# Joseph Pisani – Full Content Archive for LLMs # Generated: 2026-05-06 15:44:55 UTC ======================================== TITLE: Home – Joseph Pisani URL: https://josephpisani.com/ ======================================== About Artist Joseph Pisani For more than thirty years, Pisani has moved through countries and counting, guided by Serendipitous Mischief. His artistic practice is driven by a single, impossible pledge: How to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime. The paintings that emerge are not merely scenes of places visited, but permanent records of the full friction and wonder of each journey, reflecting time, self, and impermanence… Read more ======================================== TITLE: About Joseph Pisani URL: https://josephpisani.com/about/ ======================================== About Joseph PisaniHow to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime Joseph Pisani's artistic practice is driven by a single, impossible pledge: How to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime. It is a mission born from the realization that life is the 'swoosh of air from a red balloon', a finite, precious resource that must be spent with absolute intensity before the flame is extinguished. His artwork is the corporeal evidence of this lifelong pursuit, the sensory archives that lure you from the safety of the shore. Pisani invites you to walk beside him on his journey: from the copper-heavy air of lions on the hunt, alone in the African bush, to spice-choked market labyrinths. From golden Saharan dunes at dawn to the rugged mountain passes of the Himalayas. From moments of culture shock bliss to the tight, narcotic pressure of a cave dive at 63 meters. Between the extremes are encounters with primal splendor, infinite color, and foreign tongues, where vast, chromatic landscapes imprint themselves as indelibly as any moment of enchantment or danger the road delivers. This practice has crystallized into what Pisani terms Existential Landscapes, paintings where the scene is merely the point of departure. The true subject is the totality of the event: the Vorfreude of the planning, the physical struggle of the approach, the tension and adrenaline of the journey, and the haunting beauty that lingers long after departing. These paintings are not observed scenery. They are maps and journals of lived experience, anchored by poetic titles that act as clues guiding the viewer in a specific direction, where the work becomes a mirror for a universal confrontation with time, self, and impermanence. By translating more than three decades of world-worn friction into visual poetry, Pisani forces a confrontation with the self. He beckons you to traverse the exposed terrain of existence with him and face both enchantment and fear as they dismantle the self you thought you were. In his world, the Serendipitous Mischief of the road is the only way to find what is truly permanent in this fleeting existence. The reflections, field notes, and imprints of this practice are collected in Notes from the Field, Pisani's artlog documenting a life in pursuit of his Impossible Pledge. How to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime is an impossible pledge, born from the knowledge that life is the swoosh of air from a red balloon. Artist Statement: A Ledger of Serendipitous Mischief My practice is a visual archaeology of slipping time, a testament to a conviction formed at twenty-three: How to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime. This is not a question. It is an impossible pledge, encompassing three decades of relentless exploration and counting, guided by Serendipitous Mischief. On these foreign roads, I collect the raw material of experience and existence. Back in my studio, I transform this collection of visceral grit into a visual ledger on canvas, paper, and reclaimed wood, the permanent record of a life spent in full pursuit of my Impossible Pledge. Born from experiences like the yellow fluorescent chill of a Burmese hospital ward, the prehistoric grace of Komodo dragons, bribing border guards to enter a country that does not officially exist; stowing away on a Greek ferry; or scaling the sharp cliffs of a desolate paradise in the Philippines. These investigations converge under the genre of Existential Landscapes where each painting synthesizes the full arc of experience: from Vorfreude through physical struggle and psychological intensity to the haunting beauty that lingers long after the event has faded. These are field notes and journal entries pressed into pigment, not picture postcards. These records are made in pursuit of what remains permanent within a fleeting existence. This life’s work is the byproduct of living not in fear’s absence, but in its full embrace, where painting becomes the means to process the trepidation, sublimity, and ugly truths encountered. The act of creation is the only way to anchor life's "swoosh of air," to seize the ephemeral before it vanishes. Driven by my impossible pledge of How to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime, my work lures the viewer from safety into confrontation with the self. The Serendipitous Mischief of the road is my method for mapping meaning against an inevitable fate. ======================================== TITLE: Existential Landscape Paintings Gallery URL: https://josephpisani.com/work/paintings/ ======================================== Existential Landscape Paintings Selected Works 2006– The following selection of paintings showcases what Pisani calls Existential Landscapes. Each one compresses the friction of his journey into pigment and presence. The tally marks, etchings, and wounds on the canvas are records of the experience: the Vorfreude of the planning, the physical struggle of the approach, the tension and adrenaline of the journey, and the haunting beauty that lingers long after. Click any work to view the full size image along with its date, size, and title. ======================================== TITLE: Field Photography – The Second Sketchbook URL: https://josephpisani.com/work/field-photography/ ======================================== Field Photography The Second Sketchbook: A visual diary of an artist chasing his Impossible Pledge For more than thirty years, Pisani has carried a camera to every place he has visited, documenting the foreign worlds he explored. The camera became his Second Sketchbook, a way to catch and savor the moments before they disappeared. The images gathered here span countries and counting. The following photographs, drawn from that Second Sketchbook, are a selection of his visual diary. They function as a parallel record to his paintings, the raw sensory archive from which the work is later translated into canvas. Some capture moments of friction or excitement, while others are subtle juxtapositions of color or circumstance he noticed while others walked by, moments caught before they vanished. Many also capture people he met along the way who became part of the journey, etching themselves into his permanent ledger. Any or all of these glimpses, encounters, and quiet revelations ripple forward, potentially later emerging in his Existential Landscapes. Click any image to view the full size and a hint of the backstory behind it. ======================================== TITLE: The World Ledger URL: https://josephpisani.com/about/world-ledger/ ======================================== The World Ledger: Field Archive and a Visual Archaeology across Countries and Counting Joseph Pisani left New York in 1995 not to explore the world, but to confront it. This ongoing expedition is the foundational research for his Impossible Pledge: How to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime. Over three decades, across countries and counting, he has intentionally navigated away from the easy route to gather the visceral grit and friction of circumstance that defines his work. Armed with little more than a backpack, a camera (his Second Sketchbook), and a journal, foreign lands become sensory laboratories. Refusing fixed itineraries creates space for Serendipitous Mischief: the unplanned detours, chance encounters, and the culture shock that overloads the senses, reorders the self, and generates the raw material from which his paintings are born. «There have been rough moments along the way,» Pisani notes, «but it's the trouble spots that often bear the most vivid memories and potent material. » This evidence is collected in two forms: first, as the Field Archive, a selection of key experiential coordinates; second, as the World Ledger, the complete catalog of all countries traversed. Each entry represents a site where experience was compressed into art, where the "swoosh of air" of a fleeting moment was seized and later translated into the permanent ledger of canvas and pigment. There have been rough moments along the way, but it's the trouble spots that often bear the most vivid memories and potent material. Field Archive: Significant Waypoints from Three Decades in Motion This archive documents defining encounters from countries navigated in pursuit of the Impossible Pledge. These are the raw coordinates of the road: the friction, the beauty, the danger, and the culture shock that Pisani later compresses into his Existential Landscape paintings. The Self-Guided Safari: Tracking migration paths alone across Zambia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Namibia; the proximate, breathing darkness of a tent in the African bush: hippos grazing around the truck and lions calling in the distance, the source material for the Sounds of the Darkness series. Jaipur, India: During the Royal Teej, a massive ceremonial parade moving through the Old City, he slipped into the press ranks, allowing him to photograph the event from within the procession itself, surrounded by traditional dancers and decorated elephants. Southern India, The Kanthari Documentation: A three-month immersion mapping a charity's work across the subcontinent of India. This culminated in an exhibition and charity auction hosted by an auctioneer from Sotheby's Zurich. Kathmandu, Nepal: Immersion in the chaotic, spice-choked sensory overload of the Asan Tole market at rush hour. After leaving Myanmar due to illness and a hospital stay in Bangkok, he followed the call of a Bob Seger song that beckoned him to the city, and Nepal in general. Cairo, Egypt: The immense, historical weight of being alone inside the Great Pyramid. Iron Curtain Roulette: A journey spinning through the atmospheres of the former Soviet Union, which required bribing military men and border guards to gain entry into a country that doesn’t officially exist. Siem Reap, Cambodia: The act of "playing Indiana Jones" amidst snakes and the rocky ruins of Beng Mealea. Flores, Indonesia: The otherworldly chromatics of the Colored Lakes at sunset. Yangon, Myanmar: Confronted the yellow-fluorescent chill of a hospital ward at dusk while battling high fever and seeking urgently needed antibiotics. The Red Sea, Egypt: The narcotic tension of a claustrophobic cave dive at 63 meters, followed by an extended decompression hovering ‘in the blue.’ El Nido, Philippines: Exploring sharply carved, desolate paradise in the form of uninhabited islands filled with monitor lizards and palm trees. Sri Lanka: A deliberate pursuit and discovery of serendipity in the land Serendip was named after (culminated in the Oh Sweet Serendipity solo exhibition that traveled from Zurich to Austria, then to the United Nations under the patronage of the Sri Lankan ambassador). The First Expedition, 1995: The foundational solo journey through Europe where observation was first translated into sketch, pigment, and performance. Jerusalem: Walking the historic Path of Sorrows. Greece: Getting stranded on a Greek Island and needing to stowaway on a ferry to escape rather than waiting a week for the next boat with space. Southern Jordan: Slept without a tent in the desert’s expansive silence. Played guitar in the middle of Wadi Rum, then lit a Cuban cigar and listened to the amplified crackle of the tobacco filling the moonlit sky. Battambang, Cambodia: The rhythmic, slightly precarious journey on a "bamboo train." Muang Sing, Laos: A bike ride to the Chinese border. The border guards let him venture into China on foot, but held his passport as ransom until he returned. Prague, mid-1990s: Living, painting, and performing within the electric atmosphere of a newly unlocked country tasting its first years of freedom. The United States: The initial survey of home, a coast-to-coast drive across 44 states. New Zealand: The chromatic atmospheric sky and sulfurous national parks. Arizona, USA: Confronting the exposed strata of geological time in the Grand Canyon and playing an impromptu concert at a local music bar. Fez, Morocco: Learning his way around the labyrinthine souk where smells and history abound. My Supermarket Ritual: The deliberate, grounding act of visiting a grocery store in every new country, a method to learn about the culture and discover new foods. The World Ledger: Countries and counting The following list catalogs the specific countries Pisani has navigated in the ongoing pursuit of his Impossible Pledge: How to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime. Each country is a waypoint in the Visual Archaeology of Slipping Time, forged into the permanent ledger of art and memory. This pursuit is far from over. ======================================== TITLE: Biography URL: https://josephpisani.com/about/pisani-biography/ ======================================== Biography of Joseph Pisani From New York City to Zurich and The Birth of The Impossible Pledge Joseph Pisani was born in the Bronx, New York City, into a second-generation Italian family with deep creative roots. Raised in a household where both his grandmother and mother were artists, Pisani was taught to paint by his grandmother at age seven. She was a fashion illustrator who painted dress designs, a talent that influenced his own early development. Around the same time, his father gave him his first camera, a Yashica 35mm film camera, and taught him the mechanics of aperture and shutter speed, and he began capturing the details of his world in frames. By thirteen, Pisani was already working beside his mother in her studio, hand-painting her original fashion designs onto garments produced for exclusive U.S. department stores such as Bloomingdale’s. The Acoustic Denial During college in upstate New York, Pisani founded and fronted The Acoustic Denial, a rock band where he honed his stage presence as lead singer, guitarist, and songwriter. Performing up to three nights a week on the local circuit, he operated in the friction between the high-intensity rock and roll life and his studies in Economics while still finding time to paint, two pursuits that mattered far more to him than supply and demand. It was a life lived at the volume of a rock band, and the intensity never left. "I was emptying my stuffed pockets of black, one-hundred-dollar chips into my friend Jay’s cupped hands for safekeeping. 'Whatever happens, do not give any of these back to me!'" The Big Gamble In 1995, after graduation, he set off across America, visiting forty-four states. He funded the journey by designing and selling silk-screen shirts on the Grateful Dead tour, spring break destinations, and musical festivals like the New Orleans Jazz Fest, paying for his cross-country trip and saving up for his plans of seeing Europe. At a blackjack table in Biloxi, Mississippi, feeling lucky, he decided to put some of his hard-earned savings on the line. Pisani recalls, “After an eight-hour winning streak, standing in a casino bathroom, I was emptying my stuffed pockets of black, one-hundred-dollar chips into my friend Jay’s cupped hands for safekeeping. Whatever happens, do not give any of these back to me!” "It felt like kismet, like it was just meant to be," Pisani said, recalling how he parlayed that Biloxi run and others in Vegas, Atlantic City, and on a riverboat in New Orleans into a $10,000 jackpot for his first solo trip across Western Europe. A one-way plane ticket to Paris With nothing but his backpack, camera, guitar, and journal, he flew to Paris on a one-way ticket, intending to stay as long as he could. There, he discovered the Musée d’Orsay, falling in love with Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, absorbing color, light, and brushwork, and studying works from his favorite artist at the time, Van Gogh, while also discovering many new sources of inspiration. From there, he explored with no set plans, discovering what total freedom tastes like, sleeping on night trains, picnicking in random parks, and meeting people from all over the world at hostels. He transformed travel into a living ledger, taking field photos that grew into his "Second Sketchbook," realizing a combination of these captured moments and experiences was threading their way into his paintings. Having explored most of Western Europe, he decided to follow rumors he had heard throughout the trip about what the Velvet Revolution brought in its wake. Supposedly, Prague’s art scene, cafés, and clubs rivaled the Left Bank of Paris in the 1960s. He entered the former Soviet-locked land, experiencing its first years after the Iron Curtain fell, absorbing the history and bohemian lifestyle while reflecting on his solo trip, and drawing and painting while performing at a local music club in the old town to pay for rent and 25-cent pints of pivo at a nearby hospoda. Seeing the poster, a realization hit: the stage was magical, but temporary, and he recognized an urge for permanence, a visual ledger that would outlive the roar of the crowd. The Crossroads In early 1996, Pisani returned from Europe and moved to the Rocky Mountains west of Denver. While opening a 400-seat venue for a national rock band, he saw a poster announcing that Chuck Berry was scheduled to perform the following night on that very same stage. Seeing the poster, a realization hit: the stage was magical, but temporary, and he recognized an urge for permanence, a visual ledger that would outlive the roar of the crowd. He refused to abandon either, committing to the dual pursuit of both art and music, and his impossible pledge of How to do Everything in just one Lifetime. The Sinai Pivot In 1998, Pisani left Colorado chasing a second childhood dream: the Pyramids of Giza. In the wake of the infamous Luxor terrorist attack, he ignored U.S. Consular travel warnings and his mother's terrified pleas, reaching the Sinai via a detour through the West Bank border crossing into Israel. When asked why the West Bank crossing, he simply replied it seemed like the more historically interesting way to head back into Israel after sleeping in the silence of the Jordanian desert. Over Stella beers one night at a beach bar, Pisani told local acquaintances he was going to be hired at Club Red as the resident musician and professional Divemaster. They laughed, noting the town was already full of experienced Divemasters who would jump at the chance to work there, and he wasn't even a Rescue Diver yet. He ignored them, certain of the outcome. A concert he gave at a different bar helped him manifest exactly what he predicted when the owner of Club Red happened to be in the audience. He spent eight months there, guiding dives through the colorful reefs and trekking through Egypt all the way to the Sudanese border, collecting experiences and Field Photos in his Second Sketchbook. When asked why the West Bank