THE CHROME DOMES OF OLDE MOCKBA

No I don't mean thick set, intimidating, bald Soviet men, I'm referring of course to the Russian capital's skyline, many of it's finest churches decorated with iconic onion domes of all styles. Predominantly shimmering gold or often tiled (below), domes also appear painted in striking matt green and blue colours. Moscow's churches create a dramatic aesthetic, your eye inevitably drawn towards towards God as you squint blindly, muttering about crow's feet as you try to absorb the curvaceous harmony of a dome's structure.

Often the thick-walled church interiors proved to be small and austere in design, far outweighed by the immense scale of the exterior domes. St. Basil's (below) was an exception according to my travelling amigo, who returned awe-inspired after viewing the interior while I haggled again with crazy old poster man back at Izmailovsky market to replace our lost wares. These beautiful orthodox buildings were often tucked away in tiny Muscovite alleyways, their vibrant pastel colour schemes appearing oasis-like amidst chaotic modern scaffolding - only after we had taken several bum steers and almost given up hope of ever deciphering the local street signs.

The dome shape is said to resemble a burning candle, its religious symbolism obvious, though there are many theories as to the significance, if any of the design. The onion dome is synonymous of course with traditional Russian architecture and the aesthetic charm of many of Moscow's finest certainly put the dour interiors of a lot of poor old (and now bankrupt) England's churches in the shade.    

ЧЕРНЫЙ ЧЕРНЫЙ ЧЕРНЫЙ

Bonjour mes amies, tis your humble correspondent back from the dead...arrrggghh just want to put Russia to bed now since this one's been a long time coming...have been otherwise engaged with all manner of psychodrama...will roll out the domes domes domes imminently but first heres my fave piece from the Hermitage...this delectable lady in black (apologies for the dreaded reflection) :)

  

IZMAILOVSKY FLEA MARKET

So we reached a complete and total Ware Nirvana when we finally hit the fabled old Izmailovsky flea market in Moscow's north eastern suburbs. Having wandering aimlessly for a good three hours after a bum steer from the famously incomprehensible Moscow underground system (or was it me?), we finally followed a trickle of colourful local folk sniffin' bargains heading towards the market through the spectacular entrance gate below.

Izmailovsky seemed predominantly a tourist trap, every second stall flogging colourful nesting dolls and tacky souvenirs. We stumbled upon a fantastic old nut scratcher driving a very hard bargain at the rear however, selling row upon row of original Commie propaganda posters. After much energetic banter and theatrical disappearances we finally settled on a price for two beautiful posters - the piece de resistance of our Russian wares haul. I chose the one below for its pretty femininity (there was no way I was putting an enormous red Stalin on me wall) and its significant date as an International Womens' Day celebration in eastern Europe. The fact that I then went and left it on the overnight train from Petersburg to Tula is neither here nor there...merely another illustration of my numbskullery.

The market also sold an array of typically Russki fayre such as the authentic furs below. Vegetarian? Animal rights activist? I'm so sorry. In this country computer says no.

  

RUSSIAN FEMME FATALES

Russian ladies...a peculiar breed...each and every one of them got serious swag and rocking their own particular sartorial vibe. We were astounded by the preponderance of young ones who truly were blessed with supermodel genetics and the older ones that were styling it up on a babushka/gypsy/Rocky Horror Transylvanian tip. Young or old...they all very clearly knew their way around the local cosmetics counter, hairdresser, beauty parlour and discount clothing emporium. Hooray for Capitalism!

RUSSIAN BOOK ARTIST MIKHAIL KARASIK

A definite highlight of our Far Eastern European extravaganza was discovering the quirky work of Mikhail Karasik in the Avant-Garde Museum, St. Petersburg. Karasik is a leading exponent of the Russian 'artist book' movement - creating unique handmade books that combine literature, art and design in low print runs (usually less than 20). Karasik utilises graphic imagery and pop-style colours often fused with lithographs created in his own studio. The books are pieces of unique, idiosyncratic art (each edition slightly varied) yet also literary texts to be read. 

