Flight lifts us
Not so lightly as a bird,
But ten thousand tons
Of plastic and metal.

Drifting past tops of towns
Effortlessly grinding
The engines
To stay afloat.

Below is
A pastel filled
pastoral scene.

I never noticed the
Emptiness of the fields,
Or their vastness--
Around a careless
Rural dream.

A Season of Poetry

I finished my summer quarter of school a little over two weeks ago. I've been trying to take advantage of my time off during the interim by pursuing pastimes that I love.
My two weeks off involved social events and spending extra time with my friends. I went to bed late. I slept in exceptionally late only to get up briefly and return to bed and read--novels, short stories, devotions & new poetry (and wrote a few bad poems, as well). Also, making new music mixes, cleaning my house as little as possible, watching episodes of my favorite tv shows & films, downloading Skype and talking to Sarah & Phil in Japan A LOT (yes, joy and elation). I experimented with pastels (my favorite medium, besides photography, words and clay). The only thing missing was a trip (or several) to the beach and the Bahamas (I looked at cruises online and daydreamed).

Monday, 10 September marks the beginning of my last quarter here at SCAD (hopefully).

I picked up a book of Rainer Maria Rilke's poems during one of my recent trips to Barnes and Noble (have I mentioned lately that I love bookstores and books?). Rilke is fast becoming one of my new favorite poets. So, now I'll fill the rest of this post up with his poems. He has been described as "the poet of night and its vastness; the poet of human separations; the poet of thresholds and silences, of landscapes charged with remoteness and expectancy; the poet--especially--of solitude, in its endless inflections."

I know I have mentioned before that I am a fan of short poems. Although Rilke's vary in length and breadth, he communicates his thoughts and existence beautifully in few words.

Happy Reading, all.
And cheers from Hildegarde

INITIAL (from The First Book, Part Two)

Out of infinite desires rise
finite deeds like weak fountains
that fall back in early trembling arcs.
But those, which otherwise in us
keep hidden, our happy strengths--
they come forth in these dancing tears.

INITIAL (from the Second Book, Part One)

Let your beauty manifest itself
without talking and calculation.
You are silent. It says for you: I am.
And comes in meaning thousandfold,
comes at long last over everyone.

EVENING

Slowly the evening puts on the garments
held for it by a rim of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands divide from you,
one going heavenward, one that falls;

and leave you, to neither quite belonging,
not quite so dark as the house sunk in silence,
not quite so surely pledging the eternal
as that which grows star each night and climbs--

and leave you (inexpressibly to untangle)
your life afraid and huge and ripening,
so that it, now bound in and now embracing,
grows alternately stone in you and star.

CLOSING PIECE

Death is great.
We are his completely
with laughing eyes.
When we feels ourselves immersed in life,
he dares to weep
immersed in us.

Note: These selections are copied from Edward Snow's bilingual, translated edition of Rilke's The Book of Images.

Back to School, back to work

Space and time offer no satisfaction,
Working for food that perishes?

Trying to scratch the perpetual itch.
So immediately distraught,

Such immediate distress destroys
your momentary solitude.

Back Stateside

My trip back across the pond went well. I flew from England to Scotland, then Scotland to Atlanta. I made friends with some Scotts heading over to the states on vacation. I love Scottish and British people.

It's nice to be in the same time zone (or just one or two over) from those that I care about the most (Sarah and Phil are still 12 zones away, though).

I have turned my phone back on. I went back to church yesterday in Savannah! I am half finished unpacking my new apartment. School starts in exactly one week.

Resolution is the word of the day.

There are many photos still waiting to be uploaded from Italy and England.

Thanks for tuning in--it's been a great adventure. I am sure there will be more to come, or at least I hope so.

Jetsetting

Ciao, ciao from Firenze (Florence).

I am on my second trip to Florence and Anna has just made her official introductions with the city. It's one of my favorite cities in Italy. We are having a blast here--living it up and being awed by the architecture, culture and food.

We have two more days here and then off to London.

The count down to coming home is on...8 days to go.

Exposition & Vernissage

My final project and work, culminating into a show.


Overall space


Close ups of my work


Happy & Tired.

The end.

The Finality of Finals

Right now as I type this message, I am sitting with a power drill in front of me.

Finals are a peculiar time in school.

People start staying up all night. In response to stress, some become irritable, some become isolated, others become wired for action. This quarter, I can't help myself from laughing. Everything becomes amusing and funny in a very surreal way. I suppose it is a better alternative than crying or screaming.