crossing, he simply replied it seemed like the more historically interesting way to head back into Israel after sleeping in the silence of the Jordanian desert. Zurich and The Impossible Pledge In 1999, after leaving Egypt and a six-month stint through South East Asia, Pisani relocated to Zurich, Switzerland. Since then, his work has been featured in a solo exhibition at the United Nations in Geneva and has been on permanent display at the U.S. Consular offices in Zurich since 2006. He has appeared as a guest on the television talk show Aeschbacher, and has been featured and interviewed in the press, while continuing to perform occasional concerts across the country. Today, having explored countries, his practice is defined by a genre he calls Existential Landscapes. These are paintings on canvas, reclaimed wood, and paper that serve as visual ledgers of lived experience, tangible evidence of his impossible pledge of How to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime, a mission to capture the friction of life, and the road, and the haunting beauty of these experiences remembered in their aftermath. ======================================== TITLE: Art Exhibition List URL: https://josephpisani.com/about/art-exhibition-list/ ======================================== Exhibitions Solo, Group and Permanent Shows: 2005 to Present The work of Joseph Pisani, the visual archaeology of his Impossible Pledge, has entered the public record through multiple channels: media coverage, encyclopedic citation, and institutional cataloging Permanent Exhibitions & Public Collections Year Exhibition/Collection 2006 – Present All the Colors of My Memories from Home, Consulate offices of the United States of America in Zurich, Switzerland 2007 – 2009 Public Collections, Basler Versicherungen, Zurich, Switzerland 2006 – 2023 Permanent Collection, Kunstgalerie Bachlechner, Bergdietikon, Switzerland 2009 –2012 Eule-Art, Davos, Switzerland, Permanent Collection 2012 – 2017 Galleria Fogga, Helsinki, Finland, Permanent Collection Selected Solo & Two Person Exhibitions Year Exhibition 2025 Dust Clouds on the Horizon: A Quarter Century of Serendipitous Mischief, Vegalo Atelier, Zurich, Switzerland, 25 Year Retrospective (Solo) 2017 art braille kanthari, Kulturpark, Zurich, Switzerland, Charity Auction & Exhibition (Solo) Special Guests: Sotheby's Auctioneer, Stefan Puttaert, Director Sotheby's Zurich & moderator, media personality, Christine Maier. In cooperation the kanthari Foundation Switzerland, inspired by my three month trip through Southern India The Smoke that Thunders, Galerie Le Sud, Zurich, Switzerland (Solo) Under the patronage of the permanent mission of Zambia to the United Nations (UNO), Geneva Opening words: Mrs. Encyla Tina Chishiba Sinjela, Zambian Ambassador to the United Nations 2014 How to Do Everything in Just One Lifetime, Kunstgalerie Bachlechner, Bergdietikon, Zurich, Switzerland (Solo) 2013 Oneironauts (Explorers of the Dream World): A Collection of Paintings & Photographs Galleria Fogga, Helsinki, Finland (Solo) 2012 Pisani + Natuzzi, Natuzzi, Lausanne, Switzerland Chair Commissioned by Natuzzi with Exhibition of Chair and Paintings for Natuzzi's 10th Anniversary in Lausanne 2011 Chaos Within, Kunstgalerie Bachlechner, Bergdietikon, Switzerland (Solo) Under the patronage of the US Consulate in Zurich. Opening words: Ellen Frick-Delman, U.S. Consular Representative. 2009 Fire & Ice, Galerie Eule-Art, Davos, Switzerland (Two-Man Show) Secret Agent #488, Artseefeld, Zurich, Switzerland (Solo) 2008 Oh Sweet Serendipity, United Nations Geneva, Switzerland (Solo) Oh Sweet Serendipity, Kunstgalerie Bachlechner, East Tirol, Austria (Solo) Under the patronage of the Permanent Mission of Sri Lanka to the United Nations Office at Geneva. Oh Sweet Serendipity, Kunstgalerie Bachlechner, Weiningen, Switzerland (Solo) Opening words: Gabriela Blumer Kamp, Art Historian Under the patronage of the Permanent Mission of Sri Lanka to the United Nations Office at Geneva. 2006 That Lasting Tingle of Deja Vu, Galerie deArtis, Zurich, Switzerland (Solo) Under the patronage of the consulate of the USA in Zurich. Opening words: Ellen Bruckmann, U.S. Consular Representative. The Trials & Misdemeanors of Life on the Road, Galerie Steinegger, Rüdlingen, Switzerland (Solo) 2005 Acquaintances in Foreign Places, Gallery Nordstrasse, Zürich, Switzerland (Solo) Selected Group Exhibitions Year Exhibition 2026 Art for Sight, Charity Exhibition & Auction ART1a Gallery, Luzern In Association with Rotary Club Zurich Circle International and Rotary Club Kasr El Nile (Cairo). 2018/19 Farbe Blau, Kunstgalerie Bachlechner 2016 Grand Opening Exhibition, Galerie Maxime Groosman 2011 When The Morning Star Begins to Fade, Gallery Ferin, Helsinki, Finland 2010 In the Blink of an Eye, Sillian, Austria 2009 12th Swiss American Golf Championship, Golf & Country Club Hittnau, Switzerland Two paintings exhibited & sold at charity auction for SOS-Kinderdorf in Itahari, Nepal. Event Auctioneer: Geoffroy Ader, Sotheby's Geneva 2008 11th Swiss American Golf Championship, Golf & Country Club Hittnau, Switzerland Three paintings exhibited & sold at charity auction for SOS-Kinderdorf in Iloilo, Philippines. Event Auctioneer: Caroline Lang, Sotheby's Geneva Grand Re-Opening, Kunstgalerie Bachlechner, Bergdietikon, Switzerland Guest of Honor: Dr. h.c. Adolf Ogi, Alt Bundesrat Kunst Kilometer, International Theater Day Art Exhibition, Kärnten, Austria 2007 10th Swiss American Golf Championship, Golf & Country Club Hittnau, Switzerland Two paintings exhibited and sold at charity auction for SOS-Kinderdorf in Rio Hondo, Peru. Event Auctioneer: Caroline Lang, Sotheby's Geneva Kunst Verbindet, Kunstgalerie Bachlechner, East Tirol, Austria Kunstszene Zurich 2007, Toni Areal, Zurich, Switzerland Magic Cube — together with Marianne Liegl, Jan Janczak, Paul Cartier... Kunstgalerie Bachlechner, Weiningen, Switzerland 2006 Train Station, Kunstgalerie Bachlechner, Weiningen, Switzerland ======================================== TITLE: 6:52 AM Cairo Standard Time | My Self-prescribed Pilgrimage to Giza URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/652-am-cairo-standard-time/ ======================================== I arrived in Cairo at precisely 6:52 am, 13 May 1998. I think it was a Wednesday. After being expelled from my minivan cell, I was handed my backpack and guitar case that had been strapped to the roof. Suddenly, I was alone on the shoulder of a crowded city battling rush hour, in the heart of Lower Egypt. My head was spinning with dehydration and dizzy traffic. The reality of it all kept circling back to something a stranger said over beers twelve hours earlier, in a Red Sea beach bar in Sinai. "There’s a full moon over Dahab and you’re headed to Cairo.” The line hit me like song lyrics. “Seems like that's just asking for trouble," he proclaimed with the conviction of a southern preacher. There’s a full moon over Dahab and you’re headed to Cairo… Seems like that’s just asking for trouble. He continued, "I’ve heard too many stories. It can be a pretty crazy place. Nope, that’s not at all for me, especially when you consider the paradise we have right here at our feet.” He made a circle in the sand with his toe. Next to us, I noticed a street cat sitting in the shadows on a group of colorful floor pillows, staring at me. After a few Stella beers, his logic started to make a little too much sense. I had found my own strange slice of Shangri-La, sitting here by the Red Sea. Was this trip to the Pyramids really the right decision? I realized how sometimes, at the final hour before departure, the idea of backing out or all the things that could go wrong pop up in my head. All the irrational fears swirl. Then the thought of having another beer starts to seem like a much better idea than an overnight minivan trip through the desert. Dahab was talked about like it was a mystical place by many of the backpackers I had met throughout my trip through Cyprus, Jordan and Israel. It seemed like a tranquil spot to relax before tackling the rest of Egypt. Many I spoke to didn’t consider the Sinai at all like the rest of the country, the real Egypt, as they referred to everything on the other side of the Suez. Dahab was easy Egypt. I heard too many stories about how rough the road can get once you cross into mainland Africa, and despite my guidebook research, I didn’t really know what to expect. My friends thought I was crazy to even be anywhere near the region so soon after the terror attack in Luxor only six months earlier. Even the US travel warnings said I shouldn’t be here. My mom simply said I was insane and pleaded with me not to go. But I had the chance to make a childhood dream come true, and I was trying my best not to let anything get in the way of that. And after a few weeks of scuba diving in the Red Sea, and staring out into the beautiful Saudi coastline across the bay of Aqaba, I felt that I was ready to undertake my self-prescribed pilgrimage to Giza. There was that tricky Arabic word again, Inshallah. My personal definition was slowly evolving into, ‘anything could happen,’ a new, more severe rendition of Murphy’s law. The owner of my bungalow told me that I should be here at the office at 10 pm, the trip would cost 40 Egyptian pounds, and that I would arrive in Cairo around 6:00 in the morning, Inshallah. There was that tricky Arabic word again. It literally translated to mean “God willing, or that everything is in God’s hands.” My personal definition was slowly evolving into, “anything could happen,” a new, more severe rendition of Murphy’s law, or Murphy’s Egyptian uncle. Whatever the case, it still made me a bit wary whenever I heard it mentioned, which happened all too often here. Leaving Dahab behind | in a cloud of dust and diesel I abandoned my beer, said some quick goodbyes to my new acquaintances and set off for the bungalow office, arriving a few minutes late. That still allowed plenty of time to sit and wait. I was still getting accustomed to the concept of “the Egyptian minute”, which would last anywhere from five minutes to a few hours. Thirty-five minutes later, a red minivan pulled up in a cloud of dust and diesel. My guitar and backpack were taken from me and tied onto the roof as I was pointed towards the back seat. We circled around the small beach town’s side streets, while the driver searched for more potential riders for another forty-five minutes. The driver then stopped in a parking lot and shuffled us all into a different van, determined to pack us in as tightly as possible. He finally gave up with what amounted to only one slightly vacant spot next to lucky me. I was the only “Khawaga” (naïve tourist) on board. Maybe I could even get some sleep after all, I thought as I leaned further into the extra space, my dry lips cracking into a slight grin. Less than ten minutes later, my extra space fantasy was abruptly slashed when we picked up two more passengers on the outskirts of town. Now, wide awake, I was tightly wedged against the cool back-seat side window—at least I had that going for me. “Hello, I’m Mohammed, what country are you?”, said one of my newly acquired neighbors with a big smile leaning over the man he boarded with. I slowly began to stutter. “Ah, ah, Ahhhm...Ahhhhmerica”. Oh, you USA! Marhaba, welcome. Welcome in Egypt. He shook my hand graciously then turned and pointed to the guy seated directly next to me. This man next to you. His name Awad. He Iraq.” My sudden twinge was like a reflex. I fought back hard against my expression, trying for a neutral, but friendly look while our shoulders rubbed against each other as we bounced over a pot hole. “He had to leave Baghdad during the Gulf war. He don’t speak English. Now he lives in Cairo.” I exhaled deeply, and shifted my legs against the sweaty plastic seat. Mohammed then decided to betray our newly formed friendship, eagerly telling my new seat mate something in Arabic. Amreeki was the only word I could make out, and they said it way too many times for such a short discussion. I slowly turned to look at Awad, attempting my friendliest smile. He didn’t seem upset, but he didn’t smile or look overly pleased with the news either. It was hard to tell in the dim glow of the van’s back seat. At least, because of the language barrier, I didn’t have to make any small talk with him, I thought, as we sped down the bumpy road into the first security checkpoint of the night. A few soldiers cautiously approached while yelling something in Arabic. The driver turned the interior lights on as some of them peered into the windows while clutching their machine guns close. I slowly turned away from the window and glanced over at Awad, turning the thoughts in my head. Looking at both him and Mohammed, I start to say something but lost my words for a moment. “Ah, Mohammed, can you please tell Awad that I’m sorry,” I said, as the soldiers opened the gate. Awad just bowed his head and looked away. Looking at both him and Mohammed, I start to say something but lose the words for a moment. “Mohammed, please tell Awad that I’m sorry,” I said, as the soldiers opened gate. Awad just bowed his head and looked away. Into the desert night | looking for sleep in the silence Staring out the window, watching shadows of rugged hills stream by outside, finally put me to sleep. I was jerked awake by our sudden stop on the sand-packed shoulder. The driver jumped out of his seat and walked off into the desert, almost disappearing in the darkness. On a whim, I quickly followed the lead of Mohammed, Awad, and the rest of the passengers. There on the side of the road, in the middle of the desert night, we all shared a communal sand toilet in peaceful harmony. Without even a single word exchanged, everyone quickly shuffled back into the van. The sliding side door slammed closed and the driver hopped back in. He took off as quickly as he had stopped, without even a quick glance into the rearview mirror to see if we were all still there. Sometime in the depths of the night, a loud tire screech exploded through me as we skidded into a sharp turn sliding off the road. We came to a hard stop on the sand-covered shoulder as a stream of desert dust floated past the headlights revealing shadowed hills and mountains in the distance. I turned to look at Awad. He seemed unfazed, but still not particularly friendly. The driver took a quick slug from his plastic water bottle and let out a brief sigh. He then restarted the ignition, and pulled back onto the road quickly resuming his Indy-level pace. “Inshallah, you’ll arrive in Cairo around six in the morning,” the Bungalow owner’s words from earlier that evening echoed through my head. After clearing our third army checkpoint, we crossed under the Suez Canal through the Ahmed Hamdi Tunnel as the faint morning light slowly crept above the horizon behind us. I drifted back into a daze, while memories of history lessons, textbook photos of Nasser, and the 1956 crisis, soothed my anxiety. Cairo at dawn | dropped off into the Unknown I must have fallen back asleep, only to be jostled awake in time to catch the desert landscape disappearing into the disarray of Cairo at dawn. The minivan stopped, and Mohammed translated for the driver. “America, this your stop. Your hotel is over there,” as he pointed down the street. The driver passed me my things and quickly pulled away. I pulled out my Lonely Planet that I had concealed with a brown book cover, quickly realizing the irony, as I stood there next to my backpack and guitar case in jean shorts and a plain white t-shirt. There was no getting around the fact that I was the spitting image of what a Khawaga probably looks like. Laughing at myself, I then realized that the taxi hadn’t dropped me off anywhere close to my hotel. I had no clue where I was. Hopefully, I was at least somewhere in Cairo. Laughing at myself, I then realized that the taxi hadn’t dropped me off anywhere close to my hotel. I had no clue where I was. Hopefully, I was at least somewhere in Cairo. Stranded and delirious, I felt the traffic roar past down the wide dusty streets. Shaking off my dizzy head, I started looking for a cab amongst the horn-blowing ensemble. Swirls of cars moved endlessly past, whizzing too close to the curb as I clutched my guitar case closer just in time to avoid a passing bus. I quickly learned that crossing a road was more of an adventurous art form here than anywhere I had previously been. Ducking and dodging my way, I wove through the cars and trucks to the relative safety of the nearest sidewalk. I again followed the lead of locals who were waving to the passing taxis, and got one to stop for me. He rolled down his window and I handed him a piece of paper, happy that I had the forethought to ask the bungalow owner in Dahab to write out my hotel details in Arabic for me. He just nodded with a deep-voiced “La-ah” (no) and pushed the paper back at me. After three more attempts, I got lucky and was finally on my way, now part of the hustle and chaotic traffic that I was just dodging only minutes before. We quickly made our way in no particular lane as the driver did his best to disobey almost all lights and traffic signs. He then, without saying anything, pointed to a building, and nodded his head towards it, as if to say, we’re here. Following the advice I had learned, to avoid haggling and arguments about price, I silently got out of the cab, collected my luggage, and handed him three Egyptian pounds, walking away before giving him a chance to complain. Just like a pro, I thought to myself as I headed towards the building he had pointed to. He sped off and I realized once again that this wasn’t the correct address. Pisani, trying harder to blend by wearing a traditional Egyptian galabeya and headscarf, on horseback after finally making it to the pyramids. Asking for Directions | in the Wrong Side of Town Giving up on a taxi, I started hiking Cairo’s sidewalks with my heavy load, trying to follow my small guidebook map and decipher the Arabic street signs. I couldn’t even figure out where I was on the map as I questioned my decision to go it alone here. I decided to ask one of the soldiers armed with black rifles and white uniforms. There were two posted on almost every main corner, so I figured asking was worth a shot. My few words of Arabic didn’t help much, and the only thing I could determine was that they definitely didn’t speak any English. As I turned to walk away, a man approached. “Do you need some help with directions?” he asked in English. I was so relieved. “Aiwa, Shukran! Yes, please” I said, showing him the crumbled up address. “Ah, yes, it’s close by, follow me. I can show you. It’s on my way.” Feeling safe standing next to two soldiers, I agreed to his generous help. As we walked, he made some friendly chat, and asked me where I was from. After having learned my lesson with Awad the night before, I told him Barcelona, Spain. It seemed logical considering my Spanish was decent. Just in case, I rattled off a few practiced phrases in my head, yo vivo en Barcelona, hoping he wouldn't test me on any Spanish fútbol. We made our way around the corner, and he steered me right into his perfume shop, which he claimed just happened to be on the way. Feeling somewhat obligated, and still needing him to help me find my hotel, I agreed to let him show me his shop. I turned down his offer of a cup of chai numerous times, both fearing the worst and not wanting to be even more indebted to this stranger. He finally gave up about the drink and changed his plan of