Selfportrait(s)

My restlessness endured through Monday - I did a lot of stuff around the apartment and enjoyed being on my own; my flatmate went on a minibreak with girlfriend. I got up early yesterday morning, hoping to be able to sleep early, but no such luck. After a long day of pleasant chores, a few phonecalls to friends and two movies, I was still restless.

So I took the consequence, and a little hour later, a helluva lot of makeup and a lot of fiddling with lights, I had a very small handful of very unconventional portraits of myself. I love to photograph but I have never photographed myself. As usual I don't know what hit me, when I start doing something creative. I never know where it's taking me. I am no artist and I don't have artist aspirations, but I love the creative process, the sense of something so sure taking over, something bigger. I have no doubts as to what to do, there are no words, no logic, no reasoning. I know exactly what to do, there are no other ways.

And that is interesting in itself. Isn't creativity supposed to be about endless possibilities, about no rules and total freedom? When I create something, I want to feel that flow take *me* away, not the other way around. I get to start out with materials or deciding how to be creative (drawing, photographing, cooking, dancing, you name it) , but from there I'm lost. At best, I don't get to take what I do in a direction, the direction takes me. And if I don't feel this flow, then I feel like I'm failing. I measure my creativity on the quality of the process and not on the final outcome.

When I choose cooking for creativity (and I don't always, often I cook for eating =)) I may choose basic ingredients, but from there, it often takes me away. The final outcome is not always good, but the process is *always* fantastic.

I love to give in to something non-verbal, to the senses and let them have the better of me. Photographing, cooking, drawing, designing, dancing - it's like meditation and it feels like being 100% true to me, as opposed to when I have to express myself verbally. I love to write and create verbal imagery but it is always slightly off the mark, it is never 100% the whole truth. Honest yes, but confined to words, and as such incomplete, as I see it.

Photographing gave me the much needed peace to sleep afterwards. This morning I'm looking at the pictures, slightly taken aback. They're ... unexpected.

I want to photograph some more, humans possibly.

Restless

For the first time since I came back to Denmark, I'm restless as I become once in a while.
I have felt weird all day, not knowing what to do with myself, I have slept too little and my dreams of last night (that I can't remember) haunt me like little flies that scatter when I reach for them.

I haven't done much today, though I feel full of a nervous energy,  - I managed to cook, watch a couple of movies and make an apple crumble. I ate too much and feel way too tipsy for the two glasses of wine that I had. I feel beside myself, not being able to hit the spot or balance my energy. I would like to go to bed and get up early to do stuff tomorrow but I know I won't be able to sleep. I would love to go out and take a long walk, maybe listening to Sylvian, Einaudi or Eno but that would be giving in to an all-nighter. When I feel like this, once I start doing things, I can't stop.

There's no storm in the air, there's no weird winds to tease my hair and the moon is not full yet, though it's winking its one eye and taunting me through the window. But my symptoms are the usual.

Making a new friend

She's a friend of my brothers wife and I have met her at different family-get-togethers through the years. I always liked her, she's my own age, we have a lot of things in common. I have wanted to see her more now that I am home, but I haven't called her as much as I would like to. She called me yesterday evening and we went out for a few drinks, ended up touring around town and finished with breakfast at KFC at 4 in the morning. She slept over and we had breakfast then lunch as the hours went by and we just kept on talking; skipping effortlessly between deep and shallow,  laughing and generally having a good time. I enjoyed it  *so* much and am so happy today. It feels like I have found a new friend.

I talk to my closest Italian friends a lot but they're far away, and while friendships thrive even long-distance, I miss them and would like to share this adventure with them. Not only by phone, but IRL. I would like to share my newfound love for Copenhagen, the cooking of Danish food, the sunshine, the place where I work, the beautiful graffiti where I live, the walks, the parks, the whole melting pot of cultures this place is.

