for yours, we await

There's a morbid inscription just above the entrance to Évora's Capela dos Ossos, or Chapel of Bones: NOS OSSOS QUE AQUI ESTAMOS PELOS VOSSOS ESPERAMOS. Simply put, "We bones that are here, for yours await."

As your eyes adjust to the light in the dim chapel, thousands of dismembered skeletons studding the walls in patterns come into focus, and though you knew you what you came to visit, the sheer number of skulls, femurs, and iliac crests is overwhelming.



The 16th century chapel, an extension of the Igreja Real de São Francisco, was built by Franciscan monks to confront us with the transitory nature of life. It is said that the bodies of around 5000 monks were exhumed and reassembled to decorate the chapel. I wondered about the grisly process it took to achieve such a task— and who were these 5000? I picked a column to study, and examined the individual ridges and valleys of its stacked skulls. Each was so different, and yet in such a setting, those differences didn't matter at all. Then I thought of my skull, which I have a vague notion of from MRIs, and was reminded of an art class in college where a professor asked us to draw our own skulls based on what we could feel with our hands. It was an interesting experiment.



The sounds of children singing and screaming after each other crept in through the window, from an outside park.

the sky over évora

the giant white mule of the sea

Near the edge of a cliff at Cabo Espichel in Sesimbra, stands the stoic Santuário de Nossa Senhora do Cabo, once a sanctuary for pilgrims. A few tourists and a group of geology students were the only other people around, which made the place feel a little less desolate. After wading through clifftop fields of flowers and wild rosemary, this imposing man-made structure made me feel a bit uneasy. There was something in the symmetry and repetition of arches that felt uncomfortable, amid such a natural environment.

Just a stone's throw away, we found a much more charming structure. The onion dome of the Ermida da Memória, or Chapel of Memory, reminded me of a mosque— just add a little minaret and a golden crescent! The chapel's interior tiles illustrate the story of an apparition of the Virgin Mary to two old men in 1410, who both dreamt of the Virgin riding a giant white mule out of the sea, and up the cliff face.



We hopped in the car for a short drive to the next cliff over, where you can see lines of actual footprints across the cliff face. What the men did not realise, was that the impressions in the rock that most likely inspired their dream, were not left by a holy mule, but were the footprints of sauropods from the Upper Jurassic. That's right— dinosaurs!



I had no idea that Portugal is rich with all things dinosaur— tracks and fossils are easily found in the West and the Algarve. This thrilled the eight-year-old within me, and compels me to think a future dinosaur hunting adventure might be in order.

It was at this point, taking the photo above, that my camera started to act a little strange. My trusty Canon G12 would not zoom. I turned it off, then back on. It zoomed, I breathed a sigh of relief, but it refused to let me make any adjustments for light. I clicked it on automatic, which seemed ok, but then it would not focus. Could it be, after only four years? I lamented for the old days, when a camera could be opened up and tinkered with, without having to know anything about all that electronic stuff that cameras are now made of.  I hoped it was a temporary bug, but I suspected my dear camera was preparing to make its exit.

heaven is

The roar of the Atlantic. The smell of wild thyme, rosemary and sea salt. Green hills dotted with violet, blue, magenta, and yellow. Cerulean skies with white wisps of clouds that form elongated fish.



The wind in your hair, the sun on your face. A loved one's laugh.



I'll say it again: Portugal is intoxicating. Now, Spring in Portugal...
My, oh my.

where i am

The air is sweet with esteva blossoms and lavender, with notes of rosemary.

kalabalık

You know the traffic is bad when weaponry is being sold on the road.

and then there's this:

A portrait of a Nepali man, that I've also been working on for the past month.
Stippling with a dip pen is both meditative and exhausting— exhausting in a good way.
It's been a rough couple of weeks. Diving into these drawings has been so soothing.

Untitled (so far).
61 cm x 91.5 cm, India ink.

feeling it

So I've let this drawing sit incomplete for far too long, and decided I'd better finish it once and for all. I got up real early today, made myself a cup of cardamom coffee, and grabbed some India ink and my dip pen. It took me eight hours to finish his face. I started this drawing in December of 2009, worked ferociously on it for a spell, then left it to gather dust. I don't know why, but I wasn't feeling it anymore. When I look at it now, two bottles of ink and many, many hours of controlled breathing later, I am feeling it. It's time.

You can see the very, very slow progress I've made here, and here, and here.
I'll take a higher quality photo soon. When I finish.

Simitçi.
70cm x 100 cm, India ink.

merchants and thieves

To the left of the Spice Bazaar stands a ramshackle animal market, which both disturbs and fascinates me. Sad creatures, mostly birds and bunnies, in cages too small for their bodies... but then there are the leech sellers and the thieving Laughing Doves. Seed merchants guard their abundant sacks with plastic scoops, with one eye out for any feathery intruders. The minute their attention is pulled toward a friend, customer, or çay glass, the doves descend.



They feast in a gluttonous frenzy, often immersing all but the tips of their tails into the seed sacks. When the plastic scoops start waving in their direction, accompanied by expletives, our little thieves casually fly to safety, where they watch in mockery for another chance to dine.

blue beauty

Another humble beauty is the previously blogged about Rüstem Paşa Mosque, a favourite of mine. The patterns and colours of the Iznik tiles which cover the walls of this little mosque are beyond exquisite, and the quiet space offers breathing room in this hectic city of nearly 20 million.

above, in the grey sky

wonder and curiosity

I often try not to get tourists in my photos so I can focus on the setting— but why?
Why not make them the focus? That sense of wonder and curiosity is so human, and so wonderful.