I’m Your host Rene Rosso. Today I’m here to celebrate, with you, Marina Kanavaki: her special personal art, her love of all arts & music and passionate caring for all animals on earth.
It all began with Marina’s love of animals. In 2015 an Art Gown “Cecilia Lionheart” (above) was dedicated to Marina. The post was in honour of “Cecil the Lion” who had been killed by a ruthless trophy hunter.
Later in 2019, AGM Marina was drawn wearing “Cecilia Lionheart”. Cecilia was made of repurposed men’s ties from the 1970’s.
The Knights Templar were traditionally known, here in Brittany, as the Red Monks. Their evil deeds and cruel reputation survived in the popular imagination long after their medieval heyday; cruel ghosts, condemned to forever wander the lonely places to atone for their terrible and abominable crimes.
Following the success of the First Crusade, a number of feudal domains were established in the Holy Land by European Christian knights. However, these domains lacked the military resources necessary to maintain more than a tenuous grip on their territories; most crusaders returned home after fulfilling their vows and Christian pilgrims to Jerusalem remained subject to attack.
It was to alleviate the plight of these pilgrims that a band of French knights led by Hugh de Payns vowed to devote themselves to the pilgrims’ protection and to form a religious community for that purpose. Baldwin II, King of Jerusalem, was quick to grant…
Halt mich fest in flüchtigen Stunden den schönen und wilden, unser Fleisch ist voll und reif, geflügelte Wesen saugen die Nacht auf, Jelängerjelieber, die von Sonne und den Regen gespeiste. Bleib, wenn der Sommer vergeht und der Garten vom Lächeln nippt, das aus der Iris deiner Augen blitzt. Lieg bei mir im Winter, wenn die Vögel zu singen einhalten, winzige Skelette aus hohlen Knochen, gleichgültig der Kälte gegenüber. Für dich sind meine Lippen Blütenblätter, süße Erinnerungen an verlorene Blumen. Wenn du nicht zurückkehrst sondern weiterfliegs, wird mein Körper Schutz suchen unter den Flügeln zungenloser Vögel. translated by Bernd Huschenreuther
I painted this for my daughter. It joins another earlier Christmas piece which only comes to view during the holidays. It’s like bringing out all those ornaments for the tree. Always a bit of magic felt.
I would give to you peace and light for this new year.
After you left I jogged along the shoreline past the carnation houses along the jetties where scattered surfers waded hoping to catch the last waves. A haze veiled the shore and vanished in the rain. Globules of salt encrusted my eyelids and each breath ripped upward from my belly tearing through my lungs. I sank down on the damp sand behind the old seafood restaurant. Unearthly howls carried out across the waves dissolving into the sea.
I want to believe that the ocean is a froth meringue not a murky depth where in heavy boots you wade past that place where you lose your grip and the rush of saltwater fills your eyes and mind but not the air.
Sea gulls swoop and squawk, perfect black angles against the sky. I open my book by Tennessee Williams whose writing I abhor but the edge of its cover was leaning out as I passed the bookcase, Sweet Bird of Youth.
*So I close my eyes softly
’til I become that part of the wind
that we all long for sometime”