Whimsical Copenhagen (1)

Upon my return to Bavaria yesterday, a friend asked how my ‘fantastic voyage’ had been. I replied that my bones were weary but I felt so full mentally. My ‘dream gallery,’ which is something that will make little sense here, even when explained, but has to do with lucid dreaming and the REM cycle, was especially wonderful during those nights of travel or when I fell asleep on the metro. This was largely influenced by the plethora of images I was exposed to in the past few days. My head, I went on, is crammed to the point of extremity, but it’s a good kind of chaos and overload.


In addition this madness and delight, I read and finished the best book of my [relatively young] life, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. While I am already susceptible to empathizing with fictional characters too strongly, never before have I identified with or adored any figure more than Oskar Schell. Read this book immediately if you have not already done so.

I documented the Copenhagen trip in tall, skinny notebook with interwoven designs of deep purple and green. This book was, for all purposes, my travel companion during the journey, and quite a good one at that. Who else would receive my observations, witty and banal alike, in such a welcoming manner? For your benefit, I’ll only reproduce the mildly or more interesting segments here and leave the more mind-numbing or personal aspects on the pages bound together by string.

On July 28th, the date of my departure, my good friend S. and I discussed potential travel plans for next summer while drinking tea and eating plums in my room in Munich. Included among these fantastical what-ifs was a road trip into the Deep South with J. and then on to Chicago to see friends at Northwestern. I have been harboring this desire to see Savannah and Atlanta, Georgia, as well as St. Paul, plus New Orleans and some of the Midwest, namely Minneapolis, Minnesota and Topeka, Kansas. The urge and momentum behind all this is the necessity of seeing more of my home country than just my West Coast and Southwestern corner. I want to become educated about the US in the way that I have during this past year, in more than just a surface level fashion, about Europe. Visual and exploratory learning is what I mean by this. Perhaps this is why we travel – or why I do, at least – to collect these powerful images and memories out of which we can form a personal gallery. No, not perhaps. This is a definite reason for travel or merely living more fully and intensely. I am an avid collector of memories, it seems.

During the wait period before the flight, I sat in the airport, watching men in stiff business suits and a little boy playing with dinosaurs while his sister dressed her dolls and his mother yawned in a chair, flipping through a magazine.

Later that day, at 4:05pm (June 28th):
Shortly we’ll land in Berlin. Hello, lovely city. I adore you. Don’t believe for an instant that you’ll never see the likes of me again.

I then proceeded to draw for some time. Among said doodles was a computer as a dementor, as it is quite a life-sucking box of diversion and fun. The metaphor isn’t too accurate in terms of adjectives, but I’ll ignore this if you will. More drawings included a mandala, a beer bottle used as a flower vase and the oddly futuristic paper towel dispenser in the airport restroom.

The security and staff at Berlin’s Tegel Airport are amusing and adorable. The man at the check-in counter started speaking to me in Spanish. ¿A Dónde va? I think the bangs are what cause me to be taken for a Spaniard, but I like this mistake a rather lot and shall refrain from complaint. Another man at the security and bag check area allowed someone to first go through the metal detector and then down his Apfelschorle, which was far above the standard liquid allowance. “Auf X!” the employee bellowed encouragingly, as if the man were drinking a beer. He congratulated him at the end and promptly gave directions to the next bathroom. Ah! Such hilarity and perfect delivery. Rampant overgeneralization: modern Berliners are a light-hearted bunch.

Arrival
Copenhagen proves to be a stunningly beautiful city populated with absurdly fashionable young hipsters, none of which even border on overweight. So this is where the fashionista robots are made! I am by the river in Nørrebro, a marvelous location full of cafés, bars and vintage shops. There is more than a sufficient amount of high quality street art, and I am beside myself with pleasure.


I don’t know if I will really do anything this evening, as I got in later (though thankfully it’s still light out), aside from take a few photos of my surroundings and socialize with the co-op people. Just earlier, a friend of the group and I talked briefly of India and Nepal, where she had spent some months traveling and teaching. My knowledge of the countries is entirely textbook-based, but extensive enough to permit informed discussion. I bought a bottle of inexpensive red wine at a grocery store in hopes of bonding with the housemates through alcohol and as a token of appreciation for their hospitality. I love how these people live amidst the chaos of parallel creative projects but with some semblance of structure and tidiness.