But most of all I miss the small things of friendship. A glance where no words are needed, a smile, a joke that spawns laughter that turns into even more laughter for the sake of it, for the sheer joy of laughing. The goodwill that makes everything allright, that acknowledges "just trying", that awards just being who you are. The recognition in thought, in feeling and the curiosity when you don't understand but cares enough to try and understand, to ask again, and don't feel stupid for asking.

I don't make friends easily and most of my friends go a long way back, so I almost forgot what it is like to make a new one. It feels good.

Ilddåb

In spite of the lovely weather, I feel strangely drained for energy today.
I've got this afternoons' staffmeeting on my mind.
When they appointed me personalechef ,  I sort of thought not much would change. I have always felt responsible for things going well in the restaurant and for our guest having a good time, it comes to me naturally, and I like to try my best and love the feeling of doing a good job.
I realize I was naive, thinking that things wouldn't change much. Sure, I have more chores and more responsability, but people have changed; my workmates have changed. They're not so much mates anymore, they're less chummy and I feel like there's a distance between us, and I am a little sad about that. I realize it is probably normal but I firmly believe that giving good service to our guests starts with feeling good about working as waiters, and a good part of *that* comes from feeling good with your collegues.

Simple as that.
So this distance makes me worry; I try to see my collegues and meet them where they are, but I am afraid that I sometimes fail.
I have a few things on the agenda for the meeting today, and I am both thrilled to have the opportunity to try and motivate the staff and  maybe change a few things for the better, but also afraid I will fall through.

Our staffmeetings have never been much about dialogue, and we have never spoken much about what we could do better, how we might communicate better and so on. I realize opening up this dialogue might bring on a storm of suggestions and issues that I will have to deal with, and I don't know how to find a balance and make everybody happy. But I am hellbent on trying, I just hope I can do it in a proper way. I expect to listen a lot, but I don't know whether it is wise, and I feel like I don't know what I am doing.

There. I said it.
I don't know how to make everybody happy, and I am not sure I should even try, I am not sure it is wise to allow everybody in on certain decisions. I have a pretty clear idea as to where to draw the line and I don't think I can prepare better for opening up discussion.
But I know I will have to improvise. Which is not what I do best when it comes to people.

I think I might want to take lessons in leadership.

Beautiful Copenhagen

I walk and walk, getting to know this beautiful city more and more.

I still wake up some days, not able to see the point in going nowhere, but when I, like today, get myself out there, I love it. I search the faces of people walking the streets. I watch what people wear and make up little stories in my head, as to where they are going, who they're meeting, and what their lives are like. I see evening dresses worn as daywear, big ugly boots and impossibly high heels, tartan, lace, torn nylons, bikerjackets, homemade knit scarves and finally sunglasses. I wonder at the way people walk, run, linger and stop to greet friends, eyes lighting up.

I look into eyes of strangers passing, trying to fathom whether they're happy or sad.  Mindful ?  Awake ? Observant ? I roam the streets, seeking out the sunniest spots, feeling the wind play with my hair, dress and with *my* homemade knit scarf.
Wander around Nyhavn, smell the salt in the air and feel the warmth of the sun on my face and colour the inside of my eyelids bright orange. Admire the first outdoorsy types, wrapped up in jackets and blankets but bravely eating outside in the restaurants under the colured facades of the beautiful houses. Eating, talking, reading papers or holding hands. Waiters wrapped up warmly, balancing beer and bowls of peanuts on trays, taking orders in different languages.

And I totally, blissfully forget myselv for a few hours. Just wandering, wondering, and getting to know this enchanted place. A few tourists ask me for directions, and I answer in English and Italian: "I don't know, I'm new around here."
Happily.

Seems I look like I might be home here, I could get used to it.
I think I will.

It's Monday

A true masterpiece.
I love the idea, the execution and the muted colours:
 

Skhizein (Jérémy Clapin,2008) from Bertie on Vimeo.

