Talking about Miro’s paintings with my six year old

Fundacio Joan Miro Barcelona

August 8th 2013:

“What have you seen today?”

“A bird that ate the sun.”

“What is your favorite painting in the museum?”

“There are two of them. The firebird (The Firebird) and the white bird. The white one with two color spots (The bird of the paradise).”

….

August 11th 2013:

“What do you remember from today?”

“Not from today. From the first time we went to the museum I remember two things. I saw them again today. The yellow egg on a chair, because of the color. And the second thing is a painting of woman, flower and fire.”

“What painting are you talking about. I can’t remember it.”

“It has a woman looking sideways, fire, flower. There is a red wall behind the woman. I can draw it for you. It has lots of red and yellow.”

(Flame in space and naked woman)

….

August 24th, 2013:

“What did you like today the most?”

“The two drawing of the garden” (Personajes en el jardin II and Personajes en el jardin IV)

“Why did you like them?”

“Because the garden was full of fruits”

“Those were not fruits, those were people’s faces”

“They looked like fruits to me”

….

“My favorite three paintings are of the birds and the sun. I like the one where the bird ate the sun.”

“What do you like about them?”

“All three paintings have a bird, a blue rectangle, a sun and a star. The star is important and easy to draw.”

….

Miro's painting

“I know how he did this one. He used cotton swabs. I am going to do one at home too.”

Lorena's painting ….

“Can we lick the mercury fountain?”

‘No.”

“Is there fish in the fountain?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Let’s stay here for a while and look how the water falls.”

….

“I do not know whether I want to be an artist or a horse as a grown up.”

and a little bit later

“… I think I can be both. I will be an artist in the mornings and horse in the evenings.”

France in April

The world holds no magic. The things exist around us. We see some of them. We think in terms of stories. Some stories are better than others. Still they are just stories. The reality is only a part of our life.

I like stories. They may distort the truth, but my reflection in the big hotel mirror in the dark room is also far from the truth. It is almost black and white, it is real and it is not. My shadow is also not me, but if I move, it moves too. If I smile, the shadow stays the same.

The shadow is true to me. The reflection is true to me. Both are stories. Maybe the stories are good, even if they hold no truth. Sometimes I want to talk without words. In France in April, and I am slowly falling asleep. It is one hour past midnight.

Carcassonne
Carcassonne Castle
Carcassonne Shutters
Carcassonne
Carcassonne
Shutters Carcassonne
Carcassonne
Almost black and white
Carcassonne Castle
Carcassonne

My Best Meeting Ever

Doctor Coffee April 3rd

My best meeting ever is a meeting with myself at the cafe. This is where I get really productive. This is when I really enjoy my work, my thoughts, my time.

During the rest of the day I am surrounded by people that expect me to listen to them, to reply, to interact. At the cafe it is just me, my coffee and my laptop. Yes, there are people around me, but these people do not expect anything from me. They are just there living their lives. What an awesome feeling! Wondering if it would be ok to tell the old men on the table next to me that I love him just because he sits there and reads the newspaper? Nope, I probably should not do these things.

They also play music at the cafe. It is great, because otherwise I would never listen to any music at all. I am generally too busy even to think about music, let alone to spare one minute to decide what I feel like listening to, and to actually find that song and hit play. Too many actions and decisions for me, in reality it almost never happens. Apart from music, they bring me coffee. At this cafe, as I come here every day, I do not have even to ask for it. The waiters are my friends. I know their names, they know what I drink.

Here am I on my meeting with myself. Working. And taking ten minutes to type this. Those who think that creating and running their own company is fun… Well, they are right, it is fun. It is hard as hell too. You just do not stop to think how hard it is while you are doing it. It means that your family sees you mostly behind the laptop. And you do not see them. It means that you only play with your kids in between of the meetings, emails and skype calls. It means that your personal life is none existent. You lose your family, you barely keep up with your friends, and the only time you get to breath is when you are in the shower. You wake up and you think about this great idea, thought, feature, you eat breakfast and you think how to bring it to practice or something similar. Nope, you do not think about what you eat. This is why you eat the same breakfast for ten years in a row, you simplify your life to the maximum in anything that is not related to what you do.

You live under a constant pressure. You get used to it. It is the pressure that *you* always have to do something. If you do not do it, nobody will. Thus, you just do it. You get used to the fact that your free time is when you let yourself “relax” and read a chapter of that business book that you wanted to read. And not be productive for two hours. Just be passive and read. All those great books about how to relax and take one day at a time really do not work. Your passion is what creates the pressure. Your passion and the urge to make it real. It is not about money. Hell no! Hard to explain. Most of all it is about gaining back a piece of your own heart.