Tangent – some observations:
Surrounding me are strollers and small animals. There are fledgling ducks, whose head feathers are all ruffled, as if they used a styling product to get the intended messy look. They are not such babies, I realize upon closer inspection, and are more like preteen ducks in actuality. Still uncontrollably cute, though. The woman to my left has a small dog that Em would throw fits of joy over. Scottish terrier? He bounds across the grass in that way little legless dogs do. The ducks seem to litter the water and there are hoards of them. Does their quantity subtract from their fluffy adorableness? Not in the slightest, but this saccharine topic is making me feel a little crazy. At least seven of the girls who just passed on the dirt pathway in front of me have been wearing those damn gladiator shoes, which are everywhere, really. Ok, I should plan tomorrow, but all I want to do is read more of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I already pummeled through 70 pages today. Must. Enjoy. Slowly. Do not devour! It is a dark chocolate. Genieß es langsam, bitte.

July 29th:
Last night was splendid, to use my grandmother’s favored adjective. The housemates, their friends and I sat in the kitchen/dining/living room and exchanged stories over wine and beer. It got late and all but two other souls and I headed to bed. We continued discussing film, linguistics ad the obscene cost of education. Earlier one had mentioned some screenings going on as part of a larger festival, and it was then suggested that we casually make our way over. I was lent a bike far too high for me but in wonderful condition, and we pedaled off across the bridge, first to the park, which seemed to be dead aside for some undesirable activity, and then to a bar and club area downtown.

We went to two different locals, chatted at the first and danced for hours at the second. Shortly after two, I was interested in heading home so that I could see museums, galleries and the alternative village community the next day. Meanwhile, the guys considered further bar options. The biked suddenly seemed to have grown tremendously in height and I swear it was like having to mount a horse, but with a small push, I was off and successfully navigated my way back along the elegant bike paths. Once back, I happily washed up and lay down on the couch made up with the softest comforter of my life. Ahh… sweet dreams.


I’m now sitting in a café with yellow tables, bottles filled with long-stemmed daisies, quickly burning candles, rust-colored chairs and rugs my parents would surely admire. Ok, hygge. I get it. It is Gemütlichkeit, but more sophisticated. Also, candles at 10am? That’s lovely. This cappuccino may be the best of my entire existence, which sounds hyperbolic and over-the-top, but it has the strong flavor of Barcelona espresso and the perfect amount of foam. Nebenbemerkung: I’d like to reiterate that people here are unbelievably stylish. I can hardly deal cope with it and want to photograph them so badly.

Hmm… it’s fairly unwise to skip breakfast, but I feasted on some bread slices in the apartment. To further exaggerate food and drink quality, it must be stated that Denmark has better bread than any other place in the world where I have dined. Better bread that Switzerland, even! As far as my own rations go, I’ve some raisins and walnuts with me and will probably buy some fruit before having a large lunch. This illustrates how similar I am to my father when he travels, forgoing physical hunger for the mental kind, craving more sights, more stimuli, more moments in which I laugh subtly to myself.


Yes, I love being a solitary traveler when it is framed within something as marvelous as a young people’s collective, replete with quirky types and a silver mannequin. Quite obviously, the reason I save money when traveling is that I don’t eat out as much – case in point being breakfast today – on my own as when I’m with others. Naturally it’s more fun to share a meal with a friend, but I won’t ever be ashamed to be the woman reading while eating. For god’s sake, I am that woman right now, writing in a journal while glancing over at an emptied, ground-stained cappuccino and its saucer.

Part Two still to come.

Puppetry Performance!!

Here's the final product of my puppetry course! I am the one controlling the main character, on the right.

The Grey Man from Sarah O'Brien on Vimeo.

So, I have been told by a big shot in the Munich puppetry scene (how weird is this concept?) that I am not allowed to return to America, as they need me here, to be in more shows. I am glowing a little.

Required Items (Part II)

Of course I could not leave the last post regarding desired items so incomplete, so here are some objects or locales that I forgot to mention previously.

Cheap postage!

Real avocados that do not taste like paste! I also miss our oversized bananas, surely genetically modified or full of radioactive properties, but oh so delicious.

Tillamook cheese!! I consume so much cheese in life, and the modest deli slices (7 per pack or so) do not suffice.

