Tipp No. 153: “Merciless, Thinking Illustrations & Cartoons” – by Gerhard Haderer (Austria)

arts, Cartoons, Creatures, humor, Insights, Psychologie, psychology, Reisen, Tipps, Travel
migration crisis
Adolf HItler, an Austrian migrant in Germany
Think Big! (right-wing populists: Trump, Geert Wilders / Netherlands, Boris Johnson / UK)…the Blonde Marie Le Pen / France and others are missing…
climate conference
Xmas Gifts
Dear Syrians Welcome!
Here in Austria, it is veeery “schiach” (bad / difficult / ugly)!
Germany is much more beautiful!
Or Sweden or England!
Besides we have got Mr Strache and the FPÖ (right-wing party in the government).
Have a lot of fun on your continued journey!


Gerhard Haderer (born 1951 in Leonding, Austria) is an Austrian cartoonist and caricaturist.

Haderer studied at a technical art school in Linz for four years from 1965, and then studied engraving in Stockholm Gerhard Haderer (born 1951 in Leonding, Austria) is an Austrian cartoonist and caricaturist.

He returned to Austria in 1971 and worked as an independent commercial artist and draughtsman. He developed his photo-realistic style working on advertising, illustrations, and even designing maps for the Salzburg tourist board.

In 1985, after a cancer operation, he abandoned his commercial career to become a freelance caricaturist and satirical illustrator.
His first satirical works appeared in the upper-Austrian magazines “Watzmann”, “ORF-Ventil” and “Oberösterreichische Nachrichten”.
He soon began to appear regularly in the Austrian weekly “Profil” to which he still contributes.
His work then began to appear in newspapers and magazines in other German speaking countries.
Since 1991 his work has appeared regularly in Germany’s “Stern” magazine as “Haderers Wochenschau” (“Haderers weekly news”).

From 1997 to 2000, and from 2008 he published his own monthly satirical comics magazine called “Moff”.
He has produced designs for several satirical puppet shows.

2001: Deutscher Karikaturenpreis, Geflügelter Bleistift in Gold (German caricature prize, winged pencil in gold)
2008: Goldenes Verdienstzeichen des Landes Wien (Golden Merit of Vienna)

Tipp No. 44: “IF”- Poem by Rudyard Kipling (“Wenn”- deut. Übersetzung des Gedichts)

Gedichte, poems, Psychologie, psychology, Uncategorized

This poem is the most valuable gift, I got from my ex partner many years ago. I thought of the poem as a prayer…Actually, I could recite it.

Today, I am less lofty. But the poem still touches me. Therefore, I`ve tried to translate into German language on my own. The translations that are available online didn`t “strike the right note” in my view.

“If” (Wenn)

By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

Wenn du deinen klaren Kopf behältst, während alle anderen um dich herum
ihn verlieren und dir dies zum Vorwurf machen,
Wenn du auf dich vertraust, während alle anderen an dir zweifeln,
du ihren Zweifeln aber auch Raum gibst;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

Wenn du abwarten kannst, ohne dabei zu ermüden
Oder wenn du belogen wirst, ohne selbst mit Lügen vorzugehen,
Oder wenn du gehasst wirst, dem Hass keinen Weg bereitest,
und dich dennoch weder überlegen gibst, noch zu weise (überheblich) sprichst.

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

Wenn du träumen kannst – und deine Träume nicht zu deinem Meister machst;
Wenn du denken kannst – und deine Gedanken nicht zum Selbstzweck erhebst;
wenn du Triumph und Niederlage begegnen kannst,
Und diese beiden Blender ganz einfach gleichbehandelst;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‚em up with worn-out tools:

Wenn du es ertragen kannst, die Wahrheit, die du ausgesprochen hast,
von Schurken verdreht zu vernehmen, um Dummköpfe in die Irre zu führen,
Oder zusiehst wie die Dinge, denen du dein Leben gewidmet hast, in Scherben liegen,
und du niederkniest, und sie mit verschlissenen Werkzeug wiederaufbaust:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

Wenn du in der Lage bist, all dein Erreichtes auf einen Haufen zu werfen
und dessen Verlust mit einem Münzwurf riskierst,
und verlierst, und beginnst noch einmal ganz von vorne
und niemals auch nur ein Wort verlierst über deinen Verlust;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‚Hold on!‘

Wenn du dein Herz und Willen (Nerven) und Kraft (Sehnen) zwingen kannst,
deinem Vorhaben zu dienen lange Zeit nachdem sie bereits geschwunden sind,
Und festhältst, auch wenn nichts mehr in dir ist
außer dem Willen, der ihnen sagt: „Halte durch!“

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

Wenn du mit dem gemeinen Volk reden kannst und deine Tugend behältst,
Oder mit Königen wandelst – ohne die Bodenhaftung zu verlieren,
Wenn alle mit dir rechnen, aber keiner zu sehr;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds‘ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

Wenn du die unversöhnliche Minute anfüllen kannst
mit sechzig Sekunden eines Langstreckenlaufes wert,
Dein ist die Welt und alles was darin ist,
Und – was noch mehr ist – dann bist du ein Mensch, mein Sohn!


