Bailey Alexander

A Spring cycle along the Alps to Annecy in Haute Savoie

Perfect day to cycle to a special town, walk around, enjoy the environs

Ever the twain shall meet between East and West

For those bestowing their precious eyes upon my tiny slice of cyberspace they must oblige some time for my deep obsession with Sergei Diaghilev.

Sergei, the man that introduced one end of the earth to the other in a blissed out state of grace; on stage where dance, design and music meshed into his heavenly net.

So few have written about the Russian's ode to the East and too little have scribbled on why so much magic transpired and inspired Modern Art to meet at Ballets Russes, so much costume and dance delivered by Eastern imagination.

 Wonderfully enough, East and West continue to open their wide, kind and complicated worlds to the other. whether we travel in our minds, trip along the internet or travel by plane, train or bateau. Today, like then, when Kipling wrote about the Asian and the European:

 

Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,

Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;

But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,

When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!

  

This poem highlights the rendezvous between Asian and European at about the same time Diaghilev began applying all things East of Saint Petersburg to the West, via Paris then on towards the Americas.

Perhaps it implies that no matter how many wicked and corrupt countries and lobbies try and decry the reality of similar unions, the farthest points on this planet and their philosophies will invariably meet in the most beneficial ways.  It's rather dependent upon the broker, of course, whether they're benevolent or malevolent, whether insisting their role is a necessary evil, or persist on playing interlocutor, or just possibly, if we're ready to receive something really divine, they'll boast the magical kind and give us an impresario to present things so lovely they'll make you laugh, stuff so true your heart will melt, something so genuine and kind you'll feel inexplicably very, very well loved, forever and ever and ever.

But until the muse has rehearsed and become united with instruments and conductor, before they've been fancy dressed up and their nerves calmed down, until then, the only sound we'll hear is the steady din as we listen to the various classes chatter.  And this requires so much scaffolding, these political and religious posers, these consulting and accounting types, so little imagination.

Well, my heart resides with the Diaghilev's of this world, seated somewhere between Dawn Powell and Michael Powell, enough room for a Beckett and Wilde in between, but those Irish come with such guilt....I tend to reach for those that have none, like Gore Vidal, I thank all the Greek Gods I can think of for Vidal, the honest biographer of a country, the chronicler of some of its most colorful residents.  All these people creating truth without guilt because like love and beauty, their brethren, they've no need for moral absolute truths, no scaffolding needed...

they simply exist...

 

 

 

A Fairy Tale

Today's writing workshop covered fairy tales, so in keeping with the theme I'll begin my own...

Once upon a glorious morning Dorian unfolded the bicycle that had long lived on their sailboat, letting it stretch its round legs upon land once again. Her utmost desire was to attend a lovely school located not far from the family' flat on time and in good form.  

Her first test was to successfully cross the bridge called Mont Blanc situated along Lake Geneva.

 

 

This proved both an easy and enjoyable task as everything about her lay tranquil and absolutely still, until she fell upon the dreaded dark green tree monsters sprouting mischievously along the lake. 

Dorian pedaled furiously, suddenly understanding this could present the biggest struggle of her day. She made her way past the deceptively docile creatures, so dignified and coiffed, intuitively knowing the minute her gaze would stray they could pounce!

So glued was she upon their invisibly wicked ways, assuming just one scant glance away could bring peril, she passed, sighing with great relief, proceeding along her merry way to Webster University.  

She glided serenely along the bike path, ultimately reaching her last landmark, the United Nations, their flags lay so flat and strangely calm, as if all nations pretending to get along.
Her mental state was safe, her personality now perfectly transformed by the sheer majesty of the early morn environs as her wheels quietly rolled along the last stretch of road, finally arriving at said destination. The End.  

Hope you enjoyed my tale, I'm so glad I chose to take my camera to class today.  The day was great with preliminary instructions to review how folk and fairy tales channel all the archetypal energy. We then exercised our right to enter into our own tale, assisting us in our craft and desire to put pen to paper.  Maybe it helps us to know ourselves a bit better or be a bit more honest in accepting our own narrative, our own journey. 

Who knows, it could happen.

So when was the first fairy tale told anyway?  Was it Cupid and Psyche? And when did Cinderella begin her dance around the globe, was it in China, circa A.D. 800.  It makes sense if you've read about how that country used to squash those little feet with those contraptions.  My own feet are so large, I'd have been doomed from dawn til dusk.

Either way, the ideas and lessons spread from folk to fairy tale, from myth to fable, detailing local sagas, reserved for adults sharing and passing down their own drama long before the Brother's Grimm got into the game.

Not sure which ones I can apply to my own life, but anytime I can invoke The Red Shoes and think about Anton Walbrook I find myself perfectly content.

 

 

Porn and the iPad.

Time to have that chat about sex, it's Friday, after all and fortunately I'd removed my morality hat long ago; an elegant, fur felted number, one welcomed everywhere but so unbearably rigid and predictable it practically removed itself.

A fistful of euros, high drama and whether Rigi's willing to spill the beans.

