Toxic Love in a Southern Garden

There is a deathly obsession going on in gardens of southern France and elsewhere in the sunkissed regions of Spain, Italy and Greece. No matter how toxic the relationship, the likes of my mum and my unfortunate next-door neighbour will pursue the affair nonetheless, despite the warnings.

'Oleanders', oil on canvas by Vincent van Gogh (1888), via The Met Museum

The affair involves misleading lust for mediterranean flowers of the easy kind: easy come, easy grow, easy show, easy go. A native of the Mediterranean Basin and the Middle East, it was later introduced to the Far East and Central America. Give them a good watering in times of peak Summer heat, they take care of themselves the rest of the time. They even remember to flower year on year in time for Summer and would even do a little dance if they didn't look so conceited. They're a novice gardener's delight, thus can be pruned back, hacked hard and generally grossly mistreated. Still they will manage to summon enough gusto to thrive back to shape within a trimester and reward you for your carelessness with a myriad blossoms.

The Terrace at Méric (Oleanders), oil on canvas by Frédéric Bazille (1867), via WikiArt

Those come out all over in a rash, in shades of pink and white. The blossoms may look prim and proper as you drive by but get off the car and take a closer look: they are messy. They discard leaves and flowers on a whim, like a furry pet sheds hair, and the freshly-shed flowers end up sticking in clumps to the pathways and pavements and garden tables and the sole of your shoe. Maybe Charles Baudelaire spared them a thought when he penned The Flowers of Evil. You might call them pretty if you're my mum or the woman next door but that sort of beauty is lethal: avoid it at all cost!

(pict source)

They look impressive to the easily impressed, but it's all falsely affected to the tune of fakery in a flurry, like soul sisters begonias and petunias. They're a fifties garden fashion throwback that never actually went away - or went anywhere for that matter - passed on from generation to the next like a heirloom. Why? Because - remember - easy come, easy grow, easy show, easy go. Ubiquitous, so they are, especially when originality is unsummoned and garden space needs to be filled, a hedge be hastily erected at a moment's notice: Nerium oleander is the shrub of choice.

Fatal attraction

No surprise to be had: they behave as expected. The plants are easy on the dollar sign too. In their droves, they charm the charmless garden and will even endeavour to hide a multitude of sins like the ugly breeze-block wall they are backing onto or the irregularities of the terrain. They may fool you with their myriad petals and get you to absolve them of their sins. But their aroma shall fool you not with the old sweaty tee pong, yes the soaked-out worn-out garment that should have been thrown in the wash (or best, in the bin) but clocked an extra day instead. Sweaty pong is all there is to get out of that shrub, and if you stand long enough nearby, you may decide the heavy lingering aroma is posh speak for 'putrid'.

Pretty poisonous is the ugly truth!

Call it oleander all your might, it is of ill repute, plaguing life and playing with death, for it is toxic through and through. My next-door neighbour knows it, yet she amorously planted a couple of those next to her plum tree and allows for the branches to get jiggy with it under the midnight sun. And she still won't come to her senses, instead dragging her chaise longue across her patch of land so it stands exactly right under the flimsy shade of her protégés, admiring their pretentious stance from underneath as she lays down. A morbid rehearsal to God's waiting room?

Putting on a show!

My mum built hedges of those in her dreams and now her dreams are coming true. Leave it to her and leave her to it: she'll talk to them and caress their finger-like leaves with maternal care. Care for them to grow big and vigorous and take over her front lawn like a corporate mission statement: bold and boring. She'll refuse to notice the sap seeping out of the branches and scores of ants and white flies glued onto it. My mum taught me as a child about the toxicity of oleander and now she can't have enough of it in her garden's front row. Such a puzzling contradiction!

Where's Tickle gone? To the safety of the nearby bougainvillea!

I don't see birds showing an interest and rare are the butterflies that do so. I don't take an interest either: I actually dislike the plant with a passion and, as a nature lover, this is one strong statement. Tainted love for some, quiet desperation for others!

