I was always fascinated by art, in whatever form it expresses itself. Naturally I show great favor to theater, so much so, that I forgot to notice of those others expressions of art that surround me, that surround all of us.

 From a lowly street artist to the grandest sculpture of a radiant city, art is everywhere, that is of course if we keep our eyes open.

 Scrolling through the photos of my latest trip to Turkey I noticed maybe for the first time, this particular picture. It is from Ciragan Palace, now 5 star hotel and one of the  finest examples of architectural art. Those neo-gothic windows which blend harmoniously with the baroque style of the palace made me realize how much I had underappreciated architecture and its beautiful craftsmanship.

 Since this photograph of Ciragan inspired me to explore the virtuosity of architecture, I did a little research about this palace, which housed several sultans but unfortunately only for a short period of time. It had to demonstrate walls built from the finest marble and traditional wooden roofs. But its charm doesn’t stop there. It either inspired a secret affair or aother piece of art, this of storytelling! According to the legend the palace rumored to house the secret love affair between the wife of Napoleon the 3^rd and the sultan Abdulaziz.

 So there I had it, from something that started as admiration for the art of architecture became a journey to the art of fiction –as my research firmly suggested- to a whole different kind of art, that of discovering the hidden craftsmanship everywhere. Because once you go inside Ciragan palace a whole new world awaits you, full of beauty. From the Japanese art of arranging flowers to the most exquisite gourmet cuisine the art of pleasuring even the most delicate palates.

 Then I really started thinking. If we assume that the world around us is like this palace that waits for its visitors to appreciate it, then we have to open our eyes to the things around us we find ordinary and value the artistry that is hidden inside them.

 Those thoughts open a new door! If I was in the mood to see and admire the beauty of art I didn’t necessarily had to go to a museum. I could very well open a book from my bookcase, watch a movie or the more difficult go for a walk at the nature and seek this special form of art that it is not man made, but nevertheless waits for us to go and admire it.      

 As some of you may have noticed, I kind of abandoned my blog but it was not without reason.

 I so wish I could tell you that my life was full with weeks of fabulous activities that didn't left me any time at all for writing. The bitter truth is -although I did have a nice time and occasionally a very entertaining and fun time- that the muse we call inspiration refused to pay me a visit. 

 So I went to search for her. I saw plays and movies, I read new books and reread old favorite ones, I went for drinks with friends and for walks alone -that's where I took the above picture- but it was all for naught. Did the world around me had stopped inspiring me? That was a depressing thought!

 It was on one of those ''missions'' for search of the unattainable inspiration that I stumbled upon something Picasso once said: 'Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.' That made me realize that I hadn't picked up my pen once. I was just in a staring match with my notebook and loosing! I could certainly not admit defeat from a blank piece of paper..

 So I lifted my pen, felt its weight, passed it through my fingers, I even started doodling on the page. I did everything I could thing of in order to jump start my creativity. All the while wondering what did all those authors, writers and bloggers do when they hit the wall? I assumed that everyone has at some point of their lives experienced the dreaded 'writer's block'. Since I had no one to turn for this kind of advice, I thought that I needed a new adventure, something to take my mind of this situation and hopefully give me material to write about.

 It took me more time than I am proud to admit to realize that I was thinking so inside of the box that I couldn't see the solution that was in front of me all along. I was thinking the lack of writing as a problem instead I could think of it as a new adventure. One I had never encountered before. And I did just that.

 I turned the page of my notebook and started chronicle this new predicament, and you know what? The words started flowing through my mind and into my pen. Even if someone sees this post as the dullest thing he/she ever read ( I mean I am writing about not being able to write) I really don't care. I just hope that with my work I might be able to ignite even the tiniest spark in the mind of someone who has found itself in the same position.

 We've all been there, some for days, some for weeks, some for years. But I refuse to believe it is because we have nothing left to say but because we are afraid to say what we want for fear of judgement or rejection. The truth is that, it could happen either way, even if we stay silent. So speak, write, express yourself, do whatever sets your soul on fire. The right people will be by your side ready to help you keep your fire alive. 

 Or so I desperately hope.

KISSES!

E.   

