Sunday, 23 November 2014

Sumo


Are you ready for more faces through holes?






Vizma loved sumo so much she decided she had to marry a sumo wrestler, so off we went on the search for the soulmate.







She was briefly engaged with this handsome chap but after he told her that he was Vegemite intolerant the wedding was called off.






This one seemed like a good match but he doesn't drink. That's a deal breaker.







Aaaaaaah, sumo bum…..







This was the view from our seats (it looks worse than it actually was, one can see fairly well from anywhere in the venue). It was still half empty mid-afternoon when the lower division (Jūryō) wrestlers were on. It then gradually fills up until the climax around 6pm when the best wrestlers from the top division (Makuuchi - "inside the curtain") are competing.







If (like Vizma) you want to see a close up you can sit right outside the venue and watch the matches as they are braodcasted on TV. There is a sumo tournament every two months for two weeks in various cities of Japan, twice a year in Tokyo (autumn and spring), great timing for us! 







It's very easy to come and go during matches and to walk around, buying drinks and food and souvenirs of course.







And what happened to the husband search, I hear you say? Well, we did find one! Yes we did. Vizma never remembers who he is and what he looks like when she watches the tournament on TV, but the proof is in the picture. There is a wedding picture with both of them lovebirds but since I took it with Viz's phone I'm not currently in possession of it. Viz, if you still have your wedding picture please send it to me so that the folks can see it.







Meanwhile, you'll just have to trust me and believe that this is him. The chosen one. He likes pink, and ice cream. Perfect.



* Ahaaaaaa…. an email just came in with THE wedding picture of the century (thank you Swët):




They both look so happy!! (I just noticed the couple was photobombed. Even more hilarious now. I can't stop looking at them!)








This was a very entertaining day out, we'll go again!

Friday, 21 November 2014

Happy 300th blog post!





Marie's Suitcase is 300 bog posts old and I'm back from freezing DC with a new postage stamp designed at the Postal Museum, where I was able to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes: sticking my face through holes.
Museums are free in DC and really, really good. Enjoyed that immensely. Loved loved loved being back in the US for a bit!





This was the original design, I just noticed one can see my fingers holding the frame :-)) So unprofessional.



Saturday, 8 November 2014

Tree Poem #22





This is the last piece in the series of Tree Poems for now. The whole collection will be published online soon. I have enjoyed working on those a fair bit so there might be more at some point. Maybe next year? We'll see.


On a different note, Marie is packing her Suitcase and preparing for a trip, so this is a good time to have a bit of a break. As ever, many thanks to all of you who are always so kind to leave a comment on these pages. I'll be back with new adventures and stories to tell. Meanwhile, be genki and take care!


Thursday, 6 November 2014

Tonkatsu


















Shameless Self-Promotion Thursday (5) - Books Of Ether


I am very proud to announce the publication of the first two volumes of Books Of Ether, a collection of collaborative poems written with Cheryl Penn that will exist both as "physical" books and as e-books available here at Scribd.
Enjoy!








Saturday, 1 November 2014

Lee Mingwei and His Relations at The Mori Museum





Lee Mingwei is a Taiwanese artist currently living in New York. Lee creates both participatory installations, where strangers can explore issues of trust, intimacy, and self-awareness on their own, and one-on-one events, where visitors explore these issues with the artist himself through eating, sleeping, walking and conversation.







In The Mending Project the artist or host will mend the clothing you bring and converse with you while mending. The connections made will be turned into an installation of colourful thread. 
Too bad I didn't know about this project before visiting. I had tons of socks to be mended! :-))












Another part of the show was a display of about ten "couples" of stones.
What would you do if you acquired a piece of art consisting of two stones, one of them an antique from 65,000,000BC and the other one a replica piece made by a famous artist. Upon acquiring it you are asked to throw one of the stones away. Which one has more value? Is value an absolute thing?







The Dinner Project. This is my entry for the ballot to have the opportunity to enjoy a meal prepared by the artist himself and to share dinner on the premises of the museum. 
November 4th is the day after tomorrow and I haven't been called up yet. I guess it's not happening :-((







In the Moving Garden we are invited to take a flower when leaving the museum and to give it to a stranger on a detour to our way home. I didn't take any, as I was too lazy to take a different way home, and too self conscious to give a flower to a stranger. I didn't learn anything did I :-))






In The Fabric Memory, the artist has placed wooden boxes containing items that are part of his childhood memories. Visitors are free to open the boxes and explore, and to read the stories accompanying them.


















After mending and eating with the artist, you can also sleep with him (no, not in that way). There are two beds in the room, I could not show both in the picture. You will share your stories with him, chat all night, and bring a few items that surround you in the bedroom you usually sleep in.




















