Djurdjevic - Personal Photos - Life at Grayhawk

SCOTTSDALE, Dec 19, 2005 - Today was my first St. Nicholas Day at my new home (my family Slava is

the day the Djurdjevic's converted to Christianity, probably over 1,000 year ago. For more on the history our saint protector, St. Nicholas, check out this web site). I had great intentions about going to church and making some traditional dishes, but they all fizzled as I fussed and fiddled with various business and personal chores. I did manage to make a "zhito" - the traditional Serbian treat for the Slava. That's it. Oh well...

The icon on the wall above the cross is an image of St. Nicholas similar to the small one above.

One reason for my "dereliction" of tradition was my unexpected art hunt (see "The Greco-Italian Connection" below). But the main reason (besides the chores) was that I was just enjoying myself in my new surrounding. And trying to figure out how to make the interior complement the external beauty.

The flowers in the above photo came from my garden (yellow rose and the daisies - see the close-ups below).

SCOTTSDALE, Dec 19, 2005 - As you know, I have been looking for a painting for the other wall in my master bedroom for some time now. I've scoured all downtown Scottsdale galleries without finding anything I really loved. The closest that came to it was a print of a snowy Paris scene by Lacroix (see above story). I liked it, but I didn't really love it. So I just waited for something better to come along. It hasn't... until this afternoon.

Being St. Nicholas Day, my family Slava, I set out this afternoon to do my various errands, hoping to get them done before my 4:30 yoga class. I never even made it to first base. As I was walking toward the Starbucks at Pinnacle Peak and Scottsdale Rd, I noticed a couple of young people displaying some oil paintings on the sidewalk. They were laid out in a sort of a helter-skelter style, the way they do it in Paris on the bank of the Seine, or on the eastern wall of Central Park in New York (along Fifth Ave). The girl was engaged in a conversation with a prospective customer. The young man was at first just kind of hanging out, then used the beautiful sunny afternoon to finish a painting of his own.

I started looking at various art displays. One of them grabbed me. It looked like a place in Greece that I have been to. I gazed at it for a while, trying to imagine it with a gold frame on that other wall in my bedroom. Then I let go of the idea, and walked around, looking at some other art.

"Do you have a question?" the young woman approached me, having evidently finished with the other customer without making a sale.

Her story was quite interesting. The two of them are artists themselves, as as well artist agents working for a Las Vegas art gallery. As the gallery was moving from LV to LA (Hollywood), they were hauling their inventory with them in a van trailer, and trying to sell some art along the way. Quite entrepreneurial, I thought. I liked that.

"There are 27 artists we represent," the girl answered my question (I am ashamed that I've forgotten her name... let's call her Jennifer). She and her friend Brook (not boyfriend!) were two of them. She showed me one of her paintings. It was good, but the colors would not work for me.

We struck up an animated conversation. Jennifer is originally from Nebraska; Brook is from LA. The artist who painted that Greek scene I liked is Antonio Fazzari, an Italian now living and painting in Northern California, while exhibiting mostly in LA (Hollywood and Laguna Beach). "Antonio is our best-selling artist," the girl added.

Then the conversation switched to my Russian nude, and how I got to name her Irene, also the name of the artist (click here to read more about it). They were both fascinated. "You're putting us on," Brook exclaimed, sounding incredulous. When I assured him I was not, he said, "that's really cool. You had a cosmic connection with the artist in Russia. Wow..."

By that stage, the two of them were so into the Irene story that they demanded that I go home and bring them a picture. I said I might, later on (thinking after I get my mocha and do the errands). It was not to be...

We walked back to the Greek painting. The longer I looked at it, the more I liked it. I asked about the price. It was reasonable. Then I asked them if they would frame it for me in a gold and brown frame (to match the color theme of my bedroom). They agreed. Free of charge. We tried out a few frames and found just the right one. All three of us thought it was the perfect one. They finished the job on the spot. I was impressed. I bought them each Starbucks treats while they were mounting the frame. They were very grateful. They had a long drive ahead of them (to LA).

I went home to get my check book and bring back the Russian nude photos. When I returned, both young artists loved them. Since my new Greek painting was too large to fit in my car, Brook delivered it for me in his van's trailer. He followed me to my place at Grayhawk. He even helped me position the painting in the bedroom. And got to admire Irene live in return. He then got very technical about how the nude painting was actually done. He lost me there... it was more than I needed to know. But he was fascinated with the technique.

...and the way it looked tonight when mounted on the wall of my bedroom. Which means that this room has now suddenly (and unwittingly) become a bastion of Orthodox Christian art themes. I chuckled thinking that St. Nicholas actually lived in what was once eastern Greece (today, it is western Turkey). My Greco-Italian connection, supplanting my cosmic Russian one.

SCOTTSDALE, Dec 20, 2005 - As I began to gain consciousness this morning, the first thing I became aware of were the sounds of Tschaikovski' s Overture to the "Nutcracker Suite." I normally don't care much for that piece, only because it is overused and overplayed, especially at this time of the year. Then I realized... the Overture was embedded in my subconsciousness and was playing in my head, maybe because the music is overused and overplayed, especially at this time of the year. Undaunted, I decided I'd put on that CD when I get out of bed. (I am listening to it while writing this).

The second thing I became of this morning were some deep hooting sounds... strange, spooky, almost haunting. "What could that be?" I was wondering. Then I remembered a conversation with my next door neighbor this weekend.

"On Friday morning, just before dawn, I saw the biggest owl I have ever seen in my entire life," he said.

"That must be it," I thought, jumping out of bed and running outside to my back yard only half clad. The sun had not risen as yet, but the light in the eastern sky was heralding it would be up soon. The hooting sounds continued, only louder, as I was getting evidently closer to the source. Then I spotted him. A big white-gray owl was perched on top of a tree in the southeastern part of my backyard, the part next to my bedroom. Then he spotted me. And took off. Guess I spooked him as he had spooked me earlier. My first owl encounter was spooky all around, albeit brief.

Afterwards, I realized why I have not seen any loose cats roaming around our neighborhood, only occasional rabbits - the owl's future meals.