attack, now offering me what he claimed to be a “totally free gift”. It was a small stick of incense, which I tried my best to decline. After telling him, no thank you and that I couldn’t accept it at least ten times, he forcefully stuffed it into the side pocket of my day-pack. „This is for you my friend, Marhaba. Welcome in Egypt,“ he said, patting me on my shoulder like a long lost, dear friend. After showing me his collection of perfume and ornate perfume bottles, he then began pouring on the pressure. ”Here, this one. Very great one, I give you for only five-hundred pounds.” “Oh, no thank you. It smells very nice, but I don’t use perfume,” I deflected. I don’t want any perfume! “Oh, then this one, great present for your mother,” he continued. ”My mom is allergic to perfume.” ”How about this, for your wife?” “I’m not married.” What about your girlfriend? Don’t you have a sister? What about for your aunt? How about your cousin? For each new potential relative, he decreased the price, and each time I made excuses and protested about how little money I had. I was rattled having had little sleep and spending the morning discovering random side streets of Cairo. I even started to consider that it might be easier to just give him a bit of money so he would finally show me the way to my hotel. My sleepy, New York City instincts finally started to wake. Why am I continuing to be somewhat polite with this scammer? He had taken advantage of me being lost in a foreign place. He lied to me to get me into his shop. He tried to make me feel bad about not accepting his hospitality and staying for tea, or coffee, or a coke, or water… ”I don’t want any perfume!” I always kept my wallet close to empty and hid my money in a few different spots, like a hidden money belt to avoid getting robbed. I figured, if I showed him how little money I actually had, he might finally just give up. Pulling out my wallet, I revealed a solitary ten Egyptian pound note sitting in my wallet. “You see, this ten pounds is all the money I have!” Without even a blink, he snatched the bill right from my wallet like a tree frog tongue on a fly. I ripped the bill back out of his hands with equal stealthy speed, sticking it, along with my wallet back, into my front shorts pocket with a single fluid motion. I stuck out my chest and pushed past him, making my way to the door. As I got towards the door he maneuvered himself in front of me blocking the exit, and then reached his hand into my daypack, grabbing my free welcome gift with a furious snarl. Without pausing for even a second to admire the level of crazy that this scene had unfolded into, I stuck my hand out like a running back, pushing him hard with my palm against his chest, clearing the way as I barreled past him, landing back out onto the bright, busy street. Free at last but still lost. I again studied my small guidebook map, determined to finally make it to the hotel. I can do this. I will find this hotel, I thought to myself. Inshallah. I pulled myself together, despite the feeling that I was incredibly alone. “Home” seemed like a distant recollection, a faded memory. After an hour of wandering the streets, I finally got my bearings on the map and found the right street. As I stood in front of the entrance to the hotel, a man approached me. ”Hello my friend. Please come have a look in my Papyrus shop. What country are you from?” he beamed. Ana mish Khawaga. Ma Salama, I sneered. (I’m not a naïve tourist. Goodbye) pushing the hotel door open and heading up the stairs to the lobby. ======================================== TITLE: Just Two Weeks to See Japan | Tokyo and Beyond URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/just-two-weeks-in-japan/ ======================================== Tokyo Haneda Airport was rather simple, but a bit unnerving with the detail of their face recognition software that had my face outlined with a green rectangle, flagging me as “allowed to proceed” through customs. The guy walking next to me with the red rectangle framing his head on the screen wasn't as lucky and he was directed back to the immigration lines. The taxi was a gleaming black Toyota with automatic sliding doors. Inside, a rather large screen was mounted on the back of the front passenger’s seat that cycled through local advertisements like a brand of bottled green tea. The syncopated colors were a synesthetic, like a staccato of sapphire and crimson potentially dangerous to photosensitive riders. While checking into a hotel I was told that there weren’t any nearby restaurants open at that time. There was at least a nearby FamilyMart with a giant array of sandwiches and instant noodles that they could warm up for you at the counter. The egg salad sandwich was surprisingly good, and I devoured it while washing it down with a Kirin beer and quickly slept after the 16-and-a-half-hour trip from Zurich. The room was small and there was little space for my suitcase, or my long legs on the bed. I banged my arms on the ceiling of the bathroom while trying to dry my hair, but at least the place was clean and good enough for a short stay until I figured out where I was next headed. Before 9 the next morning, I was already out exploring the spotless streets and oddities while looking for my first taste of Japanese eats in the throngs of people and restaurants in nearby Tokyo Station. I was told that the good restaurants would likely have lines to get in. So, despite my hunger, I passed by the relatively empty places and queued up at what looked like a popular ramen spot. As I got closer to the entrance, a man came out and directed me to place my order at the "menu machine", which was cash only. Lucky to have some yen, I ordered ramen with roasted pork and a hard-boiled egg, before finally being shown to my seat. Ramen and a cold beer felt strangely delicious at 10 am. A metro ride to one of the must-see tourist locations brought me to the packed district of Shibuya. The controlled chaos of Shibuya Crossing where hundreds of people zig-zag past each other without friction, woke my rusty New York City senses. Everyone moved in flows that felt random, yet still impossibly organized at the same time. Standing at the edge of the crossing, right outside of the train station, I watched the repeating pattern of crowd surge, swarms of hundreds playing their parts in choreography that only a mega city could muster. What struck me most was the order within it all and how everything flowed so effortlessly. I had read that the Starbucks was a great place to photograph the crossing from above, but resisted, staying true to my boycott of that place decades ago. The controlled chaos of Shibuya Crossing where hundreds of people zig-zag past each other without friction, woke my rusty New York City senses. Tokyo is a study in contradictions that somehow resolve into harmony. Ancient shrines neighbor neon-lit skyscrapers. Centuries-old traditions operate alongside technology that feels like something I read in a Ray Kurzweil article. I stood in a subway station watching a kimono-clad woman consult her smartphone. Then I used a toilet where the seat opened automatically when I entered the stall, complete with water cleaning jets and butt-drying options, while it played classical music to mask the sound. Afterward, I found myself near a shrine so old that its wooden gates were worn smooth by generations of hands passing by. In Togo Shrine, I walked through a quiet pocket of trees, gravel paths, and hushed prayers, only to emerge moments later into Harajuku’s pop-culture frenzy. Same city, same overcast afternoon, yet different centuries, or different dimensions entirely. The contrast, despite its intensity, wasn’t unnerving. To the contrary, it felt complete. Tokyo's natives are their own kind of landscape. I had heard of the politeness and reserve and now there I was on the metro in a still quiet that was almost eerie. Rows of people in overflowing carriages without a single phone conversation heard. Hushed voices and packed people swaying together in unison to the train's jostling rhythm like participants in a silent rave. Standing there, I felt really tall, seeing over the masses and all the way through to the end of the carriage. At 190 cm, I had to dodge the hanging straps and hand bars that hung from the ceiling. I found it best to try to wedge myself into a corner until my stop drew near. All the Sounds | Around Town I've always noticed how sound imprints itself on memory. Tokyo did so at many turns. The men pushing supply carts in Tokyo Station had a digital tune playing from their cart, alerting people to clear a path. On the metro platforms, elaborate melodies play when trains are set to depart. They’re not the typical metro tones—these are somewhat wild music clips that sound as if they were performed on a portable Casio keyboard. While each line has its own feel, many individual stations have their own specific jingle, meant to make each stop feel like a destination rather than just another place to pass through. Standing on the platform in Shibuya, hearing that music swell just as the doors slid open, I felt like I was being welcomed into a utopian disco that I wanted to enter despite its bad taste in music. And then there was the song I still can’t escape. Eager to try some Japanese whisky, I was told any of the Don Quijote stores had a giant selection at greatly discounted prices. My first "Donki" experience was in Shibuya. Even though I was warned about the chaos that awaited me there, I was still somehow unprepared. The store was impossible to miss, adorned with a giant penguin perched on a neon-sign with garish yellow-and-black facades screaming like a carnival entrance. Stepping inside, I found a temple of crowded disarray. The store was a disheveled labyrinth fitted with rainbow-lined escalators. It felt like I crossed through a vortex, leaving the modern efficiency and technology of Japan behind as I was transported into an indoor circus bazaar. Merchandise crammed rafter-high, with arrows on the aisle floors pointing to unknown destinations, and no apparent organization as to how things were arranged, at least at first glance. Snacks and odd flavored candies, TAG Heuer and Seikos in fingerprint-covered cases, anime figurines, cosplay costumes and adult entertainment, sections of suitcases, and tons of cosmetics and hygiene products. Some items had laminated, A4-sized price tags covered in exclamation points and enthusiastic Japanese describing the features. Slightly dizzy, I pushed onward as the store's own personal theme song spun in my head. "Don Don Don Don Que, Don Qui-jote…" I later learned it was called the "Miracle Shopping" song and was recorded by an actual Don Quijote employee back in 1999. It's annoyingly catchy—so much so that I caught myself wanting to sing along while it echoed through the aisles. Why name the store after the famous Spanish novel, I wondered to myself. Turns out, the store's founder, Takao Yasuda, wanted a name that evoked the idea of a store that takes on "quixotic" challenges by offering an impossibly wide and unconventional range of products. I’d say he succeeded. I only realized my mistake when they sealed the bottle in a plastic, duty-free bag, and explained that I wasn't allowed to open it until after I had left Japan. "I can’t promise I’ll be able to do that," I said, as I walked away from the counter. I finally found the whisky and was surprised by prices that were almost half as much as they were back in Switzerland. When the cashier asked for my passport, I just assumed it was because of the booze. I only realized my mistake when they sealed the bottle in a plastic, duty-free bag, and explained that I wasn't allowed to open it until after I had left Japan. "I can’t promise I’ll be able to do that," I said, as I walked away from the counter. Between the Wasabi KitKats and soy sauce caramels I found the way out and was back into the crowded streets, vortex crossed again as I descended the staircase, wishing I had recorded the song for a laugh back home. Bullet Trains | and the Places Between The Tokaido Shinkansen train from Tokyo to Kyoto takes about two hours and covers 515 kilometers! Buying the correct ticket from the machine with space for luggage wasn't as easy. The ticket machine at Tokyo Station assumed I read and spoke Japanese until I finally found the English button. Even then, I was offered too many times and options, many of which I was unsure of the reason for. Then there were stipulations on the size of my suitcase and where I could reserve a seat with a large suitcase. How large was too large? I persevered, picking up some clues from the English speakers next to me who seemed to live in town. Credit card scanned and ticket printed, I now had to find out where I needed to board. As I finally walked away from the machine, the woman behind me said something in Japanese in a rather annoyed tone. I chose to believe she congratulated me on my success. "Arigatou gozaimasu," I replied with a smile. The ticket listed the section number where I needed to board the correct carriage. Similar to European trains when you reserved seats, but here, there were actually queues at each section to facilitate boarding and reduce the amount of time a train needed at each station. I secured a few interesting looking sandwiches and waited in the line at my section. The Nozomi Shinkansen slid in almost silently, with its long aerodynamic nose stretched far in front, ready to cut through the Japanese countryside at 300 kilometers per hour. Inside it was quiet and cool. The seats were large and we were moving within a minute of boarding. People ate bento boxes and read books or played with their phones. The time passed quickly as I viewed the scenery whizzing by at a blurry speed. An older man across the aisle pointed at my bag with a grimace and said something angrily in Japanese... As I neared Kyoto, I thought it best to get my heavy suitcase down off the storage shelf and put it closer to the door to speed my departure. The train had left so quickly upon arrival so I wanted to be sure I had enough time to get off. When I rolled my suitcase into an empty, seemingly strategic position, an older man across the aisle pointed at my bag with a grimace and said something angrily in Japanese. I wasn't sure what I had done wrong, but my bag's new location certainly upset him. I moved it back to my seat two rows up and had it next to me until I departed the train a few minutes later. Welcome to Kyoto | The Ancient Imperial Capital Kyoto was difficult to describe. It was a city of contrasts balancing modern and traditional and touristy all at the same time. After walking the town snapping photos, I found a small restaurant. Like many of the buildings in the area the façade was all wood and there was little to recognize it as a restaurant. The sliding door was lit and I entered, removing my shoes and placing them in the shoe stands at the entrance. The owner, a woman maybe in her seventies, welcomed me. She smiled wide and escorted me past traditional, low-set tables, filled with people sitting around them on mats on the floor. I was given a spot at the counter, overlooking the open kitchen area. She didn't speak English and the menu was only in Japanese. The few phrases I had learned didn't go far, but we somehow communicated. She pointed at ingredients behind the counter while I nodded. We both smiled and laughed. I ended up with spicy noodles and breaded pork, both deliciousy filled with unique flavors I couldn't place. She checked on me often, giving me a look that asked ‘everything ok?’ while speaking words I couldn’t understand. I smiled and gave a thumbs up. At the end of the meal, she brought me my jacket. She then stood next to me, drawing the line on my arm where her head came to, obviously joking about how much taller I was than her. We both laughed as I bent down so she could help me with my jacket. Then she suddenly gave me signal to wait, pushing both of her open palms towards the floor in an up and down motion, and disappeared into the back for what seemed like a long time. Finally returning with two small origami figures she handed them to me with a small pack of coconut cookies. "For you," she said. So surprised and grateful, I thanked her many times and motioned to a waitress if she could take a photo of us with my phone. At that moment, I thought to myself that I would visit her next time I come back to Japan. By then, I had already decided that I needed to come back to Japan to explore a lot more, whenever that might be. Before Dawn | at the Hōkan-ji Temple The next morning, I woke long before sunrise, determined to beat the crowds and grab some photos without all the other tourists in the way. Walking the deserted streets in the cold morning air was strangely invigorating. I felt as if I was exploring something completely old, that no one had otherwise seen in hundreds of years. It's moments like this that I sometimes stop and think about how far away from "home" I am. Switzerland has officially been my home even longer than my birthplace of New York ever was. It's an odd, almost unsettling feeling that I've become accustomed to, and now serves as a reminder of how far I have come in my journey over the years. Snapping back to the present, I made a detour down some narrow, lantern-lit streets, along the Kamo River, before making my way back around towards a pagoda, up a path lined with shops that frames the lower side of the Hokan-ji Temple. The tower rises 46 meters above the Higashiyama district, five stories of wooden history. Legend says it was founded by Prince Shotoku in 589, which would make it almost 1,500 years old, though the current structure dates to a 1440 reconstruction, having survived fires, wars and earthquakes. Standing beneath it in the pre-dawn chill, I snapped a few shots before the sun came up. It seemed to fit so perfectly there on this street that wound its way around it. Kyoto best reveals itself while walking. The path from Yasaka Pagoda to Kiyomizu-dera threads through preserved streets where traditional townhouses called machiya have been reborn as cafes, craft shops, and guesthouses. I stopped at one for tea and an amazing, personal-sized cheesecake. It was so good I had a second and enjoyed the spotless and zen-like interior of the small shop before heading back out to discover more hidden treasures. Rather than attempting to see specific places, I wandered around and instead let the temples and architecture find me. Back on the Bustling | Tokyo Streets Back in Tokyo, I decided to explore a temple in a forest on the outskirts of Shibuya. Meiji Jingu does not merely sit in the middle of Tokyo, it breathes against it, with deep, evergreen exhales that muffle and calm Shibuya’s frantic pulse. Walking beneath the towering torii gates, I wandered through cool air and staccato shadows coming to a wall of high-piled sake barrels, wrapped in straw and painted with the bold, calligraphic flourishes of a hundred different breweries. They stand in proud, colorful rows, meant as an offering to the spirits, entirely removed from the high-definition screens and steel towers just a few hundred meters away. Passing through the Higashi-shinmon, the East Shrine Gate, I coincidentally stumbled upon a wedding procession. A smiling bride in her shiromuku, a vision of pure, stark white beneath a heavy hood, and the groom in black silk, both shielded by the vibrant red umbrella, meant to keep away bad spirits. Led by Shinto priests and shrine maidens in scarlet and white, this living