have you ever felt the wind in your toes?

I'll just let jason update my blog. if you ever have the time, read this.

Jason Mraz06.20.2006
I'm a real boy!

Just beyond the elder and infamous Old Town square in Prague, the ancient one with modern refurbishments, the one that welcomes travelers from around the globe to ready their cameras for the frescos and finely painted exteriors, the same plaza they come to, to visit the astrological clock as it inches toward the solstice, a place to enjoy a beer and relax on the cobblestones with friends and foes of the teams of the World Cup being shown live nightly on a giant projection screen, behind the church towers where Disney sought inspiration for the magic kingdom, and I myself searched for something to take away, on a partially worn out road, where Tynska meets Tynska at a crossroads of at least 5 passageways, lies quiet but for a few humorous chuckles echoing on wood and stone, a carpenter's studio at Tynska 7.

Inside the arched threshold of double doors, a determined little man scratches away at various pieces of wood, carving and sculpting tiny pins, joints and miscellaneous parts for a project lying freshly lathed and unbathed in saw dust and coiled scraps of pine and balsa before him on a tatty knee high workbench. He alternates standing and sitting as he works, viewing his art from all sides, mostly from a bird's eye, and is careful as he cuts and crafts and inserts certain delicate pieces into the larger wooden block. With every adjustment to every nook and cranny he lets out a mumbling sigh of approval. His stained and splattered workshop apron tells tales of many long hours in the studio. He wears wire thin spectacles over a mask of sweat. His long aging brown hair frames his unshaven determination with the flowing grace of a renaissance man. In pictures that adorn his studio, you enter his profession of renovations, giving old Baroque statues and engravings a facelift. In one photo he’s seen on a scaffold at a ceiling, carefully recreating a colorful adornment over somewhere special. He is Michelangelo.

Back in his studio he works quickly, instinctively, and yet somehow rather cautiously, carefully, as his curious inventions take on a life of their own, needing nourishing and a nod to remind himself that his passionate and hard work is indeed art. His paintings of fantasy and portraiture seen through a web of twine and string crossing this way and that throughout his shop portray him to be more like Leonardo Da Vinci than the former. But anyone who walks in and witnesses any of this first hand knows exactly who he is. He is Pavel Charapov, father of Pinocchio, a real life Gipetto.

I met Pavel Charapov yesterday on "Charlie Bridge" he calls it, referring to the Charles Bridge with a sinister smile and thick accent well known in Prague. It was a Sunday and the tourist crowds were marching along on the typical parade route, which meant Pavel was out with his miniature painting Pinocchio, a pushcart designed like a stage. Inside, onstage is a marionette Pinocchio puppet painting away in his little puppet studio, with real brush and paint, painting an actual painting on a puppet sized canvas and easel, painting whatever Pavel instructs, imagines or wishes. Prague is a Mecca for marionettes. Every store sells them and a million more seem to make them. There's even Marionette theatre on the grand scale, Don Giovanni, an opera, and it lasts about two hours. So it’s no surprise that people will easily pass off Pavel as just another puppeteer without realizing the true genius of his work. I was only one who stopped and gave more than the recommended donation before I snapped a Polaroid. Another gentleman tried to take a quick pic and Pavel pulled the curtain on poor Pinocchio, literally. With one quick draw of a string the show is over and the red drape kindly suggests, one photo = one euro. I had a laugh and left the show loving my prized Polaroid of Pinocchio painting the profile of a deadpanning clown in a hat. Feeling somewhat vain a bit later in the day I began to think that that painting was I.

Upon my return to the bridge a few hours later, I found Pavel still sitting in the shady wings of the handmade stage watching Pinocchio work diligently on a new painting. I interrupted the show and asked what had become of the painting from earlier, pointing to the Polaroid that revealed it in its early stages. Pavel seemed intrigued by my intrigue and happily shuffled through a dozen or more works by Pinocchio before he came upon the profile of the sad clown walking alone on the bridge. That's the one. That's me I said to myself. "Like you," he said. I was sold. Either he was telling me that his painting likes me, or he was connecting with me on a much deeper level. He autographed the watercolor and invited me to his studio putting the address on the bottom of the work. We looked at the map together, drawing an x over a small section in a maze of sorts. He applied with a pleasing promise that I would like what I saw, that his studio is very small, but has big things. "Ten I open. All day. You come see… There is big Pinnochio."

Pavel Charapov holds the record for creating the World's Largest Painting Pinocchio. This is a marionette he spent 7 straight months designing, crafting and constructing. Pinocchio stands well over 6 feet tall and has about 50 moving and working parts including fingers, eyes, jaw, and of course a nose that grows. Every detail but for a few metal hooks used to hang pulleys and large bundles of string, is made of wood hand carved by Pavel.

