Happy New Year

and remember, sometimes you have to change your perspective a tiny little bit and you suddenly find you have stepped out of the darkness and into the sun (and I know that I need to remember this most of all).

Leopard man

in the midst of his daring and dangerous act.

Incurabili

in a small and intimate cafe. Just like it should be.

Free your mind

and the rest will follow (En Vogue used to sing). So why not give it a try?

The night of the living dead

or rather the country of the living dead. I know that politicians often take the mickey out of their voters and think that they are no more then a common dust mite, but calling your citizens zombies is going a bit to far, even for somebody with no moral standards whatsoever.

Well

somebody needs to stand up to them.

My opening

was excellent. Because of all of you who turned up. Most of the credits go to all of you who came to see it, say hi, have a drink with me (aaaarghh, such a me person, me), and especially my dancer friends who held a couple of performances at the opening and the part of my family who traveled a long long way just to be there on the night.

It was

really nice to see this guy and his son after a long time.

While

preparing my exhibition of dance photos I got invited to take some photos of another dance performance. This almost seems as if the world is spinning the way it should, but it is a bit early to tell at the moment.
Even though it is not me in the photo, this seems to be how I feel lately. Quite often.

Wondering

what or who he has just seen? So am I.

Pure pleasure

and no extra commentary really necessary.

When will I see you again?

is the question the two of them asked. So did I (not now, but sometime in the past). I bet that you also  posed this question in your past, maybe on a sunny day as you watched a really cute girl step off the underground platform and onto the Piccadilly line, not turning back, because she didn't know you from Adam, or on a grey and gloomy day as your beloved waved with tears in her eyes before stepping onto that plane, promising she will be back soon, or maybe on a rainy day when you were freshly in love and held hands all day long and didn't want to let go, but you knew you have to, ...

Tiger Lillies

Apparently they are currently the 8th weirdest band in the world. It all seemed pretty normal to me.

Luna park

and the photo is slightly crooked. Luckily the author was there to hold it up right.

I wonder where

do they store all the snow during the summer?

Psihomodo pop 30 years

It is strange how many bands are celebrating decades of existence. It almost makes you think it is just like any other job... work for 40 years and then retire (if you are lucky).

 But of course now they have been on the scene so long they had to have some warm up bands, and it would be unfair not to post a photo of each of them.

You really

can't say we all agree with the current political situation.

Hello there

After having a long break from blogging, I just had to come back. The idea kept creeping into my mind, but I somehow didn't quite manage to master the energy to do it and didn't quite know when or how to return (I know, I so totally over-think everything). You know the first few days I was thinking I should at least post a photo for each day even if I don't write any text, then I started thinking I should just start on that day when I wake up and ignore the missing bits weeks, then it all seemed so long ago, much too long... But now I got the feeling I need to come back. And this time it was not art that brought me back from hiding, but basic culture. The culture of living. Which has been quite shitty lately in this small part of the world.

Then we had  some big demonstrations. When I say big, I mean big for Slovenia, which is a small place. Good demonstrations. With people quietly stating what they think about it all. 

And the occasional joker with an idea what would make a photo opportunity in  demonstrations in which people are mainly just standing and chatting away, discussing the situation and explaining to a long lost acquaintance just how bad life has been treating them over the last few years, but then remembering also the good things in life, such as oh, yes, in the meantime I got kids and that is great, and then stumbling back to the bad things by remembering that he is  worried about their future and I and my engineering degree are currently digging trenches for cables because that was the only job I could find (and yes I so know that I have gone from the general to individual in the same sentence and that that is confusing for the reader, but that was just how my thoughts jumped and not being one to revise a blog entry, this is how you get it) ... You know the banter you have with people you haven't seen for ages, and then you bump into each other at a gathering where you are both standing up for the same cause.

 And then we moved. We all moved slowly towards the parliament (and this could have been a bit of a mistake in hindsight), where the police were waiting. And yes they were in their full protective gear, but the feeling was more that of a picnic with that ever annoying drunk relative occasionally throwing a fire cracker towards the parliament (just like any family picnic goes).

 And because the police are not allowed to bring alcohol to such gatherings they brought the herbs (which seemed a bit too hippyish for me, but hey, why not).

 And some got flowers in their buttonholes (the tailors have made a big mistake there as they didn't foresee a special little hole for flowers - you know like the new revised beetle). Of course this seemed a tad flower power to me, but hey, I will never argue when people are getting along - I mean whatever makes them tick.