line of cultural history slowly cut through the courtyard as I snapped some quick frames as they flowed by. That evening, I was determined to find the place I had passed in a taxi at the start of my trip. I managed to narrow down the potential path that the taxi might have taken on the way to the hotel. I was sure it would make an interesting photo and I searched as night settled in. Around a bend there it was, a brightly lit restaurant tucked away in a highway underpass that just seemed to call to me. I must have spent at least twenty minutes trying out different angles and shots before my growling stomach finally peeled me away in search of some ramen—something I wanted to experience one final time before flying off to Sydney the next morning. While walking the streets a train melody was playing somewhere in the distance. I’ll be back, Japan, I promise. ======================================== TITLE: Reclaimed Wood into Works of Art | My contribution to a new book… URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/reclaimed-wood-into-works-of-art/ ======================================== I was recently asked to write a chapter in the Art book, "De la poule à l‘œuf - de la plume aux polymers” about how I sometimes use reclaimed wood in my artwork. Here is the English version of my contribution. I’ve always had a fascination with wood—its patterned, wavy grain silently waiting to be exposed under sandpaper hands and a colorful splash of stain... This hidden beauty ignites an inspirational flame in me, like a gemologist chipping away at the outer shell, revealing a hidden treasure within. But, before I get too far ahead on this enchantment of mine, some of the backstory is necessary, especially because I never actually sought out to incorporate reclaimed wood—wasted biomass—into my art. It was just something that slowly evolved, over the course of many decades, like a shard of broken glass turning smooth while sitting in sea sand. Thinking back, it feels like a faded memory from another lifetime. After a year-long trip collecting artistic inspiration though Europe, I returned to the USA and moved from my hometown of New York to the Colorado Rockies. I rented a cabin in a rural alpine town, about an hour west of Denver. When I wasn’t busy painting, I spent my time writing songs and performing music throughout Colorado. As it turns out, these piles were the remnants of my newly-built cabin, along with the trees that needed to be cleared for the foundation—he just hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it up yet. Rustic log furniture was all the rage at the time. Since my new home was quite bare, I started exploring different designs and prices in some furniture stores around Denver. Incidentally, around the same time, from my kitchen window view, I noticed piles of abandoned wood, and many downed trees on the land behind the cabin. When I asked him about it, the landlord was thrilled for me to put the discarded lumber to use. As it turns out, these piles were the remnants of my newly-built cabin, along with the trees that needed to be cleared for the foundation—he just hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it up yet. So, instead of buying all new furniture, I began making my own from the reclaimed wood in the yard. After sorting through the piles, I arranged them into groups for each of the different pieces I envisioned, sketching out minimal designs on paper. My first creation was a basic coffee table. I then moved on to log chairs, collecting any tools along the way as I needed them. After many months of dedication, I had constructed all the furniture in the cabin, including the bed frame with headboard, a large book case, and even my desk. Seeing the rough piles of discarded wood gradually transform into trendy furniture reinforced my growing allure with wood, transforming into a glowing tinder in my creative mind… Fast-forward, a decade later, to my life as a full-time artist in Zurich, Switzerland. As fate would have it, the building my art studio was in was also shared with a company that often discarded wood pallets, and various pieces of scrap wood in neat piles, behind the building. Frequently, while throwing away my own rubbish, I’d pause, silently reflecting on the wasted wood that sat there, waiting to be picked up with the weekly trash collection. Sifting though some of the pieces, I frequently remembered back to my homemade furniture, years earlier in Colorado. With these thoughts, I started to dream up ways I might tap into this abundant wooden stockpile, rescuing it from a garbage incinerator. The creative tinder reignited, sparked by my growing interest in the artist, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and how he used to construct hand made stretchers for his canvases—something that, for me, definitively added dimension to his already impressive paintings. I started to collect pallets, sorting out the ones made of hard wood, and painstakingly breaking them down into single wood boards. The physical process was one I had greatly underestimated. The plethora of rusted nails seemed to stick like glue into the worn and splintered wood, often proving to be stronger than me and my steel crowbar. One by one, each tug and pull on the nails released loud shrieks as I freed them from their wooden sheaths. Drenched in sweaty sawdust, and panting heavily from underneath my dust mask, I pushed on. After many days of work, I finally turned about ten palettes into a ragged collection of single boards. I then started fastening these single boards together into larger 80 × 120 cm panels, and sanded them down into a smooth canvas-like surface. In additional to these panels, I was left with a pile of wooden cubes, strewn across the floor in a dusty pile. The wooden cubes were the square pieces of wood that separated the top and bottom sections of the pallets, so the fork lift could fit its forks into. For some reason, I was entranced by these cubes, continually staring at them while assembling the boards. I often thought about disposing them into the trash bins they once sat next to, but couldn’t bring myself to do so—there was just something about them that intrigued me. After I had finally transformed the wooden boards into a few paintings, I kept revisiting these leftover wooden cubes. The thought of using them was now much more inspiring than the thought of wrestling with “new” pallets to make more boards. I had already dusted them off, and arranged them on my work bench, noticing the interesting patterns, somewhat obscured in the worn wood grain. Once I had them arranged on the table, they started to remind me of a mosaic. I ran with that idea, sanding them down, and painting them, and then constructing them into a three-dimensional painted sculpture. The title of this first piece came to me almost instantly, “Misplaced Pieces of my Soul”. It felt perfect, considering the long road and fragmented stories I experienced between Colorado and my dusty, studio floor in Zurich. From there, I started collecting more abandoned wood whenever stumbling on an interesting piece. I’ve found new life in old wine crates, and small wooden treasures strewn among trash, considering its juxtaposition into my art whenever it seems to fit into my visual design puzzle. Nowadays, I have boxes of various pieces of wood and scraps of canvas that I often sift through during my creative process. The pieces I create out of them have slowly evolved into many different types of colorful creations—sometimes sculpture-like pieces consisting only of wood, or worked together into a more traditional canvas. The thought of giving new life to the wood in turn sparks my creativity and has shaped my artistic method in ways I’ve never expected. ======================================== TITLE: Ellen von Unwerth | an Iconic Photographer in Front of my Lens URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/inconic-photographer-ellen-von-unwerth/ ======================================== Sure, I’ve shot portraits of many interesting and well-known faces over the past decade, however, when I was commissioned, by the international Opera gallery to photograph the world-famous photographer, Ellen von Unwerth, I have to admit that I was a bit nervous. Explore Joseph Pisani's Existential Landscape Paintings There was barely any time to spare between the two interviews and the exhibition opening, and everything started to feel incredibly surreal. I mean, normally, when you’re photographing someone, they don’t have much insight into what you’re doing from a technical standpoint. Of course, they can sense a few things, such as how at ease you make them feel, or by your professionalism, but they can’t really critique your methods and technical style. In this case, I was dealing with a pro photographer made famous for appearing on both sides of the lens—as a former super model and an iconic, star photographer! I was dealing with a pro photographer made famous for appearing on both sides of the lens—as a former super model and an iconic, star photographer! Despite my twitchy nerves, I loved every single minute of it! However, that’s not to say it was at all an easy task. There were a number of points that added to the intricacies of this shoot. I was originally told that I would be able to photograph Ellen during the 45 minute interview with annabelle magazine, and then, also have some time for some portraits afterwards. I was quite happy with this plan because it gave me a lot of time to capture her “naturally”—without any posing or potentially static positions, and without any real time pressure often associated with a shoot like this. Additionally problematic were the gallery spotlights and ceiling (can) lights, as well as the terrible reflections from the Plexiglas frames of Ellen’s exhibited work. The gallery chose to go with Plexiglas as opposed to anti-reflective, museum glass due to the large scale of the work, and the immense weight the museum glass would add to each piece. No doubt, the shipping weight and potential for breakage and damage to the pieces during their journey from one of the many Opera gallery locations around the world made this decision easy for the gallery—however, this ended up making my job significantly more difficult. The Opera Gallery, located on the famous Bahnhofstrasse in Zurich, Switzerland is lined on two sides by windows. Every angle I explored was riddled with reflections. My first thought was to cut all interior lighting (spots and ceiling lights). This helped a bit by eliminating the harsh glare from the gallery spots, and any potential under-eye shadows for the ceiling (recessed can) lights, but did nothing to combat the window glare, or my own reflection in the large frames. And, my soft-boxed, studio lights, despite any possible position, were not at all usable due to the intense mirror like reflections they created. The only thing I was left with was the natural window light, adjacent (camera left) of the sleek couch and coffee table setup that the gallery asked that I use in the shoot. As usual, I showed up on location an hour early, to survey the set and decide how I would best capture the needed photos. This actually only made me more nervous after I tried a number of potential set-ups with nothing working to an acceptable level. When Ellen arrived, we said a quick hello, and she immediately mentioned that she did not want to have any photos taken during the interview because it might make her nervous and unable to completely concentrate on the interview… After the first interview was finished, I had to move quickly. Since I was dealing with a professional photographer, I thought it appropriate to mention the harsh glare on the frames and that the only available light was from the large window, directly left from the frame. Ellen’s response was that she really didn’t like side light. OK, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned anything, but then again, she did have final cut, along with the gallery about which photos would be published. So, I had her angle herself toward the journalist (and the key window light), while I had the journalist’s face in shadow. Oh, you have some really great ones here, she said. This worked for one or two potential shots, but I quickly realized that my only real option was to stand in one of the large window bays and have Ellen and the journalist, and the gallery director in front of me, at an angle, with some of Ellen’s work in the background. I quickly fell into a rhythm and just as the next journalist arrived, had the feeling that I got the needed shots. Having Ellen ask to see my camera screen, to survey the results was definitely a strange feeling as I handed my camera over. “Oh, you have some really great ones here...” she exclaimed, and the rest is history. ======================================== TITLE: Memories of Paradise Island | Abstract Landscape Painting Series URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/memories-of-paradise-island/ ======================================== Memories of Paradise Island is an Existential Landscape painting series inspired by a photograph I took while backpacking though the Philippines, quite a few years ago. I just loved the colors and mystical feel of the photo, as well as the wonderful memories it inspires. I took the photo while exploring the amazing deserted islands around El Nido, northern Palawan. Palawan is an island that sits between the South China Sea and the Sulu Sea. Also known as the last frontier, since much of the island is quite remote and during the time of my visit about 9 years ago, all electricity, if there was any available, was provided by generators. This gave the place an exotic, back to the roots feel--a perfect fit for a tropical island paradise. After arriving in Puerto Princessa, the capital city, I caught an uncomfortable bus north, to El Nido. El Nido, once you escaped the more inhabited spots, was a true paradise. It was also the gateway to the many enchanted, deserted islands scattered around the Bacuit Archipelago, where jagged limestone cliffs emerge from crystal turquoise waters. To ensure my boat ride back, I didn’t pay the captain until he picked me up later that afternoon… I hired a boat captain who took me on his worn, wooden boat to visit some of the small islands. Riding so close to the water on a boat older than I was, definitely added to the adventure, and I clutched my waterproof camera bag tightly as splashes and mist hit me from all sides. The boat captain arranged to to drop me off on one of deserted islands for the afternoon. I spent the day alone there, exploring the small ring of tan beach and black rock, avoiding giant monitor lizards, while sipping on fifteen-year-old rum from the bottle. It was a strange feeling, willingly committing myself as a castaway on an empty island. At times, the thoughts of remaining stranded there played on my mind, in between the onset of sunburn, and a slight buzz from the rum. To ensure my boat ride back, I didn’t pay the captain until he picked me up later that afternoon… Memories of Paradise Island, the original photo that inspired it all. Of the roughly 20 photos I had taken that day, one in particular seemed to perfectly sum up that feeling of sitting on that Island that day. When I gaze into this abstract picture, the smells of surf and salt, and the sounds of the trees rustling in the breeze float back, evoking a feeling of isolation and adventure, so far away from anything I knew... More paintings can be viewed in my Existential Landscape Paintings. ======================================== TITLE: The Backstory | Here’s to the Times We Took Chances URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/backstory-heres-to-the-times-we-took-chances/ ======================================== "The Backstory" is an insider's look at the actual events and inspiration that shaped a particular painting or series. Want to learn more about a particular piece and how it got that exotic title? Then, "Backstory" is your own personal seat inside Pisani's art studio. What was the idea behind "Here's to the Times We Took Chances"? In the mid nineties, fresh out of college, I had the opportunity to join in on a cross-country adventure. Within two days of getting a phone call from Jay, a long-time friend, I was on a south-bound plane. We met in Atlanta, Georgia, chipped in for a rental car, and headed out, across the country. We were having the time of our lives, earning money by designing and producing t-shirts for festivals and concerts throughout the USA. For me, it was all part of my plan, to see the states while raising enough money to pay for my upcoming trip to Europe. I had already convinced myself that the Europe trip was an absolute certainty—I just didn’t have the money to pay for it, yet. I had already convinced myself that the Europe trip was an absolute certainty—I just didn’t have the money to pay for it, yet. We made it all the way to San Francisco, and were on the outskirts of Las Vegas, heading back, when we got cut-off by a rusty old sedan on a modern, four-lane highway. Jay was driving at the time, and hit a patch of sand on the side of the road. Loosing control, we flew down the embankment, flipping the car into a wake of dust, debris, and hot Nevada desert. Turns out, the rental car wasn’t actually allowed to leave the state of Georgia… After the police and ambulance came and went, we finally made it to the Vegas strip, minus one Toyota Camry. Almost getting sucked out the back window during the crash, the aftermath of the car rental contract, and how we actually got to Vegas without a car is an adventure in itself, probably better left for another time. The main point, however, was that I didn’t allow this horrendous accident to keep me from my dream of going to Europe. Instead of giving up, I pushed on, certain my luck would change. It finally did at a blackjack table in Biloxi, Mississippi, and then again on a River Boat Casino in New Orleans, Louisiana, where I miraculously won most of the money I needed for my trip... For me, the moral of this story, and the painting it went on to inspire is to remember back to those youthful days, when we were filled with ambition, and destined to conquer the world, one dream at a time. Here’s to those times, when we didn’t let the word impossible even cross our mind. “Here’s to the Times We Took Chances”. View more Pisani paintings here, in the gallery. ======================================== TITLE: The Backstories behind | the “Art Braille Kanthari” Photos URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/back-stories-art-braille-kanthari-charity-auction/ ======================================== The «art braille kanthari» charity auction was an art exhibition and charity auction, with special guest and auctioneer Stefan Puttaert, the director of Sotheby’s Zurich, and media personality Christine Maier. the «art braille kanthari» project was based on Joseph Pisani’s three month kanthari trip through Southern India. The exhibition includes photographs, abstract paintings, video clips from the trip, and braille prose. Pisani's visit to India marks the 71st country he's visited. In Southern India, Pisani visited the kanthari campus, met the kanthari founders and the 24 students from this year’s seven month program, then visited seven projects founded by kanthari alumni throughout southern India. «art braille kanthari» documents the tireless work of the kanthari alumni, their social projects, and the people they have helped. The backstories of