T05:39:00.003-04:002013-05-06T05:41:14.243-04:00Flowers at Blickling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D4S404rEaHc/UYd6LBAdYsI/AAAAAAAAC14/KAlCGID8unk/s1600/DSC01876.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D4S404rEaHc/UYd6LBAdYsI/AAAAAAAAC14/KAlCGID8unk/s320/DSC01876.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-66047837872054689472013-05-02T07:26:00.001-04:002013-05-02T07:29:56.039-04:00Escape to Norfolk: A Triptych<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_0lYQS50-uE/UYJOKSqiCVI/AAAAAAAAC1k/PEgJ7t9yR0o/s1600/norfolk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_0lYQS50-uE/UYJOKSqiCVI/AAAAAAAAC1k/PEgJ7t9yR0o/s640/norfolk.jpg" width="340" /></a></div>
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<br />Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-75426769950135469982013-04-09T07:02:00.001-04:002013-04-09T09:00:31.459-04:00Finding Ritual, Faith Lies Underfoot<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"When people start to meditate or to work with any kind of spiritual
discipline, they often think that somehow they're going to improve,
which is a sort of subtle aggression against who they really are. It's a
bit like saying, 'If I jog, I'll be a much better person.' ' If I could
only get a nicer house, I'd be a better person.' ' If I could meditate
and calm down, I'd be a better person.' Or the scenario may be that
they find fault with others; they might say, 'If it weren't for my
husband, I'd have a perfect marriage.' 'If it weren't for the fact that
my boss and I can't get on, my job would be just great.' And 'If it
weren't for my mind, my meditation would be excellent.'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But lovingkindness — <i>maitri</i> — toward ourselves doesn't mean
getting rid of anything. Maitri means that we can still be crazy after
all these years. We can still be angry after all these years. We can
still be timid or jealous or full of feelings of unworthiness. The point
is not to try to change ourselves. Meditation practice isn't about
trying to throw ourselves away and become something better. It's about
befriending who we are already. The ground of practice is you or me or
whoever we are right now, just as we are. That's the ground, that's what
we study, that's what we come to know with tremendous curiosity and
interest." -<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;">Pema Chodron</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I blame the changing seasons, but I have been feeling the flux lately and all the control issues and lack of control that comes with it. Amidst it all, I have been re-examining my yoga/meditation practice. Often, when I 'fall off the wagon', as I like to say, I tend to get anxious about it. I worry that I am not practicing, or, rather, I am painfully aware of the fact that I am not practicing. Yet it is something to realize that these practices themselves evolve constantly. It would be something to practice daily, every morning at the same time. However, such a staunch routine can ignore the flux of the body and the mind; there are mornings when yes, you would be better served to take that extra half-hour snooze in bed. And then again, it is good too, to establish a good habit of getting on the mat.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I also approach my yoga practice in the same way as the quote begins above. Many times, if I am honest, I have gone to my practice to be better, to look better, to feel better -- body image or perfect asanas coming to the fore. I am trying to re-found the core of my practice; health is very much a happy result of yogic routine but there is a deeper communion which should not be ignored; it should be explored. I think I miss ritual in my life, and would like to find within yoga a way to reflect more mindfully.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm not sure if it is being 27 and catching sight of 30 down the way, but the future presses heavily on my mind too lately. Where is my career headed? Where am I to live? Where am I to start a family? It almost seems like anything is possible (and, too, that nothing can happen). It's scary. It also seems so silly to get caught up in planning all the tomorrows and forget about the todays. But reconciling being present alongside keeping a steady but not-too-firm hand on the steering wheel is quite a delicate balance. And as always, it is about cultivating faith, that intangible concept to which I come back again and again.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So to practice loving kindness, to feel the earth beneath my feet -- and to breathe in and breathe out, it really is that simple.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"My path is the path of stopping, the path of enjoying the present moment. It is a path where every step brings me back to my true home. It is a path that leads nowhere. I am on my way home. I arrive at every step." -Thich Nhat Hanh</span></div>
Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-61999963736075810092013-03-25T05:38:00.002-04:002013-03-25T05:38:24.250-04:00Beyond the Runway<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1mhTlBJTAmE/UVAajld4IVI/AAAAAAAACsw/xeuhYviVarw/s1600/Versace_1997_SD069_314h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1mhTlBJTAmE/UVAajld4IVI/AAAAAAAACsw/xeuhYviVarw/s1600/Versace_1997_SD069_314h.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sante d'Orazio, Versace, 1997.</td></tr>
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Ethereal photographic treatment of fashion -- the fantasy beyond reality.Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-61734799529328745632013-03-20T04:54:00.000-04:002013-03-20T04:54:17.988-04:00Buck UpI have adopted the motto before to 'do one thing every day that scares you', and it has been really enlightening to notice those moments where fear paralyses you from action and, consequently, to let it go and move on.<br />