And then a gang of some 50 (they say) covered up bastards rushed into the crowd and started throwing everything (and yes, they came well prepared) they had in their pockets at the police and the crowd. As someone I know very well (and who I totally believe would not be making up this) described: A guy was standing close to me, and he said into the phone. 'Ok, it is all ready. Come in now' And then a gang of what she described as highly organised covered up people rushed into the crowd, just a few meters away from me. And that was when all hell broke loose.
So, my honest opinion is: No it wasn't the protesters fault. No, it wasn't the police's fault (I know it sounds weird coming from under the fingers of somebody who does not believe in any repressive government bodies). It was the fault of a few dozen highly organised mercenaries (I have no idea what to call them, but from the description of their actions I do have a feeling that they were paid for this action, so I will use the word mercenary.) As far as I am concerned the main question is: Who paid them?

Living on the edge

Smoking a cigarette while balancing on a high-wire. And all that in the name of art. I tell you, artists truly do lead lives on the very edge.

The circle

is expanding. Slowly. Insecurely. 20 steps forwards and a million back (Luckily I started going in the opposite direction lately, so when I take all the steps back, I actually come closer to where I want to be). At times deeply painful. Scary as shit. Mind-boggling anxiety. Dread that makes your body stiff and your mind wet itself. But somewhere deep underneath there is joy. And a belief that one day I will make it. It is hard work but someone has got to do it.

R.E.M. project

With so many bands, how can I possibly decide upon the photo?

I still

like this drum and bass idea with live bass and drums (only this time they were accompanied by a woman playing the tambourine, so I guess it is now tambourine drum and bass)

Some nights

we all feel blue and we hide in a dark and noisy corner, convinced that this is the end.

How can I chose

which photo to post when I have seen more interesting things in a single day than I have fingers on my hands? Well, I will just chose one of them, and you know where you can find the rest, don't you?

They came

in peace, but once they noticed that a bunch of tossers (known to themselves (and only themselves) as homo sapiens) are totaly destroying a rare thing in this vast universe (yup, an inhabitable planet) they decided, what the hell, we might as well save the 26 billion chicken being held hostage while we are here.

Just like St. Patrick's

but in September.

I forgot

just how good he really was.
The five commandments of animalism (amended):
No animal shall wear clothes (if it doesn't own any)
No animal shall sleep in a bed (with sheets)
No animal shall drink alcohol (to excess)
No animal shall kill any other animal (without cause)
All animals are equal (but some animals are more equal than others)

(I really need to reread Animal farm and 1984 - actually thought about writing a sequel (to both) while watching the show)

And some days

you sit behind the steering wheel of somebody else's car and drive (for what seems like miles, oh wait, it was miles, OK, for what seems like tens of miles, oh wait, it was tens of miles, for what seems like hundreds of miles, oh wait, NO, it wasn't hundreds of miles). And you arrive somewhere you haven't been so long that it has aged and turned all brownish and worn out in your memory.

Expanding energy

A photo that tells you squat about the performance, but I like it.

After seeing

a fun performance by Jolika Sudermann and Alma Söderberg (it was called A talk) I went to see Kunsten A Bli Tam (well, I did pop in on a small concert on the way). The last performance of the day showed a dying old man, a  little red ridding hood, a 3D projected scene and a part that reminded me of Soylent Green (or at least I think the scene I have in mind is from this film - but as I have seen it only once in 1985 I might be wrong) - which I unfortunately did not photograph as that part was too quiet (so you have a similar scene that was louder and I could photograph here). But the scene I have in  mind is when the old man (in the film) went to be euthanised and turned into cookies (or sausages or whatever they were turned into). He laid down on a bed and was given a choice of 3D (sort of) scenes that he could watch while dying peacefully. And he chose the forest and a deer that reminded him of the time the world was not so screwed up. And in this play there is a similar scene. There is a man lying on what is a hospital bed and the forest in 3D surrounding him. And as soon as I saw this I remembered Soylent Green and the whole scene was suddenly heavily burdened by the idea of the world that is witnessing its destruction.

But what if we

never make it to our village?

I know

it is not Jupiter, but I managed to capture a band member with a celestial body (yes, it is the moon and not a spotlight). So now, go and search for the clues :)

Capital on sale!

When we have sold everything we had to sell
when we have told everything we had to tell
when we have fallen as  deep as we can fall
and when we stand a mere one inch tall

Fear not, we will raise up into a cloud of smoke
throw some dust in your eyes, make you choke
We will make you  buy some more worthless capital
because only this  will make you feel somewhat special

As

far as you are concerned, we are the ones who decide. (Isn't it so often the case that it is the wrong ones who decide?)

Hush, hush

Sometimes the life of a performance photographer is the same as that of an industrial spy and this is one of those days, so I can't reveal anything about the photo as to where and when, but I will just show it to you and you treat it as an abstract photo that needs no placement.

