Experiences Archives - Page 6 of 10 - Los Cuadernos de Julia

The French Art of Living (And My Favourite Beds)

Just to carry on for a bit more en Français, these are the photo I took during the Moscow Design Week in October 2010. While I’m not sure I’d love to sleep on the silk bedsheets every single night, to find myself in such bedroom one day will be wonderful.

Generally, I love four-poster beds and always wanted to sleep in one. In 2009 I had my dream fulfilled rather accidentally during a two-day retreat to Wales with my friend. We were staying at the hotel that is owned by a couple one part of which is a transgender person. To the same part of Wales a couple of gay Irish ladies eloped in the 18th century. Here they settled and even created a vibrant literary salon. I wonder to this day if at the hotel they also assumed something about us because eventually we paid a discount rate for the room. While in the car on the way there, a friend asked me in a worried voice:

– Oh, they only had one room free, so we’ll be sleeping in the same bed, it’s a four-poster bed, are you okay with it?

– Of course, I am OKAY with a four-poster bed, I’ve always wanted to sleep in one!!!

You can tell I probably wouldn’t care exactly who’d be sleeping in that bed, as long as I could be in it. The funny thing, though, was that above the bed a huge candelabra hung. My friend and I joked that sleeping, let alone doing something in that bed, wasn’t altogether safe after all.

Je Suis Marx, Pas Marxiste!!!

I had a wonderful lecturer in Philosophy in my first two years at the University. We only ever had seminars with him, partly I guess because he was very old. He celebrated his birthday on November 7, and in 1997, when we were in our first year, he turned 90. Ours and another group in his seminar had a thought and decided to present him a handwatch. We chipped in, bought it, and on the day, after the seminar, gave it to him. He kindly took it, looked at it, and said: “Ah, a watch? I have too many, anyway“.

That day it was snowing hard, so straight after that seminar I decided to catch a bus to the tube. When I went through the University gate, the bus was approaching the stop, so I had to run. I barely made it, got on the bus, and stood by the door. Next thing I was watching my 90-year-old philosopher running for the next bus that already stood at the stop!

The lecturer came from a noble family; he liked telling us about the occasion when he and his brother were walking, accompanied by their bonne, and met the Emperor Nikolai II. And in 1956 when he was in Hungary his driver refused to give him a lift somewhere, thus saving the philosopher from the wrath of Revolution.

I wanted to show you a few photos of Karl Marx’s monuments. In spite of the change of regime, some of his statues survive to this day. The one of the right actually stands right opposite the Bolshoi Theatre. Here Marx is a passionate prophet appealing to the proletarians of the world to unite. Another photo was taken by another user in the Russian city of Tver. The story has it that some parents still take their kids to this terrifying, severe philosopher. The facial expression of the Tver Marx goes well with the inscription: “Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communist revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains“.

The reason I recalled my Philosophy lecturer is that he used to tell us that Marx said something along the lines: “I am Marx, not a Marxist!” (Je suis Marx, pas Marxiste). The lecturer always said this phrase in French. It is a great way to illustrate the conundrum in which some celebrated people find themselves. They are still “themselves”, but as far as the crowd is concerned, they are associated with their teaching.

Many years after Marx, it was the French historian Fernand Braudel who stressed the same point. When the Soviet scholars criticised him for “deserting” Marxism, he replied: “I criticise Marxism in order to remain a Marxist“. Indeed, as with just about any teaching, there is a set of core ideas, which may mutate into an ideology. And one has occasionally to step back and to regain the perspective, precisely in order not to fall into an even bigger fallacy of assuming that a new teaching is necessary.

From Mud to Gold: The Roadworks in Saint Petersburg City Centre

There is a story I love telling about me visiting St Petersburg in late August of 2002. I and Daniel had just returned after a month in Manchester back to Russia (it was the first year of our marriage), and that day we were walking down the Nevsky Prospekt towards the Senate. Now, in the middle of the Senate Square (between the Senate and the Hermitage) there is the Alexander Column: a stupendous monument commemorating the victory in the 1812 War. I love entering the Square via the Senate Arch, i.e. from Nevsky Prospekt side, because then you walk straight into the open space in the centre of which is the Column, with the Hermitage as the backdrop. This is how we were walking. I was eagerly anticipating his awe when he’d see the Square and the Column, and I was preparing him for this, so he was full of expectations. When we stepped under the Arch my paeans grew even more eloquent, and as I was waxing lyrical about the route and the monuments we were about to see, I was saying: “You will see it now, just another step, and one more, and now…”

… and then we found ourselves in the Senate Square that looked like it was raided by the UFO, half of the pavement blocks were standing upright. The city was getting ready to celebrate St Petersburg’s 300th anniversary in 2003. As if this was not enough, the Alexander Column was covered in scaffolding to its very top. Thankfully, Daniel didn’t let this disappoint him, although he’d surely prefer to see the monuments he’d listened to for about 15 minutes.

