Michele Roohani

In the absence of potential trick or treaters in Switzerland, I made this retro Zombie Movie Poster to remember Halloween!

Revisit my previous Halloween posts:

Trick or Treat: a red blood Halloween

Halloween in Darfur

leaves I picked up on my walks.

University of Cambridge, England, is one of the oldest universities in the world (800 years old) and is made up of 31 colleges. A college is where students live, eat and socialize. It is also the place where students receive small group teaching sessions, known as supervisions. This post will be about the grandest and most magnificent of these colleges: Trinity College.

I had the best guide to take me around several of these colleges but for this post, Trinity it is. It was founded by Henry VIII in 1546 as part of the University of Cambridge, combining two older colleges that existed since 1317 and 1324:

This is the clock gate with a statue of one of the older colleges founders, Edward III (and yes it did take me 20 minutes to walk 20 feet!)

“Pugne pro patria” or fight for your country he’s preaching with a beer belly and three crowns in his hand.  Edward III quartered the Royal Arms of England (the three lions) with the ancient arms of France, the fleurs-de-lis on a blue field, to signal his claim to the French throne.

The iron-work of the gates in the Nevile’s court leading to the “backs” is very impressive (I found a funny criticism of the gates in an old book—they were built for a total sum of 4 pounds in 1691):

I love this little feather stuck on these ornaments:

Trinity has many notable alumni but for me its most distinguished is Isaac Newton; this is where he measured the speed of sound (you can still clap your hands and hear the echo):

He is now standing in the college’s chapel:

For the ones who don’t want to decipher the words above, here is William Wordsworth’ poem (1850):

“Near me hung Trinity’s loquacious clock,
Who never let the quarters, night or day,
Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours
Twice over with a male and female voice.
Her pealing organ was my neighbour too;
And from my pillow, looking forth by light
Of moon or favouring stars, I could behold
The antechapel where the statue stood
Of Newton with his prism and silent face,
The marble index of a mind for ever
Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.”

Newton is surrounded by bright minds in the chapel and even A Man for all Seasons. I am almost sure that the second gentleman from the left is Sir Thomas More:

Of course you should first get in the chapel to see all of that!

The most beautiful sight is the Wren library—off limit to cameras—which has exquisite classical proportions and maximizes space and light having bookcases below window level. It has Newton’s own copy of the first edition of Principia Mathematica, with hand written notes for the second edition.

Trinity College undergraduate gowns are dark blue, as opposed to the black favored by most other Cambridge colleges:

Unlike any other Cambridge college the porters—aka grass police—always wear black bowler hats; they make sure that as with many other Cambridge colleges, the grassed courtyards are generally out of bounds for everyone except the Fellows or me who was accompanied by a Fellow.

And this is their headquarter:

If you get lucky to be invited to a High Table in the Great Hall, you will have a formal dinner with very interesting Fellows but if you are very lucky, like me, you will sit between the most senior Fellows, Anil Seal and Béla Bollobás!

This is what  you are going to eat and drink (we were lucky enough to inherit a great Sauternes left over from the previous night’s big dinner); I was warned not to pass the serving platters to the person sitting by me and always wait for the waiter to do it!

And of course row after row of tea cups…

The great court is even more breathtaking at night where the college bathes in soft lights and the sound of the central fountain:

Just imagine going to sleep (like the other students of the college) with the sound of this old spring:

If you are a visiting scholar, you may stay in the college,

right beside the Master’s Lodge—in this case Sir Martin Rees:

I so wanted to peek through Sir Rees’ house but the best I could do was to take a furtive picture and be happy with his TED talks...

One place I could visit was the neighboring guest house in this blue hour,

and delight at the “green teas” you could have in the morning by the window…

Last but not least on my list is the river Cam and its romantic bridges made even more beautiful by the Punts (flat-bottomed boat with a square-cut bow):

It couldn’t get greener, wetter, fresher than this hazy beautiful morning spent visiting the Cambridge colleges:

And this punter, oblivious to the fine rain, enjoys the shallow and gravelly river, from one Cam bridge to the next:

After the first couple of colleges you either need a coffee at Caffé Nero accompanied by great fudge from fudge kitchen,

or something stronger: a carajillo just like Mitra D. likes it!

To be continued…

I just got back from Marbella, Spain, where the weather is hot, the sun’s always shining and the colors are intense (at least in July).

