{A dingo strikes it lucky.}
Playing music seems to silence the hounds next door. It took me a little while to cotton on to this and, to be fair, it doesn’t always work but oh, when it does, the quiet it affords me is so very worth it. The two dogs that live next door, with an owner apiece, I have yet to clap eyes upon but I can hear them just fine. I know when they are in their lounge, I know when they are in their garden, and I know when they are yapping at whatever soul has walked past their house. Their ceaseless barking tells me they are very much alive and kicking on all four paws. Their yapping ways fill almost every room of our terrace house, indoors and out. So to discover that a little George Washingmachine crooning Let’s Face the Music and Dance at 8am soothes them, that Taraf de Haïdouks’ Balada Conducatorolui silences them at 9am, is good news as far as I’m concerned. I prefer to work in silence however I think I could tailor my ways, and it sure beats hollering at the adjoining wall, Shut up! as though I were Stanley Kowalski yelling for his Stella. There I would stand, looking somewhat crazed, shouting at the walls for a little peace and quiet, and when that failed, I would reason with them, plead with them, as though they cared. Muttering at dogs barking the other side of the wall does not make for a tranquil start to the day nor peaceful end to the night.
This morning while their owners are out, the dogs are listening to a little Les Primitifs Du Futur. I think I’ll follow it up with a little bit of Amadou & Mariam. Of course the music may not be the reason for their silence, perhaps I just can’t hear them over my own din, or perhaps it sends them to another room to escape my musical selection, either way it will save me from looking a little sleep deprived, a little like the woman I purchased this beautiful brown ceramic bear from. In a shop front window of her house she places a tableau of items for sale, each with a small hand-written price tag and instructions to knock loudly on the front door if you are interested in any of her mixed bag of second-hand wares. In the window a large black plastic bear (not for sale) sports necklaces and silk scarves from the 1950s, they dangle from his limbs. Alongside said bear, you’ll find an art deco folding chair and various pieces of crockery from the 60s and 70s. Finding a brown prowling bear complete with a honey splodge on the back, and a price sticker that was agreeable, well, I had to knock. Two times I tried in vain but the following day, true to the saying, third time's a charm, she answered the door.
{Not your average bear.}
She answered her door looking like someone who lives next door to barking dogs. She looked like me. A mirror image. She looked as though she hadn’t slept, as though the light outside her front door was too bright for her eyes. She didn’t have dogs next door, barking with barely a pause for breath, to prevent her from slumbering late in the mornings after long nights. No, she lived next door to a house that only the night before had burnt down. And I must admit, in my eagerness to get to the bear, I didn’t even notice the house all black guts spewing forth and concave tin veranda. Right past it I had walked in a blind haze to get to the bear before someone else knocked on the door with a red note clasped in their hands.
With the bear now home guarding a blue stone plastique, I feel I have created a collage three-dimensional.
Further new collages for you to see… (from Mailbox 141).
{It was not the objects that bewitched him, it was the order in which they were arranged.}
{It produced what no other refractory in Beirut could.}
{He travelled for some time without incident.}
Plus,
I’m rather fond of snails as it is but I am especially fond of snails bearing mail tucked high up in their shells. (Thank you, Crust Station ♥ Thank you, Frips ♥)
{From Crust Station, plus much more. Thanks.}
Two unexpected postal treats have come Louise and my direction. Embroidered and named pouches (complete with owl and heart gems), a Japanese cup, and floral paper ephemera, all arrived from the UK in a box stamped Royal Mail. And from Belgium, the paper trail continues… bugs, tigers, hand drawn, inky cats and a small zebra on the cover of a silvery blank book... like travel companions in an envelope covered in birds, small folk and cartoon chipmunks.
(Oh, and mystery mail sender... I haven't forgotten you.)
{From Frips. Thanks.}
Happy weekend all... see you Monday.
{A ticket from the travels of another. The last time I was in Berlin it was 2002.}