And this afternoon I found the photo below in one of my unimates‘ blog. In the photo we see Gorokhovaya Street in the centre of St Petersburg. In the background is the golden spire of the Admiralty building, commemorated in one of Alexander Pushkin’s poems. In the foreground, however, are the roadworks. The whole picture looks quite terrifying and claustrophobic. I instantly thought of it as a Raskolnikov’s room, narrow and loaded with rubbish.

Gorokhovaya Street is very close to my heart for another reason. In 2000 when I attended a conference at the University of Saint Petersburg and also researched at the library for 2 weeks, I brought with me a skirt suit (for the conference) and jeans and a couple of sweaters (for all other days). It was the turn of November and December, and it was getting very frosty. I and my colleagues went there by a night train where I somehow managed to break the zipper in my jeans. As I wouldn’t see myself in the worst dream walking up and down the wintery St Petersburg’s streets in a skirt and on high hills, I had to take the jeans to a clothes repair studio. The studio I managed to find was in Gorokhovaya St. If I tell you that the street had had a very Dickensian feel about it, you will be able to picture it: it was half-lit, the pedestrian path was extremely narrow, covered in ice, and with a lot of holes. Considering I was walking in heels, I thought it was a miracle that I didn’t break my neck there.

11 years later there are roadworks in Gorokhovaya Street. More holes, I suspect. I’d like to think there are also more streetlights there now, but I cannot be sure.

Goals and Dao

Whenever we talk about goals, one question inevitably rises: what if you are not reaching them? Say, you have a noble goal, and your mind is all set on it, but, in spite of all the effort, you’re not getting anywhere.

What is it you are doing wrong?

The interesting thing is that you are doing exactly what most people do, so in a way you doing the right thing. Since the goal is your object of affection, i.e. it is what you would love to get, you selfishly pursue the result. It is as if you are saying to your goal: ‘How darest thou not fall to my feet?! Look at me: am I not thy worthy conqueror?!‘

I must admit that the above and how I would go about explaining it is influenced by reading of Erich Fromm’s The Art of Loving. In our consumerism-driven world, people seek to be loved because this is the supreme act of a trade-off: you give me this, I give you that in return, and there will be a happy-end.

With goals it will never work. In Daoist terms, a goal is a part of Dao. Dao means “path”, “reason”, or “development”. In this sense, every goal is the reason for developing along the path; or the reason for, and the path to, development; or the development of one’s reason to follow the path. Goals are part of your vision; vision is your Dao.

The only way to subdue your vision is to not follow it; however, if you are following it, then your vision navigates you. Again, I see here a possibility for a Daoist interpretation: you are not actively pursuing the realisation of your vision, but you produce the work that ultimately brings your vision to life. From the point of an activist, you are not doing anything. But from the point of Dao, you are.

So, next time you get stuck on your way of achieving the goals, first see if you are still passionate about them, and if they are manageable. If the answer is yes to both questions, ask yourself if perhaps you are a bit too passionate. Maybe it is worthwhile to take a step back and to contemplate your path as a philosopher, with sobriety and deattachment.

The image is courtesy of The Daoist Studies website.

On Sorcerers and Cultures (And a Bit of Castaneda)

Castaneda’s books insist otherwise. He is eloquent and convincing on how useless it is to explain or judge another culture entirely in terms of one’s own particular categories. “Suppose there was a Navajo anthropologist,” he says. “It would be very interesting to ask him to study us. He would ask extraordinary questions, like ‘How many in your kinship group have been bewitched?’ That’s a terribly important question in Navajo terms. And of course, you’d say ‘I don’t know,’ and think ‘What an idiotic question.’ Meanwhile the Navajo is thinking, ‘My God, what a creep! What a primitive creep!’ ”

I was reading an article about Carlos Castaneda published in TIME magazine in March 1973. I read his works a few years ago when, frankly, they had little impression on me. At the time I was reading into European Renaissance, so, I suppose, our good old European culture permeated me to the extent that I couldn’t let any multiverse culture enter the picture. Many years later this is different, especially as I have been studying the impact of our thoughts on our lives recently.