For me, the South of Spain—Andalusia—conjures up my beloved Velasquez, García Lorca and of course the native son of Malaga, Picasso. It was my first time in this part of the country so I did the usual tourist things. The great hotels of Marbella looked empty under the sizzling sun; I loved all the local decors like Plaza Romano in Hotel Puente Romao:

Andalusia is the land of Flamenco (not to be confused with the pink bird flamingo) and these paintings by Fabian Perez, translate the passion of this dance into beautiful images:

But the real ladies of Spain were painted by my beloved Velasquez: the Infantas (daughters of a king of Spain, in this case Philip IV)— infanta Margarita who stared at me for years from a poster in my kitchen and infanta Maria Theresa who became the wife of Louis XIV and lived way longer than her poor sister, Margarita.

I will make a post about Velasquez and one about Goya, once I visit the Prado in Madrid, but for now this post should do. These ladies with these extremely wide panniers inspired me to do a little Velasquez of my own:

I even drew one on the walls of the majestic Villa Padierna…

Las Meninas are everywhere in Spain even on a couple of Spanish fans I bought!

I wrote this post listening for the nth time to the superb Miles Davies’ Sketches of Spain, one of his best works.

Now let me take you to old town Marbella. It is a maze of narrow streets with white houses, restaurants and Bougainvillea galore! For good food check out Da Bruno.

Lots of small shops offering completely unnecessary but fun stuff:

The blue hour (the sun sets at 10 pm in summer) is accompanied by a dizzying fragrance of flowers.

I especially liked the  300-year-old statue of the Virgin—Virgen de los dolores— surrounded by dazzling plants:

A fun thing to do was to go to the open air market, bustling with life and colors; my mother (below in the middle) and my cousins were busy making good deals:

Southern Spain is a polka dotted country and they start dancing flamenco early:

Seeing all the beautiful vegetables, the Southern Californian (read Mexican) in me couldn’t resist treating everybody to a homemade quesadilla:

I went south of the border in every detail even the beer:

The trick is lots of green onions!

A good meal with family and friends is one of the blessings we usually take for granted.

Now back in Spain again, I shouldn’t be impressed with flowers but these hibiscuses were a red that only Goya would have understood…

The Villa had a swimming pool, a shallow spanish tile pool, a lion head fountain and Sepideh, my cousin, did her best to model for me by all three!

She looks so authentically Spanish that she’s had gotten into fights with some people in Malaga who accused her of lying when she claims to be Persian; the fact that she speaks Spanish well has not helped!

Can’t resist a poem of Garcia Lorca (english first and then spanish):

Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green.
Under the gypsy moon,
all things are watching her
and she cannot see them.

Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Bajo la luna gitana,
las cosas la están mirando
y ella no puede mirarlas.

Spain is a beautiful woman…

Check out this clip for a passionate and seductive flamenco dance by Belen Maya and its vocal version, Cante Jondo or deep song.

Watch the legendary Antonio Gades dancing it to perfection here.

Listen to Miles’ Sketches of Spain here.

Watch Carlos Saura’s Iberia trailer here.

For the beautiful poem (in Spanish and English) I used in my infanta image, read Dave Bonta’s post here.

Dmitri Shostakovich, the great Russian composer, is the ultimate Iron Man! He defeated, with his amazing music, Stalin’s Iron Fist in spite of the Iron Curtain.

Pushkin, Tolstoy and Shostakovich have helped Russia’s spirit endure the darkest moments of its history: the triumph of intense culture over politics.

Shostakovich, this fragile, shy, nervous, unassuming, fidgety little person, had a difficult and complicated relationship with the Soviet government. He lived in constant fear of persecution by a government that needed him for its propaganda machine.

I have been consumed by his music in the past several days; his symphony #8 (3rd movement) and symphony #10 (second movement), his string quartet #8 in C minor (II) are haunting to say the least.

He was influenced first by Prokofiev and Stravinsky (needs a post all to himself) and later by Mussorgsky and Mahler;  I can’t get his music (or his life story) out of my mind: the only way to put it to rest is to write about him.

What I’ve learned from my hero, Isaiah Berlin, is that people (in this case Shostakovich, this tragic figure), can not and should not be judged, from the safety of the 21st century western world, for having failed to stand up against Stalin’s terror machine. It’s just too easy to send others to their death…

“Shostakovich produced a wide range of music. In addition to the 15 symphonies for which he is best known, he wrote operas, film scores, ballets and compositions for theater. He also maintained ties with the literary community by setting the works of prominent Soviet writers (Babi Yar is one of them) to music.”