Finals are also the time where students (I) look back and ask ourselves (myself) if we've (I've) been productive--have I truly redeemed the time I have spent here? Have I been productive? Have I used the time that God has given me wisely?

The answer is sometimes discouraging and disheartening. However, this quarter, I have been able to work on the same project throughout the entire 8 weeks. Everywhere I went and photographed I was able to add to the collection of images to be used. It has been a productive time here.

My work has surprisingly turned into minimalist, abstract images that look more like paintings than photographs. Who would have known?

I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here. With the exception of having to be away from church, it's been a remarkable experience. I am not sad to leave, though. I am ready to get back to living normal life again and try to begin to digest all the things that I have seen and heard and done while living amongst the French.

So, now I take my power drill and get back to mounting my photos for the show.

The End Approaches

Anna and I just purchased our tickets for the next stage of our travels.

A one-way ticket to Italy and a one-way ticket to England. It was cheaper to fly than to take a train.

We're planning to visit Florence, which happens to be my favorite city in Italy. Anna has not been, so it will be fun to experience it all over with her. Then we're heading off to London to spend a week before I return to the states on the 7th of June.

I am looking forward to seeing you all again shortly (sadly, I won't be able to those of you in Ohio, Illinois, Maryland and North Carolina right away).

We're putting on a big show here this week--tomorrow we starting painting and prepping the gallery spaces, and finishing up our final art work for Vernissage on Friday & Saturday. Then we'll be leaving Lacoste on the 29th heading to Italy.

A burst of updates

I have been busily updating today as you can see by the seven (7) new posts added throughout the day (well, 8 if you include this one), plus a few pictures slipped into the Fly Massacre article. As we are heading into finals weeks my updates will no doubt slow down. But for now, thanks for tuning in.

mobilis in mobili
--H

As for Marseille...

It was a complete surprise. It's supposedly the 2nd largest city in France, and although it is not so large as Paris, it is certainly more approachable and less expensive. Marseille rests peacefully on the Mediterranean coast. The heart of the city is centered around the water and the life of the sea.

Anna and I


Moi, Sherin & Anna

I found myself walking along the harbor this morning with my comrades. The boats are bobbing up and down slowly, as the water caresses their sides. The east side of the water houses a fresh fish market. When I say fresh, I mean they haul them off the boats still kicking--throw them into plastic bags with gills gaping for air as they are handed over to their anxious and hungry patrons.



The morning also brought a burst of French culture. Elderly French men and women strolled down the streets beside the harbor, smiling and greeting one another informally with their three kisses on the cheeks. The men stand in their suits and straw hats, congregating together in small groups to share the latest gossip.


The fishermen were shouting back and forth to one another, slapping fish about, cutting them up on large wooden cutting boards--then splashing and spraying everything down with a hose. An especially interesting sight at the fish markets--an OCTOPUS. We happened to be passing by just as a man was pulling an octopus out of a bucket. He slapped him down on the cutting board and made several quick cuts. The bulbous creature was still alive and squirming. The fellow had to rip the creature off the board as it had a attached itself--sucking hard and resisting his undeniable fate. Sadly, I was not quick enough with the camera to capture this capricious moment.


The air smells heavily of the sea.



Marseilles is bathed in the air of the ocean and saturated with its power. The sea feeds the city, washes its sides, sprays its rooftops, carries its passengers safely.

Hillary C?

This weekend Bevin saw my credit card and asked me what my middle initial stands for. Apparently this is the second time that she's asked, although I don't remember the first time. She began guessing "C" names, and she came up with such a list that I started writing them down.

I told her that my middle name is very plain and common. And so follows the list...almost 50 names.

Caitlin Corina Cathryn Constantine Caran Cinderella
Cooper Cathleen Cremoria Chasity Candace Cynthia
Carol Corinne Claire Charin Crystal Cara Charlene
Collette Cate Cassy Celeste Charlotte Cora Chloe Christian
Colleen Courtney Cassandra Constance Corin Callope
Clara Cally Cecelia Charity Chantal Cindy Cameron
Clarice Clementine Celine Cyndrine Caroline Christin

Just before dawn

It's cool and my fingers are numbing as I am fumbling with the camera. The mist and dust and fog are obliterated after so much rain. There is a distinct clarity in the night sky. Eventually exhilaration shoots through me warming my hands and my imagination.

I turn my face up to the skies and behold the half disc glowing, submerged in a misty ring.

Ever so slowly the firmament begins to shift and glide southward. I photograph, trying to take a portrait of the heavens.