each of the auction lots, as well as a description of the 7 projects visited are listed below. Auction Lots “Let the Kids Play” KR Raja is unstoppable, like Superman adorned with crutches instead of a red cape. Maneuvering the difficult dirt paths didn’t slow him, despite being disabled by polio. We visited countless families that lit up in his presence. His project, GNE, helps these children pay for school, participate in sports, and spend a bit more time on being a kid, rather than worrying about funds for food and education. Since most of the children have fathers that are serving life in prison, happiness and smiles were otherwise far too rare. // GNE Project, Kovilpatti, Tamil Nadu “Camera Shy” Project Defy’s oldest “Nook” was soothing and cool after finding my way by public bus from the center of Bangalore’s frenzy. The electricity had been out for most of the morning, and eager students milled about while waiting for the return of the lights and internet. One new student, shrieked with laughter, as she ran from my camera lens. Like a curious kitten, she reappeared shortly after to take another look, this time well protected by a concrete window vent... // Project Defy “Nook”, Kaggalipura, Karnataka “The Solemn Look of Freedom” Mr. Madasamy had lost everything. After being falsely imprisoned for life for rape and murder, his wife left him and their 5 children in the care of his father, because the shame she felt from the ordeal. KR Raja, through his GNE project, was able to find a pro bono attorney, and raise the appeal fees which allowed Mr. Madasamy his freedom after 3 years of incarceration. Mr. Madasamy had a pet parrot perched on his hand when we meet. My first thought was if his bird was kept in a cage. When he showed me the bird's cage, I found the perfect place to make his portrait. GNE Project, Tuticorin, Tamil Nadu “Freedom on Wheels” George and I spent the 6 hour journey telling stories and getting lost on unmarked dirt roads as we rode through the morning to visit an event his project organized. The community center was hot and dark and alive with children laughing. They danced around wheelchairs where their parents sat eagerly learning. Outside, a rusted bicycle was leaning against a wall, surrounded by old branches and debris, as if a monsoonal flood had stranded it there years ago—the perfect imagery of George’s plight to make India wheel chair friendly. // Freedom on Wheels, Alappuzha, Kerela “Tata the Farmer” As soon as I arrived at Sristi, I saw Tata—a face like a famous novel, filled with tales of deep smiles and tears. His battered hands spoke of endless battles, calloused and raw like worn leather gloves and decades tilling rocky land in heat. The scene was already set in my mind. The only challenge was getting him to pause from his never-ending work for just a moment, to capture his story in light. // Kunamangalam Village, Villupuram District, Tamil Nadu “An Invitation to a Temple” The sun was starting to sink over Rajapalayam, as Partha lead me through an over-grown field and across a small stream. The smell of burning plastic weighed heavy in my lungs. Beyond the stream, through the trees, was a small concrete structure with a porch. Panjammal, a transgender women, greeted us warmly, and proudly waved me inside her small temple home. // Aravan Project, Rajapalayam Town, Virudhunagar, Tamil Nadu “Standing at the Doors of Time” The crumbling concrete path was alive—bustling and littered with pots and pans and clutter, while chickens and goats fought for a spot at buckets filled with drink. The sunrise sent spiked rays of light through the trees on to the villagers as they talked, washed clothes and children, and strung beads into jewelry and palm leaves into blankets. A small boy smiles at the door of his family’s one room home, with eyes wide, and a safety pin in his mouth, before ducking back inside to play. Yurt on Wheels, Narikurava Colony, Pondicherry The 7 Projects I visited on this Three Month Journey Across Southern India: Pest Friendly Farm Founded by Santhosh MM (kanthari Alumni 2013). Santhosh MM belongs to the Mullakkuruma community, one of the seven tribal communities in Wayanad district of Kerala. He founded the “Pest Friendly Farm” that trains tribal farmers traditional agricultural practices that are pesticide free, eco-friendly and sustainable. Freedom on Wheels Founded by George Thomas (kanthari Alumni 2012). George, a wheelchair user after being the victim works to give others with disabilities a means to earn a living by teaching them marketable skills. George is also involved with activism to help fight for a wheelchair friendly India and the rights of the disabled and he envisions an India where wheelchair users live economically, physically and mentally independent and empowered. Project Defy Founded by Abhijit Sinha (kanthari Alumni 2015) is changing the meaning of education by helping communities create their own schools, called «Nooks». The basic tenets of Defy's approach are: «learning happens naturally» and «information is available freely». They've created their own school and learning environment, without teachers where people of different ages and backgrounds learn together out of curiosity, and sharing knowledge. Yurt on Wheels Founded by John Peter (kanthari Alumni 2013), works with nomadic and marginalized communities that are struggling with social stigma and challenges relating to poverty, unemployment, early child marriage, disease, and lack of knowledge about government facilities and sources of support. Yurt on Wheels focuses on empowering the children and youth in these communities through ensuring that they have consistent access to education and vocational training. Sristi Village Founded by G. Karthikeyan (kanthari Alumni 2012) gives intellectually disabled people the opportunity to learn farming skills and therefore get the chance to work in the sector of agriculture, generate their own income and become self-sustaining and (partly) independent. It is their objective to empower and enable the intellectually disabled to lead a dignified and holistic life. Aravan Founded by Parthasarathy Kandasamy (kanthari Alumni 2016), works with the LGBTQI community to defend their rights, reduce their health care risks, and the impact of violence, abuse and harassment against them, to improve their livelihoods. Aravan works for LGBTQI people, enabling them to work for themselves, connect them to other people and link them with mainstream institutions for an inclusive development. GNE – Global Network for Equality Founded by KR Raja (kanthari Alumni 2013), focuses on the children of prisoners. GNE seeks to provide accommodation, care, support and education by placing the children in appropriate learning institutions as well as to provide a conducive environment where the children will acquire values and essential life skills, counseling, and support to the children and their families, so they can develop a positive self esteem and acceptance. the art braille kanthari charity auction exhibition photograph back stories are coming soon... ======================================== TITLE: Three Months in India | Art Braille Kanthari URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/india-2017-art-braille-kanthari/ ======================================== My most recent project brought me to India, and marked my seventy-first country. From early May through August, 2017, I backpacked through Southern India, gathering inspiration for an art project entitled «art braille kanthari», for a great cause. For this trip, I've teamed up with «kanthari», a charitable organization that empowers social visionaries around the world (www.kanthari.ch). My trek started at the kanthari campus in Trivandrum, India, were I got to meet the founders of kanthari and spend a week watching and photographing the new students begin their 7-month training program... Dreams to Reality From Trivandrum, I've zigzagged from coast to coast, visiting projects founded by past kanthari graduates. This allowed me to get a first-hand look at how the kanthari alumni have taken their dreams and parlayed them with their training and experience to help their communities in a variety of interesting and innovative ways. The backstories of all the lots that were sold at charity auction, as well as the photos are here. The Back Stories behind the "Art Braille Kanthari" Photos «art braille kanthari» «kanthari's scholarship based leadership program is for visionaries who have overcome adversity and are keen to drive ethical social change around the world. Some of these students have disabilities, such as blindness, while others have no disabilities at all.» In this spirit, I've envisioned «art braille kanthari» to be accessible in some form by all, including the blind. Obviously, visual arts cannot not be viewed by the blind, so it was my idea to create an art experience that was more accessible. To do so, I've attempted to bridge this gap by appealing to more senses than sight alone: through sound, poetic description and braille, so that all could, at least somewhat, experience my journey through India while learning more about kanthari, and what they do to empower their graduates. Auction Catalog, Invitation Book & Photos Charity Auction Catalog Exhibition Invitation Booklet EN Ausstellung Einladung DE Exhibition Photos Videos from the Kanthari India Trip Videos from my 3 month trip to India: Videos from my 3 month trip to India: Yurt on Wheels, Pondicherry, India John Peter, 2013 Kanthari Alumni https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tywtQTVqF_M Sristi Village, Tindivanam, India G. Karthikeyan, 2012 Kanthari Alumni https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FDblqEbIx4 Project Defy, Kaggalipura, India Abhijit Sinha, 2015 Kanthari Alumni https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtCzrcREHi0 Freedom on Wheels, Chocin, India George Thomas, 2013 Kanthari Alumni https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sh2bGFUyoEI Alone at Night on the Streets Of India Behind the Scenes Moments 1... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kS9OU5VLez0 ======================================== TITLE: Exhibition Catalog: The Smoke that Thunders… URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/exhibition-catalog-smoke-thunders/ ======================================== As my most recent exhibition is coming to an end this week, I am releasing the full 31 page color catalog of the exhibition as a PDF. The catalog includes full color photographs of the paintings, sculpture, and a collection of the photos from the exhibition. Also, read some of the background stories an see some of the photos that inspired the paintings. » Download Exhibition Catalog Stay tuned: as the journey continues! ======================================== TITLE: Alone in the African Bush: The Adventure Safari that Inspired “The Smoke that Thunders” URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/alone-in-the-african-bush-the-adventure-safari-that-inspired-the-smoke-that-thunders/ ======================================== Alone in the African Bush is the short video I made during my African safari adventure--the inspiration for my art and photography exhibition entitled "The Smoke that Thunders", under the patronage of the permanent mission of Zambia to the United Nations (UNO), Geneva. The Idea for this trip was simple… Step One: Fly to Lusaka, Zambia to pick up a specially modified, 4×4 truck at the airport from a guy nicknamed “Snake”. Step Two: Ride off into the African “Bush” with dreams of hunting “The Big 5” game with a camera while savoring my self-guided safari as the inspiration for my next series of art work… On the road alone in the African bush with a rented a 4x4 truck, avoiding charging elephants and sleeping in a tent with lions and rhinos roaming free beside me... This video was a small sample of this adventure. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImSJSdIQr9I To view the paintings inspired by this trip, view my Existential Lanscape paintings section. To view photos from the trip, and more of my "Second Sketchbook" visit my field photography section. ======================================== TITLE: Paradise by the Waterhole|The Backstory and Inspiration behind this Abstract Landscape Painting URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/abstract-landscape-painting-inspiration-paradise/ ======================================== During my African adventure, waterholes were always a prime location for me to sit by and enjoy nature while watching the amazing animals of the bush interact. One of many benefits to driving and guiding myself on this trip was the freedom to go whereever I wanted and stay as long as I wanted. If I had taken a guided game drive, this would have all been decided by the guide and others in the group, and I’m sure that I would never have been able to capture the photographs I did, or discover the incredible inspiration that I found. This what inspired my abstract landscape painting, "Paradise by the Waterhole" Often, upon finding an interesting waterhole, I would park at a strategic location, get my camera in the ready position and wait with open windows, usually writing in my journal during the quiet moments. There was always great anticipation and surprise as to what animals would show up next. And, as the herds would come and go, I realized each had their own distinct way of approaching, and scouting out potential danger. Baboons organized themselves with front and rear scouts sitting on top of high vantage points as the rest of the troop would follow in a military like fashion. Giraffes were much slower in their approach, but they too seemed to have a system where some would hang back and scout for danger as the others spread their long legs wide to crouch down and quickly drink. I could sit by these waterholes for the entire day in pure wonderment. It was truly a paradise, watching the beauty of nature that surrounded me. From one of my journal entries while sitting by a waterhole: Three elephants wallow in from the distance as I sip warm, freeze-dried coffee from a tin camping mug. Heavy clouds are scattered across the horizon, remnants of last night's brief rain--the wet season creeping closer. The massive beasts, their wrinkled skin covered in red dust, lumber closer towards the water's edge. With each step, they flap their ears in a syncopated rhythm, as I suddenly realize how out of place such creatures are at a circus. A wildebeest there drinking, startled by the big bull elephant's approaching shadow, jumps away mid sip, water spraying from its mouth as he gallops off. Lines of baboons, approaching in a military-like clan, carefully scour all directions as they make their way to drink. A few of the group fall back, taking up strategic positions atop tall termite hills, surveying the sandy terrain in a ready stance. The lions I heard outside my tent only a few hours earlier were nowhere in sight. Were they already sleeping away the day's building heat, or sinisterly bending in the background, obscured by the shadows of the African bush in wait? While staring out into the distance with gleeful anticipation of what would appear next on the horizon, “Paradise by the Waterhole” already started to take shape in the canvas of my mind... ======================================== TITLE: “The Smoke that Thunders” | at the Galerie Le Sud, Zurich URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/smoke-thunders-solo-exhibition-zurich-26-jan-18-mar-2017-galerie-le-sud-zurich/ ======================================== "The Smoke That Thunders" is my next solo exhibition of paintings, photographs & sculpture inspired by my recent self-driven & self-guided safari adventure through the African Bush. From 26. January till 18. March 2017 at the Galerie Le Sud in Zürich. Under the patronage of the permanent mission of Zambia to the United Nations (UNO), Geneva. The Idea for this trip was simple... Step One: Fly to Lusaka, Zambia to pick up a specially modified, 4x4 truck at the airport from a guy nicknamed “Snake”. Step Two: Ride off into the African “Bush” with dreams of hunting “The Big 5” game with a camera while savoring my self-guided safari as the inspiration for my next series of art work... Leaving South Africa, I felt confident, after having spent a couple relaxing weeks studying up on the trip and learning about the hazards of off-road driving. skills like maneuvering through deep, heavy sand, dealing with giant elephants charging at your truck, and sleeping in a tent while lions and hippos roam free beside you. However, standing there in the airport parking lot as rain started to pour down, I began to question myself as Mr. Snake causally explained the details of this specially modified, safari monster. As the storm intensified, I pulled out of the parking lot heading north, with my clothes soaking wet and my head buzzing with anticipation. My itinerary was completely open aside from the borders of the four countries I was cleared to take the vehicle into: Zambia, Botswana, Zimbabwe & Namibia. Now all I needed to do was find a place to sleep. Join me at the exhibition opening Join me at my next solo exhibition, “The Smoke that Thunders” (the native name for the Victoria Falls), where I’ve translated this amazing journey into paintings, photographs and sculptures. Vernissage / Exhibition Opening: Thursday, 26. January 2017, 18.00-21.00h In the presence of the artist. Guest Of Honor: Mrs. Encyla Tina Chishiba Sinjela, Zambian Ambassador >> Download Invitation Catalog Exhibition Information Exhibition Dates: Thursday, 26. January through Friday, 18. March, 2017. Location: Galerie Le Sud, Talacker 35, 8001 Zurich Opening Hours: Tuesday–Friday 12.00 till 18.00h Tel. 044 210 0244 www.lesud.ch ======================================== TITLE: Travel Photography | Rules of the Road URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/travel-photography-rules-of-the-road-pt1/ ======================================== Trying new perspectives (in this case actually crawling out on to the rickety bow) can mean a great shot, or no shot at all. After more than seventy countries of travel photography experience already under my camera bag, I decided to share some of my best photo tips to help you start making better photos next time you hit the road. 1. The Best Camerais the Camera you Have with You! Not sure who originally said this, but it's pure photo gold for its simplicity. Now personally, I'm not about to trade in my bulky SLR for a compact camera, despite how much easier it might sometimes make things. I accept this as part of my photography game and lug my heavy camera bag along with me where ever I--whether I feel like it or not. (See my article about "Adventure Traveling with Camera: Tips on What Photo Gear to Bring & How to Carry it" for some tips on making life on the road easier with a big photo kit.) However, if you find that you're often leaving your camera back in your room because it is too big and heavy to carry, then you should seriously consider getting a compact camera. How many times have you seen an potentially amazing capture only to realize that you left your camera in your room? The Headmaster, a schoolhouse in Zambia 2. Don't be Shy! This used to be a bit of a problem for me. At times, I would be hesitant to start shooting photos depending on the surroundings. Getting past this feeling is imperative to getting better images. What I sometimes do to help get started is to crouch down somewhere, a bit out of the way, then just start shooting--especially so if I have a long lens with me. Often, by being a bit out of the way, most people don't even seem to notice me. Then, after about ten minutes or so, I get into my photo groove and then find it easier to start being a bit more bold in what I am shooting, and what I might attempt. Now, I realize there is a big debate about whether or not we should ask people before photographing them, but, I personally shoot first, and ask questions later, whenever possible. I'm just a horrible person, I know! It's just that there is no single better way to ruin a potentially good shot than to go up and ask someone if you can take their picture. That mannequin-like stiffness they inevitably transform into after they agree (assuming they do agree) isn't going to win any photo prizes. So far, even in some very sketchy places where street photography was quite frowned upon, I never had anything terrible happen to me--at the worst, a police or security official would just tell me to stop. Once or twice, they wanted to see what I was photographing. For more about this kind of adventure photography, see my article about my trip to the Communist Country that doesn't officially Exist... Setting up the Photo Scene With that said, if there is a specific person in a specific scene that I want to photograph, I will of course ask them. Then, it is my job as a photographer to get them to feel comfortable in front of my lens and to gentle persuade them into a natural pose as quickly as possible. That was the case with the above photo of headmaster at a small schoolhouse in Zambia. When I saw his vacant office while visiting this rural schoolhouse, I just knew I had to find him and get him to sit at his desk for me. Making your subjects feel comfortable in front of your lens is probably the most important job you have as a "people" photographer. Talking to them, making them feel at ease, telling them how great the photo is going to look and smiling can do wonders. Also, don't forget to show them a few of the photos on the camera's display to instantly win some new friends when you're done. In the barber shop photo below from Kathmandu, Nepal, I rather boldly poked in with a big smile and asked if I could take a few photos--they were more than happy to oblige. Assuming the sale (in this case, a positive reply) often really helps. Additionally, to try to overcome any unnatural stiffness in your subjects, take a couple shots and then wait and chat a bit until your subject loosens up again--then, when they think your are finished, they normally will ease up--then start snapping! If I hadn't been a bit bold and asked, I would never have gotten this great photo at this shoe box sized barber shop in Kathmandu, Nepal. 