What dance does to me

Sitting in the backstage, sipping G&T, talking to my friends, when suddenly I see a reflection of a ballet dancer in the glass cube in the middle of the square. As I grabbed my camera from the table and ran (like the wind) all I could stutter was: 'dance' . I was gone in a second (sorry Nataska & Matjaz, I am afraid my manners fly through the window (even at an outdoor event) as soon as I see something I want to photograph), but maybe, just maybe I can redeem myself with this photo.  

Festival

is coming to town, and we have a marching band to prove it. (Guess from where you will be seeing photos in the next days.)

Can

you tell from this photo whether it was punk or pop (or anything else for that matter)?

Some concerts

are better than others. And usually they are better when you see the band is having a good time. You know, having a laugh, seeing one of them smile at something the other band members, they, or somebody from the public has done. And then seeing another one smile because of something. And then smiles eem to overcome the stage... These are the little things that make a better concert... Because believe me, if we wanted it to be all perfect and robotic, we would just go and buy an overproduced CD and listen to it at home. And this concert reminded me of one of their first concerts (in the same venue - but indoors and not at the same time (festival time) of the year, but quite a few years ago)... you could see they enjoyed it. I am sure the reasons were different, but the joy was back.

Continuing with

my escapology. This time to the picnic that marked the end of another festival (it seems that I have inadvertently become a festival person, but hey you have to love them, don't you), not far away from my little black shoe box (see previous post for explanations regarding the shoe box). And guess what? The picnic and the concert at the picnic finished so early, I actually had time to make it to another concert, at another festival, back in my little town.

After

a millennium of being locked in a small metal cage the size of a shoe box (shoe size 41.5) , I decided to make a run for it. In the long nights that I have spent in this jail I have managed to chew through a dozen steel bars that blocked my way to freedom. Not even the fact that I wore my teeth down to the bone stopped my chewing on the metal bars, I just started gnawing with my jawbones.
Anyway, this afternoon, at a carefully selected moment, when I knew my guards were having their (what they thought well deserved) afternoon nap, I knocked the steel bars out of their place and made a run for it. I haven't seen the sun and the outdoors world for over one thousand years and I found it incredibly hard to label anything I saw. It all seemed so dark, foreign and most of all terrifying. I was not sure whether I can survive outside, but now I was here I decided to give it a shot. I looked at the people, and as there was no sparkle in their eyes I couldn't decide whether they were all robots or just a new race of semi-dead people. (I did wonder about my eyes, have they lost their sparkle?)
I decided to head out of town, into uncharted and unclaimed territories, marked on maps only with the words 'There be dragons'. As I knew no better, I decided to follow the river upstream, in the hope that it will lead me out of the dangers of this city and into the dangers of There be dragons land.

I walked upstream and the river was becoming narrower and faster. I was enjoying the cool, fresh air that smelled somewhat differently to the stale air I had at disposal in my little black box. No more black smog, no more guards spying on my every minute move (couldn't do much more than minuscule moves in the small black painted cubicle, with no light once the sun went down).
I ran further up, splashing through the cold freshwater, feeling the joy of the cold water hitting my skin (I forgot how good it feels as cold freshwater covers your body), not knowing where it will lead me, but just enjoying the newly found sensations of freedom. I came to a clearing





and saw three cows in the field. Roaming around freely. The last time I saw another living being was... well... who knows how long ago this was... The only living being I saw during my involuntary stay in the metal shoe box were the guards, but even for them I was not sure if they were not some sort of hybrids between people and steel, carbon fibres, a few microchips and some faulty electrical wiring. I had to stop and consider this for a moment. The idea of having space, walking, strolling around, grazing in the sun, with no worries (at least not immediate ones). I am sure that is what life should be all about (does this mean I should be a cow (or maybe a bull?)). But I knew I had to press on, I knew they would be looking for me with all their devices and gadgets.

I ran towards the mountains. Down the long and winding road (but not yellow mind you). I learned from the von Trapp family that you should always head for the Alps, for that is where freedom is (or is this just something my brain  made up in the darkness of my (ten times) a hundred years of solitude (in an attempt to preserve my sanity?)). I ran as fast as I could. I could hear the helicopters behind me coming ever nearer. They were on my tracks. I ran for my life, I could no longer breathe, and yet I kept running. Blood was trickling from my ears, but my brain still my kept yelling: 'Run, run, this is your last chance.'

This is how close I came to the Alps. To freedom. To starting a new life. To living outside the small black box. But then they caught up with me. Locked me in and drove me back to the huge buildings full of small black boxes. After weeks of painful torture, they threw me into a new black box. This one was the size of a shoe box for toddler's sneakers.
But still, I had my five minutes, and now I can plan my next five minutes in a few thousand years.

This post will not mean a lot to most, but to those who will see anything in it, think of it as my message in a bottle (for a full understanding of this you will have to listen to The Police's song Message in a Bottle).