These photos surfaced when I mailed a postcard to a friend of a painting of a postbox – juxtaposed by a café table – in Olympia, Greece 2017.
Sent a postcard to a pal in the Berkshires. He asked me “what’s the story here?“
Olympia, Greece… Home (obviously) of the ancient Olympic games and all the various ruins, tracks, museums, artifacts etc.… but i got off the bus quickly early when we passed a “just right“ café with a couple of tiny tables out front, in the back were old men playing backgammon and drinking Ouzo at 10 AM / The thick armed boss brought me a wonderful little variety plate along with sturdy espresso.
Fortified, I scribbled & mailed postcards, watched people hurriedly walk by, saw the throngs leave by buses from the Olympic site, sauntered up there and looked around by myself – On the way, I looked at some rental listings to think about just staying indefinitely… that’s sort of “just right“ size town that I enjoy – instead paid too much for a taxi back (sat in the front seat) to catch the ship in time >> met a pal named Nikos playing a Tzouras, I sent him postcards just to complete the circle.
There’s a cat in this empty road as well… (Or was there?)
The original painting was sketched in situ in Greece and then combined with a postbox and painted with acrylics on Nusa Ceningan, Indonesia along with my darling wife.
As such, found the inspiration shots and then found the geo-location and Google Earth screenshot where you can see someone sitting in the chair where I sat making the painting. It’s all very recursive.
Πραξιτέλη Κονδύλη 32, Archea Olimpia 270 65, Greece (next droo/ downstairs of Hotel Appolon, at which sometime, i will stay for a forthnight, perhaps)
+ Postbox Haiku Exhibit at the Goat Farm: In which I combine love of poetry, painting and postal mail and recaps an exhibit at buddy Mac’s goat farm.
Gist: Produced by dDesign to promote Okayama design, tourist and culture, the campaign included a painting in Shibuya as well as paintings of post boxes and office in: The Vatican; Kathmandu, Nepal; Olympia, Greece; and, Muscat, Oman as well as a new haiku on a postbox about “nonconfidential postcards” along with a book of paintings, a book of postboxes, and postcards of well… postboxes with poetry – both painted and functional.
Rocking a plaid track suit, Dave catches up about an exhibit of postbox haiku and paintings at pal Mac Kobayashi’s goat farm and in Shibuya by dDesign and shares the story of the post box haiku and painting plus details of: Kathmandu, Nepal; Muscat Oman; The Vatican, and Olympia, Greece (including accompanying postcards of course) and riffs about importance of personal archeology and making things for future generations while drinking including coffee and jamu and digression about persimmon chutney.
Special ahoys to Gary, Beth, Arild, Jared, Erin, Sandra, Lance and especially you.
Well I ain’t no Olympian but I can get behind anything… Including the original running track/stadium in Olympia, Greece…
Actually, since I lived in Olympia Washington (#OlyWa) for nine (!) years, I guess I’m in Olympian… And yes, attended two Olympic games so there’s that, but still… No gold medals except for that run of first place ribbons in the science fairs in elementary school and the “Mr. Fun” certificate from Boy Scout Camp…
But yes, this is the original Olympic grounds and me in a Greek fisherman’s hat and tunic, you know, going local with my awesome moustache and specs.
Embarking on meandering natural healing journey around Asia, Indian sub-continent, Arabia, Mediterranean, across Canada, US rocky mountain canyons, and to Grateful Dead anniversary shows while emerging from a fog after chronic and complex illness diagnosis resulting in lost years due to prescription meds.
His quest for the elusive quarry stalled again, Thor – rather exhausted after six days on a merchant marine ship despite a rather pleasant stateroom – sits on a coil of worn rope on a salty dock to consider his next move. The question: where has the renegade Mr. Lester disappeared to to this time? Lighting at the second last cigar from a box acquired in Sicily, he considers possible directions… Set out towards the Tyrhenian, dropping in on various islands seeking telltale sign? He does have ties to Corsica after all so the direction would be generally useful. Or maybe the Aegean?
“Too many damn islands…” He mutters to the Katakolon seabirds. The leather attache (containing the critical documents seeking validation) still close by his worn boots, he pulls the boiled wool fisherman’s cap down his brow, closer to the wrinkled blue/white striped coarse linen shirt, inhales deeply and concludes to head towards the Bosphorous.
At least he’ll have a hot Turkish bath and beat-down massage on ancient marble before deciding which continent to drift towards next. But first, a tall ouzo and plate of olives to set him on the way.