Soccer. Austria’s national sport number one. Even in late winter. Did you know that one quirky but lovely detail about that kind of sports is that a match doesn’t necesserily need to have a match-winner or loser. A soccer game can also end in a draw. (and is it true that that fact, in a sporting context, is largely unfamiliar to many Americans?)
In New England, when there’s a storm on the weather forecast, all hell breaks loose.
And what do people do?
They flock to the grocery store.
What do they buy?
Bread. Milk. Eggs. Every time.
As if those three foods are the most important emergency survival items needed to stay alive during a storm.
Markets are overwhelmed by panicking people, even for the smallest of storms. And what happens if you get to the store late?
The shelves are completely empty. Well, the bread, milk, and egg shelves anyway. The rest of the food groups aren’t touched. People will walk through the stores with their arms full of bread loaves — more than anyone could actually eat.
It’s a quirky thing. The majority of storms here pass by relatively quietly. Even the worst of storms have us down and out for only a day or two.
I have to ask: why?
Do any of our American readers know the British 1990s comedy series “Mr. Bean”? The one with that recurring gag involving the small, blue, three-wheeled car that Mr. Bean keeps pushing out of parking spaces so he can park there himself?
Well. In much the same way that car was Mr. Bean’s “arch-nemesis” this car is mine.
We have five free parking spaces around the corner here. All of them highly sought after. Sometimes, when I come home late at night, I start crossing my fingers in hope for a nearby, free parking spot. Quite often though, that’s not the case. Instead I often see that very car parked there and I catch myself thinking: “Well, after all I’ve obviously reached an age where I’m actually taking occupied parking spaces personally…”. And then I have to laugh, realizing what thought just crossed my adult mind.
Next I think: “Well, today my parking-space arch-nemesis might have won once again. But tomorrow…tomorrow I’ll be on the winning side again!”. And then I have to laugh out loud once more. Because I actually like that guy who owns, drives and likely also parks that car. Because we’re almost certainly going through the same thing. And because we both drive cars that are more than twenty years old.
Well actually…actually I’d love to meet the driver of that late ’90s Toyota Corolla in person one day! The person who put that wonderful and homemade “Made in Japan” sticker on it. Maybe he or she is as crazy with aged cars as I am? Just for a short, light-hearted chat about our two Japanese cars and of course the eternal hunt for free parking spaces over here. Yes, that would surely be a totally funny encounter.
Cooper to Young Murph: “It doesn’t mean that something bad will happen. It means that whatever can happen, will happen,”
-From the movie “Interstellar”
Murphy’s Law has struck. Whatever could have happened in moving my studio to another town, has happened. Illness, snow storms, cancellations, non-comittals, reliable people letting you down, unreliable people surprising you, lack of communication, changes of plans.
I have about 10 days to empty this room. What else could go wrong?
Yes, that’s very true. Undoubtedly. This is certainly not a sandwich.
Yet again I was too impulsive to end up in that little prop misstep.
But what’s the idea behind this obvious mislabeling? And why do I and my blogpost seem so oddly fixated on sandwiches in general?
The answer is this: I want to introduce you to a topic that has been vividly living my head ever since the early days of our blog, one that personally fascinates me immensely. It’s about how people from different cultures and countries communicate with one another and what unbelievably fundamental differences are existing “out there” when it comes to exchanging sensitive matters or feedback. So what’s out there to be discovered? I mean, besides that more or less commonly known Sandwich method of delivering feedback?
The origin of my fascination lies in the stories of an Austrian friend who, many years ago, began studying and working at Edinburgh’s university. She would repeatedly supply me with vivid anecdotes in which her very Austrian way of collaborating collided wildly with how the Brits and Scots are used to communicate with each other. Her honest and humorous, yet very direct and unvarnished way of giving feedback caused quite a bit of “transnational perplexities”, since in the United Kingdom understatement is the way to go when it comes to “serving criticism”: often it’s kept under the hood. a secret. if it’s expressed then it’s done in extremely indirectly and in a very, very polite tone. To let the reader’s know: that’s something highly nerve-racking for us Austrians.
In Japan I had another “awakening”. There everything revolves around harmony. A direct “no” is often a general taboo. The maximum level of critical expression is to remain in silence. Something that is perfectly normal there, but something that is, once again for us Austrians, deeply unsettling and easily perceived as ignorant or lacking appreciation.
