Although this sounds utterly crazy, it was neither a complete shock nor a blinded jump. My Dutch
husband and I had met when I was on the Fulbright Grant to Bulgaria. My father is Bulgarian and after being raised among Bulgarian immigrants in Cleveland and having lived in Bulgaria for nearly two years, to return there to live was like a homecoming.
husband and I had met when I was on the Fulbright Grant to Bulgaria. My father is Bulgarian and after being raised among Bulgarian immigrants in Cleveland and having lived in Bulgaria for nearly two years, to return there to live was like a homecoming.
We lived in the historical village of Arbanassi, a stone's throw from the family that long ago had become my Bulgarian "family", a family that helped me to learn the language and to bring me into their daily lives. They were also the hosts of our village wedding that summer.
Our home was tiny, heated by a small wooden stove and rather primitive by western standards. Our living space was cozy but every centimeter of space had to be carefully considered. During the years my husband rented the place, he converted the outdoor area from a confusion of overgrown weeds, suffocated fruit trees and thorny bramble into a lovely garden brimming with every sort of flower imaginable. And, we had a grand walnut tree.
I began a series of works on paper, in part because of space constraints and the use of turpentine in close proximity to the stove, but mostly because in this format I wanted to digest my surroundings and my new life. We managed to squeeze in a garden table that doubled as my work surface and our evening dinner table.
That first winter was a particularly harsh one and we were often snowed in. Although the stove was toasty warm, you could never wear just socks on the floor. As I worked, I peered through a partly shuttered window into the front garden with grape vine canopies, sleeping flower beds and fruit trees wrapped in the embrace of an old stone wall. At night, above our heads, we would hear the industrious scampering of our attic resident, a shy minx that we never managed to see. Ah! the memory of my huge Boston warehouse studio compared to a mere square inches of a table surface! Accustomed to painting on large canvases with jars of paint, I was now constantly shifting and balancing pieces of paper, brushes and ink pots.
That winter, these works on paper came into being. Grounded by observations through a garden window, they reflect a layering of experiences and adventures I have had in Bulgaria throughout the years.
Here's the link to my painting blog: Nadine Zanow
Images and text Nadine Zanow
