DIA DE LOS MUERTOS

LOURMARIN    
(Provence,France)

31 October 2006 

DIA DE LOS MUERTOS
‘Loss in South Africa: Doubly Robbed!

Not only does the ‘Grim Reaper’ harvest our beloved with his Scythe but we are now also prevented from mourning them at their graves.

I visit the ‘Cemetaire’ of Lourmarin, which is gently cushioned at the top of a hill, sloping down at the back. The elaborate, ancient graves nestle between low walls and ravaged cypresses.

In a peaceful little corner, low-lying branches have been cut away to expose a small forest of vertical, cylindrical stems, the canopy above, gently protecting the grave enfolded in its leafy cave.

Countless seasons have transformed tombstones into bumpy, monochromatic palettes. Various sizes of velvety dots, some flat and others the shape of chocolate truffles, merge and soften the iron and concrete homes of the dead.

White, beige, brown and charcoal-black, green and rust, gently covers the tombs of their beloved’s dust.

I have no fear, walking between Angels made of stone. Eyes cast to heaven and feathery wings, flowing hair and robes, all carved from rock…. 

Timeless horizontal posies of multi-colored porcelain flowers, bedeck the surfaces, factory fresh, without crack, chip or blemish….

Shoulders hunched, his face darkly stubbled, a widower softly shuffles past on fine gravel, thick lashes wet with tears…...

Family mausoleums, grouped together on the terraced slope below, unite the bones of generations of relations.

Not only do we not dare visit the graves of our finally lost friends and families, in life, whom we love, are scattered across the globe.

Once dead, the ritual of remembering with respect, is lost, and eventually, the memory too.

A crisp breeze ruffles the petals of bouquets of fragrant flowers and dusts away the repression of memories, enabling me to recall countless visits together with my parents, to the family grave in the Rebecca Street Cemetery.

Our floral offerings were put in vases, which were positioned on all four corners of the granite tomb.

My task was to rinse the removable ceramic or metal vases, under the tap, which nestled between the graves some distance away. The hem of my dress would offer transparent comfort, as barrier between my toddler’s hand and flaming steel carrying lukewarm water. Sacrifice it was not, as my lips, prepared in pout, would kiss the Angel sentries encountered on my way…..

 Our black Desoto desolately stood under the stringy shade of a Peppercorn tree, boot raised and filled with stacks of old newspapers and watering can. After the silent ritual of arranging the flowers, the stalks and leaves that had been trimmed off, would be neatly rolled up in the paper, scattered images proclaiming the Profumo Scandal or Sputniks to the moon. The vibrating air, cocooning the car, would sting your face with a wave of steam, as you respectfully slammed shut, the doors.

Then, the only fear I had was that of sliding into the world of death beneath the soft graveyard-ground.

 This ritual with our dead was routinely carried out, as an unquestionable part of life and my parents would be in pensive mood for some time, after these dedicated excursions of remembrance.

The hot sun was kind enough to wait until we turned the corner, before sucking the moisture from the modestly colored flowers and shriveling their tilting heads. We knew this to be true, because this image awaited us on our return.

The red and moist ground-heaps of the fresh graves, were always covered with layers of multicolored bouquets. The sun would even attempt to drink from the glass-covered, plastic wreaths, but did not succeed. This we also knew to be true since the little condensed drops would be hanging by their necks from the inside of the curved glass covers and drop onto the handwritten cards below, streaking and smudging the sad words with tears of plastic flora.

 

I feel angry and sad since today I have been reminded of what I have forgotten I’ve lost.

Aleta Michaletos 

www.aletamichaletos.com

'BIRDS & BARS- NEW YORK 2000'

'BIRDS & BARS - NEW YORK 2000'

It was October 2000 and I was on a week long, whirlwind business trip to New York and Miami before my premiere 2 month sojourn at the Cite Internationale des Arts in Paris. (Nov. & Dec. 2000)

The plan was, to go up the Empire State building in the morning and then, ‘do’ the Twin Towers in the evening.

  

Encapsulated in an authentic Art Deco elevator and rapidly ascending several levels at a gasp, I was swooning in a time-warp, imagining myself cossetted in the stilettos, furs and sequined satin numbers of several 1920’s movie sirens: Mary Pickford, Lillian Gish, Greta Garbo, Theda Bara…… one for each of the 86 floors, as the numbers lit up on the polished brass of the elevator wall….. However, on exiting at the observatory platform, the sharp air stung my skin and my attention was riveted on 3 things that had changed since my maiden visit 24 years ago.

    1) Protective fencing had been erected on top of the concrete parapet.

2)  I was staring at a mini-Trafalgar Square! Doves were flying and sitting wherever they could and it fascinated me that they were completely comfortable at such high   altitudes. Did they ever descend? Get their claws on the ground? Indeed, was there any necessity? I joked that in New York even the doves were ‘high flyers’!

3) It was my first glimpse of the Twin Towers on the horizon…

The view was breathtaking, whilst lovely ‘Casper the Friendly Ghost’- clouds, were waving at their reflections in the Hudson River below…..

 First of all, my business associate took a picture of me. Then, the Gauntlet was mine, to see what I could achieve with metal bars and birds, that were obstructing my view, whichever direction I pointed my camera at… It was a hopeless case!

Then, pushing the lens past the metal bars, I decided to focus on the Twin Towers, which became the cemetery of my composition, etched on the horizon, against the dazzling, dappled river.