The Gumball Theory

In light of political events currently unfolding in the West, there is no more à propos video than the one I am sharing here right now, and which I describe as The Gumball Theory. Let's stay smart here: I invite you to watch it with an open mind and from start to finish (it only takes 6 minutes!) before casting judgement. From the outset, if viewing numbers are to go by, the video's 4 million views since its release in September 2010, proves this is a hot topic!

Baker Wardlaw's Vending Machine, via Designboom

Please do pay attention to the rationale and follow the logical process put forward by NumbersUSA founder, author and lecturer Roy Beck, through his ingenious and creative illustration of why full-scale, deregulated, open-door immigration (regardless of faith and ideology), promulgated on the basis of humanitarianism does not serve the humanitarian purpose. Put simply, it does not work for either the welcoming state or the state of origin. In fact none of the socio-economic problems (poverty, unemployment) at either end are solved, and no benefits are gained, contrary to what is being purported by the progressist (i.e. liberal) agenda.

This is no fantasist partisan presentation. Mr Beck's research is professional and factual, based upon data from U.S. Department of Homeland Security, U.S. Census Bureau, Population Reference Bureau and The World Bank. The presentation is not anti-immigration. It does however demonstrate that only sustainable levels of immigration - that is legal, controlled and managed - are to benefit both the new country of residence and the country of origin.



As a light-hearted note, you will never look at (or chew!) gumballs the same way after this!

P.S: NumbersUSA is an Education & Research Foundation, founded by Roy Beck and an advocate of lower immigration levels. It works in partnership with Moderates, Conservatives and Liberals. NumbersUSA describes itself as "a non-profit, non-partisan organization that favors an environmentally sustainable and economically just America and seeks to educate the public about the effects of high levels of immigration on U.S. overpopulation, the environment, jobs, and wages. We use government data to conduct research on the impacts of U.S. population growth, consumption, sprawl, and current levels of immigration and educate the public, opinion leaders and policy makers on the results of those and other studies."

P.P.S: Read the full PDF version (362 pages) of Roy Beck's acclaimed book, The Case Against Immigration, The moral, economic, social and environmental reasons for reducing U.S. immigration back to traditional levels, W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., New York, 1996.

God is in Your Corner

My last post of 2016 ties in with my customary yearly pep talk. We are slightly ahead of schedule here but it is a fitting moment as 2016 closes on yet another star shooting off the earth for the firmament of the afterlife: talented singer and songwriter Mr. George Michael.

George Michael, a star with human foibles. (Pict source)

The man who gave us a Christmas anthem that has been played on an endless loop (at least in Britain) in stores and pubs in the run-up to Christmas since its release over 30 years ago, died on Christmas day - alone. On the very day he had immortalised in a song that had office Christmas parties karaoke together, family members embrace one another and friends drunkenly hug in a festive embrace. The man whose song had brought people together, had faced the music of his own for many years now. The troubles in his personal life had made it clear that an unsatisfied yearning was burning him alive.

George died, alone. An ultimate and seemingly untimely irony played out in the seclusion of his postcard-perfect English cottage tucked away in rural Oxfordshire, a stone's throw away from the local church whose Christmas mass he religiously used to attend yearly - except for this year.

Home sweet home in Goring-On-Thames (Pict source)

Artists live out in the public eye - or within its periphery - the existential fears that keep some of us awake at night. Such fears exemplify why and how the quest for happiness shall not be found in fame and fortune for the latter exacerbate the loneliness that lies deep within us.

Artists and creators of George's calibre realise pretty early on in life that there is more to life than what is and that somehow we are living a lie, and artists cater for that lie. Artists burn because they put their heart and soul on the line, and this whether they ultimately become stars in their own right or not. Maybe there is no such thing as 'making it' when you are an artist, aside from achieving riches and fame, as you live head on with your innermost fears and unanswered questions. Maybe the key to contentment as an artist is about coming to terms with a blessing - or an illusion, depending how you look at it - realised for both the public and the artist.

The public, the fans, are there to witness the light live on or the sparkle fade because as much as we are fascinated with stars in the limelight, we are as fascinated - if not more so - when they face their human foibles (under all their guises and manifestations) head on in the limelight, and deal with them or fade away with them.

