Portraiture

My friend J took one look at my theatrical headshot and immediately observed "That's not you."

He's very right, and very astute. The headshot, taken about six years ago, is a $350 collaboration between multiple artists, and me. The photographer with the studio in Southie. The professional makeup artist who spent 45 minutes designing me. A lighting assistant. And dear Peter, who came with me as court jester to coax my smiles for the camera. It's an artistic end product, not a portrait.

Monday night there was a stack of photo enlargements we were looking at that I'd brought over, photos going back through different eras of my life. All of the others photos were taken by good friends who were photography buffs and/or amateur shutterbugs, gifted at capturing essence above compositional correctness. Its been epochs since I've looked at them and longer still since I've shown them to anyone. In these, I'm not wearing any professional makeup job, the lighting is whatever nature provided at that moment, and both the flaws and the strengths of my face are captured just as the eye would have taken them in. These are portraits. I've always been aware of that difference, but J was the first person who has ever voiced the same sentiment to me, rather than cooing over the craftsmanship of what a long gone $350 bought.

That really meant a lot.

The Work Sector

or...

Answer to 30 "How's the new job going?" Inquiries

In my mind's eye I am seeing the department's existing infrastructural dynamic as chickens skittering helter-skelter over dust, crisscrossing paths frantically and repeatedly, but never reaching a destination, having no destination to reach. I wrote the above sentence at home early this morning. Now I'm here in the chicken pen, seeking out possible solutions to the current chaotic state of things, which is what I was specifically hired to do.

I've only been installed here a few days, but one of the immediate problems I've identified is that no one owns their projects. Every little item has ten hands scribbling on it, and none of the hands know what the other hands are up to, or why. Ergo, nothing gets through the pipeline without confusion and delay. The chief deficit (that I can see from my mostly-outside perspective) is a lack of streamlined workflow. There are too many cooks on every pot. More work needs to be delegated to individuals, who can manage it without the lethal committee-mindset slowing down everything. Solving that problem could help several other work dynamic issues solve themselves. I was hired to help the new Director bring things closer to that place.

Everyone here is patently terrified of the new Director, and I want to help them not to be. He is a brilliant, charismatic person with an often dazzling rocketman presence. If they would just, for once, talk to him as the human being he is, they would see why there's no need to pussyfoot around him. There's this great Willy Wonka-ness about him. Picture Gene Wilder as Wonka and that mad-genius sparkle in his eye. This guy is like that all the time. I'm looking forward to helping him. I've had several good discussions with him, including one about Japan. I'd like to nudge others to humanize him in their eyes, but I have to do it somehow without stepping on any chicken feet. And I have to be very careful not to catch the panic bug, stay streamlined myself here. Chaos is contagious.

This morning I jumped at the chance to run an office errand because I wanted the 1-mile walk that came with it. That gave me some headspace to meditate/ponder possibilities for helping get this pen organized. Last Friday there was so much discordant energy that it sent me flying out for smoke breaks 8 times in 8 hours. I have to remind myself that these challenges are sent into our lives for a reason. I just didn't expect it to be quite this comprehensive a challenge.

But, I have all the free coffee I can swallow, and a bag of trail mix. Let's get cracking.

Travelogue

While I was in Romania in October of 2002, I kept an
online travelogue written at internet cafes into a
previous LiveJournal. Ever since then I've been
promising myself that I would clean up all the typos
and superfluous crud and share it again, since very few
people actually got to see it the last time. Getting
around to said cleanup 18 months later....that's pretty
good for me.

___________________________

THROUGH ROMANIA


Travelogue 1 --- Bucharesti, Romania
First minutes in Romania. Feral cows grazing wild on
the lawn of the airport. Also, the first of many child
beggars I will encounter. I knew to expect this. Their
giant eyes are so much harder to avoid than the
jaundiced eyes of the panhandling drunks back in
Boston. I don't have enough to give something to each
child, though. I chose Romania in part because it's
what I could afford. Its not possible to explain that
within the context of my own culture, I'm poor, too.

*****

My hotel room is a joy -- anachronistic and quirky.
Lace curtains and a window that opens onto Victorei
Square. Fountains, gargoyles, baroque architecture are
mine to gaze at under the moon through the window. The
toilet flushes by an old fashioned pull chain in the
ceiling. The bathtub is twice as deep as an American
tub, and I savored a luscious bath. I'm sitting now on
the window
ledge, eye level with gargoyles. Sipping Finnish vodka
from downstairs. Viva Bucharesti.

*****

I wasn't expecting it to be this warm, being October
and all. It was 70 degrees when I landed and is getting
just as warm today. I brought nothing but heavy fall
clothes. I need to buy a t-shirt. But on the other
hand, if I were to wear a t-shirt I would be the only
person in Bucharesti not dressed fashionably. People
are in autumn business attire, elegant skirt suits on
the women and ties on the men. And I've never seen a
such uniformly good-looking people as these. With only
rare exceptions, all the women are beautiful, all the
men handsome. I won't be the Ugly American parading
around in a t-shirt and shorts.