The Nightingale repetitively squawks his tune, waiting for dawn to creep over the western hills. Then he goes to bed.

But I open my eyes wide to absorb the diffusion of the stars. I turn my face up and squint, and struggle to see the surface of the moon. I copy it. Capture it. Struggle to reproduce it.

J'aime St. Saturnin (I love Saint Saturnin)

A recounting from my travel booklet I carry with me.

We made it to St. Saturnin today--one of the few places I've had my eye on seeing in Provence. The town did not disappoint--it turned out to be one of my favorites thus far.

The day is perfect--refreshing, cool, breezy with an intense sun--we're driving with all the windows down--I dangle my arms out the front window. We found an old Paul Simon tape buried in a compartment in the bottom of this rickety van. I turned up the volume and we stopped talking.

Here out amongst the isolated, rural scenes with more wild fields--poppies in full bloom, like a red blanket turning green grass orange.

Curv ing and twisting over hills tops, down roads that only fit one car, but we're squeezing by two--less and less like a road and more just dirt. Large mounds covered with leafless trees, petrified. History tells me it was a forest fire.

The sun is turning us brown with its wholesome goodness, the wind is smoothing the creases from our faces. This intoxicating scenery works its magic on us and the laughter spreads like a contagious disease. Standing out of the sunroof, racing down the hill and screaming.

We rushed the grocery store and left with bags of treasure--hunks of cheese, Provencal wines
and pork chops (which we later smothered with carmelized onions).

Russian Poetry & Sushi

While in Paris, I spent one evening with my roommate Bevin. We've both been devouring books during our stay in France. As part of our evening out, we visited the only completely English bookstore in Paris. It's called Shakespeare & Company. It was a delightful discovery. The store is owned and operated by people who hale from the British Isles and obviously speak English. http://www.shakeaspeareco.org & for a virtual tour see: http://www.sav.org/shco/

It's a small bookstore across the river from Notre Dame. It was warm and brightly lit--the books were packed in wooden shelves from floor to ceiling--and on tables and stacked in boxes and crates. There's also a lazy cat who lives and naps among the books, although I didn't catch him reading.

I restricted myself to purchasing one book as imagined my suitcase being even MORE over the restricted weight. However, I copied down a poem from a book.

While browsing in the back of the store, I came upon the Russian section--full of Russian history, literature, non-fiction, poetry--most translated into English (some not). I picked upa collection of Russian poems. Inside, I found a short poem that I immediately loved (I've always preferred short poems), and so I copied it down.

After our visit to Shakespeare & Company, we made our way to a sushi restaurant that Bevin found. Bevin and I both enjoy sushi, so it was a treat to share it. It was the first time that I had sushi in about two months. We sat outside and enjoyed the view of the passing Parisians and tourists; we talked about books and told stories. The waitress spilled wine on my lap, but I didn't mind. I just laughed it off. The duck skewers were amazing.

And now that I have recounted this event, I will leave you with above mentioned poem.

We are a pair, close
as the right hand
holding the left.

We are one, warm
as the right wing
enfolding the left.

But the whirlwind
carves a crater
between us,
and nothing is
left.

--Marina Tsvetaeva

Buttery Quote

"It was like someone got a knife and spread butter over the landscape." --Andy Moxon, speaking of the beautiful afternoon sunlight

Flies etc.

Bevin has kindly spent a great deal of time downloading the French Fly Massacre video to YouTube. I am happily posting it on here for your viewing.

A word about this video before you view it--
-It's really just a bit of silliness.
-It is mostly filmed with the camera turned on it's side, which translates to the video being sideways, so tilt your head to the left if necessary.
-I would note the dialog as I think it is quite funny, but I was there to experience it.

Happy viewing!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kev4t_qjVsM

All credits and kudos to Miss Bevin Valentine for her superior filming & downloading abilities.


(Miss Valentine in Avignon--tres chic)

Lord of the Flies

Another run-in with French insects.

Last night a swarm of flies rapidly appeared on our ceiling, next to the light. We turned the overhead light off, and switched on the lamp. They swarmed over to the lamp. There were probably between 60-70 flies--at least.

So, I climbed on top of the love seat, flip-flop in hand and smashed the daylights out of them. Then my roommate Bevin started taking pictures. And we started to laugh. Then she made a small movie.

Slap slap (flip flop) flash flash (camera) giggle giggle (a bunch of girls).

They dubbed me Lord of the Flies. A name which I shall add to my list of titles--Hillary, Scorpion Slayer (thank you, Mike), Lord of the Flies.