(Pict source)

Maybe the clue to George's personal demise may be found within the lyrics of his Christmas song because entertainment has ways to code in messages to those who care to hold God and highest wisdom in their hearts:

"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special"

Above all, being a talented artist like George is to have been bestowed Godlike qualities. And when God is in your corner, you are not alone. You are on your way to the next level. Look up the sky: if you are attentive, you may see George on his next journey.
 

P.S: I borrowed this post title from rapper DMX's words of wisdom to troubled artist Kanye West four weeks ago:

"I want to give a special shout out to Kanye. Let him know that my prayers are with him. My family’s prayers are with him. Remind him that when God is for you, who can be against you? No one or nothing. Stand strong, brother. God is in your corner."

Frank Sinatra's open letter to 'the reluctant pop star'

Stylelessness is Lawlessness

Take the properties that make it to The Style Files: they have oodles of charm and character and are tastefully appointed. In fact, in my latest comment on their website in relation to the lovely guest house on the Greek island of Lesvos (pictured below), I simply summed it up as: "The period features have been retained and there is just the right amount of modernity added to the interior to create that fine balance between ancient and contemporary." Balance is key - and so is respect to the fabric and soul of the property.

As featured on The Style Files

The kerb appeal is a preview, an anticipation, an invitation of what awaits inside, in a kind of "as above so below" formula (the interior being a transposition of the exterior), and in the case of our Greek abode, there was no disappointment to be had. The quirkiness is there in terms of what gives the house its unpolished charm. The period feature details that confer the property both its ethnic (i.e. mediterranean at large, and more specifically 'Greekness') and rural origins: whitewashed walls, blue shutters, paved terrace, working fireplace, wooden floors and ceilings, etc. We imagine nooks and crannies, niches and other little tidbits of charm to discover for ourselves.

As featured on The Style Files

These old places are little gems of style and inspiration. That is because they have been compassionately and painstakingly restored, and carefully brought to the 21st century while retaining their old charm and character - thanks to their owner's common sense, good taste and vision, facilitated by a competent architect and/ or interior designer, and materialised by builders in the know and skilled craftsmen. This might end up being a costly endeavour, yet not necessarily so. I have seen some stunning restoration projects conducted on a tight budget, but on a limitless amount of passion, belief, research, patience, personal investment of time and effort, and caring.

Sadly I have also witnessed the exact opposite: the utter wrecking of style and character of an older property, either on a tight budget or on a generous amount of cash! I could not resist posting some photos that speak the horrid results better than words could. Here we go: -

Case Study - Apartment for sale in Bastia (Corsica): Judging from the kerb appeal, we anticipate the interior to be just as quaint and provincial and Italianate as the outside... Well, better prepare you for the shock!

Montmartre in the sun, looks poetic and promising! (pict source)

Oh joy, it's a nightmare! (pict source)

Ermm... A 2015 revisit of a 70s canary birdcage (pict source)

Bland and cheap and non-descript pop to mind like a squirt of mustard to a hotdog. I can only commiserate the tomettes that would have clad that floor, or the ornate walls, and maybe cornices and millwork that would have asserted the interior its bourgeois status. The current interior is as exciting as a cheap roadside motel. I just want to rip this canvas up and start again! Don't you?

I blame those fly-on-the-wall TV property programmes that strongly encourage homeowners to 'depersonalise' their interiors as a lifestyle must, or in a view to selling their property fast. By depersonalising, they mean remove (or at the very least reconfigure and blend in) any striking structural or period features from their abode, dumb down style so that it appeals to the widest array of people.

House in Doli (Mani, Greece), via My Paradissi

Secondly I blame those home improvement retail stores, as they channel mainstream products, associated to mainstream ideas and results, to a mainstream customer-base that along the years have levelled down their personal tastes to align with and match what the market offers. The convenience of those stores has taken natural curiosity away and made practicality the end-all and be-all. You end up with those mass-produced standardised fixtures repeated across towns... and countries, like a bad case of fleas. Convenience also means that there is a tendency for buying ready-made rather than make it yourself or have it made to spec and customised.