The cafe is closing. The meeting is over. Out on the street and what a night!

Note: After I hit publish on this post the WordPress suggested I should add “mental health” to the tags. Hmmm…. made me smile more than think.

To Be A Mom Of A Boy

Miro in France

This morning making my son’s bed I thought about what it means to be a mom of a boy.

It means finding lots of trains and airplanes in his bed. I am still wondering how does he sleep with all these transportation devices. Exactly 3 trains and 11 airplanes.

It means feeding him breakfast while he circles in the kitchen with his tricycle. Almost a drive-through kind of thing.

It means inventing stories about tractor Mitia that only eats meatballs, but sometimes gets lost in the forest and has to live on the berries and mushrooms. A new story every meal.

It means hearing him debate with his sister that I am only his mom. He loves his sister, but he does not want to split his ownership of the mom. And then “my mom” pronounced in his sleep at midnight sound like the softest and kindest words somebody ever said to me.

It means fixing his broken railroads while he is at the daycare. I should be working in these productive hours, but I take 15 min to fix his railroads and the airport, so he gets excited when he comes home.

It means singing a song to him when he asks for it. Even if we are on a bus or in a cafe. Does not sound like a big deal, but if you ever hear me sing, you will know why I would not do it under any other circumstances in a public place.

It means not screaming when I see him standing on our dining table with a broom in his hand trying to hit an Ikea paper sphere lamp on the ceiling. It takes a breath to tell him, “Miro do not do it” and hug him and put him down on the floor.

It means letting him grow; Telling him medieval stories of cavaliers, princesses and noble men. I often find him fighting imaginary dragoons to defend mom or a princess. It means telling him about love through the story of The Little Prince.

It means to show him through love how to be independent. I love him as a mom, I love him because he is my son. And I will love him independently on who he becomes, what he does in his life or what he does not do in his life. This power of love will make him strong and independent, it will let him become whatever he choses to become. It will be with him for the rest of his life. It will be the base for his integrity, kindness, passion. And I believe that if I love him in this way, he will become all that. He will have the spirit of a Man.

Being a mom of a three-year old son is not about protecting, feeding or taking care of him. Really it is not, those are just tasks that anybody can do.  It is about giving him the freedom to grow into a Man. To show him that he is strong and passionate and gentle. To read him the lines that say that he is a part of the mankind and that his spirit is noble, not for himself, but for others. It is about passing him the love and light that will always be in his eyes, and that will make him act like a Man under any circumstances.

Being a mom of a boy means to be really thankful for everything he shows me in this world and within myself.

Barcelona, March 12th 2013

Read Me About The Elephant

Miro's Elephant

This is the book I used to read as a kid. When I saw it in a bookstore in France, it made me feel sort of at home. So we got it among the other books. For whatever reason my son favored it and has been asking me to read it to him during our breakfasts. And I read it to him. In my broken French.

I like how my son lives through the book. He explains me how the elephant’s nose hurt when the crocodile bit him. And he touches his own nose, and then my nose, to make sure it does not hurt. Nope, it does not.

And we read it in French and I laugh at my own reading performance (hey, I am getting better). And I remember how I used to read exactly the same book as a child, when I was about 5 or 6. I read it in Russian though.

Miro liked the book so much that he asked me to go to a toy store on the corner and get him a small elephant. And we got it. Another companion for our breakfasts.

Almost every morning Miro brings the book and the elephant to the kitchen and tells me “Mom, read me about the elephant”. And I do.

Barcelona, March 7th 2013

Thursday Morning…. it is almost sunny

So, this is Thursday morning. I’ve got bunch of emails in my mailbox. And I am procrastinating and not answering them. To tell the truth I do not want to answer them. It has been raining heavily for the past week. Right now the sun is almost out. Still everything around is wet.

Both kids are at home. They have been sick for a week now. They are constantly sick here in Barcelona. Their pediatrician says it is normal. My take on it, is that the city is full of people, infections, pollution. It is too much for the kids who have been born and lived their first years of live on a windy coast in Northern California and then in a remote village in Norway. They have never (well, almost never) been sick in US and Norway. Here in Spain my daughter attended school 1 day in January, 3 days in February and has not been there yet in March. Keeps me worried about her, also my second thought is why we are sending her to a private school when she barely goes there. Oh well… This constant sickness thing makes me want to go back to US. We all need some fresh, clean air. Soon…

About emails. I am just tired. Feels like I am constantly pushing people to do things. This is what running a business is. Well, not pushing. I guess it is called encouraging.  Sometimes it is encouraging, sometimes it is pushing. When it feels like pushing, I feel crap. Well, I feel crap a lot of times in my personal life too. Lately. This is a different story.