 It was one of the most intense experiences of my life.
 These are the only words that I can use to describe the magic that took place during the few days that I performed my monologue.
 This unexpected gift came when I was offered the chance to be a part of a play that consisted of three monologues, performed by three people.
 To be able to go on stage and and tell a story executed by only one person is one of the things I find the most challenging -and thus the most exciting- acts of theater.
 The monologue. It is stripping your soul bare and opening your heart for the audience to see. It is being completely exposed in front of strangers, willing to let them look inside your very being. It is death and birth, a curse and a blessing. It is real life magic.
 Apart from the selection of an interesting enough piece, to keep the audience engaged, everything else fall upon you. On your ability to take complete strangers on a journey with only the tools of your body. Your voice, your eyes, the way you move on the stage... Everything is being scrutinized and judged. You have no one else to rely on if you miss a line, no one to save you if you make a wrong move. Everything -and I mean everything- come down to one thing, how well did you prepare?
 The exact time the spotlight hits you and all eyes are upon you, you have to forget the lines so you can make them sound like you just thought of them. You have to keep every aspect of your personality backstage and become an entirely different being. Because the only way to convince anyone you are someone else is to become someone else. Otherwise it is not acting, it is just playing make-belief.
 When it comes to monologues all the intensity of acting is being multiplied by ten, because you may not be able to see your audience but you definitely can hear them. Sometimes the absence of any sound -the stunned silence, the complete concentration on your words- is the most rewarding experience. Others, a sigh of approval or a thrilled catched breath, is your wish come true. But there is and every actor's nightmare, the restless audience. That means only one thing, you have failed to catch their attention and they just concentrate on being comfortable on their seats.
 A director once told me that ''you don't want your audience comfortable, you want them on the edge of their seat. Eager to drink the words that will come out of your mouth''. His words stayed with me through the years, echoing through every performance and always on my mind, keeping me motivated and in the pursuit of achieving them.
 So this experience, like any other, is finished. Leaving me emotionally exhausted but simultaneously excited and wanting more. Because regardless of the countless hours of preparation, of the constantly doubting and improving, nothing beats the pleasure of a standing ovation.
 And for those who are still riddled why I do what I do, the only reply that comes to mind are the immortal words of Oscar Wilde, ''It was only in the theater that I lived''.

KISSES!

E.      

   

 I recently found out that due to a birth defect on my knees coupled with an injury I have to stop -hopefully temporarily- my favorite pastime, running. And as any runner can tell you this is a beyond major hit. Faced with this fact, I found myself facing two options, wallow in self-pity or try to find something to take my mind of this. Needless to say, I did both.

 After two days spent watching movies on my bed waiting for my MRI appointment, I got fed up with myself. So I picked myself up, got dressed and went to find my friends for drinks.

 We were sitting at the corner of our favorite bar when I looked beside me and saw the opportunity for a picture perfect Instagram photo and it was at that moment when I capture the above picture with my camera that I noticed, I was happy and relaxed! My every thought wasn’t consumed over my injury, the pain or the loss of my lifestyle. This minor epiphany put me in thoughts and I realized the abundance of things I wasn’t seeing because I was focused on this negative event.

 Even if I cannot run –again, hopefully not for long- there are so many other activities to shift my focus on, that could, very well, bring me joy. Besides the obvious, going out with friends my choices were countless. I always wanted to have a six pack but I always chose to spent my workout time running, instead. I have yet to perfect my Italian, I have so many books to read, so many movies to watch…

 And if running was my lifestyle, I can always spend more time with my passion, theater. I will try to find my “running high” at good plays, at seminars or even together with Stanislavski or Stella Adler studying their books, analyzing their techniques.

 So this picture is dedicated to this, to all the simple things that bring us joy when we feel down, to the ordinary moments of pure happiness that we forget to appreciate because we are focused on all the wrong things.

 Because that is the extraordinary thing about photographs, they are evidence that once –even if not for long- everything were perfect and they will be perfect again.

When I took this photo, a thought sprang to my mind
that the tower emerged as from a fairytale with its glowing, bright, pink light.
So then and there I asked myself what kind of tale that could be?
And a smile flourished when decided to write a fairytale dark and mysterious... like me
There is no 'once upon a time'
No princess who needs saving
There is a pink light that continuously shine
to hide the monster, who through the years has been raving.
The rumor started quietly, no one knew how it was spread
that the duke and duchess had an heir, an extraordinarily beautiful baby girl.
Through the years nobody saw the famous daughter
not a shining knight nor a lowly pauper,
and as the rumor of her extreme beauty remained
none had ever seen it, even when her parents passed away.
They all thought that she was trapped, somehow locked away
and a brave man decided to go and free her one awful, fateful day.
He found no locks, he saw no traps,
he just followed a dim light
and filled with wonderment the master door he taps
to open and reveal a girl with a smile sinister and bright.
No news where ever heard again of him
and through the years enough men followed, to form a rightful team.
Man by man they all vanished, they all just disappeared
and they stopped trying to find the girl, they were filled with fear.
So now there was a strong belief
that the girl was kept by a monster under lock and key.
but no one dared to go back there again
after the disappearance of so many brave men.
And so the years passed, then decades flew away
and through the generations, the mystery still remained
what was hiding behind the tower's closed door?
A little girl went there to see, she couldn't wait no more.
She followed the footsteps the others had previously take
but as luck would have it, not their awful fate.
Because she found only an old woman with fire in her eyes
who told her the real story, not the town's lies.
There never were a monster, there was only her
a beautiful, smart and disturbed girl.
She wanted no intruders, not to be married
and when they came uninvited, the price they would paid.
She killed them all without thinking it twice!
But now she was old she wanted to give to someone else her price.
She told the girl the tower she could had
seeing they were alike, they were both of them mad.
The little girl never returned back
and after agreeing not to search for her, the life went back on track.
So this is the story's end,
the monster is never who we think it is, it may even be a friend.
In this tale, the monster was someone looking innocent
no one could ever thought
that the cause of this whole incident
was just a girl who wanted to be forgot.      