Finally I blame those cowboy builders, who take on property renovation work that goes way beyond their scope and skillset, just for the paycheck. They deliver a botched job that includes the intentional wreckage of period features - because they were incapable or unwilling to salvage them - and replacement with poor substitutes from the above-mentioned retail outlets. It's all about shoddiness and expediency and maxed out profit. Sadly I've had to deal with this sort of situation.

Exquisite! The Royal Makkum Collection from Country Floors

As a consequence of the above three factors, we get impoverishment in taste, and that leads to stylelessness. And stylenessness is the ripping up of style and the ripping off of our cultural and architectural legacy. Where we should be able to be the depositary of heritage and carry it into the future, preserved and enhanced, we witness swathes of heritage being disfigured and wrecked, and replaced by a mock-modernism of 'style' that is nothing less than styleless.

Further (visual) food for thought: How to Make an Attractive City by Swiss writer and philosopher Alain de Botton.

08-Sept-2016 Update: Since 2006 the Carbuncle Cup has been awarding prizes to the UK's latest architectural horrors to date. For a crunchy taster, check out Carbuncle Cup 2015 and 2016 !

Some Fishy April Fool's Day!

April Fool's Day is traditionally a day of jolly hoaxes and pranks. It is related to a change in attribution of New Year's Day to 1st January in line with the Gregorian calendar (introduced in 1582), which resulted in quid pro quo amongst the populations of Europe. 'The motivation for the reform was to bring the date for the celebration of Easter to the time of the year in which the First Council of Nicaea had agreed upon in 325. Because the celebration of Easter was tied to the Spring equinox, the Roman Catholic Church considered this steady drift in the date of Easter undesirable. The reform was adopted initially by the Catholic countries of Europe. Protestants and Eastern Orthodox countries continued to use the traditional Julian calendar and adopted the Gregorian reform after a time, for the sake of convenience in international trade. The last European country to adopt the reform was Greece, in 1923.' (Wikipedia).

Fish Platter by Andrew Ludick Ceramics

Now if you are not acquainted with French, Belgian, French Canadian, French Swiss or Italian traditions around April Fool's Day, you may not be aware that we like it fishy! Children (and the young at heart) attach handmade paper fishes in the back of unsuspecting relatives, friends, co-workers (yes!) and passers-by. The fish has some religious (Catholic) connotation attached to it, but whether you are a devout or not is totally irrelevant. What matters is to bring a smile to someone's face.

These days though, instead of sticking fishes in people's backs, I'd rather stick a fish dish on a loved one's table as a present! Those featured here are by Irish ceramicist Andrew Ludick and they bring together the decorative and the practical. His dishy Handpainted Ocean Life Platters are available to purchase from Crate & Barrel.

Fish Bowls by Andrew Ludick Ceramics

Handpainted Ocean Life Platters by Andrew Ludick Ceramics

Andrew's latest Fish Bowls

Smile, There's a New Year Ahead! (Part 1)

Ladies & Gentlemen, welcome to 2011! One year older, one year wiser. In the face of adversity past, present and future, let us put things into perspective, remain positive and count our blessings.

Keep on rocking!

2010 had its share of human and ecological disasters (Haïti, the BP oil disaster, Iceland volcano, and Pakistan, to name just four). It was also a year of further economic meltdown, exemplified by certain representatives of the Euro Zone (namely Greece, Spain and Ireland).

2010 was not all about doom and gloom though. Some people's survival was short of a miracle (Chili miners) and consequently this took the focus off the negative to give hope a huge boost. Hope in the future, hope in better things, hope in life, in life itself.

For most of us, 2010 was just a continuation of previous years, with those personal beliefs yo-yoing up and down the barometer of faith and happiness. On a personal note, 2010 was a mixed affair. In fact, I am one of those tens of thousands of economic casualties directly incumbent to the greed of Yuppie Boy down The City, Wall Street and other market places, playing legoes with our corporate profits and bonuses, spitting his Tiffany dummy out, throwing a wobbly and getting us all laid off in one sneeze.