Yet the passage above needs not to be interpreted solely in terms of anthropology. “Culture”, I believe, should first and foremost be seen as a very personal category and therefore is pertinent to every person out there. We do not merely get subdued by a particular culture – either we form this culture by the majority of our individual cultures, or we share certain aspects of the ‘alien’ culture that allows for assimilation.

The conflict of the parents and children is, therefore, an entirely cultural conflict, akin to Castaneda’s conflict of a European and a Navajo, and it is understandable why it may be so difficult to counter or to resolve the conflict – because actions and verbalised thoughts are the expressions of a deeply hidden cultural condition. Unless an individual can access his/her own unconscious and change the ‘settings’, it is futile to try and change their culture. But more often than not the individual considers himself incapable of doing this – even if he knows, understands, and kind of believes in the possibility of controlling our thoughts and using our mind to deliver us the good.

I was struck by the TIME passage also because I have recently been discussing the role of sorcerers in alleviating one’s destiny. Foreseers and magi are popular in my native country, and I probably don’t doubt their skill or a necessity to use their skills to help yourself. What I do doubt is that they do it once and for all, and you don’t have to walk any extra mile afterwards.

And the reason why I doubt this is because everything starts in our mind and it can all be changed by it, too. That’s why a visit to a sorcerer is a waste of time unless you put your two cents in. The famous positive thinking requires a commitment to not thinking negatively; being compassionate, or honest, or using your own mind requires a commitment. The only thing a psychologist, a hypnotist or a sorcerer can do, is to strengthen your dedication. Yes, they may alter the energy flow, but it does not relieve you from your responsibility for your own life.

Having seen this working, I indeed have little compassion for those who say that it is impossible to alter your frame of mind. Unfortunately, if you do want to alter it, you need to have people around you who share the same view. It is damn too hard to change the course of the ship when everyone on board is hysterical and accuses you of having the boat out in the open sea, or else telling you that what you’re doing is nonsense and gets you nowhere. To make matters worse, they don’t even realise sometimes that the ship was built and thrown into the sea by them well before you seized the control…

L’Amour Pour L’Art: Why Do We Visit the Great Artistic Shrines?

Sébastien Le Fol blogs about culture and arts for Le Figaro. His most recent piece was on the subject of why the Parisians seem to similarly adore both Claude Monet and Basquiat whose exhibitions are currently going in two different parts of the French capital.

I still vividly recall my own experience of going to Monet’s exhibition at the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow in early 2002. It was the last day of the exhibition, and I queued outside from 1pm until 6.30pm, in minus 10 in Moscow winter. Thankfully, there was no snow or sharp wind, and, to the Museum’s credit, they eventually started letting us in without a compulsory journey into the cloakroom. I must admit that the impression of the genius of the French Impressionism (excuse the pun) after all those hours outside was somewhat slated. And yet I can confirm – retrospectively – Sébastien’s report of the inexplicable love for the art of Monet.

At the same time, Basquiat who is almost on the opposite end to Monet attracts a similar amount of interest, and Sébastien justly wonders if artistic exhibitions, biennials etc. have now substituted the religious pilgrimages of the past. It no longer matters whether we go to Lourdes, Cologne, Jerusalem, or Santiago de Compostela – or, to substitute those religious sites with artistic, to the Louvres, Uffizi, a Leonardo or a Picasso exhibition. What matters is that we do visit those sites because such activity becomes a conscientious cultured person.

Back in 2004 when I visited exhibitions of Rafael and Degas at the National Gallery in London I was struck with the fact that Rafael’s halls were flooded with both Brits and tourists, while Degas’s halls were mostly – and not very densely – packed with Far-Eastern Arts students. My conclusion then was that Rafael’s “happy genius” attracted the attention of those who were tired of endless searching for truth, revolutions and reforms and who wanted something simple yet subtle to contemplate. Rafael was the antidote to the contemporary art that is often too self-absorbed, aloof, and intellectual for its own – and ours – good.

The same, perhaps, is the case with Monet, given that his work was described as the “the myth of happiness à la française composed of recklessness and legerity preserved in Nature“. Such description flies in the face of facts about Monet’s personal life, his experience of the loss and grief that also spilled over onto canvas. To the majority, however, he is the one who painted the lilies in the pond and the Rouen cathedral at different times of day.