My Netflix account and the habit of watching good movies once or twice a week. I keep receiving emails from the company begging and trying to entice me into coming back to them. "We were good to you," they moan, like a needy ex-lover.


The inexpensive and delicous House Wine brand, which cannot be found here, though lack of wine is not something I can earnestly complain about.

In terms of reading material, I bemoan the absence of the Portland Mercury, at least in a tangible form (a great deal is also published online) and the surge of joy that comes every Thursday, when a new (free) copy can be found downtown or in most close-in areas of the city.

Now for places in which I will sit myself and refuse to budge until I have absorbed their spirit and satisfied my malnourished diet consisting of Munich locales.

Naturally, the first appearance on this list is made by Stumptown. Hello, brick walls, aromatic and flavorful wonder and hipster baristas!

Mmm Laughing Planet! Oh burritos and dinosaur toy decorations.

Buffalo Exchange and thrift stores in general. I don't understand the need to always buy new when others have used something just a few times. I cheated with this image, as this store is in East Village and not PDX, but it is too pretty for me to care.

My library!! All of its little branches, too. Munich libraries are unecessarily complicated and some charge fees! I maintain that to be against the spirit of libraries. (Image credit: misterbisson, Flickr).


The list is complete for the moment, but there is always more. Later, I shall definitely write out things I will miss in Germany, which is just as long and in-depth in nature.

August 28th shall be spent flitting all over my city in pursuit of these articles or places. I can hardly wait. First, however, I must conquer my finals and then the Nordic lands.

In Excess

On a related note to the previous post, another perturbing line of thought I've been indulging in lately is the place of excess in our lives. When something interests me, I tend to feel compelled to dive deeply into it and stay there for a while, living and breathing the new art form, book, song, theory or person. I seem to believe that the best way to gain a comprehensive understanding of how it works and how I can apply it to other areas. In that way - seeing connections - it is not so much a developed obsession, but something that can overlap with the curiosites and interests of years past.

With puppetry, for example, I allowed this to happen. I had nothing more than a vague notion of the creative and performance process before this semester and yet somehow it has developed into a full-fledged aspect of importance in my life. The idea behind the performance was recycled from unused animation brainstorming that I produced one summer after taking a related course in high school. The sketches of puppets made in one of Munich's museums, an assisgnment for the puppetry course, made their way into my zine. See? Overlap.

Ah speaking of the zine, it was finished a week ago and at somepoint I will photograph all the pages and post them. Over twenty in all, though. Hmm... perhaps in segments so that it is not extremely image-heavy. For now, however, here is just the cover page:

Fitting that I ended up titling it idee fixe, non?

My friend S. and I were once eating at Saf here in Munich, and she said something that feels applicable to this current rambling. She had a smoothie and managed to drink the entirety in a matter of minutes. Afterwards she remarked, as she poured water into the glass to somehow get at the essence of whatever smoothie-like liquid remained, that her guzzling of the drink served as a perfect metaphor for how she enjoys her men as well: never taking the time to enjoy the initial stages, absorbing all the pleasure almost instantly and then being somewhat surprised by the abrupt end.

For a person to then serve as an idee fixe is problematic and mildly dangerous. But I shall continue assume that when leisurely pursuits are balanced and there is room for overlap, they can then be [almost] equally enjoyed.

Plums in the Icebox

I first came across this poem by William Carlos Williams while listening to an episode of This American Life. The short, simple form and the way it immediately creates a plausible situation struck me, as well as the fact (pointed out in the episode) that the plum thief doesn't actually apologize and instead only says "forgive me."

This is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.

The reason I post it here is because of a witty little cartoon response I stumbled upon online:

Praha!

If cities could be lovers, my romantic life would be as follows:

I would have my first puppy love crush on San Francisco, the boy next door, an ever-lasting infatuation and mutual attraction with Zürich, brief fling with Phoenix due to his impeccable knowledge of indie music, believe my soulmate to be Portland though I'd be tempted to stray with Seattle, have an intense romance with Munich but eventually leave for someone with more similar interests, consider moving in with Berlin and eternally wish that I could have Amsterdam. I would admire Barcelona and and fool myself into thinking that we could be something serious, go weak in the knees for London but be turned off by his hoity-toity sense of class status and wealth, have a fleeting thing for Venice and a two-month adventure with Vienna, and be highly intrigued by the mysterious Prague and realize that our taste in food and art (the most crucial elements) matched perfectly. I would also have an unhealthy obsession with both Copenhagen and Stockholm...