In India, so I was once told, critical feedback is prefered to be delivered in a very metaphorical way: by telling stories. Instead of confronting a person directly, a story is told whose moral reflects the current situation.
In France, on the other hand, such an approach would probably often lead to maximum outrage, since debating with one another there is seen as a sign of personal engagement and genuine interest and respect.
Isn’t it a terribly complex world we are living in? In my opinion it is – but that variety of so fundamentally different approaches is also something very beautiful for me.
And what about the U.S.? What’s the culture of delivering sensitive feedback there? A question for yet another curious conversation with Sarah.
Can a grouping of images really sum up a life changing experience? Can photographs really capture what it was like to be in a particular place at a particular time? The feelings, the atmosphere, the beauty?
These are a selection of pictures from my Seattle trip 3 months ago. I’m trying to go through them all (I took over 500 photos) and pick out the ‘best’ ones. But what does that mean? What story do these singular images tell? Are they really portraying what I want to say?
It’s going to take a lot of work to get the selections made, and some sort of order figured out. After that, it’s time to design a book.
I still need a title.
There, in the distance. On the left.
Legend says that it’s not just a simple mountain ridge.
It’s an enchanted, sleeping Greek woman. Long ago, she fell into disgrace with the almighty mountain king, who then decided to turn her into stone.
Nothing is mentioned about how long that sleep will or has to last.
And sometimes I wonder: Ever since that fateful incident – has she been waiting to be awakened – all this time?
Selling at markets is an interesting thing.
You meet a lot, like, a lot of people you don’t know. Many of them stand at a distance away from your booth, not making eye contact or any sort of initiation of conversation. Others will come up and look at everything really quickly, barely giving any time to each handcrafted labor of love. Still others will make pleasant conversation. We’ll talk about my process, or their pets, or the old cameras they have in the basement collecting dust. Then there are the relatively very few who actually make a purchase, love what you have to say and show, and want to take it home with them or gift it to a loved one.
All kinds of people come through your booth, some pleasant, some less so. But regardless of the interactions you have, their lives remain largely a mystery. Who are these people? What are their hopes, dreams, professions, families, passions?
The lady in this photograph avoided my booth entirely, but her hat caught my eye instantly. Who is she? Has she been to Austria? Does she have a friend there, or family? Does she know Stefan? Was the hat a gift perhaps? Maybe she loves the Sound of Music! Or is it something else? There is a world of possibility to explain this fashion choice. I guess I will never know.
Errand-driven, haste, time management. It’s Christmas. City centers feel like surging flood channels. Anything goes: letting yourself be swept along, being carried with it, becoming part of it, being washed up at the waterkant of commerce, stepping out still. Earlier than usual, I feel tired this year. Queues and big corporations – nope, not this time. I will likely get another simple Bosna this. Eaten standing, outdoors – all while talking casually to strangers who might share a similar attitude about that time of the year. Or not. And remain a solitary gourmand. It’s my choice. And while that spectacle, unfazed, goes on, the decoupled me does some more thinking about love in general – entirely independent of that whole Christmas frenzy.
The holiday season in the US starts with one very, very busy weekend.
First, on Thursday, there is Thanksgiving. Families gather and everyone across the country eats the same food. Many people think it’s the worst thing in the world to be alone on Thanksgiving. I wish I could be.
Then, there’s Black Friday, a name as bleak as it sounds. Stores have huge sales, the lowest prices you can get stuff all year. I’ve never gone Black Friday shopping, because every store is absolutely mobbed with fanatical crowds who want big screen TVs at a low, low, low price. Even the gallery I work at has a line going down the block when we open our Holiday Sale that day.
Next up is Small Business Saturday. After everyone buys stuff at the big box marts on Black Friday, they’re expected to support small businesses and do some local shopping. Are you sensing a pattern here?
The day after that is apparently Secondhand Sunday, where people are supposed to shop at thrift stores and shepherd sustainability.
Finally, there’s Cyber Monday. That’s when all the online stores have sales. Your inbox will be chock full of emails telling you that you can get 50% off a new computer or anything else you can imagine. Often, the sales are extended for a full week.
Here, the holidays are considered to land between Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years Day. It’s one big push to buy buy buy presents for people (and yourself)–if the first weekend is any indication.
This is one of the reasons I say bah humbug to the holidays. It’s all so very commercialized, the seasonal music drives me nuts, and I just don’t get into the ‘holiday spirit.’ Maybe I’m just a Scrooge. But doesn’t it seem just a little like madness?