*****

I just can't reconcile with the idea of bidets. I mean,
its not like they're nasty or anything, and in fact
they're far more cleanly than our American, um,
methods. But I'm just sayin'.....

*****

So I'm walking down Calea Victorei, feeling kewl and
suave with my long black pleather coat swirling in the
breeze behind me. Black turtleneck, black hip-hugging
bellbottoms, black boots. I remember the black airport
sunglasses and add them to complete the effect. I'm the
only blond in sight, golden curls sailing in the wind
to the rhythm of my confident city stride. Men look at
me and think "Shee eez zoh byoootiful! Could shee evair
love a man like me, who rides a leetle cheeldren's
bicycle?" I catch views of myself in store windows --
pure international ice goddess. Paparazzi will be after
me any minute, I'm so all that.

I turn onto Blvd. Regina Elisabeta and my boot catches
a broken piece of pavement. In horror I stumble
forward, but right myself without falling. I ditch into
a store until anyone who might have seen me has passed.


*****

33,000 Romanian lei = 1 US dollar. I have
multi-millions of lei in my pocket. I've never
possessed a million of anything before. I'm kewl again.


*****

The Orthodox churches in the city are so beautiful that
I can't do justice to them in words. Well, yes I can,
but not right now. So much to write when I get home.
I'm taking the best photos I can, hoping for some good
ones.

Two museums to go to today!

*****

The homeless dogs everywhere would break the heart of
any dog lover. They are regarded as rats by the locals.
The dogs have bred into a single feral breed, medium
sized, brown, pointy eared and tragic-eyed. I got
scolded by an old man for feeding a sweet-faced brown
dog a croissant from my pocket. I wish I could take
every one of them home with me.

*****

Oh, I love coffee in Europe. Every time I come here it
amazes me, how different it tastes and feels in the
mouth. Heaven. I've also developed an addiction to the
grapefruit soda here. As I type this, I'm drinking my
5th one of my visit. How will I live without it?

*****

Because the ballet was sold out last night, I had the
serendipitous good fortune to instead see a local
independent production of The Merchant of
Venice. Theatrul Micu is a small but passionate
company who do theatre for the sheer love of it. The
production was in Romanian, but it didn't matter
because I already know the story well, and it was
actually a rare opportunity to focus strictly on their
inflection and physical interpretation. The acting was
outstanding. But what inspired me most was that this
little company with absolutely no funding forged
forward in the face of such adversity and did what they
were born to do. The space was a blackbox constructed
in what used to be a retail store. They didn't even
have real costumes -- everyone was in all
black with subtle indicative additions, a plume here, a
hat there. Yet the production was deeply effective and
received a well-earned standing ovation from the little
audience of about 40 people.

*****

No time for more --- I have a train to Brasov to catch
in an hour. Next report from the mountains....


Travelogue 2 --- Brasov, Romania
The train station in Bucharest was, as I'd been
forewarned, one of the scariest places in Europe. My
cab driver insisted on accompanying me in and escorting
me safely to my platform, where he waited with me until
I could board the train. Bless that man. It would be
hard to describe the rogues gallery of beggars and scam
artists who tried to approach us. He knew just how to
handle them, though. I gave him an enormous tip --
about $5US, which amounts to almost a full day's pay in
Romania.

Once inside the train, the scams weren't over. Somehow,
gypsies and assorted freaks manage to get into the
train cars before departure, shoving junk in the faces
of the riders, bullying for handouts, etc. Robbers more
than anything else. Shortly after I boarded and sat in
my assigned 1st class compartment, a violently insane
demi-dwarf of undetermined gender entered the
compartment screaming some kind of chant and shaking a
bag of something that sounded like
marbles. Sharing my compartment were two burly men who
were big enough to crack a phone pole in half, and once
again I depended on the kindness of strangers. When the
mad little demon wouldn't leave, one of the burly men
picked it up by its shoulders and literally threw it
down the length of the aisle.

Once the train got beyond the outskirts of Bucharest
though, the ride became the most scenic and visually
spectacular train trip I've ever taken. The autumn
leaves were at their fiery peak, and as we ascended
into higher lands of southern Transylvania, my breath
was taken away by the sight of misty mountains straight
out of some storybook wizard's kingdom. I didn't think
mountains like this really existed. Indeed....they do.

The two burly men in my compartment turned out to be
opera singers! Once they settled in for the ride, they
pulled out scores from something by Verdi (I couldn't
read what) and were busy learning their parts and
marking up the scores. They passed one Walkman back and
forth between them, bickered ad nauseam, and sang tiny
snippets in sotto voce. I wish they had just gone ahead
and practiced in full voice. But I don't think anyone
except me would have appreciated it.

*****

Ah, Brasov! I should have planned for more days here.
What a charming, otherworldly little mountain town,
straight out of medieval history. The streets are
cobbled with ancient stones, church spires reach for
the low clouds, and everywhere, in every direction,
brilliant autumn-leaved mountains! Yesterday evening as
I sat at an outdoor cafe at sundown listening to bells
of a church, I wished so much that I could teleport my
friends to this very place to share an evening
experiencing this with me. I miss you so!

