Friday, June 18, 2010

Ios: A Personal Love Affair

By Guest Author, Lambi Lentakis

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set ...
Lord Byron

The Greek islands have held so many people in their thrall over the ages. Many have roamed their shores and written about their beauty and the special light of the skies and the colors of the sea. I grew up in London, and because my parents were Greek, we visited Greece a lot as a family and made many trips around numerous islands. Later I traveled farer a field, but I felt myself constantly drawn back to Greece and her islands. Deciding that the Cycladic group of islands appealed to me most, I island-hopped extensively, discovering many beautiful places, until I came upon Ios. Here, I had found my dream island and the source of my inspiration, so I decided to stay.

What makes Ios special?

What is so special about Ios? When I first arrived in the early 1970s, I was looking for sun, sea and fun (much like people are nowadays). These I found in abundance. Along the road, I discovered stunningly beautiful landscapes, a graphic traditional village, stupendous beaches and a sense of timelessness. Yes, Ios has changed over the years, but somehow it has remained basically the same. The old traditions of the locals are entwined with modern technologies and the influx of visitors only really changes the rhythm of the island during the few summer months.

One of the reasons I love Ios so much are the beaches: most islands have one or two lovely beaches – Ios has over 30, some of them spectacular. There’s a beach to suit all tastes – sandy, rocky, pebbled, busy or remote. If you want to participate in water sports activities or poolside fun, you can – and there’s even a scuba diving school. On the other hand, if you want a beach to yourself, you can also find one. The waters are crystal clear which make swimming and snorkeling very enjoyable.

If you get tired of the beaches, there is always the picturesque village to explore with its little white houses with doors and shutters of varying shades of blue and its winding narrow alleyways – some of them partly covered. The little back streets have a charm of their own with beautiful little patches of color of bougainvillea and other plants. Lining the main lanes are shops, little bars and places to eat. No cars are allowed into the traditional part of the village which is built on a snail-shaped hill, with many steps to reach the higher parts. It is well worth the climb as when you reach the top with the 4 churches, the views over the sea are incredible.

The nightlife is vibrant with a vast choice of places to drink, socialize and dance the night away. The main square of the village is a great meeting place and people of all nationalities and ages congregate in the evenings to meet up and have fun. In the bottom square you can listen to live Greek music in the summer evenings. Both squares are great for people-watching and having a catch up with your friends and can get quite busy at night, while in the mornings they are peaceful places to linger over coffee with friends. Here, I made the best friends of my life and also met my future husband.

If you are a lover of nature, there are various treks through the hills and mountains which show you a different aspect of the island and some very strange rock formations. In springtime, if there has been enough rain, the mountains are covered in a carpet of wild flowers and wherever you tread the scent of thyme & other herbs perfumes the air around you. My husband has found 16 different varieties of wild orchids on his walks and well as many other flowers.

Village life

Maybe it is village life itself which is the main draw of Ios for me. Here, I know so many people – the locals, the workers, the visitors who come back at set times every year – and I also get to know new people every time I’m here. Not only do I know the people, I know their pets too. A walk through the village involves many stops to chat to the butcher, the baker, the boutique owner and also pat their dogs & talk to their cats. This feeling of community & lack of anonymity is common to most villages, but Ios offers something else as well. Because of the tourist nature of the island, there is a metropolitan flavor and a break down of barriers. Visitors are mainly cheerful as they are on holiday & this creates an open, joyful atmosphere. One day I may meet an artist or musician, another day a bricklayer or a carpenter. The millionaire rubs shoulders with the back-backer. The young mingle with the old and nobody looks askance at the 83 year old artist who comes every year to drink her retsina and dance the night away.

All these things contribute to why I’m in love with Ios and I hope I have managed to convey the “Hotel California nature” of the island – I am not the only one who keeps returning. Even those who do not visit the island for years, often come back with their families to show their partners & offspring the magic of Ios. It gained its reputation as a party island in the 1980s, but in truth, it is much more than that. Ios caters not only for the party animals, but also for those who seek peace & serenity. It may be an island for youth, but older people also appreciate its charm. The locals have seen various tribes of visitors pass through their land – from the hippies to the Goths, rockers, punks – you name it. Many eccentrics have graced its shores. The Niotes (people of Ios) have looked on with acceptance (and amusement) at the various antics that people get up to. They embraced us with hospitality and love, although our customs are so different to theirs. They allowed us to be ourselves and to act out our dreams. On Ios I can be as silly as I like & find people to join me in my silliness – it is the only place in the world that I feel I have the freedom to be me – and I think that is the real reason for its magic.