Gendering the cities was a bit odd and proved heteronormative, I must say. But it was a fun exercise nonetheless.

Oh yes, so Prague. Kundera and Kafka's city, Prague Spring, Velvet Revolution, Cubist interior design... It was glorious, of course, and I am so very glad to have been there. Prepare yourself for an overly-detailed commentary.

My favorite aspect was the Kampa Museum, a gorgeous art museum that proudly displays this quote from its creator Jan Mládek on the entrance wall: "If a culture survives, then so too does the nation." I will attempt to describe the atmosphere created within this building so as to give you a slight hint to the sensation it aroused. Imagine a large white cubic structure next to the river, appearing to levitate above the water. To the right, on a pier on the water, is a diagonal row of life-size plastic yellow penguins. Behind them is an enormous stone chair with one apparently broken leg. On land, giant iron babies with stamped barcode faces remain in a frozen crawl position and are occasionally photographed or climbed on by visitors. In the courtyard just before the museum there are three long, waist-height tetrahedrons with mirror surfaces.


When you finally make it past the ecclectic collection of public art and into the museum, you are immediately confronted by the first works. There is no foyer or unecessary extra space dividing you from the art. As you take it all in, you realize that you still must purchase a ticket (student price = 140 Czech crowns, 5,20 Euro, ~ $7.20) and buy one from the remarkably friendly - and rather adorable - young museum employee. The first room takes a fair amount of time to get through, small though it is, because of the amount of artwork in the space. In no way does it feel cramped, though, and the various styles are not in conflict with one another. A helpful factor may be the tall rectangular windows looking out to the river and the clean white walls. There is so much light in the room but it still feels intimate enough for you to have a quiet dialogue with the art.

In the adjacent room, two highly minimalist pieces lay on the floor. One was a large flat basin of nearly black water which reflected the innovative, interesting ceiling. Every once in a while, when someone upstairs walked a tad more vigorously than usualy, a small ripple would form in the basin. The second piece consisted of two opaque slates of glass sandwiching tubes of light. As I circled it, the light appeared to follow my warmth and movement, although this was surely just an illusion. After two minutes, the light disappeared, leaving me somewhat empty and unfulfilled. On an interesting side note, the curator's chair seemed to have equal significance in this room.


The stairwell was impressive in its own right, the walls covered, but not in an overwhelming way, with assorted two- and three-dimensional paintings. Hanging from the ceiling, in the middle of the spiraling stairs, was a sculpture that looked like a white DNA chandelier or those toy sticks that you connect together to make weird contraptions. I really liked the cubist works upstairs, namely one made up of miniscule wooden blocks, varying in height and resembling a blank crossword puzzle or scrabble board. Also interesting were four panels exploring shape development which to me looked unmistakably like a man devouring a sword and turning into a goat. I suppose with that comment I discredited the artist's original intent. It's what the viewer sees/reader reads that matters, right? Uff postmodernism. I apologize.


I fell head-over-heels for František Kupka's small abstract watercolors. Study for Animated Lines, Studies for Around a Point, Four Studies for a Tale of Pistils and Stamens, and Study for Lines, Planes, Depth were my favorites and reminded me of Frank Stella, but with a pointilist/impressionist twist. Otto Gutfreund's Cellist sculpture embodied all that is powerful, sensual and bold in a single sculpture... not to hype it up, but seriously.

Though I could go on longer about the artwork, I think this is sufficient and perhaps over-the-top already. One quick note though, is that I got to see the Cobra exhibit that I had wanted to check out in Amsterdam. It was a bit unimpressive, honestly, and the most I got out of it was this quote from one of the founding members on the wall: "We must turn everyone into artists! Because that is what they are. They just don't know it."

I suppose that a description of Prague is also in order, though, seeing as I also explored the city and not just a single museum there. While there, the friend I was traveling with, Andee, and I frequented Globe Café not once, but thrice. This English-language bookstore and café was, no joke, right across from our hostel (P.S. I recommend Chili Hostel, though I have heard good things about Sir Toby's as well). Aside from the Kampa Museum, we also visited the Franz Kafka Museum, which is remarkably cheap for students and can be very interesting if you speak German as well as English (or Czech) and are a fan of Kafka's works. For me, it wasn't terribly thrilling and naturally a bit of a downer after Kampa, but it was still worth the visit. The infamous and controversial Piss sculpture in front is required viewing, too.