 I recently went for a shopping spree with a couple of my girlfriends. Some were running low on make-up, others were in desperate need of a good blusher and all of us are always looking for that perfect shade of lipstick that can make our lips irresistible to a kiss.
 It was when we were on the line to pay for our newfound treasures - that promised to hide our flaws and make us more beautiful than ever- that I remembered something Yves Saint Laurent said. This talented man once made the astounding observation that '' the most beautiful make up for a woman is passion. But cosmetics are easier to buy.'' How right can a man be? In this case the more I was thinking about it, the more convinced I was that he is pretty close to absolutely right.
 No amount of mascara or eyeliner can replace the fire in a woman's eyes. A fire that may burn for a growing and satisfying career.
 Regardless the shade of the lipstick we use to apply, the most beautiful lips are those which are stained from a passionate kiss.
 And I have personally see the perfect tone of blush rushing at my cheeks when I have completed an intense and satisfying run by the sea.
 Yes, passion, passion can do magic at a woman's appearance. We all look for that passion constantly. We can find it at the job we've always dreamt of having, at the love we hope will last forever, at a hobby that can transform an ordinary day to a beautiful and memorable one.
 The lucky few that have it all, may not have the need to use cosmetics, but as a woman - and an overachieving one at that- I can tell you that they will always put some make-up on, hoping to turn beauty to excellence.
 For the rest of us, who don't have every aspect of our life in order, make up is even more necessary. Besides passion can only go so far. As much as I love my job there are days that I will need to hide the occasional bags under my eyes caused by a little more stress. For someone else a compact powder will be required in order to hide the tears caused by a fight with a loved one.
 Make-up will always be an absolute necessity for a woman, but passion? Passion goes far beyond that.
 Because even if we hire the most talented make-up artist to use the finest cosmetics without passion we are just like Barbie dolls. Excellently made up but emotionless.
 Apart from that, dolls are made to be played with but women, especially passionate women are not to be played under no circumstances. Because not only they can play better but some of them are making the whole damn set of rules for the game.

KISSES!

E.        

  

 Winston Churchill once said that, tact is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that the look forward to the trip.
 As a graduate of Diplomacy, a traveler and a fan of that quick-witted man, I got fascinated with this phrase in more ways than one. So I started dissecting it and really thinking about it. The way I saw it, it consisted of three concepts, the tact, the hell and the trip.
 I consider myself a very tactful person but I doubt I could pull something like this off, even with all my textbooks about diplomacy at my disposal. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't going to make a habit out of telling people were to go, but it should be handy to know the way if the rare occasion arises.
 Then I started thinking about the ''going to hell'' part, or as we often say the destination of the ''road paved with good intentions''. Of course if we believe the song of AC DC is more of a ''Highway'' than a road.
 I was scribbling all that down exactly on the spot where I took the above picture when the thought occurred to me, why on earth am I troubling myself about hell instead of enjoying the view of my favorite place in Greece? And then everything became obvious. I was -even temporarily- at my heaven, at my happy place, spending some quiet time with my thoughts.
 I couldn't help but wonder, if we eliminate the spiritual side of the matter, what exactly are heaven and hell? I decided that it is a state of being, instead of an actual place.
 I had the example right before my eyes. For me Thessaloniki -the town in which the picture is taken- is my heaven. The place where I went to the university, the place where I got my first glimpse of independence, the place where I explored more about theater, and which holds countless other memories. For someone else though? It could be the town where they got their heart broken, they lost a job or failed to realize a lifelong dream. My own heaven is someone else's personal hell.
 So the trip there can be often short and it can be unexpectedly pleasurable as well. Because if you really think about it the person willing to send you to such a trip will have a vast difference with you about how the destination will turn out. Bottom line, his version of hell can be your paradise.
 In conclusion, making an attempt to reprogram my mind to have only positive thoughts I can tell you this, if someone wish me such a trip -tactfully or not- I will take and I will also have some fun doing it!

KISSES!

E.