About the Author

Lambi is a bohemian artist who finds her spiritual solace on the Greek island of Ios, although she spends the winter months in Athens. Her work is inspired by the people she knows and the places she goes, and of course, by the island she so loves, which manifests regularly in her paintings. You can see more of Lambi's work on her blog and follow her on Twitter
Read my blogpost Kaleidoscope which features Lambi's art.  Also, Lambi inspired the piece of art to the left here, which is a page from my Art Journal.  She loved it and uses it as her profile pic on FB.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Those Lips, Those Eyes (Francine 3)

~lo sono il segreto della nostra Regina~

Those Lips, Those Eyes (Francine 3) © June 9, 2010 by Donna L. Faber as Jupiter enters the sign of Aries for the first time since the year 2000, and I feel more myself than I have in six months. This piece is done on Strathmore Bristol Vellum, 100 lb. paper, with Prismacolor markers, a Sharpie, and Pips. The original is 11’ x 17”, and she’s four separate, assembled pieces. This portrait has been 6 months in the making. I started it in January, was stricken with an enduring case of artistic ADD, and got side tracked by work and work related stress. I filled the artistic void with short-term projects like my art journal, tarot cards, and the occasional blogpost.

I often wonder what women would do with their lives if they had more choices.  What makes them submit to unhappy or toxic domestic situations?

Francine is forever the eternal and relentless lover. She seeks love in all places, without boundary, without rest, and in defiance of convention and standard morality. She is also the embodiment of my internal creative muse; she who will not be quieted.

In this piece, she is from another life, another time, but she is still Francine. She states, “I am yours forever,” and explores love through submission.

This is her story.


I live here.

In these chambers.

I know nothing but these ornate walls and the plush gardens outside them. Born into servitude, and gifted with beauty, I was hand picked for this purpose. I am hand-maiden to the Queen. She is my soul purpose and my reason for living. This is what I was put on the earth for, and in being here in service to her I fulfill my destiny. She is the Queen of the realm, and the Queen of my heart, and I am her tiny secret.

It seems I am always waiting. Even though I was born to do so, at times I find myself wanting. I live for the moments when my Queen expresses her satisfaction. To me, her smile is akin to the rays of the sun, shining approval down on me, or the radiance of the full moon. Those moments are not easily won, but I strive for them readily. I wait for them constantly.

She is not a young Queen, and speaking of age is anathema to her. She is a fully bloomed flower, ripe and colorful, and while it is by force of will or in defiance of nature, her bloom has not wilted where others surely have. She is strong. Soft, pliable skin covers muscle and bones made of steel. I’ve learned she relies on this physical strength and endurance. Her grip is tight.  It is as tight as the back of her hand is hard and as sharp as the ascerbic cut of her tongue. Her moods are mercurial and her needs undefined, but when those needs are not met she is quick to punish either corporally, which is not intolerable or unpleasant, or by leaving me alone here in this place for days on end. No matter how empty I am rendered, when I am left without her, by days’ end, I pine. Within two days, I weep. After that ...

And then she appears again, and I am resurrected.

When she is present, I am at my most content. I am completely fulfilled in that particularly delicious service, the tasting, feeling, emotional whirlwind which is indeed the truest focus of my singular existence. Every inch of her is like nectar, and I drink deeply, memorizing every curve, fold, and hidden valley. She smells like fragrant lilacs.  Her body is a map forever burned in my memory, and I travel it’s byways in my dreams, my imagination, when she isn’t present.  Her voice ... ah her voice. When she whispers in passion, I am transported. It is the lock set on my captivation. It is why I surrender to her persistent demands.  All this and love.  All mundane details fade against the persistence of this desire, when my skin becomes alive with a million hungry mouths aching to be kissed, fed, and filled.

Only she can feed this hunger.

When she leaves, I begin to wilt.

I wait for her return, dangling on the string of our psychic rapport. I feel her each and every moment of each and every day and night no matter if she is here or not. That silver cord transmits every feeling, every concern, every fleeting moment of unhappiness, and every triumph. It reveals to me when she is in the arms of another.

This connection is my salvation as much as it is my eternal torment.

I am left only with the sureness of my intuition, and the hope that she will open the door to my chamber and enter in all her glory, thus releasing me from this suspension and into her service, delicious as it is, once again.

Until she does, I remain here wrapped in a sheet, rifling through memories of the last time I saw her.


I am her secret, and I am content.


Francine 2

See more of my art at


Thursday, June 3, 2010

Words to live by ...

I found this in a box recently. 

It was written by the mentor I had when I was growing up.  It has to be over 35 years ago.  Her name was Contance M. Sullivan aka Connie Moore, and she was my dance and theater arts instructor in Milford, Connecticut.  A long time friend of the family, Connie, or Miss Connie as we all called her, was larger than life.  She was six feet tall in her high heels, had flaming red hair that she swore wasn't colored (the jury is still out on that).  She also wore hats and scarves, beige leather gloves, and was well known for her false eye lashes.  I came out of my childhood, in spite of what happened, with some confidence and daring because of Miss Connie's influence in my life. 

She's been dead for almost 10 years, but I still dream about her.

It's like she's still there, in my internal landscape, keeping me on my toes.

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