A Fistful of Euros writes about Greece's Papandreou government and their new immigration law.  The comments alone are worth the read.  Der Spiegel covers Europe's outrage over the targeted killing of Hamas functionary Mahmoud al=Mabhouh in Dabai. but the Guardian's piece on the capture of Abdolmalek Rigi, the leader of Jundullah, a Sunni insurgent group proves the most interesting read to me this week.

Not only because it puts the US on the defense at a critical juncture, but it should be oh so interesting to see what this Rigi has to say...

Cyclin', slidin', feelin' like kids...

 

 

We cycled the Alps once again, deep snow banks carrying us from village to village but instead of heading to the mountain tops we hit the slides in St. Julien's @ a new spa called Vitam Parc; we whooshed down indoor slides, went round and round the circular paths, jet fueled fun from indoor to outdoor heated pools, jacuzzi style, waterfalls lined up alongside park benches completely submerged for your seated pleasure, it was such a lovely way to waste away a Sunday...we laid atop lounge like floating contraptions located just underneath, jets massaging your entire body and neck, taking in the sun, our faces cleansed by the cool air, gazing half awake, listening to nothing but the silent surround sound of the Alps...

Boléro, Plushenko and divinely inspired dance

Diaghilev may have had to wear the role of frustrated composer before donning his "impresario'' outfit but this only served to allow him to scale such heights; his classical training created the infrastructure on which the architect could make his grand masterpieces at Ballet Russes. However, one could argue, as he did, you don't have to preserve classical uniformity to perform modern choreography, classicism is a means, not an end, but the presentation needs to be well proportioned and harmonious.  Who knew and proved this quite like Diaghilev, very few, that's who...

One of the many pleasures of living up North...

"The Economist"

Luv the weekly mag, always have, what with its global perspective, political intrigue and gossip, especially this week's piece about Sarko's latest desire to put personal ambition above country and regional crisis. 

memory as process or repository

Writer's conference I attended was packed with people, ideas and inspiration, wonderful workshops full of precious pearls, helpful advice, so much I must write about it to relive it twice.

Thought oft about Proust's idea that memory is more process than repository; obviously it's a  fluid activity within his work. And with the various Q n A sessions full of publishers, agents and information, it was like a series of windows, reflections and phases...and if you're working on a memoir like I am, I'm reminded which windows to open for review, which frame to place around those parts, what light and dark issues shall be included or excluded, ultimately, hopefully, creating a pattern to effectively connect to the reader.  

I had an epiphany of sorts in one of the workshops, realizing water is a central theme in my book. I suppose that idea's been hanging about my sub-conscious as my recent dreams seem to be solving bits and pieces for me while I sleep.

After all, it was while living on water my stable life became less so; while living in a large houseboat that a secret stumbled from one to the other, gasping for air, settling within the air between sender and recipient, slowly, awkward at first, then not, finally arriving, inspiring me to seek out water constantly, channeling and challenging me to confront its dangerous and passive nature; it's inability to stand still, even while living on top of a lake, or it's ability to terrify me while crossing the Atlantic ocean aboard out sailboat back in 2002.

Also, I'd received news of my biological daughter crossing the Atlantic when collecting and returning messages on our satellite phone.  Later on, blissfully living aboard MADI while parked, calm, at marina, comforted by the tranquility one acquires as a live-aboard. 

I'd blogged about that, but it wasn't until this conference came and went that I did actually comprehend how great a theme water has played in my adult life, my journey, our adventures, searching out otherly ways in which to live, multiple countries on which to reside, bank, and live long enough to argue with or simply become good friends with new neighbors in another language. 

Water, like life, evolves, impossible to capture for a minute, change so imminent, each second ticking away, teasing, allowing, opening us up....to yet another change...

The biz of writing, the biz of biz and the art of social media.

This weekend gives way to full immersion towards the biz of writing as I attend a 3 day writer's conference at Webster University in Geneva. 

Living in Geneva is kinda like being on Facebook, the perspective is broad and the cost of building and keeping contacts is kept at an affordable rate.  Increasing the size of human social groups proves fluid, both literally and virtually.  

People may laugh at Twitter but it's a swell cocktail party with great news feeds that influence and channel news traffic.  Even The Economist is convinced social media is much more robust that critics think. It''s a vehicle driving much of today's global interaction. 

Linkedin is a trusted and effective tool, cutting the costs of headhunters and recruiters while facebook never ceases to surprise how many friends utilize, specifically when they travel, replacing email, although I'm not convinced it's a replacement per se.  So for now, I must keep my internet addiction to a minimum and focus on the biz of writing, until Monday arrives at least, replacing my chapeau to another shape and color, indeed.

Passports, emotional portals and the luxury of travel.

Every day makes way for meeting more Swiss nationals and expats alike, however, unlike Rome and Paris, most have lived in multiple countries, expanding their perception regarding borders, passports and people in general. 

This place is very, very civilized, indeed.

Death, Alchemy and Dreams...

Death hangs everywhere; in Haiti, on our calendar, dear friends battling new born crisis, so heavy all this memory and emotion, sealed into my heart by the silent snow surrounding Geneva.