Globe Café

We went to Havelská Market, where I bought wooden earrings and a delicate handmade wooden magnet for my aunt, saw the Hanging Out sculpture, napped, sunbathed and read in Vojan Park, saw the Spanish Synagogue, the Old Jewish Cemetary, trekked up to Prague Castle and saw numerous buildings, churches and boutiques. Astronomical Clock, the Dancing House, etc. You get the gist of it. Hey did you know Tycho Brahe, the astronomer who lost the tip of his nose in a duel (one of the few facts I remember from astronomy) had a pet moose? Apparently the poor creature died from drinking too much beer and falling down the stairs. Whaaaat?


Recommended eateries are definitely Bar Bar, Lemon Leaf, any of the vegetarian restaurants around and of course, Globe Café. Just as satisfying, however, is grabbing a sandwhich or bread, fruit and cheese and picnicking in a park or along the river. Prague has a great selection of cafés and bars and a satisfactory amount of street art. The focus seemed to be more on graffiti, however, which I was interested in but not as thrilled by. OH! So another most beloved Prague sight of mine was the Lennon Wall. I experienced surges of glee at seeing such a grand-scale and ever in flux wall open to public art. I left a contribution, naturally.

This post is absurdly long yet was still hugely satisfying to write. Hope you get something out of it (e.g. an extreme desire to see Prague).

Street Art

Amsterdam, Berlin, Barcelona: these are the cities renowned or reviled, depending on one's perspective, for their street art. They are graphic, uncompromising und situated safely within stable European countries, therefore they can afford to take such risks. Munich does not make the cut because its street art, when existent, is not remarkable. Or, to put it more diplomatically, the rare good works are few and far between due to a lower percentage of active artists and an over-eager clean-up crew.

Munich is known for its elegant, classic buildings and sprawling parks, not for it's dinginess or counterculture scene. Former East Germany has more opportunities for larger public design ventures, as the old bureaucratic buildings, abandoned factories and ramshackle apartments can be used as a canvas. This public display area cannot be found in cities like Munich or Venice, where the focus is almost always placed on architecture, church steeples and the old masters' works in museums.

Tragically, this means that Munich's streets are not a constantly fluctating gallery but rather a near-sterile embodiment and reminder of propriety as well as the city's wealth and conservative roots. For me, street art is just as viable a form of expression as sculpture, textile work, photography, portraiture and landscapes on canvas or found art (any comment about the last one?). Its ties to the clandestine graffiti culture of the past make it more adrenaline-fueled and novel. All that is good and worthwhile should be a touch on the dangerous side, right?

Photos from my time in Amsterdam

My bias on this issue lies in the fact that I am highly drawn to alternative culture in all forms. When traveling, my goals are as follows: visit modern art museums, explore the pathways, parks and buildings, take in the café, bike and street art culture, and lastly but still of utmost importance, to enjoy the food. I seek out cities like Copenhagen or London, where I know these aspects are present and thriving. I have participated, in my own small way, in the propagation of street art. This was, however, a transient and temporary experience, thus I wasn't terribly unhappy when the piece was painted over with a drab grey the next day. The point was that in the twelve hours that my work existed, people noticed and commented on it (as I was to later find out). Even during the creation process in the middle of the night, people stopped to quietly observe and sometimes pose questions.

Me with my ephemeral but enjoyable mandala mural, Fall 2006.

Street art is about pushing the boundaries of what we label as art, just as Duchamp did with his "Fountain" or Monet with his then-scorned painting "Sunrise" which served to spark the impressionist movement. The intent of this particular form is to make us, a happenstance audience of pedestrians, bikers and those who make use of side streets, to pause, observe, ponder and reevaluate our daily environment via its direct impact on our lives. A wall is more than just a wall when it is used as a surface for something great.

Street art is a noteworthy and culturally signifcant movement that inspires those who are interested and disgusts those who are not. A phenomenon that attracts a select demographic while enduring the ridicule of another signals that it effectively triggers an emotional response, a key element behind what seems to be its absolute staying power.