Funny, I started writing this blog last June thinking that my friends would read and follow it. However, my friends do not. Good for them. Instead I got bunch of other followers. People I do not know. Strangers. Anyway. When I feel really lonely I think I become a fish, so nothing matters. I wrote about it earlier.

During the past months I stopped listening to the music or reading anything that is not business related. Quite frankly, I just can’t handle it. Music or poetry makes me feel like I have no skin. Makes me want to cry too. So, I stopped. Much better.

At the beginning of the year I set a goal to start walking straight. I decided on it when I was taking Miro to his daycare. So, every morning walking the same route I would remember it and walk with the straight back for a while. Since my son is constantly sick too and is staying at home with me, I have not been walking this stretch of the road lately. Completely forgot about the straight back experiment. Need to walk better.

So, what about life. Right now it is about my work and the kids, plus some rain in Barcelona with occasional sunlight. Also, I have been meeting a lot of friends and strangers lately. It is good, most of the time, and feels really lonely at least 15 times a day. For very short periods. Yes, and avoiding any kind of music, songs or books. Can’t even read children’s story books. The stories are good, it is just me who can’t handle any emotional content. Except when I read to the kids in French. My pronunciation sucks so much, that it makes me smile and wonder how it should really sound.

Ok, I am done with my second morning coffee and now I am going back to work. Which is good. Keeps me busy and in balance. Kind of happy too. You just have to believe in it till the end and do what you know is right, and never give up. When you think about never giving up it feels much better. It makes me smile.

March 7th, 2013

A Small Blue Robot Backpack

“We stood with Sally in front of the corner arts store and then my 2 year old threw his half eaten cookie to the pigeon. For a while after that, every time we passed that street corner, my son would point his finger and say, “Pigeon”. And I would think of Sally,” he finished the sentence and looked across the room where Steve was sitting.

“And you have not seen her since then?”

“Almost not,” he waited for a while then continued. “Well, I saw her one more time, at a fair. It was crowded and we almost did not get time to talk. She was thirsty and I accompanied her outside to get a bottle of water. She got two. We stood for a minute at the building entrance not knowing what to do, then somebody from her team saw her and she got pulled inside. I waited a little bit and walked to the parking lot. It would not make any sense to go in again,” he felt silent.

“I know,” said Steve. “Well, that was a while ago. Tell me what’s going in your life now.”

“I do not know. Everything is fine. You know,” and he pointed his chin towards the kids’ room. “Nick is healthy and growing, all of us are fine, and I think that at the end this is all that matters. Right?”

“Well, yes. A lot of times I think the same. How is work?”

“It is good. Very good, actually. I like our team and, also I have been meeting some amazing people lately. Really, met couple of other guys involved in what we do and they turned out to be smart. We became kind of friends. What else? I guess I am really into the projects we are running. Keeps me busy. Keeps me thinking about things that matter,” he felt silent.

“Well, this is really cool,” Steve nodded and stretched on the sofa.

It was raining and every time there was silence in the room they could hear the raindrops hit the windows and the cars on the street. It was late. After a while Steve took his sweater and walked to the guest-room. He was staying over. He was his best friend and they have not seen each other for a while.

Next morning Steve left. He had to catch his plane back home. They had breakfast together, he watched him pack. He stood in the middle of the doorway and tried to be helpful. Then he opened the door, hugged Steve, they both said how great it was to see each other after all this time. Steve left. He closed the door and turned the key twice.

He walked across  the hall, stopped at the window. He looked at the rain for a while not hearing anything, just watching. Then he shook his head and tried to put his mind back to work. Talking about Sally the day before did not do him any good. “Never share anything with anybody,” he thought to himself. Steve asked and he talked. That was it. Steve was his best friend and he wanted to talk. He did not know it would be painful. Not until now. “This is life. And there is nothing else to it.” No. He did not smile this time. He said it very quietly, watching the raindrops fall.