The Glass Pavilion, Santa Barbara CA: yours for a cool USD28,500,000

Money never sleeps and money makes the world go round. The world of finance is finding novel ways to reconstruct, 'merge & acquire', reap all the cash rewards and incentives that it doesn't deserve. Our meagre consolation is that what goes around comes around. Sooner or later, the Madoffs, the Kerviels, the Leesons, the Enrons of this world (their emissaries and those 'faceless' figureheads) will get caught up in the Karma loop one way or another, yet sadly knocking off further innocent lives in their fall from grace.

If the legal judicial system does not always act in fairness and impartiality, at least we can console ourselves with one equality certainty: as sure as we are born, we sure are mere mortals. And the only wealth we may take with us to the after-world is unmaterialistic: personal knowledge and advancement, and wisdom (or lack thereof...). (to be continued)

The Grapes of Mirth (Part 1)

To the very tired list concept of '100 Things To Do Before You Die', I would whole-heartedly recommend les vendanges (grape-picking), a wine-process-related tradition that perpetuates an age-old custom documented in Greek and Roman mythology, that reconciles man and nature in a celebration of late-Summer/ early Autumn harvest before Winter takes hold.

With grape-picking you are faced with two requisites from the get go: to be physically fit and to find yourself in the proximity of a vineyard. In my case I couldn't hope for a better combination: my parents' house is within walking distance from a vineyard and, having challenged myself with the thought that I could cope with the physical demands of the task, I was resolute not to allow myself to be defeated.



The Muscat grape produces the nectar of dessert wines!

Relatives of mine have worked the vineyards in the past, from the Champagne to the Bordeaux and Fitou regions, as students, as a holiday job, or to top up their earnings. However their main reason was beyond financial considerations; it was mostly for the fun social aspects and the conviviality the experience brought. I was curious to try it for myself, and with the opportunity right there on my doorstep (well, almost), it would have been foolish not to attempt it.

So there was the low-down: a two-week, hourly-paid, grape-picking marathon conducted at a steady pace, with comfortable shoes a must and no skiving as an unspoken yet understood rule (so as not to interrupt the dynamic of the group), and with the guarantee of raised fitness levels and toned stomachs, legs and arms for each one of us by the end of the fortnight. Bonus!

In addition there was a more personal element as far as I was concerned. Grape-picking was going to allow me to get a grasp, albeit superficial, of what my maternal ancestors would have experienced for themselves as wine-makers in their day, as they picked the fruit of their year-long effort, the fruit of the vineyard they unconditionally tended. This is it, those two weeks were going to bring me a taster of my elders' pastoral lifestyle.

The fun and the hard graft started conjointly early on 6th September. First of all I wasn't quite sure as to what or who to expect and soon enough I was facing a motley crew, a collection of social demographics that span late teens to early 70s, with a strong male majority, locals (I happened to know a couple of them) and then four traveller types heading from different horizons.

There was Flavie, a laid-back lone Swiss traveller girl who happened to be a graphic artist on the bohemian side of life who had travelled South America, Senegal and Gambia. And then there were three representatives of the former Eastern bloc (Poland, Czech Republic and Slovakia to be precise) who also happened to be a collective of street artists/ farm-labouring and fruit-picking their way across Europe (Spain/ Canary Islands/ Ceuta, Sardinia, France) to help them finance their travels and free-spiritedness.

At first sight, one might have been forgiven for thinking those lads were extras out of a Rob Zombie film, but beyond the dreadlocks, tattoos and piercings, their easy-going/ positive attitude to life made them quite endearing to talk to. They were accompanied by a small hound of dogs, namely a teddy-bear-like husky, a pale-coloured fox-terrier/ jack-russell cross and two pit-bull crosses who were all equally laid-back as their owners and taking advantage of the calming effects of the vineyard and surrounding countryside. 'They are not stressed in Corsica, they like it here!' And their owners seem to enjoy the island's pace of life too! (to be continued)