******

There was a problem. In the hotel room next to mine
there is a loudmouth prostitute who kept me awake most
of the night. All night long she shouted out the window
in her raspy crow voice to men down on the street,
giving a crude come-hither in Romanian and some Slavic
language. She would do her foul hoochie-coochie in the
window until she snared a customer, then would go to
the lobby to bring him up. The johns would be there for
15 minutes or so, and then she's be back at the window.
When she wasn't doing that, she was shouting loudly
into the phone (pimp, drug dealer, who knows). The
night desk clerk spoke no English and the manager was
gone for the night. At 3:30 AM I was pounding with both
fists on the thin wall between us, but she only pounded
back. I blasted BBC on my TV to drown her out, and at
5:30 Am her shift was apparently over and she left. In
the morning I did complain to the manager. I don't
know if she'll be there tonight, but if she is, they
will move me.

******

I got my first savory taste of true Transylvanian goth
-- by sheer luck I happened upon a large church
graveyard, with hundreds of elegant and elaborate stone
memorials. There were so many, in such variety, that I
wandered among them for hours taking photos. In here,
whole families are buried in a single deep plot,
stacked atop one another. I can't believe this is
something I've seen with my own naked eyes, rather than
just hearing or reading about. I'd like to go
there at night, under the bright Transylvanian moon.....

*****

I guess perhaps I really do look German, as was
suggested by friends a few weeks ago. Several times now
I've been addressed ein Deutch by shop people playing
guess-the-tourist's-language. Perhaps it doesn't help
that today I'm wearing my hair in two blond braids (in
absence of my crucial Frizz-Ease). Bad hair day? Ja!
Est nein goot!

*****

The leather products I'd anticipated shopping for have
turned out to be a disappointment. While the leather
itself is fine, the workmanship is absolutely abysmal.
It looks like cheap junk from southeast Asia and my
guess is that it is. Online Romanian friends had
praised the leather here, but none of them have ever
been out of Romania. Well, I'm not buying any, no
matter how cheap. I bought some gorgeous artwork
instead, some truly lovely works in several media. So
this has turned into an art buying adventure instead.

*****

Travelogue 3 -- Brasov, Bran, and Risnov

I've just been to the Castle of Vlad Dracul the
Impaler.

Actually, the castle is extremely beautiful and full of
mysterious nooks and stony crannies to explore. The
castle stands majestic against the mountains,
surrounded on all sides by tall
pines. A steep ascent up a rough cobbled path gets you
to the castle.

The 14th century design remains intact and has been
carefully protected. Like most medieval structures, the
ceilings and doorways were made for people much smaller
than we are today. I'm just 5' 3" but the top of my
head skimmed the top of the door frame - anyone taller
than that would need to duck. Tiny spiral staircases no
wider than an average contemporary male's shoulder span
wound up and up to the spires.

The furnishings....gasp. They were, I believe, of a
slightly later period than the building itself, 15th
and 16th century would be my estimate. Elaborate
carving and relief work embellished everything, each
chair, bed and table a work of art. Unfortunately they
kept the lighting too low for photography, in
approximation of the natural candle lighting of earlier
eras But I got many nice outdoor and courtyard shots.

I arranged this side trip through a local agency, and I
was fortunate enough to share the ride and
exploration with a wonderful late-50-something American
couple. By now I was absolutely starved for
conversation, and Nancy & Gene were delightful to spend
the day with. They're a sprightly, athletic pair who
have been all over the world as backpackers, currently
on a 6-month round-the-world backpacking spree, going
anywhere they please and playing it all
by ear. They're forever young people. I want to be like
them when I grow up.

Our next stop was at the Castle ruins at Risnov. Only
those who really, really want to see the ruins can do
so -- getting to the site involves a steep 20-minute
climb up a rocky and hazardous mountain trail. Nancy &
Gene scaled up it like wild monkeys (what an
inspiration they are). It was sheerly a matter of pride
that I scrambled along doggedly behind them rather than
sitting down on a rock and pouting. The Risnov ruins
are in the process of restoration.
Much of it was inaccessible because of this, but it was
worth the climb.

******

I'm dead tired. Tomorrow is the train trip back to
Bucharesti, Then the long flight home to Boston. I had
a dream last night that I was snuggling Skunky and
Rowley here in Romania. Wish t'were true! Off to relax
at an outdoor cafe.

___________________________________

Notes 3/24/04

The trip got a little hairy at the end because of a mix
up with my direct deposit and subsequent inability to
cover my hotel bill. That one was a serious nail-biter
and the only truly serious situation I've ever gotten
myself into while traveling. But the wonderful Romanian
travel agency I used bailed me out by covering the
bill, and I paid them back immediately when I got home.

Every now and then I've heard people actually say
"Transylvania doesn't actually exist, does it? It's
like from a book or something..."

I have to wonder when that happens - should I tell
them? Or should I let it remain the best kept secret in
Europe?