Emotions moving at their own pace, insisting I take out Muv's jewelry, her stuff, mixed with my stuff, two years ago she passed, asking me to wash her pearls, faux and real, so real everything feels.  Precious, semi-precious, costume, they are all precious, they all appear the same to me now.

I hang these fragments atop boxes I'd sent to her from Vienna, these boxes in which she replied, quietly, storing our stuff.

The writer as migrant, countries as characters and the voyage to Ithaka

Whenever I'm out and about, meeting new people from another country, I find myself 'interviewing' them because I'm curious, but my antenna is most attuned when the word 'tribe' enters the conversation. Possibly because I've so little desire to be a part of one. Whether this item was engineered long before my journey began, or at which stage it became the most glaringly apparent, no matter, it's simply and verily true.  The burning question resides in whether or not I ever felt like I belonged to one in the first place. 

Writing workshops, networking and uber cool women.

Since arriving in Europe we've domiciled in Malta and lived in Rome and Paris, both latter capitals luxurious and historic beyond belief and yet Geneva, with its equally ancient tapestry seems to be the city in which I find myself networking most effectively.

Dreams of Diaghilev, Ctd.

Now that I've finished reading the bio about Diaghilev's life I'm so terribly sad as he feels dead, yet again.

Maybe the sensation is simply compounded by the winter weather, the snow, as blankets upon blankets abound, layers that receive no relief as new snow arrives daily, creating a deafening sound, compressing my memories of previous lives and loves, suddenly, completely, especially as this very week witnesses two anniversaries precious to me, making up the most primal aspects of my life.  

As a lover of aesthetic pleasures, almost every page of this book provide a slice of bliss, lending the reader the license to live vicariously through Diaghilev.

I am, I confess, yet another voyeur, fan and friend, feeling dearly akin to all those that asked permission to enter his world, like Balanchine and Massine, like Nijinsky and Stravinsky, Picasso, Coco Chanel and de Chirico, like Ravel, Rubinstein and the rest.  One might ask, "just who didn't drop by", who didn't wish to be part of the mis en scene, who didn't pine to be combined into such a recipe, comprised of only the freshest ingredients, prepared to perfection by thee Impresario to end all, M. Sergei Pavlovich Diaghilev. 

Trains and the EU, both beneficial to their communities at large

Growing up in Seattle, reliable trains and public transport didn't exist. I find this unfortunate as they provide a myriad of benefits including space and energy issues. 

Winter dreamscapes lead to lunch in Turin...



An invitation arrives, inspiring a drive to Piedmonte, where the other half of my husband's tribe resides.  This invite from a business colleague my husband's known for some time, an uber cool kind of guy from Quebec who commutes from Geneva to Torino each week to accommodate his lovely high powered Italian wife.

Unsportsmanlike behavior; Larry Ellison litigates his way to America's Cup

It may be the modern American way, this litigious disease, but for Larry Ellison to leverage the courts in New York by using their power to change the goalpost every few months is terribly irritating to the rest of the world.

Joss Garman: Copenhagen - Historic failure that will live in infamy

Taking the train from Geneva to Zurich

 

The deeply personal world of Social Media.

Such profound change in both media and advertising can blow the  mind, which rules apply, if any; perplexing.  

I'm comfortable with LInkedIn, enjoying its natural shift into facebook, into the cocktail party of feeds that is twitter, but still...

It's quite a labyrinth to navigate but I did manage to mine the major players.  One such guy named Seth wrote The medium is no longer the message, you are.

Signor Goldstein clarifies his point in the comments section where furs were ruffled, understandably, "To be clear, I am simply saying that the medium is no longer *just* the message. What I was trying to illustrate in this essay was that in a social media context where identities are known that people themselves become a form of media.

Well, that's a relief, but it is all about trust, which poses a problem, I mean, who's going to trust a woman that wears opera length gloves with a Dartanian style cape at two in the afternoon?  Not me, certainly.

Another popular guy Chris Brogan, is not only a trust agent he's co-authored a book called Trust Agent, naturally. I found it unsettling to read his recent blog which speculates about those who shall go down in flames in 2012.  Social media space is, if anything, fluid.  And there's more than a whiff of motivational speaking, if you get my drift.

One ponders whether the boom and bust cycle has already run its course, alas, no worries, M. Brogan quickly addresses my concern, "Is This Gloomy?  No. I think this is business. This is a new space. There’s always an adoption curve, a glut, and then a thinning out – a normalizing. I think this is just part of the flow.

 
 

 

 

 

Drama in Italy and I'm not talking Don Giovanni

So Silvio gets whacked by a whack with a statuette of the Duomo, MIO DIO!   ciò che sta accadendo!

Swissmix

I don't know much about Geneva but I do know it's the most international place on the planet with at least 40% of the population made up of expats. 

Cyclin' the Swiss Alps up to Mont Blanc

Minarets, The Swiss, and the WTO, once again.

Relocating to Geneva reminds me of exactly one decade ago.  While living at the corner of Olive and Boren I enjoyed my salon in the sky for several blissful years.  I was single and very social, prior to meeting mio marito who would dictate a more conventional home, like buying a houseboat.