The organic and moving shapes of clouds and the river snaking along the curved outline of the land, beautifully contrasted with the harsh and geometric shapes of the huddled and rigid skyscrapers.

I remarked to my associate that what I was looking at, in effect resembled a ‘giant cemetery’…

The silvery, circular outline of a cloud that tried to imitate a saint’s halo, or a wreath, silently drifted in the pale blue sky……..

Highly satisfied with the angle and image I had in my viewfinder, I was about to press the release button, when my view was blurred! In shock, I jerked back my head and a few centimeters from my hand, casually perched on the parapet, was a majestic dove……serenely ruffling and vibrating it’s feathers, with no intention of taking flight……

Now that I had found my perfect angle, powerful gusts of wind were tugging at the hem of my skirt and sweeping strands of hair across my face. The solitary cloud was now moving in an animated way and I was anxious to get a move on too…….

In a situation such as this, where rapid decisions have to be made, there is an unexpected 3^rd force that forces you to compensate.

There and then, I made a decision to ‘make peace’ with the dove and incorporate its blurry image into my shot.

As my finger tentatively and hardly audible, pushed down on the trigger, the dove moved ever so slightly and I gently re-positioned myself, trying not to startle it, or lose the perfection of my angle. Just then, the dove’s head slid underneath the Twin Towers and accepted it as its crown! My immediate reaction and the noisy mechanical action, sent a stream of dove perfume up my nostrils, as it spread its wings and noisily flapped towards the ground!  

 The afternoon was spent lazing away in a Gelateria in Brooklyn.  Egalitarian parents were gallantly pushing padded strollers, their squealing, chubby, fashionably dressed babies, licking and dripping over-sized ice creams, on a cone. I was sinking into a slow-motion ‘My Fair Lady’ fantasy…….

Abruptly my senses revived and trained as a typically alert South African female, it was impossible to ignore the fact, that although there was no grass to be seen, the possibility existed that not with standing there may be a snake on the pavement! It was with concern that I remarked: ‘These Americans are in a dream world, so confident and so relaxed, they would be oblivious, even if a plane passed overhead at this very moment and dropped its deadly cargo…..’

As planned, we reserved the evening for our visit to the Twin Towers, steeling ourselves against the currents of icy winds, in the desolate banking district.

Two charged images are ingrained in my memory:

      1) The overwhelming size of the ground floor entrance, which was large enough to allow a small plane to safely perform an internal examination.

2) The complete lack of perception of distance and reality that I experienced as I stood, (at the cafeteria situated at the top), my nose disbelievingly pressed against a sheet of thick glass. I had the sensation of flying and floating, whilst observing pinpricks of light, as Pandora’s Box overflowed and spilled a river of ruby and diamond necklaces, which were silently flowing towards some distant destination….  

I only developed the photographs on my return from Paris, January 2001.

 I didn’t feel like a Gypsy shuffling through those few thousand unconnected images, until my eye fell on an unusual photograph that instantly jolted my memory! On closer inspection, I was flooded with the emotions of that day and with the added realization that also I, had eventually returned home after what seemed like light years of fantastic journeys.

 A title for the photograph immediately suggested itself to me and was born:’WHAT GOES UP, MUST COME DOWN.....CROWNING CAPITALISM.'

You can imagine the shivers that went up and down my spine on the 11 September 2001, as I stared in disbelief at the developing drama on our television screen…..

© Copyright reserved Aleta Michaletos 2000 (images and text)

www.aletamichaletos.com

PAYSAGE EN MOROCCO

PAYSAGE EN MOROCCO

It is interesting to note, that I never feel the urge to do architectural depictions in South Africa. However, my visit to Greece in 1988 spawned a complete exhibition dedicated to the architecture in Athens and Sifnos.  

I think ‘feeling safe in your environment’, allows ideas to flourish in a natural way.  In South Africa, we have safety issues to consider and become reluctant to move around in the older parts of our cities that are steeped in character.  I feel robbed of my sense of belonging, my roots, and I am only allowed fond memories of places I frequented in my youth.

When it became public knowledge that I would be visiting ancient Marrakech, Fez and Casablanca in 2005, the comments always centered around how ‘colorful Morocco’, would influence my work.  The truth is that Morocco is colorless!  It is a typical dessert city similar to Cairo, where the earthy coffee-, cream- and beige tints and hues of the inhabitants, architecture and surrounds, become the canvas on which the color is artificially added, by cleverly incorporating bright and colorful textiles and paint. 

The local product 'brou de Noix' (extract of nuts) which is used by the calligraphers, was the medium with which I could express myself best.

                                    Paysage en Morocco:'FES' brou de Noix 490 x 370 mm 2005 sold

In this panorama or view on to ‘Fes’, I decided to omit more than half of the satellite dishes that were visible. (I simply found them too distasteful, as they had no place in the Biblical fragrance that emanates from this ancient city)

 My vantage point for ‘Fes’, was the rooftop of a Persian carpet dealer. The top of the building was strewn with newly washed carpets that were drying in the sun.  Although I had the luxury of a 360˚ view from where I stood, it was the tiny slice containing three Cypresses etched against the cloudless sky, which reminded me that besides myself, I was not the only ‘living one’ there.  Although I knew that Fez was teeming with life, no living soul was visible from above.  The Cypresses were guarding the secrets of the city like so many other sentinels one finds on guard at a cemetery.