His symphonies number 5, 8 and 10 are my favorites—music notes are mightier than swords…

I hope you will find a little time to listen to this achingly beautiful music that celebrates life in all its glory and… gore.

Shostakovich : Symphony N° 8, III

Shostakovich: Gustavo Dudamel  Symphony 10 II

Shostakovic: String Quartet No. 8 in C Minor, II

First day of  Spring  2010 is the beginning of the Persian New Year of 1389—Happy Nowruz everybody!

In previous years, I have talked a lot about Haft Seen (seven S’s on the new year’s spread) and the calendar; for this year, I decided to tell you which of the seven really symbolize Nowruz for me. One is Sabzeh or wheat sprouts (above) and the other is Sonbol, the hyacinth (below):

I am still in Los Angeles and the Wilshire Corridor is awash in Nowruz banners like this one:

My little sabzeh looks lonely among downtown high-rises:

Being close to the L.A.’s flower market, I left to take pictures early morning and I wasn’t disappointed. I loved the fragrance of these gorgeous stocks,

and the beautiful tulips that scream “spring is here” in so many colors:

I bought as much as I could carry and rushed home to take pictures.

As a child, I remember listening to the Iranian singer, Pouran Shapouri, sing Eyd oumad bahaar oumad…

in our new Eyd dresses (new year’s dress) that my mom had made for my sister and I.

Vigen’s song, Shokoufeh (blossom), was another of my favorites as the harbinger of Nowruz.

 يكي دو روز ديگر از پگاه
چو چشم باز مي‌كني
زمانه زير و رو
زمينه پرنگار مي شود

زمين شكاف مي‌خورد
به دشت سبزه مي‌زند
هر آن چه مانده بود زير خاك
هر آنچه خفته بود زير برف

جوان و شسته رفته آشكار مي‌شود

نگار من
اميد نوبهار من
لبي به خنده باز كن
ببين چگونه از گلي
خزان باغ ما بهار مي‌شود

 سیاوش کسرایی

 Sabzeh shows up in the new year celebrations in many countries:

Let’s not forget my favorite, the goldfish:

Goldfish in a bowl represents life and the end of the month of Esfand (pisces).

for more on the traditions of Nowrouz: NoRuz, Norouz, haft-seen, haft-sheen, etc…

Norouz 1388, the blooming of a new year
Pouran singing about Eyd

a great slide show of  Nowruz gold fish farms

Richard Neutra, the quintessential California modernist architect, has made my stay in downtown Los Angeles worthwhile.

Los Angeles’ main library has an exhibition of Neutra’s sketches and drawings and I was able to take some pictures to share with you—these are my interpretations of his work:

I love these largely horizontal airy structures; they are so “modern”, you forget they were designed in 1920′s…

I admit that I had to leave California to miss it and nothing says more Los Angeles than this beautiful photo of the Stahl House by Pierre Koenig, another modernist architect:

the photographer, Julius Shulman, became famous by this one black and white shot from 1960 (above) and its color version (below):

Born in Vienna, Neutra (1892 – 1970) was influenced by his fellow Austrians, Gustav Klimt and  Egon Schiele (both died in 1918 when Neutra was 26 years old); this little painting of his could have been created by Klimt himself:

Another great influence on the young Neutra was Frank Lloyd Wright who invited Neutra to work in his studio in Taliesen. They rank him second only to the great Lloyd Wright in American architecture. Other early influences were Louis Sullivan (he coined “form follows function”), Otto Wagner  and Erich Mendelsohn.

This sketch is the Van der Leeuw House solarium (complete with bathing beauties) that Neutra envisioned to build for himself:

Chairs (this one from 1919) weren’t the only things besides buildings that Neutra designed,

he even designed aluminum buses!

Richard Neutra, the romantic engineer,  was passionate about art, technology and architecture—I love this drawing of a cellist playing Bach:

Leaving the cold winters and the world wars of Europe, Neutra took refuge in the sunny climate and rich landscape of Southern California; with his cool and sleek modern style he coined the term biorealism: “the inherent and inseparable relationship between man and nature.”

To see my favorite architects go here

Catch the exhibition at the L.A. Library here

I was late for my rendez-vous with Italo Calvino but he didn’t get mad; time is after all an elastic commodity for Italians…

Seamus Heany talked to me at length about him and encouraged me not to despair but how could I? Calvino suddenly died before I got to know him.