Poem No. 212: “I am” – by MeanAileen

Gedichte, poems, Psychologie, psychology

I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that’s getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan. 
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I’m no sucker. 
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold. 
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don’t care. 
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled. 
I am spontaneous and I am a bore, 
forever forgiving, I still keep score. 
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise. 
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive. 
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of glass, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind. 
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused. 
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
a habitual liar just keepin’ it real.
I am witty and weird and mean-
I am what I am…….100 Aileen.
A lil bit about who I am…

Tipp No. 154: “Operation Supermarket” – contemporary arts by Shirin Aliabadi and Farhad Moshiri (Iran)

arts, Cartoons, Food, Gedichte, humor, Insights, Kunst, Oddities, poems, Psychologie, psychology, Reisen, Tipps, Travel

OPERATION SUPERMARKET: Rebranded products and packaging talking to us…

The series operation supermarket is “mixing detergents with poetry”, Aliabadi & Moshiri explain.

The emphasis seem to be on the commodification of mainstream media traits – not only in the Middle East – but also on a wry parody of mythical hopes still pinned on the commodity itself as capitalistic change agent.

The eye-catching series points out how people are identifying themselves with the product – or even more precise – the packaging, they are purchasing. In my view, it is in particular exciting to utilize all-day products to transport messages with a dash of irony.

The approach to “mix detergents with poetry” might be a reference to the Persian culture to paint emotional pictures with words instead of using figurative arts to express themselves (possibly, also due to islamic restrictions?). Persians seem to have an obsession with poetry and the art of calligraphy.

Isn`t it strange that we are expressing our feelings and needs by consumption instead of addressing them in real life?

How do you want to assert your interests, satisfy your emotional needs, demand for change, effectively take a position and develop a personality by buying detergents, chocolate, fashion or other commodities?!

Actually, I think of a similar supermarket series for some time – triggered by the offering of tea and shower gel in particular. Admittedly, I am very disappointed and discouraged that somebody else had the same idea much earlier…

Aliabadi & Mashiri utilize the vehicle of advertisement to get our attention and talk to us…Just listen to them.

Families, As Why
We are all Americans – Soft Power to numb people
Shoot friends, make friends later – a globally spreading paranoia
Tolerating Intolerance, 2006
Killing People – daily media headlines
You are the fearless rose that grows amidst the freezing wind


Shirin Aliabadi

Shirin Aliabadi (10 March 1973 – 1 October 2018) was an Iranian contemporary multidisciplinary visual artist whose work focused on women’s issues, gender representation, and the beauty industry. She’s best known for depiction of rebellious Iranian women in her Girls in Cars and Miss Hybrid series of photographs.

Aliabadi was born in Tehran, Iran in 1973 to Maymanat and Iraj Aliabadi. Her mother, Maymanat is an artist and taught at Tehran University. Her father, Iraj was a poet who worked for an insurance company. She was also mentored by older brother who coached her on art, music, and pop culture. Aliabadi grew up surrounded by artists and intellectuals, and the standard of living for the family was high until the Iranian Revolution in 1979. Her parents lost their jobs, but were still able to send her to study in Paris. Aliabadi studied art history at the University of Paris, where she also earned a masters degree in art history.[5]
Aliabadi married Farhad Moshiri, another artist in 1993. She commuted between Paris and Tehran for most of her career, but was primarily based in Tehran where she was represented by The Third Line gallery in Dubai for more than ten years.

Her work has appeared in solo exhibitions in Dubai, Tehran, London, Switzerland and Denmark and in group exhibitions at the Institut des cultures d’Islam in Paris, the Gallery of Modern Art in Glasgow, at Frieze New York, at the Chelsea Art Museum, in Monaco, in Rio de Janeiro, in Copenhagen, in Italy, in Norway, in Estonia, in Germany, in Switzerland and in Spain.

Her work is held in the collections of Deutsche Bank AG in Germany, the Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery and the Farjam Collection in Dubai.

Shirin Aliabadi died on 1 October 2018 in Tehran, Iran after a battle with cancer. RIP.

Poem No. 209: “I know why the caged bird sings” – by Maya Angelou

Gedichte, poems, Psychologie, psychology

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.