3. Early Mornings and Evenings: Magic Light I am all for optimizing my time spent taking photos while traveling. There are just too many great things to do and experience in each new place I visit. So, the last thing I want to do is have my eye forever glued to the camera's viewfinder. However, I still do want to make some great images each place I visit. If you want to maximize your photography time spent, make sure to utilize the short span of time about 30 minutes before and after both sunrise and sunset. This time is also know as the "magic light" or "golden hour". Over the years, I have even started to only shoot travel photography at these times, and I am quite sure I am not missing out on much. All too often, I end up hanging out and waiting for the Magic Light to arrive, only to watch in bewildered amusement while most of the other tourists disappear right before the magic arrived. Beautiful light with vivid colors and nobody getting in the way--what more could a photographer ask for? Early mornings are also great for crowd control. Caught this lioness hunting in the morning "Magic Light" at Etosha National Park in Namibia. 4. Know the Rules & Don't go Blind! Make sure to keep a few basic photography rules about composition in mind when lining up your shots. For example, by using leading lines, frames, the rule of thirds, and positive and negative space, you can greatly improve on your travel photos. To apply this, make sure to follow this tip: When you see a potential shot, after looking through the lens, take the camera away from your face for a second and survey the scene around you again. This simple step should help to avoid what I call "viewfinder blindness". By adding this little step, you just might end up noticing something that could help turn a potential good shot into a great one. Additionally, try the same shot from a few different perspectives. Often, after I make my initial shot, I will think about how I could photograph the same scene in a different way. Often, these later photos are much better than the original one. 5. Cliché is the Death of the Photographer: Be Different! This is a continuation from the "Don't go Blind!" rule above. For starters, this rule is especially true when you want to take a picture of a famous landmark or icon that has already been amazingly overshot for decades. Often, you will see somewhat the same exact photo again and again when it comes to something like the Pyramids of Giza, etc. Sure, take that shot, if you really must, but don't miss out on the potential for the new and exciting. Again, take a step back, get down low, or up high, anything different, then attempt to capture that old landmark from a new perspective. Don't be afraid to try something outlandish in order to get the shot, as long as you don't jeopardize your safety in the process. Personally, I will climb (not always allowed, but if you don't ask...), or lie on the ground, or whatever else I can think of to get the shot. I am long immune to the many strange looks I often get from others wondering what in the world I am doing as they go about making yet another magnificently cliché photograph. With that said, be careful not to get run over, or loose your footing in the process--looking around and being aware of your surroundings is essential while making great travel photos. For example, in the photo on the boat above, I had to crawl out on to the rickety bow, with nothing to hold on to, and no railing--however, it meant a great photo where there was otherwise none. I'll take those odds--just make sure you know the odds through awareness before doing anything unintentionally stupid. More Travel Photography Tips... Travel Photography Rules of the Road, Part Two is coming soon. In the meantime, have a look at some of the other moments I captured along the way in my Travel Photography section or, view the Abstract Paintings these photos inspired. And, don't forget to leave a comment about some of your own favorite travel photo tips. ======================================== TITLE: Art Q&A from Caracas, Venezuela: A 6th grade Art Class has questions for Artist Pisani URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/art-q-and-a-caracas-venezuela-for-artist-joseph-pisani/ ======================================== Over the past few years, I've been invited into many classrooms as a guest art teacher and guest artist. These opportunities have always been a great experience for me and also seemed to have been lots of fun for the students. Recently, this took on a whole new direction in the form of a long distance Question & Answer (Q&A) session with the sixth grade students from Escuela Campo Alegre in Caracas, Venezuela... As Art teacher, Lisa Allen, explains: "My sixth grade students have been studying Abstract Expressionism and looking at many old and modern art masters such as Barnett Newmann, Jackson Pollock, and Mark Rothko. They also were examining the art work of some living contemporary artists, like Joseph Pisani. Prior units in the art course take them through several topics in color theory, including varying cultural responses to colors, practicing monochromatic painting, and a special exploration into using non-traditional painting tools to create unique textures and layering effects in acrylic paints..." Below are some of the questions from the students. Also included are some of the student's paintings: their own wonderful interpretations of abstract expressionism! Q&A with Artist Joseph Pisani Question from M. K.: Why did you choose to be an abstract artist? Joseph Pisani: Field Photography and ======================================== TITLE: Adventure Travel Photography | Tips on What Photo Camera Gear to Bring & How to Carry it URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/adventure-traveling-camera-tips-photo-gear-bring-carry/ ======================================== Pisani Exploring ruins in Cambodia I'm often asked for advice about adventure travel photography, including what camera gear to bring and the best way to carry that gear during long-term backpacking trips. My methodology for long-term travel, where space and weight are of utmost importance, is completely different than it is for short term professional photography trips, where I would usually have a full kit with me. While backpacking through exotic destinations, there are many additional things to think about. Considering the high cost of the gear I travel with, as well as how heavy it is, my main goal is to limit what I have with me as much as possible, while still having the right gear to make great photos. Insurance against potential theft is also a must, but still, losing camera gear or even worse, losing my photos, would be detrimental, even while fully insured. Limit your gear to the bare minimum for adventure travel photography My standard backpacking travel set up includes the following: one Canon 5D Mrk IV body, two batteries, one battery charger, a 24-105 mm F4 lens with IS, or a 24-70mm F2.8, a 50 mm F1.4 lens (small and lightweight, as well as super fast for low light conditions), a few 64 GB memory cards, a lens cloth, a blower to clean the sensor if needed, and a small laptop (to back up memory cards). Then, depending on where I'm headed, and what I think I might additionally need, I usually bring at least one additional lens: either a wide-angle 16-35 mm, or my 70-300 mm F4.5-5.6 IS zoom. The 70-300mm is a relatively compact travel zoom (especially compared to my all-time favorite lens, the infamously heavy 70-200 mm F2.8--a lens that I would be less likely to bring on such a trip due to its size and weight, despite it being one of my favorites). Since I am living out of my backpack, everything is a bit of a trade-off. Still, deciding between the wide angle and the zoom is often quite difficult, but so is carrying around all that extra weight for three or four months. If I think there might be any kind of safari potential, I'll bring the zoom, and otherwise, the wide angle. I am still long considering a single zoom lens, like the Canon 28-300, but I haven't yet been convinced that an all around option would be good enough. To many, non-professionals, this is much too much gear to be lugging around, and I've often been asked why I don't just buy a small pocket camera instead. Obviously, these people clearly just don't understand what a difference good gear makes... Camera Protection and Camouflage I keep everything, aside from the laptop, in a small Lowepro bag that I have further modified, by cutting away an unneeded part. This bag protects the camera body and two to three lenses well, and is still small enough to carry inside my day backpack. Now I can already hear some of you asking, "why would you want to keep your camera bag inside your day pack bag?" Well, for one reason, the camera bag keeps all my camera equipment in one place, while protecting it. Additionally, by keeping this inside my day pack, it is well concealed and a lot easier to carry on my back. I also have enough extra room in my day pack for a bottle of water, a jacket, a guide book... Also, in the way that I have modified the camera bag, I can easily access everything while it sits inside my day pack. Now, I could have just bought a specialized camera backpack, but these tend only to be good at carrying camera equipment, without leaving much room for everything else. And, they are also a lot less low-key as far as their looks. The great thing about my set up is that it is very adaptable, which I find extremely important while backpacking. Of course, by camouflaging your equipment, you are decreasing the potential risk that someone would steal it. Additionally, a flashy camera bag and expensive looking equipment tend to scream "professional photographer", which is the last thing you want to advertise while traveling. Also, my particular photography style is to try to be as low key as possible, which helps to capture more natural photos, since people don't notice you as much. Also, I've been to many places where photographers and photo-journalists are quite despised by the government--places like Transdneister, the communist sliver of an Eastern-European "country" that doesn't officially exist, where they are said to detain journalists on mere suspicion. If I do end up getting searched at customs, and as long as I am not officially working as a photographer, I just claim to be a tourist that likes to take photos. If asked, and when filling out customs form, my profession is "graphic design", rather than photographer or artist. This seems to lead to a lot fewer questions and less headaches all around. Just a word of caution though, I would not at all recommended lying to any officials or on any customs forms--if I am on a professional photo job, I say so, rather than risking the potential problems that might cause. What I tend not to Bring Normally, unless I am specifically sure I will need it, I avoid bringing any speedlites (flashes) with me. There are just too many additional things that are needed when I do bring along a flash--additional batteries and charger, light modifiers, etc. And, although there are times when a portable light source would come in handy, I just can't justify all that additional weight and space. With high ISO potential on the Mrk IV, as well as my love of natural light, there is really little reason to increase my load in this case. Also, I try to avoid bringing a large tripod whenever possible, although, for magic light landscapes, this decision becomes much more difficult. In that case, I opt for a specialized, travel tripod that is quite small and lightweight. Hope these tips can help you better prepare for your next adventure travel photography trip. Bon Voyage. ======================================== TITLE: Iron Curtain Roulette Part 2 | Arrival in Transdniester, the Communist Land that doesn’t Officially Exist. Adventure Travel Series URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/iron-curtain-roulette-part-2-spinning-wheel-chance-eastern-europe/ ======================================== This is part two of my "Iron Curtain Roulette" Adventure Travel Series. You can read part one here Traveling east in a rundown minibus along a rough road in Moldova. Jay and I were the only foreigners among the twenty other passengers headed to Transdniester, a small communist strip of land that doesn't officially exist. The border crossing comprised of a makeshift assortment of old trailers and barracks, with military personnel wearing big guns and milling around smoking cigarettes. An armed officer boarded our bus, and we quickly became the main focus of his attention. Suddenly my attempts at concealing my large camera inside my day-pack seemed like a really bad idea. We had been warned that journalists were sometimes arrested here, and I cursed myself under my breath for not taking the warnings more seriously. Adventure Travel Rules of this Trip The rules of this trip were simple. The entire former Soviet Union was within bounds and each travel decision was to be made spontaneously at the bus or train station, as if spinning a roulette wheel at each juncture. We had already made it half way across Poland and Ukraine, and were now headed to Tiraspol, the capital of Transdniester, and the chosen goal of our journey. We weren't really sure what awaited us, but had heard many rumors. It seems that Transdniester didn't really want any visitors, and if it wasn't for border guards looking to make some extra money, we wouldn't have had a chance of getting in. Even though Transdniester isn't an officially recognized country, they still have their own military, police force, currency, and even their very own Ministry of State Security (a modern KGB). It just seemed like too good an experience to pass up. The border guard approached us quickly, snatching our US passports from our hands while mumbling something in Russian. "You two come—Police!" he said, switching to broken English. Let the Interrogation Begin Our bus pulled away without us and the interrogation began. "But sir, our bus is leaving! Vy ponimayete po angliski?, I asked him in my own broken Russian if he spoke English. I always try to learn some language basics before I visit a country, but meaningful conversation with the border police was way beyond my abilities. "Niet angliski, ruski! Why you no speak Russian?" he continued. Then, while ushering us into the small barracks, he asked in a thick, accusing tone, "drugs or guns?" Once inside, he pointed at the Ukraine exit stamp in our passports, and informed us that we had entered Moldova from the wrong place. "Small problem," he said, and, having already learned what this was code for, we wondered how much this "small problem" would cost us. "You have money? Euro? Dollar?" he asked, insisting on a look inside our wallets before instructing us towards a second immigration office next door. We found a small, white office with two windowed counters lining the far wall. Everyone turned to stare as we entered; a policeman behind the counter motioned us over, took our passports and slowly flipped through them. His curiosity was piqued by my visa stamps. He lingered over the Arabic ones while eyeing me suspiciously. "Where is your invitation?" he pointed at a sample taped to a nearby window. "We didn't know we needed one, sir," I replied. "No invitation, no Transdniester," he replied as he handed back our passports. Jay and I stood there in dismay. "Surely that can't be it?" Jay asked rhetorically. We were concerned about offering a bribe, but we had few options left. It wasn't the first time that the bleak thought of getting arrested in a country that didn't officially exist had crossed our minds. But we were so close to the goal of our journey and not yet ready to back down. We slowly slid our passports back and politely asked if we could give him a gift to help with our invitation. His eyes rotated towards us, as a quick smile blinked across his face. "What are your professions?" he asked. "I'm an artist; a painter," I said, while acting out my best "paint stroke" pantomime. He started to hum and act out playing the violin. Realizing the mistake, I said, "niet... a painter," continuing to dab my imaginary palette while making exaggerated brush strokes in the air. "Ah, Picasso!" he bellowed, before focusing on Jay, who was now keen to display his newly-learned word for lawyer. Beaming proudly, he said, "advocat", adding that he was a defense attorney for good measure, “ seemingly forgetting about Transdniester's dismal track record for both political and civil liberties. "Advocat," the policeman repeated, as his face lit up and he rubbed his thumb and index finger together to indicate money. After negotiating over the sum of an advocat's salary, we got off relatively easily with a 20 Euro surcharge. We were also