We got the place so hot and sticky yesterday that we woke up Thor. In the early hours of his morning, thor’s day, he rumbled awake. He grumbled like an old man in the distance, irritable. He just kept going on.
Then he started pounding around and having a good old think about things and he wound himself up.
He started really shouting, no, kind of roaring, deep, deeper than a Castilian growler, and he got really very angry. Then suddenly like a huge scary adult to a cheeky child, when you know you have pushed it too far, been naughty too long, he rushed over the mountains, down over the bay of Barcelona and he showed us his wroth … and he roared … and he shamed us awake with lightening of sheet white bright.
looking towards the airport you can watch the little specs of white planes drift in and out constant
It’s tricky not to take a beer
to sit on a hill and watch the city change from yellow to blue
on walk home 10ish blue
Back down the hill towards Sagrada
just before the lights go on
The screeching feeding swifts woke me up early this morning so I could see the sunrise.
Mon night did nothing but sit on the terrace and talk, and drink cold wine. Too tired to cook so had crisps for tea, er slight diet mistake there….we did have a few carrots as well?
We watched the light change as we turned away from the sun and eventually the mountains got swallowed by the city lights, as they do every evening. I kept thinking it was a mist coming in from the hills but its the city lights creeping up obscuring the mountains….fascinating I know sorry!
We eat out every night (but not always crisps) when its too dark we go to bed, pretty simple. This city for me, especially up here (which feels like the country!) is about watching the light change, so I guess it must be about the light. I never put Barcelona down as the city of light but with the dark streets and strong sun I guess it can be about the contrasts as well.
Ironically its now too hot and I am sitting in the dark but this morning I watched us turn towards the sun and I watched the swallows with my head hanging over into the street valley below, they treated me as another bit of cliff and zoomed so close but all the time I was pretty confident they wouldn’t bump into me.
These are the sculptures of my imagination, set free by Catalonia. They are not held down by gravity or by practicalities, they have the freedom to float, to roam. As Miro once said “I am neither a printmaker or a painter but someone who tries to express himself with all the available means”
There were other cities on our list, Barcelona was not really on our radar, but the studio came up ( as Spike, then Sculpture Shed did in Bristol 20 years ago while I was in Winchester ) and it seemed like a good bet. Rome and New York, very different cities, will have to wait. While I couldn’t possibly know, I had a feeling that I knew what I would do in Rome and New York but didn’t know about Barcelona and Catalonia and had a hunch there was something in it for me.
The predominant artists here that I have seen are arrogant.
I am like a timid mouse.
If I was strong and colourful and playful as them I may be more equal and see their frailties, their insecurities. I do respect them, think them brave, confident and hardworking and love them for their daring. Daring to just do anything. I don’t think Rome would have shown me this freedom, this crazy arrogance to do anything.
the boys….Miro, Tapies, Picasso