What's cooking

I'm going through a rough period after the breakup with the boyfriend, that was one of the reasons for coming home to Denmark. It wasn't meant to be, but never mind that, I spent thoughts and logic enough on that one, things aren't gonna change sitting here inventing possible different scenarios. So I'm questioning myself again, asking myself again what went wrong, hell, what is to be written on our tombstone. Throwing away all the little things that remind me of him, mentally erasing what can be erased. But I'm diverting, this wasn't what I wanted to write about.

I'm cooking again and this is why I started out with the premise of him.
I cook, draw, and walk more when I'm not happy. I guess when I'm fine I'm just out there living =).

I haven't been cooking much lately, what with my working in the restaurant, it seems to satisfy me enough that I don't feel the urge to cook at home. But I realized I miss it today.

I had a sudden craving for pears, remembered reading a recipe somewhere and before I knew it I had bought a lot of stuff and was *serenely* cooking.
Getting lost in slicing the sweet sweet pears, feeling them melt in my mouth and slide over my fingertips. I had forgotten about the pleasure, the pure sensuality of cooking.
I get totally lost. I disappear into my senses, the scent, colours, taste and feel of the food. To me it is pure creation, pure relaxation, meditation even. And it is sooo good for me. It is balm to my restlessness, to my hurt, to the neverending questions to myself these days. There is nothing more satisfying though than to cater to such a basic need. There is nothing purer to me. And I totally forgot what it does to me.

Bonus being that there is something yummy to eat afterwards too =).

So, here's what I did and links to recipes (they're not my inventions), sorry for being late, I didn't even realize how late I was running =).

Tortino di pere e zabaione al marsala (Small pearcake with marsala-cream) and Chocolate Puddle Cookies (small miracle this one - incredible and easy-peasy. Only thing to keep an eye on is cooking time). The chocolate puddles works splendidly with Lagavulin and David Sylvian too =).

Loop

Cascate

d'amore e compassione...

Thanks

A guy asked for my number a couple of weeks ago, at the restaurant where I work. We had been chatting pleasantly about wine, food and Italy while I took their order (he was there with another guy), brought them their food, and now he asked for the bill and a phonenumber.
I didn't know what to say.

It is maybe a first. I have been working in clubs for many years and had gotten used to some attention from the opposite sex, but I didn't expect it here. I know, I have been down for a while, didn't feel so very hot and all that. Top that with the fact that I actually had a boyfriend at the time even if we were taking a break.
This guy was pleasant, my own age-ish and from Jutland as I am. Sort of hot in a good-guy-but-with-a-stubble-he's-gorgeous-kind of way. But I didn't really see this last part untill he asked for my number. I said something to the effect of "coming right up" and then I returned with his bill. He was already standing up when I got back to his table and he towered over me. Tall too, and very wellbuilt. I looked him in the eye, gave him his bill, turned around and walked away back to the bar where I could hide. And sent someone else to pick up the money. Good tips too.

My first feeling about this whole thing was sheer joy and adrenalin. Damn, I was feeling hot again. I relived it over and over again in my head, mentally examining every last detail, trying to come up with more, and I felt the same joy everytime. Wow, he wanted my number. And while I was not in a place where I could see myself dating, it was damn good to know that he found me attractive. I didn't realize how much I missed that. And ok, I realize it's easy to be hot, blonde and blueeyed in Italy, but I had gotten used to it, so shoot me.

After a few days I started to feel something else. I started to feel like a coward. Without balls. Fuck, this guy had put himself out there, he asked for the bill and my number, I give him the bill and not even an explanation ? Nothing ? I actually stare him straight in the eye and can't say nothing, can't even acknowledge his request ? I replayed the whole thing over in my head once again, imagining myself stutter and stammer. What would I have told him ? That I was in the middle of a weird breakup ? That I am taking a break with my boyfriend (isn't breaks just fear of admitting it's over? Isn't breaks for 14-years-olds ?)? That ... what dammit ?

While I don't think I am ready for dating again, I feel grateful. And I find myself hoping we will come back so I can tell him that his request for my number made my day. And thank him.