Batakliev's Bloc

Once upon a time, there was a tailor called Saeed. In his tiny studio he was making outlandish garments for future brides. Day in, day out, the tailor was singer-sewing, humming the sweet tones of Mon Amie la Rose and Soleil D'Egypte . His eyes would glisten with glee every time his long fine fingers added a touch of lace to a delicate design. One day, a fairy  knocked on the door of his tiny studio. This was not entirely uncalled for. Fairies had often visited the tailor in his dreams but this was the first one to appear in the flesh. The fairy was a spitting image of Saeed and she was wearing one of his bridal dresses. For the first time Saeed could see how his work complemented him. "You a just a man in a dress", Saeed couldn't help saying. "Why have you disguised yourself like this?" "It's an acquired habit.", the fairy answered calmly. "Being eccentric is all about expressing yourself through acquired tastes and habits." T

The rain falls down. Sometimes less. Sometimes you arrive at work wet from the waist down only. Once inside the accommodating womb of the office, you stare fixedly at the raindrops trickling down the window. On a morning like this , they tend to look like spermatozoids trickling down a pleasure dome. A chimera. Then you catapult yourself back into the world of obligations, monthly installments and recurrent appointments. Life-improvement services require discipline and servitude. Your iPhone subscription is not excessive in consumption, yet it wouldn't be making your life complete without serial sustenance. And yet, the essential man knows no fear of routine and excels in rising above it. The essential man resides in you. The same you which is accidentally caught up between your mortgage plan and your Oedipal duties.

The light-and-shadowplay behind my eye-lids in a state of pre-sleep or near-awakening. The proximity of the inner world, the recycled patterns of the outside world. Slanted planes of dotted light reflections. Gentle morphs bring a subtlety of colour closer to the mind's eye. The darkness provides the background for a drizzle of semi-transparent reds and yellows. An unobtrusive take-over. Directing this art takes calm and focus and results in projective auto-creation. An intuitive screen-saver of your imagination. Before you know, you are a visitor in your own mind.

Paris is password-protected. Berlin is open-source. Paris is a lover. Berlin is a comrade.  Paris is singular. Berlin is plural. Paris is pure poetry. Berlin is pure. Paris is a gold-studded oxygen mask. Berlin is oxygen. Paris has a heart of Gold. Berlin is not heart-centred and treats its internal organs equally. They all come in gold, silver or bronze and get served with sauerkraut .  Paris is all about timing. Berlin is anytime. Paris doesn't bite. Berlin is edible. Paris is mystifying. Berlin is occasionally overcast. Berlin is history repeated. Paris is history.

I still haven't recovered from your performance at Parc de la Villette . You disturbed the ether and this disturbance was bitter-sweet. The diameters of my remotest recesses expanded. Thank you for the post-audible vibrations that shook the ground under my feet. Thank you for exposing the deep shit and deep soulfulness, the burning hell of our inherent Balkanism. Thank you for raising your finger heavenwards to clear the path for the piercing yells that brought a smile to my lips. You know, I am a slow recoverer so I may dwell in the comfort of your spell for yet another while. (No one else can) Sing the blues to me. IB

When I was 18, I attended a video-art workshop in Sofia. The Hungarian lady who was the main lecturer reminded me of my high school literature teacher. She didn't really look like her but she moved like her, smiled like her, bore some intrinsic semblance to her. I decided to shoot a video about pairs of people who are not connected by blood yet happen to be universally related. I called them Arbitrary relatives . The video project was not feasible and never kicked off. The Arbitrary relatives idea stayed with me throughout the years. It pops up in my head on regular basis oozing some unfathomable fascination. My girlfriend in Scotland is a mother of two. She takes care of the kids and looks after the house. Her arbitrary sister is an American copywriter based in Amsterdam. Their lifestyles are mutually exclusive yet their kinship is unequivocal. In my head I have been executing the idea in various shapes and forms, interfaces, media. Yet this is the first actual step towards materi