I am hoping to post the video and/or some photos, if Bevin downloads them.

While You Were Sleeping

I was up to the wee hours of the morning last night. Wild carousing? Dance parties? Binge drinking? I think not. We don't have time for that sort of nonsense around here.

I was photographing--Working!

The golden half moon hung low in the skies last evening. All the rain last week cleared the skies of the dust and pollen. The stars shown so clear and bright. Anna and I took our equipment out to the terrace to play. Yes, work is fun around here--as it should be everywhere.

Would you like to see a few shots from our evening escapades?




Anna with her large format camera


Painting with Light--Anna dancing with a flashlight


Self-portrait


My Light Painting


Glorious celestial beings


Another painting by Anna

Ode to Andy

Photographer and professor extraordinaire--he's quite a fellow. I've mentioned Andy several times on here, so I thought I would post a picture so you can put a face with the name.


He has a great sense of humor.

Tough Girl

Well, I have a confession to make. Although I boasted about being a bona fide scorpion killer, I cannot say the same about bats. Before this recent 5 DAYS of rain and gray weather, we had very nice weather. We often open the windows and the front door and let the breeze blow through.

The other night the breeze wasn't all that blew through.

I was sitting by myself on the couch, reading a book (I just finished 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea--my third book this quarter). A fairly large bat flew into the living room. It was frantically circling around, diving down at me as I sat there screaming. It flew up into the ceiling fan and got smacked by the paddle several times. I couldn't help smiling at that. Nonetheless, I was paralyzed. Every time I decided to make a break for the door, it seemed to anticipate this and buzzed my head. My sleeping roommates did not hear my screams or cries for help.

As quickly as it flew in the door, it flew back out the window.

This is hopefully a very brief but true account of my brush with bats, and an accurate portrayal of my lack of courage. So, don't think too highly of my scorpion killing skills (if you were considering that option in the first place).

A Visitor

I came home one afternoon to find an unwanted guest on my bedroom floor. So, I made a still life out of him...




FYI, I am the RSK--Resident Scorpion Killer in our apartment.
To date, I have killed five. Unfortunately for my roommate, Anna,
they are very common in Provence. She is terrified of them. We
have worked out a system now. She sees a scorpion--because of
course since she really hates them, she always finds them first--then
she comes and wakes me up, usually somewhere between the hours
of 1-3a.m. I get up, kill it and go back to bed.

Spring Has Sprung

And life is green...

Breaking Bread

A short recount of one of my favorite memories from recent days.

John and Helen live downstairs from us. They are non-traditional students studying painting, drawing and printmaking at SCAD. They are older than the average students--by quite a few years and so much fun. They are both light hearted and extroverted--interested in art and meeting people and traveling. Plus, it is refreshing to spend time with them because they don't have time for insecurities like the average young student (cough cough, such as myself). A few weeks ago, John, Helen, Sherin and I spent the day driving around to various towns and completing errands. We decided to throw an impromptu dinner party. We picked up steak to grill and veggies, bread and dessert.

We invited a few friends over, including several professors. It turned out to be a delightful evening. Everyone got a break from the cafeteria. We ate outside on one of the terraces overlooking the Luberon Valley--good conversation, tasty food, GREAT times. I really enjoy dinner parties. We are planning to have another one tomorrow night. C'est tres bonne!

John and Helen rented a car for the duration of their stay in France, so they explore France more on their own. Unfortunately, they have been without the car for the past two weeks as it was broken into. They are waiting for repairs to be made.


Part of our dessert--figs & almonds


Grilling asparagus...mmmmm



Fresh, local lettuce--c'est jolie.

Blast from the Past

I was finally able to download the pictures from my little camera (that promptly broke upon my arrival). So, here a few from the VERY beginning.



Charles du Galle AIRPORT


No luggage : ( But, the French have awfully
beautiful airports.


My favorite beverage--Perrier--is sold in vending machines,
in super fun cans.


Anna and I--still smiling after a 9 hour flight.


On the bus--on our way to Lacoste.

Change on the Horizon...

I have mentioned before that my photography professor, Andy, is British. What you don't know about this wild man is that he doesn't like the French and he doesn't much care for Paris. In preparation for coming to Paris he had much to say about his favorite things to hate about the natives.

I am making it sound stronger than it really is, but still, it had its effect on the students. Several of us (I'm ashamed to say including myself) were starting to drag our feet about coming--to one of the most beautiful, bustling cities in the world.