Of the Italian Princes so far I only knew Umberto Eco and Primo Levi; I got to like Eco a lot after he took me to see the movie The name of the Rose about twenty years ago. Umberto and Primo each deserve their own blog post but let’s continue with Calvino.

I liked so much what Calvino’s said about reading that I need to share it with you; read it and judge for yourself:

“In the shop window you have promptly identified the cover with the title you were looking for. Following this visual trail, you have forced your way through the shop past the thick barricade of Books You Haven’t Read, which are frowning at you from the tables and shelves, trying to cow you…And thus you pass the outer girdle of ramparts, but then you are attacked by the infantry of Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered. With a rapid maneuver you bypass them and move into the phalanxes of the Books You Mean To Read But There Are Others You Must Read First, the Books Too Expensive Now And You’ll Wait Till They’re Remaindered, the Books ditto When They Come Out in Paperback, Books You Can Borrow From Somebody, Books That Everybody’s Read So It’s As If You Had Read Them, Too. ”

The above image is that passage in wordle.

Gore Vidal wrote in 1985: “Europe regarded Calvino’s death as a calamity for culture.” and I agree. Italy is not just an operatic country with clowns like Berlusconi at its head…

A couple more quotes from Calvino:

“Novels as dull as dishwater, with the grease of random sentiments floating on top.”

“Only a certain prosaic solidity can give birth to creativity: fantasy is like jam; you have to spread it on a solid slice of bread. If not, it remains a shapeless thing, like jam, out of which you can’t make anything.”

Read about Calvino here

Vidal talking about him here

Another Valentine’s Day and another excuse to say I love you to people who matter—in the universal language of poetry and roses…

I am in love,

with  Italo Calvino but he doesn’t care much about me…I have to dedicate a post to him!

“Mon bel amour mon cher amour ma déchirure
Je te porte dans moi comme un oiseau blessé
Et ceux-là sans savoir nous regardent passer
Répétant après moi les mots que j’ai tressés
Et qui pour tes grands yeux tout aussitôt moururent” Aragon

Let’s stay in Europe with an Irish poet:

“Her scarf a la Bardot,
In suede flats for the walk,
She came with me one evening
For air and friendly talk.
We crossed the quiet river,
Took the embankment walk.” Seamus Heaney

Some sexy poetry from the good old English poet:

“The things about you I appreciate
May seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power
And see your eyes dilate.” John Fuller

I wish all of my friends a very sweet Valentine:

One last poem from Fereydoon Moshiri:

بگذار که بر شاخه این صبح دلاویز
بنشینم و از عشق سرودی بسرایم
آنگاه به صد شوق چو مرغان سبکبال
پر گیرم ازین بام و به سوی تو بیایم
خورشید از آن دور از آن قله پر برف
آغوش کند باز همه مهر همه ناز
سیمرغ طلایی پر و بالی است که چون من
از لانه برون آمده دارد سر پرواز
پرواز به آنجا که نشاط است و امیدست
پرواز به آنجا که سرود است و سرور است
آنجا که سراپای تو در روشنی صبح
رویای شرابی است که در جام بلور است

“I’d like to be your only audience,

The final name in your appointment book,

Your future tense.”

If this wasn’t enough to satisfy your Valentine’s cravings you can see more of Valentine 2009 here and Valentine 2008 here.

To hear all the above poetry read by a great voice go here.

all the flowers in this post are from Marsano in Zurich http://www.marsano.ch

Being Iranian, I am fascinated by Persian rugs and the exquisite uniqueness that defines them. The art of carpet weaving in Iran is deeply connected with the culture and the customs of the country.

Being away from California,  surrounded by snow in Switzerland and far from my natural  “soft fascinations” (read flowers, sunshine, rustling trees) I am experiencing a funny sense of “ecoanxiety” that may be cured by writing about my favorite permanent garden: the Persian Rug…

The designs (naghsheh or cartoon—a grid on paper with spaces colored to guide rug weavers in selecting pile yarns) are still mostly drawn by hand even though computers are doing wonders in this field.