The question remains: why do we go to these artistic shrines, be they exhibitions, salons, museums, or private collections hidden in a splendid mansion protected by the British Heritage Fund, e.g.? In my opinion, the quasi-religious fervour is somewhat improbable, at least not on the grand scale. Two scenarios are more likely. In one, we need an opportunity to relax our brain, to let out thought float effortlessly, like the sweet naughty angels on the Rococo paintings. Contemporary art, with its mission to engage the viewer, fails to give this relaxation. In another scenario, we need an opportunity to rebel or to convince ourselves that contemporary art is necessary to drag the Art out of its classic predicament.

What is obvious is that in both scenarios it is our intellectual needs that dictate the choice and form the artistic taste. The needs of the soul and spiritual searchings remain hidden under the landslide of information and mental effort to tackle it. We visit the Prado because it is on the tourist map and because it would be strange to visit Madrid and not to visit Prado, but not because the museum houses Picasso’s Guernica or because we want to see in Guernica what Picasso had tried to convey. The list can go on, but the point is, and I’m sure to be correct on this: there are very few pious dedicated “artistic pilgrims” who visit the “shrines” to receive a “communion” with Inspiration, Beauty, Love, not merely to tick the boxes on the map of the Grand Tour d’Art.

My Favourite Success Recipes

A few people recently have shared their “success recipes”. One comes from Elena Lenina, the most famous Russian in modern France. According to her, success is granted on the following four conditions: 1) high work ethic; 2) sincere interest in other people; 3) a high professional level that increases every day; 4) only in the sphere where you can work for free you may become a millionaire.

Chris Brogan has just published a post where he also contemplated the “particles” of success:

Success, you see, isn’t a mansion and a yacht. Success is living the life you want and doing the work you’re best at doing with the people you know will help you reach the next level. Success means working on projects that you know will fulfill a deep felt passion within you, and yet, will feed your family. Success is knowing that you’ve built a thriving network of people who all work hard to grow each other’s capabilities. Success means finding a next angle and vectoring your efforts towards growing that out. Success means having the means and capability to make better decisions. Success means getting home in time for dinner. Success means leaving the house when I want to, and staying home with the kids when I want to, all while making a future for my family.

Lastly, Seth Godin questioned a curious fact: do successful people turn certain things into an epitome of success, or do certain things, so-called success symbols, make those who own them successful?

The common ground that all three – one woman and two men – would certainly share is that the attributes of success do not make one successful. They do certainly show that the person can afford something, but by no means compensate for the feeling of inadequacy or this crippling knowledge that without these symbols and emblems one’s life is rather uneventful.

I want all of us, however successful we already are, to avoid compensating for the lack of success, and instead to focus on doing what we want to do that will bring us fulfilment and happiness.

The Day I Met Billy Connolly

There are many great people I have already met, yet I want to meet even more. I’d even like to meet Lady Thatcher. I want to know how they think, how they live, etc. And whilst I’m waiting for opportunities to come along, I’m studying their lives and their work. All this is the part of “thinking big”.

And now I can testify that thinking big can work wonders… like, walking into Billy Connolly in the shop.

When this lovely man passed me by, I couldn’t help but exclaiming: “You look like Billy Connolly!” To which he turned around and said to me that he was, indeed. A Billy Connolly look alike.

Over at Barely Connolly you can find many photos of Bob Lucas, along with the story of his celebrated career. We had a lovely chat about Billy, Bob, and their beards (for the record, Bob had also once dyed his beard), at the end of which I simply had to ask a store worker to take a picture of us. So, here goes… Billy, you’re next!

Bob Lucas (aka Barely Connoly) and I

Julia Shuvalova on BBC Radio Manchester (2006)

This is a full version of my interview on BBC Radio Manchester in November 2006, at Ordsall Hall in Salford. I was interviewed by Richard Fair who was heavily involved in BBC Manchester Blog, along with Robin Hamman. This is the first time I listened to it since 2006, and I have to admit to loving it. This is one of the best moments of my career so far. Imagine what it must be: to work and do interviews for the UK’s leading broadcaster only to end up being interviewed by them yourself! Exhilarating, at the very least.