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I've also heard the expression 'Man Up', which in its batting around of gender in stereotypical ways really bothers me. Another expression in the vein of facing your fears and rising to the occasion which I think suits much better is 'Buck Up'. Whereas it is essentially the same as 'Man Up', somehow in jumping species, the use of the masculine gender as a verb doesn't seem as offensive. Man or woman, I think we can all buck up, i.e. don our antlers or horns and charge ahead!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s5F1BepYP7w/UUl5B_n5_4I/AAAAAAAACsg/H4qXfC14qA4/s1600/MarcSwanson_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s5F1BepYP7w/UUl5B_n5_4I/AAAAAAAACsg/H4qXfC14qA4/s320/MarcSwanson_4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marc Swanson, 'Untitled (Black Fighting Bucks)', 2009<br /><br /></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><b><br /></b></span>Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-72951925615119459612013-03-16T11:42:00.002-04:002013-03-16T11:47:49.691-04:00Dance Me to the End of LoveI didn't realize Leonard Cohen's song grew out of such a place. Darkness inspires beauty.<br />
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"'Dance Me to the End Of Love' ... it's curious how songs begin because the origin of the song, every song, has a kind of grain or seed that somebody hands you or the world hands you and that's why the process is so mysterious about writing a song. But that came from just hearing or reading or knowing that in the death camps, beside the crematoria, in certain of the death camps, a string quartet was pressed into performance while this horror was going on, those were the people whose fate was this horror also. And they would be playing classical music while their fellow prisoners were being killed and burnt. So, that music, "Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin," meaning the beauty there of being the consummation of life, the end of this existence and of the passionate element in that consummation. But, it is the same language that we use for surrender to the beloved, so that the song — it's not important that anybody knows the genesis of it, because if the language comes from that passionate resource, it will be able to embrace all passionate activity."<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yD9SbNyLrDk/UUSS62cYOeI/AAAAAAAACsQ/2qUuQwsSguI/s1600/LeonardCohenPA140311.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yD9SbNyLrDk/UUSS62cYOeI/AAAAAAAACsQ/2qUuQwsSguI/s320/LeonardCohenPA140311.jpg" /></a>Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-39947614039921378342013-02-23T04:08:00.002-05:002013-02-23T04:18:01.119-05:00RemixI've been soaking up some great remixes in a few yoga classes
recently and it got me thinkin', going beyond the moves, what does it
mean to remix? What would it mean to bring the idea of the remix and
remixing into a yoga class and off the mat into life?<br /><br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="http://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F70188645&show_artwork=true" width="100%"></iframe><br /><br />
A remix takes a song and either adds a different beat, or messes rhythmically with the lyrics. Basically to remix means to take something already in existence and make it your own. It is indeed a message that is imbued in the yoga classes I attend with Brendan at Stretch, and indeed the place where I hear these remixes. Take the poses and make them your own, add your bass line. Take the flow and make it your own, where are you going to put the chorus? Maybe you'll leave it out all together. Your breath is your baseline, follow it and remix the class into your body.<br />
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Some of the most beautiful classes I've been too have had everyone flowing in all directions, but breath is loud and focus is intense. My other favourite yoga moment that embodies this principle is circles of Om where everyone starts together but, as each person runs out of breath, they each start again in their own time -- the circle of Om thus becomes wavelike. And somehow it subsides all together - everyone tuning in to themselves while keeping an ear to the ocean.<br />
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While we all take comfort in a set routine, or a set taught sequence, there is a beauty to knowing the flux of your own body, to really listening in. Find the space to explore teachings -- put your thing down, drop it, and reverse it -- find the rhythm of your breath, hear the beating of your heart, spin your remix.<br /><br />
<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="http://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F49816643&show_artwork=true" width="100%"></iframe>Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14423692.post-16822517317099816302013-02-11T02:29:00.003-05:002013-02-11T02:29:57.206-05:00My Fire, My HearthLast week I spoke of my abs, questioning their connection, never really feeling how exactly they connect to my body, how they fit in. I've been turning over the idea in my head all week, keeping it somewhere at the back of my mind, and had a little moment of clarity in yoga class yesterday.<br />
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As a Sagittarian, I've always known that my zodiac is a fire sign, but haven't really felt it until recently. I know that I can have a very fiery personality, intense passion, searing zeal, and sometimes a burning bluntness. Harnessing this fire has been a journey; fires can be violent and aggressive, but they can also be nurturing, warming, welcome. While paradoxical, it is interesting to reframe fire in a positive way. In meditations, I have been naturally finding mandala mudra. (As seen below, put your right open palm on top of your left, and bring the thumbs to touch) It is, apparently, a gesture of wholeness. This position places my inner flame in my abdomen.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zVrolJLaAq4/URidv1vBq7I/AAAAAAAACaA/FUW_x7ptC90/s1600/mandalamudra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zVrolJLaAq4/URidv1vBq7I/AAAAAAAACaA/FUW_x7ptC90/s320/mandalamudra.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've also dug up my haramaki (from <a href="http://www.haramakilove.com/">http://www.haramakilove.com/</a>). It is a garment -- I guess you'd call it a belly band -- that is of Japanese origin, actually originally worn by Samurai underneath their armour. In modern incarnation, it has become both a fashion and health accessory (the latter to help stimulate warmth in the belly's organs). It's really helped me become more aware of my belly, my abs, and how it supports my back and really acts as a center-point for my whole body.<br />
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I've come to visualize my abdomen as a hearth, a fire that stokes my body. Keeping such a visualization to mind in yoga and life, it can be quite strengthening to get into that central fire.Stefanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05941047881372469925noreply@blogger.com1