The Avant-Garde show featured large prints of the artist's work, each piece immediately suggesting a recognisably 'Russian' aesthetic. Karasik's early 20th c constructivist and futurist influences are obvious, however his treatment is far more humorous, the colour palette softer and lighter. His sepia and pastel tones modernise the stark, aggressive gravity of the communist reds and blacks of Constructivist Alexander Rodchenko's style. Karasik uses iconic Russian imagery in a playful, absurd way - Red Square's creepy Lenin Mausoleum given a vibrant pink sky, while Lenin and a bearded crony are given a summer holiday vibe as they chillax in a beautiful garden.

See more of Karasik's brilliant work here.



ITS RAINING MENSKIS...HALLELUJAH

The streets of Russia seemed to be perversely awash with fresh meat in uniform. Sailor boys a dime a dozen sauntered around the waterfront streets of Petersburg while surly-looking army types paraded manfully across Red Square. Even Police Academy boys roamed the streets in packs sporting fetching double-denim Canadian Tuxedoes* and saucy baseball caps. Eminating that sexy yet mildly intimidating whiff of authority, these young bucks ruled the streets knowing they come from a country where the men are real men and the women are glad about it. Judging by the numerous, sweet and feverish public displays of affection we witnessed from the young men toward their birds...maybe thats not a bad thing.

* Canadian Tuxedo (c) Mal Saymontry 2008...revolting double demin ensemble often sported by redneck North Americans

ST. BASIL'S CATHEDRAL MOSCOW...THE MONEY SHOT

Summer holiday this year starred the intriguing and often outright bizarre land of Russia. Moscow's Red Square was semi-closed on account of intense preparations for some grandiose Muscovite celebration (much to my travelling companion's ire)...resulting in our immediate retirement to the closest bar to sink a number of commiserating vodkas. Harsh. Very harsh indeed.

Ironically enough, Red Square's St. Basil's Cathedral was rather aesthetically unappealing - all liver reds, lime greens and blues, the building's clashing exterior textures and shapes leaving your humble correspondent with nothing short of a bastard behind the eyes. However, the Russkies certainly let rip with the razzamattazz after dark via a series of vibrant, stunning light projections...utterly transforming the cathedral into the impressive beauty you see below. The locals sucked it up and poured it out, beaming faces basking in the evening glow...when they weren't directing the famous Moscovite Inscrutable Stare* toward the only two Filthy Gaijin* in (what seemed like) the entire city...

* Muscovite Inscrutable Stare (c) JA 2011 - the glowering, thunderous glare directed towards foreigners, usually by heavy set, middle-aged women...aka..."cronks".
* Filthy Gaijin - from the Japanese, literally an 'outside person' or foreigner.

FIRE ON BABYLON

Amazed to hear along the local grapevine today that my little home village of Leura has hit the headlines on account of some twisted firestarter going apeshit down in the bush, deliberately starting fires with 'incendary devices' (whatever they are). Ok its no London riots, but two of the eight fires started were uncomfortably close to the Robert Smiths Tears childhood compound and let me tell you the bush is terrifying enough as a kid - harbouring axe murderers, paedophiles, flashers and other itinerant bogeymen - let alone deranged firebugs stalking the forest canopies armed with gasoline and matches.

Having been distracted these last few weeks poncing through elegant English country estates and the wild badlands of rural Russia, I was reminded today of just how brutal the Australian landscape can be. Australia is renowned at the best of times for being an unforgiving land of barbarity due to extreme weather conditions. If entire rural towns aren't disappearing up in smoke during the devilishly hot summers (Victoria, 2009) then its the capital cities finding themselves submerged under putrid flood waters (Brisbane, 2011).

In 1957, large parts of Leura were destroyed after a bushfire swept up through the surrounding valley engulfing the modest row of village shops in less than an hour. Vintage pics below from Naomi Bulger's blog. Luckily the village has escaped the grapes of wrath of wild bushfires since then, however each summer feels like a lottery when a collective sigh of relief is felt when your number hasn't come up for another year.

The local fire brigades are a vital part of the Blue Mountains community and as the threat of bushfire destruction re-emerges each summer, controlled burning performed by (often volunteer) fire-fighters minimises the risk. The distinctive aroma of bushfires are an evocative memory of many a bogan Aussie childhood as well as the 'get down low, go go go!' government school fire advice dished out to doe-eyed young primary schoolers back in the 80s. Fire kills, peeps. Don't be a dick'ead with matches!! 

Thanks to Nick Moir, smh, Sky News and flickr for all other images.