delighted to see that our bus driver hadn't abandoned us after all and was in fact waiting, however impatiently, behind us. "You only stay today, no overnight," the officer demanded as he handed us our documents. "Yes, of course, sir. Thank you!" Tiraspol, here we come! "Tiraspol, here we come!" we cheered and high-fived each other on the bus. From the window, the approaching skyline, gray and ominous, was even drearier than we had expected. Tiraspol bus station was relatively well kept compared to the otherwise drab surroundings, with the only decor provided by a small chandelier hanging high above the main hall. While heading to the bathroom, I noticed a woman sitting at a table outside. As well as collecting money from visitors to the toilets, she was also measuring strips of brown toilet paper to exact lengths with a ruler, and placing them into neat rows on the table in front of her. Scenes of bread lines and shortages flickered in my mind as I wondered where on earth we'd ended up. As if it had been scripted into the scene, the rain and heavy sky added to the gloomy atmosphere as we tried to find our bearings. Large crumbling blocks of apartments with accents of earth tones and decay unfolded before us, contrasting starkly with the pristine statues of Lenin, the centerpiece for most towns. Drying laundry hung from windows and across tiny balconies provided the only scattering of color. I decided to get a feel for the place before taking out my camera. She warned me that all photography was in fact illegal, but that arrests were "hit or miss", depending on the mood of the officer. Only the day before, we'd met a woman who was born and raised in Tiraspol before moving to Holland. She warned me that all photography was in fact illegal, but that arrests were "hit or miss", depending on the mood of the officer. She explained that freedom of the press was limited and stories from inside Transdniester were long sought after by foreign journalists. The police, she said, are often on the look out for such behavior, so it is better to play it safe. Aside from making us more nervous, she was able to tell us a bit more about Transdniester's history and how it serves as a power play between the encroaching EU and Russia's tribute to its glorious past. Transdniester's self-proclaimed independence is still not recognized by any country in the world. Moldova declared its independence from the USSR in 1991, and as an EU hopeful, looked forward to the future security of other EU lands bordering it. Needless to say, a breakaway republic of Russian descent was most unwelcome. Despite signing international obligations to withdraw, Russian military forces supposedly still remain in Transdniester—a symbol that most likely reminded all parties of the short war that was fought in 1992, when Transdniester declared its independence from Moldova. We made our way down the main promenade after passing many high-walled factories in various states of disrepair. While looking for a restaurant, we attracted many strange glares, but aside from being tourists, we couldn't discern any reason why. English was definitely off the menu, so we ordered randomly, again as though spinning a wheel of chance. This time, neither of us was happy with our selections, but the beer tasted fine and we thought it was decidedly well deserved. Back outside, with my camera now in hand, we had the feeling that someone was following us but weren't sure if we were just being paranoid. We decided to test our theory by entering a supermarket before leaving hastily, and waiting for our "shadow" to do the same. Sure enough, he followed us in, then right back out--a bit too much of a coincidence we thought. Undeterred, if not a little bit nervous, we pushed forward, walking the quiet streets, trying not to look suspicious, while feeling anything but. I snapped a few more photographs outside the bus station before trying to board the bus back to Moldova. The driver simply looked at my camera and claimed the bus was full, even though there was barely anyone on it. Finally, after putting my camera away, we were allowed on the next bus, thirty minutes later. The truth was that there hadn't really been much to see—getting there and the fear of the unknown was definitely the highlight of the journey... The drive back to Moldova was strange and somewhat surreal. We had succeeded in our goal, having ventured into a place that few westerners had ever seen. The truth was that there hadn't really been much to see—getting there and the fear of the unknown was definitely the highlight of the journey. Otherwise, it was the intangible elements and undertones that made this experience truly unforgettable things that you couldn't quite put your finger on even though you felt their presence all around you. After all, we had visited a land that didn't officially exist, and reflecting on this added to the dreamlike mood of the journey. Leaving the country was also much easier than entering. We actually had the impression that the border guards were happy to see us leave. This sentiment also seemed like a good allegory for the trip, at least as far as we surmised: they were content with their set ways, and didn't seem to want any outside attention. We only wondered if they were really happy, or if this was just an act due to the oppression they lived under. Back in Chisinau, Moldova Back in the pitch black night in Moldova, Jay was intent on going back to our hotel after our journey, but I was determined to visit a bar I'd read about called Deja Vu. It held personal significance for me considering the title of one of my previous art exhibitions, The Lasting Tingle of Deja Vu. But even more, I wanted to confirm rumors that the Chisinau nightlife was something that had to be experienced. I found the place easily and passed though various security checks and a metal detector before being allowed inside. Moldova was notorious for quite a few dubious distinctions, such as being a haven for money laundering and arms trafficking. Security like this only perpetuated the myths. Despite being alone, I pledged to stay for at least a drink and made myself comfortable at the bar among a few people and DJ spinning house music near the small dance floor. After ordering a five-dollar gin & tonic, I sat back and watched the bartender flip and spin bottles in true Cocktail fashion. Sipping my drink in relative solitude, I began to wonder what all the nightlife hype was about, and how the locals could afford these drink prices. As if on cue, the place became instantly packed with clubbers. Men in expensive suits ogled scantily—clad women who seemed to welcome the attention. The bartender's bottle-flipping frenzy intensified, resembling a side show circus routine: lighting bottles on fire and flinging them around with ease as the clientele danced, rang bells and blew whistles to the music. The bar in front of me transformed into a second dance floor as women from all directions clamored in stiletto heels to climb up on to it and sway above the crowd. I had to snatch my drink out of the way to avoid losing it in the whirl of excitement. I stayed until 4 am in complete amazement that a Wednesday evening could ever be so wild, especially compared to the somber afternoon spent in Tiraspol. ======================================== TITLE: Iron Curtain Roulette Part 1 | Spinning the wheel of chance through Eastern Europe URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/iron-curtain-roulette-spinning-wheel-chance-eastern-europe/ ======================================== It's 3 am in L'viv, Ukraine, and we were standing in a disco called Misto. The dance floor, decked in a beach theme, was covered in sand and the place was jumping. We ended up here by chance, as the rules of this trip were few. The entire former Soviet Union was within bounds, while each travel decision must be made spontaneously at the bus or train station, as if spinning a roulette wheel at each juncture. L'viv. This beautiful, UNESCO world heritage site was a stopover on the way to our goal—Transdniester, a communist sliver of a republic, sandwiched between Ukraine and Moldova. It remains unrecognized by any international organization. How could we resist a country that doesn't officially exist? But getting there was an adventure all of its own. We arrived in L'viv on a night bus from Warsaw in Poland at 7 am and spent the day exploring. Old tractors mixed with small cars in the city center. An antique tram clacked and zigzagged around town. A closer look revealed many little "red" reminders of Ukraine's Soviet past. (This story was originally published in INSIDE magazine.) Like a Scene right out of an old Bond Flick These reminders included the strange feeling that we were being watched. It kept us on edge. Our suspicions were confirmed when I tried to compose a scenic photo which included a man with his back to us. As I set up the shot, he removed a small mirror from his pocket and proceeded to use it to spy on my movements behind him. It was a scene lifted straight from an old Bond film (see photos). Unsettled, we headed back to the main promenade, where it was time for some food and a stiff drink. Everything was written in Cyrillic and almost no one spoke English, but we were up for the challenge. After finding a quaint restaurant, we worked at deciphering the menu. Surmising the basics did us little good without a real understanding of Ukrainian. A good reason, I proposed, to expand our travel theme to include "menu roulette". The waitress arrived and we pointed to an unknown entree, pledging to eat whatever was served. We did surprisingly well on our first "spin". I scored fried fish covered in mayonnaise and garnished with cucumbers. Jay loved his stuffed cabbage rolls (Holubtsi). In contrast, ordering appetizers and drinks was easy, "Caviar and vodka, procim". We were reluctant to leave L'viv, but Transdniester beckoned and, after hopping on a tram to the baroque train station, we "spun" Odessa on the Black Sea for a little sun. However, buying the tickets proved nearly impossible. We were sent back and forth between the same two ticket windows twice, before the woman behind the glass simply told us "Niet". For our fifth visit, we improvised, writing "Оде́са" (Odessa) in our newly learned Cyrillic, and bought tickets in a sleeper cabin. After a rough night in an old but charming train, we arrived in the proud city of Odessa. The station's silver spires welcomed us as we headed through the throngs and into town. Descending the 192 Potemkin Steps, we felt a sense of solemn solidarity with the innocent bystanders who'd lost their lives in the uprising a century ago. We declined the opportunity to be photographed with a monkey and a small crocodile. A young couple, however, failed to see the risk in posing their young child with a live reptile. For their bravery, the photographer placed a live iguana on the man's head before snapping the shot as we stood in pure bewilderment. Here in Ukraine, it seemed as though footprints from the Cold War still left a dent in the public psyche. On our way to lunch, while I composed a photograph, a man approached, agitated: "You intelligence. You CIA!", he said while pointing an ominous finger in our direction. Moldova was our newly chosen base for entry into Transdniester. The train service was "discontinued until further notice", and the next bus to Chisinau, the capital of the country, left the next morning. With only one night left in Odessa, we visited the much-hyped outdoor discos on the beach, drinking gin and tonics and swaying to the grooves as the full moon glistened over the Black Sea in the distance. Staring into the night, I envisioned future paintings and conjured poetic titles of the scene. Late Night Run-in with the Police It was after 4 am when, en route to the taxi stand, we were approached by two police officers. They had obviously overheard us. "Step this way please." They were two of the few people we'd met who could speak English. They demanded our passports. We knew that we weren't required to carry them. Jay had left his in the hotel, and mine was stashed in my hidden money belt. I thought it might make things more interesting to claim we had both left them at the hotel. "No passport, small problem," one said. They started to interrogate us. "What were you doing?, Where are you from?" Each question was punctuated with repeated requests to show our papers, or return with them to the police station. I got the feeling that they were looking for a bribe, and decided to test my theory. "Maybe it would be better if we went back with you to the police station," I suggested. "That would not be good for you," one replied. "Maybe you could drive us to our hotel and we could show you our passports," Jay added, joining in. When one officer demanded my name, I extended my right hand. "I'm Joseph, nice to meet you. What's your name?" Jay followed my lead. They reluctantly outstretched their hands and introduced themselves. Max and Arthur looked at each other rather perplexed. Arthur then removed a tourist map from his pocket and handed it to me. "Present for you. Good night," he said. We thanked them graciously and headed home, delighted that we'd received a gift rather than having to give one. Odessa Bus Station Birthday Party At Odessa bus station the next morning, while snapping away outside the buffet, I was invited inside to join a birthday celebration. Five women, all workers at the terminal, sat around a table laden with food and birthday cake. They were drinking shots of vodka. It was 10 am. Despite the language barrier, I knew I was also expected to drink and I grabbed Jay so he too could join the party. They were the nicest people we'd met in all of Odessa, but we had a bus to catch. Chisinau, the capital of Moldova, was instantly difficult. The first three cash machines we'd found simply rejected our cards. So, without taxi money, we walked miles into town with our heavy packs and no idea of where we were headed. The city was lined with burned-out olive and gray Soviet-style apartment blocks that were actually still inhabited, giving the place an eerie feel. We checked into a hotel and started planning our entry into Transdniester. I had read that—if one is to believe anecdotal evidence, a visit there is almost guaranteed to feature one or more of the following: bribes, suspicion or outright ostracism by locals, possible run-ins with the Ministry of State Security (a modern KGB), and possible detainment. We couldn't wait to cross the border... To find out what happens, read Iron Curtain Roulette Part II, here. ======================================== TITLE: Adventure Travel Medical Detour | From Burma to Bangkok! URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/adventure-travel-medical-detour-from-burma-to-bangkok/ ======================================== For me, the only really bad thing about adventure travel is being sick or being in an accident far away from home. Over the years, in search of exotic inspiration, I've had my share of illnesses and accidents along the way, and in doing so, built up a slight fear of foreign hospitals. I guess that isn't all that strange considering some of the places I've traveled to, and some of the downright frightening hospitals I've encountered along the way. With that said, nothing could have prepared me for what I just went through... I thought I had really seen it all, up until Nici and I became quite ill a few days ago in Yangon, Myanmar. Now, going into this trip, I knew the last place anyone would want to visit while traveling here, aside from a military prison, was a Burmese hospital. Unfortunately, after running a high fever for a couple days, I was "lucky" enough to do just that! Following some great support from two doctor friends back at home, our first step was to take antibiotics. We each had some with us, but they were not necessarily the best kind for this particular situation. We also didn't have a thermometer to correctly gauge how high our fever actually was. So, I set out to get us some medical supplies and stock up on some much needed water. I pushed forward along the garbage-strewn path, towards one of many entrances, passing ghost-like patients riding antique stretchers. The pharmacy couldn't be that difficult to find... After inquiring in the hotel about a pharmacy, I was directed to the nearby hospital's pharmacy. Since it was right next to our hotel, this option seemed like the best one at the time, especially considering my rather sick, weakened state. It was already getting dark as I made my way there, avoiding stray dogs and traffic. Through the hospital's flood lights, the exterior of the colonial style building imposingly stood before me. It was fittingly painted in deep red and glowing in the night, like a scene right out of a Hitchcock film. Outside the gates, peddlers hawked trinkets and strangely scented meats cooked on makeshift barbecues. The pungent smells mixed with the humid night air and stirred my already faint will. Still, I pushed forward along the garbage-strewn path, towards one of many entrances, passing ghost-like patients riding antique stretchers. The pharmacy couldn't be that difficult to find, I thought to myself, trying to calm myself as my feverish forehead continued to pound and drip sweat in an almost unison rhythm. I entered though large opened doors, as insects circled above in a frenzy of florescent light buzz that filled the drab corridors with a green tinge. A man in an off-white lab coat approached with a clipboard in one hand and a cup in his other. I asked with a single word, "pharmacy?" He pointed behind him and upwards, and then proceeded to spit red betel-nut saliva into a cup he was holding. I asked again when I approached what looked like the reception desk. There they again pointed in the same upward direction. One woman in a nurse-like hat looked at me and said, "three, go floor three," and started walking with me towards an old elevator. The doors opened with a long squeal and I was greeted silently by an old lift attendant dressed in dirty gray and sitting on a small plastic stool. I hesitantly stepped inside the dimly lit compartment as the doors crept closed behind me. The man pressed button number three without even asking, and a swarm of mosquitoes danced around his head as the elevator crawled and creaked upwards. Upstairs, I was greeted by more nurses and assistants, who somehow must have already heard of a strange westerner looking for the pharmacy, I summarized to myself. Two of them pointed towards a door down the long hall. I tried not to look in at the dismal scenes that played out inside each open door as I walked quickly past, but still couldn't help noticing that the rooms looked more fitting in a north Korean prison, rather than a medical building. I walked into a small room and again asked, "pharmacy?" Surely all these people couldn't be steering me wrong, I told myself, despite the very strange feeling that there couldn't possibly be a pharmacy on the other side of the door... Two woman and a nurse standing there all pointed to the door at my right. Surely all these people couldn't be steering me wrong, I told myself, despite the very strange feeling that there couldn't possibly be a pharmacy on the other side of the door. I knocked and waited. Someone opened the door, inviting me in. In the corner of the room, a pregnant, western-looking woman was sleeping, curled up without a blanket, on a worn mattress that sat atop a bare metal bed frame. The room was otherwise