Nearly four years down the line, I was particularly curious about what has changed in terms of subjects. I know I started using photography much more, including articles on the topic. Literature as the subject still stands out but there is a fair number of posts about Cinema, as well. Considering that I see the future of my career in terms of converging Literature and Cinema this should not be surprising.
Needless to say, I will feel very cold when I eventually go to Russia because after 7 years in the UK my “Englishing” has become almost complete – and that’s not counting my British passport.

And I still write sparingly about myself, sharing mostly what is really important for people. In doing so, I clearly express my ability as a healer. Just today I’ve read a wonderful article about fears and issues in life, but the early paragraphs were especially startling. People do confide in me, although they don’t always expect any advice I may be able to give them. I have realised some time ago that they do so exactly because they feel I may be able to help them. Yet, as they say, before you can help anyone you should help yourself. And this is just what I am doing these days, even now. There are over 10 interviews I will upload to my Posterous, but I chose to start with myself. After all, as George Orwell said – and this is what I quoted in my interview – an author must be vain if s/he wants to succeed.
Enjoy!

Happy New Year – The End of the Decade

It is a great pleasure for me to write this post because none of you (except my mother who reads the blog) knew me 10 years ago, in 1999. In 1999, I finally began to read in Tudor History which was to become my primary subject of research until 2004. I started my studies at the Department of Medieval and Early Modern History at the Lomonosov Moscow State University. And I also wrote a play in verses; it was similar to those Tudor and Jacobean plays that were composed on occasion, and our occasion was New Year and winter holidays. The play was called “A Midwinter Night’s Dream“, in obvious reference to William Shakespeare, and was witty, funny, and involved our entire group (about 13 people). I also directed them, which experience I recently recalled: we had literally one square meter to work with, so it was a challenge. But all went well, and at the end of it I as an author received a huge round of applause.

Next year, in 2000 I went to a conference in St Petersburg, a former Russian imperial capital, where I spent 15 days, insisting that I would return home on my birthday, and not a day earlier. There was something symbolic for me in marking my 20th on the train where nobody knew me. Having always lived with parents, I felt like this would let me break free and break away.

John Grundeken, Happy New Year

It took me another 3 years to finally break away, but boy, did I break! In six years I have never been back, and not quite because I did not want to.

This is one lesson of the decade: “be careful what you wish for” is very true. However, in my case I do not feel I can – or should – complain.

I’ve just looked at the “Happy New Year” posts I wrote previously, in 2006, in 2007, and in 2008. Every single of those years I was looking forward to meeting great, interesting people, which I did. Every single year I wanted to travel more, and in 2009 I outdid myself, having taken 21 trips, the last one on Dec. 29th. I wanted to write better, to work harder, and I am pleased that I enter 2010 with two photos published in print, and a Blog of Note nod from Google. Once again, what you passionately want absolutely does come true, so I have no doubt that 2010 is going to be brilliant, spectacular, and happy – simply because that’s how I want it to be.

One thing I will not be doing this year is drawing a list of resolutions, things to do, and goals to achieve. The idea I found on Chris Brogan’s blog last year is very inspirational, and I will be sharing plans and goals (needless to say, I always make them). But in the last 2-3 months I have noticed an unhealthy interest in certain quarters towards what I do, as well as some other things. This is not going to make me “cautious” because caution has never got anyone anywhere. Yet I am listening to my inner Tiger, so here goes. No resolutions or goals in this post.

As always, my huge thankyous and sincere greetings go to you, dear readers. Without going too far into details, a lot of success I have had since 2005 with my online endeavours I owe to you, to your searches, to your interest, and to your comments and emails. This I say both as a person and a blogger. And as a person only, I have lit candles in Sheffield for all of us and for those few close people who, to various degrees, support, inspire, teach, and comfort me. It was the first time I ever did any such thing, and Sheffield was simply the place where I found myself at the end of 2009. But maybe it wasn’t all that coincidental after all, for I don’t think I’d do the same if I stayed in Manchester.

The post is illustrated with postcards by John Grundeken and Arthur Tserikh, and a handful of Russian postcards (one of them features the work by Anne Geddes). I bet that you’d love to see more, though. If yes, check out this blog after 00:00 GMT on January 1st, 2010. I’m sure you will not be disappointed.

Last but not least… a massive thankyou, commendation, and lots of love to my parents, and all the more to my mother who since 2008 has scanned a lot of images upon my request. Some of the posts on this blog, including this and the one you are about to see on Jan. 1st, would not be possible without her help.

Anne Geddes, Christmas postcard