This was on Sunday. And now it was Thursday and it was raining again. Almost a week has passed. Lot’s of work got done, meetings, planning, talking, writing. And now it was Thursday night and he was tired. He walked to the dining table in the middle of the room and looked at the paperwork that was piled on it. His son’s enrollment to the preschool on the top. He signed the forms and put them inside a brand-new envelope. He placed the envelope on the kitchen table. He should not forget to mail it tomorrow. Then he opened his laptop and looked at the sites he used to read. He went through a new article about compassion and judgment and then switched to the conversion rates review. Then, he looked for the store where he and his wife bought all the things for Nick, and searched for backpacks. Nick will need a backpack for preschool. He liked the one with the orange robots on it, but the small size was out of stock. He called the customer service and they gave him the number of the store that still had it. He called the store and placed an order for the backpack. A small blue robot backpack. All in all it took about 15 minutes. He kept looking at the image of the backpack on his computer screen hoping for a vague feeling of satisfaction. He tried to imagine the excitement that Nick would feel when he sees the backpack. And he felt silent.

The rain was falling heavily outside of the window panes. Its noise distracted him. He looked outside, peacefully, and after a while thought to himself, “This can’t be all there is to life. I know life is much more than that. It really is.”

He moved closer to the window and lightly pressed his forehead against the cold glass. “Do not ever share anything with anybody or you will end up buying a small blue robot backpack on a Thursday night.”

Barcelona, February 28th 2013

The Privilege of a Fish

The privilege to write about anything. Absolutely anything. It is a privilege of a fish.

You wake up in the morning. You go down the stairs and once on the street you realize that you are a fish. There is nothing weird about it. You feel the movement of the water around your body and its pressure. And your body moves very slowly, following the water. And the street noises and the voices are not there any more. Your ears hear some inner sounds and light taps of the water against your face. You do not move forward fast, you mostly move down. A little bit in diagonal. Your body is still prone to gravity that your mind has not entirely forgotten. You assume that everybody had became a fish and you expect to see other fishes soon. But you do not. You are alone. You do not try to talk, instead you use all your strength to sustain the pressure of the water on your body. There is no pain, just the heaviness of each molecule that surrounds you. This heaviness in glued to your skin now.

You intend to breath, but your lungs do not need air. You waste the intent. You release the weight that your body still holds. Then you reach the bottom. You have no feet to walk or push yourself up towards the surface. You are a fish, but you keep forgetting it. Your mind still wonders why did you ever tried to reach the bottom and looks for the reasons, but your body is already taking you up. You need to find this space in the water where the pressure is equal from all the sides. Then you can surrender. Water becomes part of you and you obey it. You can close your eyes and rest. As a fish you do not have any dreams. You just feel that every part of your body is part of the water too. You are part of it all and you move with it. Slowly, precisely; Sliding among the noises of the dreams.

Barcelona, February 8th 2013

Leaving the Room

Image

Two days ago I was walking back home after a team meeting. It was raining and, as it happens sometimes, I was thinking whether or not I should just abandon my crazy startup ideas and get a regular well-paying job.

I was struck by the fact that I am committed to my vision and the startup because seventeen years ago I stood up in front of sixty people and left the room.

It was the first day of my student life, the first day of college, the first day of class. The auditory was filled with nervous students and we all listened to the aged professor who talked in general terms about our future. Thirty minutes in to the speech I stood up and asked the professor, if that was the only topic we were going to talk about for the next two and a half hours. The professor admitted that we were not supposed to talk about anything in particular on the first day of school. Then I said that I had more important things to do and could not lose my time in that way. I picked up my backpack and left the auditory. In front of all sixty something students.

I have to give credit to the professor. He turned out to be an interesting man and we had many insightful discussions on medieval poetry and prose later on. That first day of school he was just doing what he was supposed to do: cater to his auditory. Right now I understand that Spanish students did not expect to learn anything on the first day of class.

Since then I followed my path. I worked for others and I created my own projects. Majority of them failed, some of them survived. All these years my motivation has remained the same, my venues have changed. I work to make people more powerful, to show them the chances that lay in front of them, to encourage them to make their lives better. Our latest project BluewordAi is an expression of this vision.

I believe in what we do. Even so, twice a day, I think that I am just messing up with my life and I should get a good job and help within the system. I know am capable of it. I can follow the directions. I run my own company not because I cannot work for others. I do it because I am committed to the vision of a better society and I have the urgency to play my part in *making* it better. And because when I was seventeen years old I stood up in front of sixty people and was able to leave the room as it was boring and not productive to be sitting there.

Barcelona, January 23rd 2013