Pavel seemed delighted right away by my entering his studio. There isn't much room to walk so he rarely gets visitors who step more than a few inches inside the shop. The colossal Pinocchio takes up most of the space but there are other great toy inventions scattered about that he excitedly showed me once he cleared off a seat for me, a chair he no doubt had crafted himself.

There was a weight lifting puppet who bends over, grips the miniature wooden weight and then brings it to his chest and up over his head, dropping it at Pavel's command. Then he demonstrated or activated the puppet that shoots a basketball, a warrior that fires an arrow from a bow, and a variety of other wood carved clinkers and instruments for merriment. As Pavel dances with delight from toy to toy, he laughs to himself and at the silly little people he has created that he shares his time with. His thick Czech accent mumbles something affectionate to each toy as if each one were one of his children. Pavel and I used a combination of broken English, Spanish, hand language and facial expressions to communicate about the various works, the logic he applies to the human form, and about the importance of inspiration. Above each of the Pinocchios, Pavel has carefully designed a muse to hang above the easels that symbolizes the angel of inspiration. Of this you could tell he was most proud and I took it to be the true reason we were introduced and the significance of the invite to this special place.

I sat quietly in the corner of Pavel's studio for almost two hours writing these words and others on paper scraps from my notebook, describing my feelings about the day and this somewhat spiritual occasion. Pavel went back to working on a robust little airplane that will be able to fly to the ceiling and release a parachuting Pinocchio. This clever new marionette-in-progress showcases his vision and talent being properly grounded which enables his imagination to keep reaching new heights. I take in as much of the space as I can through every sense, smelling the freshly cut wood and stains of paint, feeling the strings and weight of the limbs of the puppets, the smooth finishes on each, the tastes of smoke and salt in the damp and darkened studio, the scene of Byzantine lavishness of the chaotic and complex abode, and sounds of a genius hard at work on an ordinary mid Monday in June.

Before I depart I take a couple of pre-paid Polaroids of the studio, including one with the artist. "I have present," he says and begins to dig in a corner after touching my shoulder as a sign to wait. This was the first time anyone had purposefully touched me in a number of Days. The physical reaction was one that startled me, feeling like real love, with truth and compassion caught in the palm. I believed at that moment he passed on to me a special energy, a new power. I breathed new life and steadied myself with eyes closed as I stood up with a light head and waited anxiously for my gift. It was if I could feel the magic in his hands, the same that brings his toys to life and joy to children of all ages who pass through Tynska Street and happen upon Pavel Charapov and his miracles. Pavel rose from a debris of papers and revealed a painting of a bright red horse, which he presented to me with a loving smile, a Pinocchio original. I've been blessed.

I am excited now about my own studio still being designed and constructed back home in San Diego and I long for the day I run my workshop with the same zest and imagination, combining enthusiasm with respect for the work, applying a certain esoteric devotion, paying close attention to detail using an educated brand of determination alongside a naïve cause of childlike curiosity, and never ever forgetting the importance of my muse and guardian angels. Pavel Charapov and the studio at Tynska 7 is my muse for now, and I will return home with his mumbles, chuckles and sighs of appreciation stuffed into my growing suitcase of a heart, with a new found inspiration and an overall understanding of life as a work of art.

I met Paval funny enough on Father's Day, which seems rather appropriate for those of us who try to live by way of the truth. This goes out to all the Pinocchios of the world trying to keep our noses clean. And to all the Gipettos, thanks for being such patient and providing Dads as we journey from toys to boys and eventually become Dads ourselves.

the other day

as i was coming down from the escalator

i saw a boy

a little boy, in the big arms of his dad. it seemed as though he was in the safest place in the whole wide world. his dad was smiling, so was he.

dad was dark-skinned, had unkempt hair and was clad in a blue shirt. the little one, in a floral shirt, so fair and so small. in an instant, one would think that they were a mismatched pair.

then,

the little one, oblivious to the people around him, gave the man

a kiss on the suntanned cheek.

at that moment, the man glowed and gave a little smile.

at that moment, i knew he felt Love. so did i.

and he was the happiest dad in the whole wide world.

I think Conservation is the practice of being aware of our resources and acting calmly, considerately, and naturally in accordance with divinity. The idea of actually stopping the global crisis or reversing the effects seem redundant and exhausting and is why most people ignore the situations altogether. What we want to do with conservation is similar to taking a beautiful snapshot of our green earth and presenting it to our future generations. By being the photographer and viewing the world as it is now and doing our part to dress up and beautify the image, we are paying attention to the creative power of our true self. And when we explore our true self, that’s when we realize we are truly alive.

This same experience occurs when we view the world with our headphones on and make little films silently without the rest of the world knowing.

06.02.2006
Jason Mraz

you can walk amidst fields of gold and green

and hear a billion hearts beat, unseen

you can fill ninety-minutes of fleeting time and space

with tragedy and triumph

and amazing grace

you can carry them forever in your soul

with their names carved on every goal

this is where you'll always belong

this is where legends are born



DEUTSCHLAND FUER IMMER!