Boy was Andy wrong.

Day 3 of our Paris excursion is half over. I feel as though I were an empty cup that's been filled to the brim with culture. It was a dramatic assimulation between the pace of village of 300 to a city with over 2 million human beings.

One of the main highlights has been interacting with Parisians. Parisians aren't really Parisians--most people I meet are originally from some other country--especially in N. Africa and all over Europe. On our first day here, my two best mates, Anna, Sherin and I wandered through the Montmartre district. In the middle of the afternoon, we found a cafe and had a beverage (I drink sparkling water every day in France--hoorah!). After paying our bill, we struck up a conversation with two gentlemen who were also having a drink. One of them asked me how I was doing in Spanish. I answered in like tongue. Sherin's first language is Spanish, so the conversation started to fly. Then they offered to buy us all a drink--waters and coke all around. One fellow was from Spain and the other from Nigeria. One spoke French, the other spoke Spanish. Neither of them spoke English very well. So, we pieced together a conversation in at least three different languages. Where words failed, we smiled and laughed. In the end, we took pictures together and they made us promise to send copies once we returned to Lacoste.

Anna and I had dinner last night at a restaurant called the Hippo. In the European way, it lasted for two hours. At the end of the night, we struck up a conversation with the two gentlemen next to us. No, not THAT kind of conversation. They heard us speaking English and struggling with French and wanted to know where we were from. One of the fellows, in particular, had a GREAT deal to say about America. Brace yourselves. You know the stereotype is that the French hate Americans. There is much truth behind this.

Let me give you the condensed version of this conversation. The fellow said that he very much respects Americans because he considers them pragmatic--they are good business people, they know how to make money and take care of their own and they are ambitious. He says that when Americans decide that something in society needs to change--they just DO IT. Americans are survivors. The French like to write books and philosophize--read and study, think and ponder--but not actively do something about their problems. The older generation still clings to their traditions, but the younger generation is beginning to want to change their ways. He also believed firmly in young people living in big cities because it forces them to live with people unlike themselves. He talked about clinging to traditions and said that this causes people to have small hearts and small brains. In the end, he said to me and I quote "I want you to tell the other Americans that there are French people who like them and Arab people as well." Incidentally, he was French, but of Arab descent.

We are grappling with new languages, new thoughts, a new way of life. Any few words that I can communicate to someone else (besides my American friends) are like a jewel in my palm. Expression and communication and understanding seem so precious--it's creating a hightened sense of living.

Well, my timer is telling me that I am about to run out of time at the internet cafe. I hope that you are all doing well and enjoying the English language.

Silence

I've lost the bug to blog lately, but I am hoping to get back to it here shortly.

BUT not before we go to Paris on Wednesday, hopefully survive the Parisians and return home safely on Sunday.

Last week was hectic to say the least. A lot of wonderful things happened.

I divulge the details soon and be posting more photos.

Cheers!
~Hildegarde

No Mountain Goats Today

Today's adventure involved driving 1.5 hours to reach a famous mountain--Mont Ventoux, well known for its use in the Tour de France. It's around 5,700ft. high. We drove most of the way up, parked and hiked and weaved our way up two miles. It was quite an experience.

It took about 1.5 hours to reach the summit, but was well worth the effort. I was able to view the French, Italian and Swiss Alps all within a small turn. Each time I walked a little bit further and turned around to see the view beside or behind me it had changed drastically.

The hike was quite steep and very intense (I'm feeling the burn in my calves tonight). Sadly, I was passed up by more than a few times by bikers who PEDDLED faster than the pedestrians walked. The higher we went, the colder and more windy it became (obviously), until we found snow still left over from winter. They've experienced 250mph jetstreams atop Mont Ventoux.

I did reach the top (and besides the pain) I am enjoying a nice sense of satisfaction for having completed the task. If you visit Provence, put this trip on your to do list.

Yes, pictures to follow.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mont_Ventoux

Cherry & Almond Trees are in Bloom

EVERYWHERE in Provence.




Local Flora & Fauna

The Promised Pictures

I have been reminded that I forgot to add the pictures from Monday's travels.
Here they are...enjoy.

Fort de Buoux
http://www.beyond.fr/sites/buouxfort.html#tombs


Climbing up to the village






Climbing higher--what remains of a town


C'est moi.




Those little round holes on the left are silos for
food and water. This fortress would have been
able to withstand a siege for an entire year.


The stairs we came down


The view from the VERY top

We stopped at a little village called Saignon
at the end of the day...






French gravesite


Saignon...