Iranians are literally conceived, born and brought up on Persian rugs! Warmed by their soft and comfortable texture,  touching, caressing,  lying down and relaxing on them, comes naturally to Persians. The rugs add warmth underfoot like my favorite red carpet with these gorgeous Shah Abbasi patterns (with floral and leaf motifs mainly in the form of lotus blossoms):

The density of tightly woven Persian knots (or guereh) are the calibrating tool for the quality of the rug,

a good Nain rug may have 500 kpsi or 500 knots per square inch (farsibaaf,  asymmetric or Persian pile knot.)

This is how a flower looks on the back of this Nain (Na’in):

and the same carpet from the front:

Like most textiles, carpets consist of warps  (tar) and wefts (pud). The warps are the threads running the length of the carpet. The wefts are the threads that run across its breadth. This is the same carpet spread out:

Persian rugs go by region (cities mostly— like Tabriz, Esfahan, Nain, Kashan, Kerman, etc…) and each region has its MasterWeaver brand. A small encased signature can usually be found in the minor border like Habibian in Nain, Pirouzian in Tabriz and Taghavi in Bijar.

The most important signature must be Maqsud Kashani’s (from 1540) on the famous pair of Ardabil Carpets. A poem of Hafez is woven into the cartouche:

“Except for thy threshold, there is no refuge for me in all the world.
Except for this door there is no resting place for my head.”

جز آستان تو‌ام در جهان پناهی نیست

سر مرا بجز این در حواله گاهی‌ نیست

The Ardabil Carpets  have an interesting story:  the lower field and border of one of them has been used to restore the other (now in Victoria and Albert Museum in London). The used and abused twin sister was kept in the dark (not to outshine the V&A version) until 1931 and finally found her way to Los Angeles County Museum of Art in 1965.

After exhaustive restoration done to the dazzling beauty, the LACMA sister was finally shown last year (look at how they had to wash it!)

The Ardabil carpets are the world’s oldest dated and historically important carpets in the world. This is the twin sister in Victoria and Albert museum in London:

It all comes down to this fundamental design that I just finished reproducing for the blog:

A love for fine Farsh (rug in persian) may be one of the few things that Shahs and Mullahs have always agreed upon!

Even though I have visited the great Manufacture des Gobelins some years ago,

I am dying to see the real thing in Iran,

and take some great pictures.

I will leave you with this superb painting of my favorite Orientalist painter, Gerôme, called The Carpet Merchant (ca 1887):

A great site to get acquainted with Persian rugs: Farsh Mashad

Weaving Art Museum here

About different motifs and style here

Strasbourgers in the Alsace region of France claim that they are the “Christmas Capital” of Europe so as a good muslim I went there to check.

Well, they keep saying it everywhere:

It was a very cold day but thousands of poeple were swarming the streets of this beautiful Alsatian city:

walking up and down narrow streets,

They have no pity for their babies fighting the cold,

maybe because they drink this mulled wine called “Vin Chaud” (hot wine) or “Gluehwein” (in german): a concoction usually prepared from red wine, heated and spiced with cinnamon sticks, vanilla pods, cloves, citrus and sugar. They sell it in every other stand on the big Christmas market in Strasbourg:

I saw my first chocolate covered “strawberry  kababs”:

Strasbourg is home to one of the most beautiful cathedrals in Europe:

where Jesus’ birth will be celebrated this year with pomp and thousands of little ornaments made in Alsace (read China):

The market is not close to the big church but right at its feet with Santa Claus himself selling some of the stuff:

Here is Alsace in all its glory (albeit in miniature):

and colors,

with little chefs baking for the big birthday (Jesus’, remember?)

and big chefs of course making macaroons:

but for people with a weakness for great pastry I have a better treat:

The above are Christmas Buches but Christian Patisserie—that I discovered a couple of years ago on my first trip to Alsace—is known for its chocolate:

and anything related to it:

Chocolate not being on my repertoire much, I opted for the fabulous chestnut cream “Mont Blanc”:

I went to the cathedral where a thousand Santas were busy clicking away on their cameras,

and a thousand candles promised to fulfill wishes…

By the end of the day, I was one of the few without a red hat,

Alsace’s emblem is a stork—you see them everywhere:

I couldn’t resist buying my first real mistletoe:

and looking at the holly,

I went to see the Fine Arts Museum:

where I revisited “the beautiful woman from Strasbourg”:

and the fabulous dutch still life paintings and my favorite Kessel insects of course:

By the time I got out it was getting dark but the market was still hustling and bustling,

This whole trip almost made me forget Copenhagen’s climate summit, the American Health Bill disaster and the Swiss minarets…

Have a golden Christmas everybody!