The last section of the show is The Letter Writing Project, where visitors are invited to write a few words to a person of their choice. It is up to you if you want to seal the envelope or leave it open for other people to read it. If you write down the address the museum will mail out your letter when the exhibition is over.
Yes, I did write a letter. No, it wasn't to Santa :-))






Thursday, 30 October 2014

City


City is a collaborative poem written and illustrated by Cheryl Penn and Marie Wintzer



The City
convergence of dreams and frustrated delusions
permanent urban ally ways (for now)
radial dystopian structures
what was
Hippodamus thinking?


In the City we become an electric battery. Constantly discharged and recharged in a bi-polar relationship. The City takes from us. We should take from it. It's got a lot to give us if we have the curiosity to look for what we need.



City was written in August / September 2014










Above and under Ground
the streamline doesn't know
what time it is.
Flesh
and bones
carry their screens of interconnected savviness
[password preserved palimpsests]
Blind wagons
of deaf uniforms,
nose down in personalised pools of Light,
yet outside
the girl is drinking beer
and her smile is almost real.



We walked the other day
through knee-high-wind-blown-litter
swirling like 
Serengeti antelopes
annual exodus.
lights
red
greed
clockwork orange
the China Mall looms.



Busy knitting knots
for an orchestra 
of veins and arteries
(strings only),
Power poles
have caught more fallen stars
than any king could ever
dream of.
On nights of Blue Moon
they sometimes shine,
those who see them
are said to never 
see again.











I once saw one of them
from the Blue Moon night
dropped lilies
no city dweller this - 
some other time then?
Railway tracks
find somewhere else to sleep
on bridges
of discounted buildings.
Still nothing from 
blocked signals
in skyscrapers
He woke up
Because they let him
go.




In his spare time
he was collecting bars
strung along the streets
like bright beads.
After dark,
asphalt unfailingly unveils them
like a swarm of warts
on which the noon sun
would later cast a glaze,
aroused and annoyed.




whole stations were lost
faces are grey
I found something
a bridge -
the service hatch was 
seal(ed).
How can we get them?
the maintenance shaft
its wrapped on both sides
with jelly explosive ice-cream 
ask Mila - she has the recipe
and
you’re from the same tribe
of skyscapers
I cant find a vein.
Cut a lock
of hair
to carry her gently.











On the downtown bus to the other side,
smoked glass made reality look better
than she remembered it to be.
The game was rigged
but she was in love with the waiter.
It was the time when
they were shooting a movie
on that hanging bridge,
Purple Poker Nights,
when she realised,
It's not too late to start walking,
It's not too late to untie
the Red Silk Ribbon
she was carrying all the way.





speckled eggs
jelly centered
warned you
at first light
he chose her plague -
one of the strong ones.
I know you
and the Red Silk Ribbon -
fall back
that’s the point
stay focused
blow up the bridges
between here
and there
the delay?




When traffic lights turn crimson,
Time stops for a moment.
The shades of the day resurface,
dulled out, less vivid,
though meticulously bearing
scents
like fractions of memory,
open phials on an orderly shelf.
Reclined in the front seat
of the car,
breathing them in
one by one.
Yes, it must have been him.
Traffic lights turn green.











I’d like to find A While 
buried in the sidewalk  snow
an old portal -
will we ever find anything
good?
the shadow cast 
is bigger than the world
of memory fractions
still
he could not hold her
bleeding though his suit.
Come, get the rig
while I look within
to find the shadow source.




Assorted sidewalks
of frequent streets
{Sold Out Tonight}
The Theater With Unseen Puppeteers
has fish to fry,
a neoplasm to grow,
a handful of hours only
to convert borders into seams
for that pretty out-skirt.




What’s your story
Do you want to me to have one?
51  tear drops 
there are reasons
for a sell out.
I hope you approve my street choices - 
too many risks 
blind corners
     dead ends
and tragic theaters.
one day in combat
you’ll see
living with consequences 
is what  I’m trying to do.
One thing was promised
     you promised me
     I could be the gypsy.















Someone must tell her,
the Angel Without Wings
won't show up.
Her feet are tired,
Her lungs can't catch up with
the Staircase-to-Everyday.
Familiar faces have deserted 
vanilla treadmill
for a faster one through upturned sky.
In the lobby,
crowds are jammed like a flock of geese.
The garbage truck wishes them well
and moves on, 
taking a left turn at Hearty Boys.




Don’t chase the rabbit
let it flow
wingless angel-
the drift is silence.
running children laugh
making shapes in the sand
one hemisphere is calibrated
get ready
how important he created 
a neural breech
in the upturned sky.
I told you it would work
a brain fragment is just
a lobbied particle
and
I only get a ghost impression - 
look at me
take your time
be very specific
they’re not hunters (?)
and baby - 
its all in order
Ask the Hearty Boys.