Thor’s day

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.

Tuesdays Sunrise



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.







  

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sculptures of my imagination

Family Tree

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….MiroTapiesPicasso
and me…..

  

    

  

Lament to Home

Oh england lost
my treasured friend,
please tell me.

Does your beck still run cold
over pebbles?
Do cricket whites still dot flat lime
and can you hear the clapping?

Oh my england lost
my deep embedded land
please remind me.

Do your blue bottles bump
into windows as distant sheep cough?
Do your horses swish
their tails in the shade
as tractors turn stripes for winter,
can you still smell the hay?

Oh my england lost
I am sorry
please forgive me.

I will swap all the flowers of Barcelona for
one walk through cows parsley.
I will give you the beach for the terrifying dash
over meadows with Molly, fearful of young boys
with wet mouths and big eyes.

Oh my england lost
I am sorry
please wait for me.

I’ll not again run for different grass
but wait for your spring (for however long)
and your loving summer (for however short)
I’ll not again swap dry for damp or cold wind for hot breeze
or yellow bubbles for flat brown beer.

I am yours.
My england
My oldest friend
Forget me not.

Yes I get homesick but believe it or not I am really happy here as well! I have been painting these past days and it gets me over emotional! I was painting a picture of an imagined tree, weirdly,  inspired by sitting in Miro park looking at his sculpture. The lime green in the painting made me think that I am missing the countryside, we live near a nice park Parc Del Guinardo, up on the hill looking over the whole of barcelona and the sea, its amazing. I miss the countryside at home as well but its so close I can nip out to the foundry and walk molly in the cotswolds on the way.

Painting seems to weird me out more than sculpture, I think its the colours, they made me think of aldeborough where I grew up and hanging about in the village, on the green, the cricket pitch was at the other end of this massive green and I never watched them but they were always there in the distance.

Often I played in the beck, feet cold from the running water, hours spent lifting up pebbles and cupping hands in wait for tiny fish that would get scooped up into plastic tubs from the doctors surgery. They would get hot and confused all day on the bank and then we would pour them back in again. it made me think of norfolk and gannny and grandpas house, they had sheep and horses and it was always really quite and blue bottles would fly about bumping into the window to get out, when it was open just below and they could have gone out and annoyed the horses, usualy though they got squashed with a crunchy noise by granny.

And the green painting reminded me of walks in the south west with my darling Graham and Molly and general escapades of trying to not get chased by cows, lifting molly over fences, walking for hours, all so we could enjoy a brown flat beer in a garden on the way…..happy days!!

No doubt when I am back in the green grass of home I will talk of my love of Barcelona! C’est la vie!
à bientôt

err….Castilian Carol…wrong country!

Just got back from walking the dog and feel quite at home here really, good to let off steam