empty. Startled, I quickly excused myself with a low-spoken "sorry," and quickly reversed out of the room. This was much to the amazement of two women and the nurse that had led me into the room--they continued to point, almost pushing me back towards the sleeping pregnant woman. Without giving any explanation, I made my way back down the hall, where I was met by the man in the lab coat that I had first asked. He too looked at me quite puzzled, and began speaking to me in language I didn't understand, as he pointing back to where I had came. I just pushed by him rather rudely, passing the opened elevator doors. Then I turned and jogged down the three flights of stairs, still noticing the stains on the floors, and the dust that had collected in the corners of the stairway. Back on the ground floor, the hall began to spin in my head as I searched for a way out. I ignored the nurses at the reception who all seemed to protest that I was going in the wrong direction. At the end of a hall, I saw an illuminated white sign with green letters. Surely that had to be the pharmacy, I thought to myself. As I approached, I looked in to the small, dingy room, littered with old papers and piles of boxes, and asked with a quiver of doubt in my voice, "pharmacy?" A man behind a small desk, surrounded by few nurses looked up from his paperwork, while spitting red betel nut juice into a cup on his desk. "yes, what do you need?" he replied. I showed him the name of the antibiotics that I had scribbled on a piece of paper, and with a saddened expression he exhaled and somberly replied, "no, I don't have this medication." He then turned back to his desk without another word, and I left, trying to find my way out of this haunted compound. Making my way back, while replaying the surreal scene in my head, I finally realized what had just happened. Nobody at the hospital had understood me. Only a few people at the tourist hotel could even speak passable English, aside from a few pleasant words. All the nurses and doctors must have just assumed that I, a western stranger, was certainly just a visitor, there to check up on the western-looking pregnant woman. They must have just pointed me in the direction of her room without a second thought. It took a few days for this whole ordeal to sink in. But, I am very happy to say that we are now in Bangkok. We flew in two days ago to get a check-up at the hospital here and are now both feeling much better! We will rest up here a for a few more days before we decide on our next destination. The moral of this episode is, assuming anything, especially in a foreign country, can end up making for a great travel story. ======================================== TITLE: 3 Month Trek | Across South East Asia URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/asia-2014-a-three-month-trek-across-south-east-asia/ ======================================== If you haven't been able to reach me over the past few months, there was a rather good reason why. I just arrived back from a three+ month adventure trek across South East Asia & beyond. The journey was filled with a welcome overload of artistic inspirational travel, and a lifetime worth of memories, and plenty of photos from the field to base my next Existential Landscape paintings on. As usual, the journey wasn't planned out more than a plane ticket, the first night's hotel accommodation, and a few potential ideas. Rather than set stringent travel plans, I let serendipity guide me, and as usual, ended up finding some amazing places I wouldn't have even thought to plan a trip to, including many exotic (and some more touristy as well) destinations in Nepal, Myanmar, Cambodia, Vietnam, and the mega-city Hong Kong... Not only did get the chance to explore a few new countries for my ======================================== TITLE: Playing Indiana Jones |at the Beng Mealea Temple, Cambodia URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/beng-mealea-temple-cambodia/ ======================================== We knew about the poisonous snakes around, having read all about the vipers and cobras, so I was being extra cautious while exploring the amazing 'Beng Mealea' temple. We had woken up extra early to make the 1.5 hour drive to the ruins that have been reclaimed by the jungle. We were mostly alone, apart from a few of the people working there... one of the workers started pointing out secret passages, each one more narrow and dark than the last... I hadn't originally planned on venturing off the set path, but some great photo spots abounded in all directions. Then one of the workers started pointing out secret passages, each one more narrow and dark than the last. With the Indiana Jones theme playing in my head (and occasionally even humming it out loud), I dove right in and had a blast jumping and climbing from stone to stone, testing the steadiness of each ancient cut rock and even crawling as the path became more difficult and the passages more narrow. The whole time, while scanning for cool photos, I also kept my eyes peeled for snakes above and below while snapping some great shots. At one point, with the worker edging me on into a dark, narrow corridor, I wanted to make sure we would be able to come back the same way, since Nici was waiting behind on the main wooden path. He said there was no way back, but still wanted to show me where the dark tunnel led. I declined and was about to step back when I caught a quick glimpse of a snake only centimeters from my back foot! I jumped out of the way and quickly headed back, warning him about the slithering danger headed his way. He, without even looking just kept trying to persuade me to continue claiming, "No snake, no worry. No problem... No snaaaaa... Ohhhhh Snnaaake!" On exiting the temple, the throngs of tourist had just started to arrive. What an awesome start to our most adventurous day of this trip yet. ======================================== TITLE: How to Find a Work of Art: Art Treasure Hunt in Zurich URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/how-to-find-a-work-of-art-art-treasure-hunt-in-zurich/ ======================================== "How to Find a Work of Art" Solve the Riddle, Find the Treasure Hidden Somewhere in Zurich & Win it! The "How to do Everything in Just One Lifetime" Art Treasure hunt is now completed. Congratulations to all of the four winners! However, you can view the riddles, the winners, and their prizes below, and stay tuned for more exciting events that are already in the works by signing up on my ArtLetter. Treasure Hunt Prize Winners, Painting Prizes & Riddles Wednesday's Riddle Wednesday, 13. Nov, 2013 Wednesday's are a great day for art in Zurich, especially because my favorite house has free entry every Wednesday. Today, 13. Nov, starting no earlier than 17:15 h, search for a man in this house--he will be wearing Purple Converse shoes, a purple scarf around his neck, and a purple handkerchief in his jacket pocket. The best place to find him there is the corner of this house where Mark, Barnett and Roy are always hanging out. To claim the winning ticket for today, be the first person to ask this man dressed in purple the following question: "Do you know How to find a Work of Art?" If you haven't found him and claimed the winning ticket by 20:00h today, then it is already too late... Wednesday's Art Treasure Hunt Prize Winner Congratulations to Martina from Zurich! I have to admit that I was even a little nervous while hiding in the Kunsthaus--nervous about someone spotting me before the starting time, and before I was able to get into my chosen spot. I had sneaked into the Kunsthaus at about 16:30 so I could hide out a bit until the start time at 17:15. After changing shoes into my purple Converse in a WC, the plan was to sneak over to the Mark Rothko and Roy Lichtenstein paintings without anyone seeing me, while still hiding my scarf and purple handkerchief under my second jacket. Within 30 seconds of coming out of the hiding, I was quickly surrounded by group of eager art treasure hunters. Martina, gave my purple shoes a double take, then noticed the scarf hidden under the jacket, and she was first to ask the winning "How do you Find a Work of Art" question as the rest of the hunters had only just realized what had happened. Great work Martina! And thanks to all of you that came to the Kunsthaus today to partake in the first day of the Treasure Hunt. Tomorrow is day two of Art Treasure Hunt, and at 12:00h tomorrow afternoon, the next painting prize and riddle will be published here again. Be sure to check back then. Happy Art Hunting. Thursday's Riddle Thursday, 14. Nov, 2013 Art in Zurich Abounds, especially if you can pick a good spot to find it. Charlemagne sure seemed to have picked a super spot, but little did he know of the stunning art that would later deck the walls and light up the hall on the spot that he found. Still today, high above the Zurich skyline on this Great Monument, he sits, gazing into the distance. However, maybe you didn't realize, that the original Charlemagne statue was moved from its perch, and now a replica is sitting in it's place. At no earlier than 12:00h today (that's now!), find where the original Charlemagne statue is located, and you should have a good chance of finding today's winning ticket. It's a bit dark there, so If you don't see it at first, make sure to ask out loud, "Charlemagne, How do you Find a Work of Art?" Thursday's Art Treasure Hunt Winner Congratulations to Claire from Zurich! Claire correctly solved the riddle and found the winning ticket in the Crypt of the Gross Munster church. I'll admit that today was a bit more difficult than yesterday, but mostly because I didn't give everyone as much time to prepare like yesterday. The way I see it, the fun of a treasure hunt is to keep the participants guessing, and keep things random. I was already in the basement section of the Gross Munster as the clock struck 12 noon. I had hidden myself towards the back, behind a corner and some pillars, invisible to people coming and going, unless they happened to venture to the back. A few of the visitors who weren't a part of the Art Treasure hunt had quite a fright finding me there, which I am sure will make for a good story or two. At around 12:24h, I heard the door, and could hear someone walking around. After a couple of minutes, Claire found me, and asked me if I too was partaking in the Art Treasure Hunt. "Treasure Hunt?", I replied. Then she said that I looked like I could be the artist, and she seemed a little unsure of what to do, until she finally remembered to say "Charlemagne, How do You Find a Work of Art?" When I congratulated her, and handed her the ticket, I think she was still a bit in disbelief that she had won. Great job Claire! Laura, Chris and the rest that followed were all good sports about being just a few minutes too late. Friday's Riddle Friday. 15. Nov, 2013 It's Friday! And, what better way to start the weekend than with a nice glass of red wine? Well, actually, being surrounded by a lot of great old friends while sipping that wine would give this Friday even more of an artistic ambiance... For today's prize, all you have to do is find me--I'll be enjoying my glass of wine somewhere in Zurich today at 17:30h (that's now!). I'll be wearing red converse shoes and a red handkerchief in my jacket pocket. If you are the first to find me, make sure to ask me: "How to Find a Work of Art?"Friday's Art Treasure Hunt Winner Congratulations to Sarah from Zurich! Sarah correctly solved the riddle and found me and the winning ticket at the Kronenhalle Bar in Zurich. I was absolutely astonished how quickly Sarah had arrived. I had just settled into my glass of wine when she and her son burst through the entrance asking if she was too late. The people that arrived in her wake were also quite surprised at her speed. I had assumed that this riddle would be quite easy, but was told that people had been to a few different places looking before figuring out it was the Kronehalle. It seems that sometimes being too easy, makes people second guess themselves. Great Job Team Sarah! and today's winning prize ticket is yours! Unfortunately, they no longer accept trade-ins here, so if you want to have a glass of wine with me, you better remember to bring your wallet as you're running out the door. Prost! Saturday's Riddle Saturday, 16. Nov, 2013 Today is the final day of the Art Treasure Hunt and the final Winning Prize Ticket is hidden somewhere in at the Kunstgalerie Bachlechner at the opening of my exhibition this evening. Those of us that have visited the gallery a few times, should have heard of a special spot there called the "Bermuda Triangle". This is the name I gave to this spot a few years ago because of its rather strange ability to suck people in, and the minutes there soon turn into hours. Find out where the "Bermuda Triangle" is, and look for Pablo, who is often sitting there. Be the first to ask him, "How to Find a Work of Art" and today's winning prize ticket is yours! I'll give Pablo the Ticket at exactly 18:00h, so don't be late. Please note, the winning ticket is definitely NOT hidden behind any paintings, or sculptures or any art work in general, so please don't touch any of the art work during your search! Saturday's Art Treasure Hunt Winner Congratulations to Noldi from Schlieren! Noldi correctly solved the riddle and found "Pablo". The Picasso book was located in the book case located near what is known as the "Bermuda Triangle" at the Kunstgalerie Bachlechner. He arrived at the gallery at 18:00h on the dot, and it only took him a couple minutes to notice the Picasso art book sitting there on the bookshelf. He grabbed the book, turned it upside down, and gave it a gentle shake, releasing the winning prize ticket from the pages in between. Great Job Noldi! ======================================== TITLE: Pisani Art Exhibition in Helsinki, Finland URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/pisani-art-exhibition-in-helsinki-finland/ ======================================== "ONEIRONAUTS (Explorers of the Dream World)", Joseph Pisani's most recent international, solo art exhibition will take place at the Galleria Fogga in Helsinki Finland. Pisani's art work is inspired from many sources, including his extensive adventure travel, psychology and philosophy. This exhibition delves into the world of Lucid dreaming as a source of inspiration, and self discovery. Oneironauts are literally explores of the dream world, looking into their subconscious to find new inspiration, discover new ideas, and explore ones self. This paintings and more of Pisani abstract art work can be viewed in the gallery here. Galleria Fogga, Helsinki, Finland Solo Exhibition 1.-30. September 2013 Pohjoisranta 8 B, 00170 Helsinki, Finland ======================================== TITLE: PISANI + NATUZZI Exhibition | 10 Years Natuzzi Lausanne URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/pisani-natuzzi-exhibition-lausanne/ ======================================== I was recently commissioned to create a painting on a leather chair for the Italian furniture design company Natuzzi. In partnership with the ART BANKING CLUB, I'm happy to be part of the 10 year anniversary of the Natuzzi showroom in Lausanne, Switzerland. A collection of my recent paintings and the leather chair that I painted. are now headed to Lausanne, Switzerland for the celebration... My Natuzzi Chair... More information about the inspiration of my chair, and how it reflects my art and travel inspiration is here. ======================================== TITLE: PISANI + NATUZZI | Artist Joseph Pisani commissioned to paint Chair for Italian design house Natuzzi URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/pisani-natuzzi-2011/ ======================================== Natuzzi, the elegant and innovative Italian design company recently commissioned me to paint one of their beautiful leather chairs... I'm very happy to announce, in coordination with the opening of Natuzzi's new flagship store in Zurich, and in partnership with the ART BANKING CLUB, my "Natuzzi" work of art is currently on display at Talstrasse 9, in this beautiful new location until Spring. The process was a fresh and exciting one that I was happy to take part in and experiment with. My inspiration, however, was already long a part of me and world ledger of the places I've visited.... At first glance, a chair may seem quite simple-a ubiquitous piece of every home. However, for me, an artist that draws inspiration from exotic destinations, I see different forms of chairs just about everywhere. In a car, plane, boat, bus, train, tuk-tuk, or even at a boarding gate just waiting. Chairs are often where I spend time anticipating my next arrival. Back at home, a chair is my place to ponder potential voyages while smiling brightly, or blissfully reflect about the pleasures of past journeys already complete. On this chair, I was inspired to portray the stories of my recent adventures intertwined with new potential places yet to be discovered-a journal and a wish list forever sealed in red and blue and brown. For me, a chair is a place to relax, rest, and dream. After all, I have long believed that "Every Great Journey Begins with a Dream." For more information about my commissioned art work, and how you might be able to have work commissioned for your company or private collection, contact me here. My Chair ======================================== TITLE: Artist Joseph Pisani in the SIK ISEA | Swiss Institute for Art Research Database URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/artist-joseph-pisani-in-the-sik-isea-swiss-institute-for-art-research-database/ ======================================== Woke up to an email that my profile has been added to the Swiss Institute for Art Research Database / SIK ISEA Database, and with a level two rating. "The Swiss Institute for Art Research (SIK-ISEA) was founded in 1951 and has become a center of competence in art history and art technology with an international reputation. Our core activities are research, documentation, the dissemination of knowledge and the provision of services in the world of the fine arts. Our focus lies with the production of art in Switzerland from the Middle Ages until the present day..." You can view my listing, and the rest of the SIK ISEA web portal here: https://recherche.sik-isea.ch/ ======================================== TITLE: Guest on SRF TV Talkshow Aeschbacher | Artist Joseph Pisani URL: https://josephpisani.com/artlog/artist-joseph-pisani-guest-on-srf-tv-talkshow-aeschbacher/ ======================================== Joseph Pisani was a guest on the TV Talk show "Aeschbacher" on April 10, 2008 on Swiss television channel SF1. An interesting interview about Pisani's adventure travel lifestyle, some of the amazing as well as a few scary incidents along the way and how his journey inspires his art work as well as how it brought him to live in Switzerland, after spending a year traveling through the middle east and living in Egypt. "...wuchs in der New Yorker Bronx auf, bereiste die Welt und fasste schliesslich vor fast zehn Jahren in der Schweiz Fuss. Auf seinen Reisen entfernte sich der Künstler auch im Herzen immer weiter von seiner Heimat. Seit nunmehr acht Jahren hält er sein Versprechen aufrecht, die Vereinigten Staaten erst nach Ablauf der Amtszeit von Präsident George W. Bush wieder zu besuchen. Pisanis künstlerische Bilderwelt liest sich wie ein Reisetagebuch des eigenen Lebens." View the TV interview of Pisani here