Contemplating a self portrait.

There seems to be a low wall between me and that which I hope to accomplish. Only a few bricks high--I can see over it easily--nevertheless, I trip over it every morning and fall into the abyss of the internet. Like quicksand, the infinite allure of more knowledge--of exotic lands and well-told stories--forms the mortar that holds the wall in place.

Will I paint today? Probably not. The rain forms a sheathing that holds my imagination captive indoors. The studio may as well be in Siberia.

If my words were paint, would they form a thick impasto? Would a form take shape before me? Would a tulpa stare out at me with a deft reflective glint in its eye? Would it look out at the world inquisitively, wondering what future viewers would project from their minds onto my face? Would the story they tell about me be accurate?

Only if I tell my own story as genuinely as I am able.

Photo taken with self-timer on Canon AE-1 in approximately 1982.

I'll never be the same.

And neither will my paintings, it would appear. They started their journey rolled... and arrived here looking like... Origami. Hmmmm. Perhaps this will serve as inspiration for a new "fusion" art form. (haha--nod to Janie) Well, I'm sure that--once stretched--they will be just fine.

Back to unpacking.

Where in the world is Waldo?

I am on the bus. This is cool... wi-fi from Bangor to Logan, I can post my final communique from foreign lands! Bangor, Maine is pretty foreign too. That's from whence I am departing at this very moment (top pic). And the second pic is from the BCN-Heathrow flight, as I was passing over the Pyrenees. A spectacular trip.

Home run!

A marathon day.

The bus pulled out of the bat cave into the daylight at 10 a.m. Mr. Toad's wild ride was underway. I had the whole island to cover, and didn't appreciate that the bus was 5 min. late! lol

First stop: Valldemossa, and the monastery tryst of Chopin and George Sand. Check. Cute town? Check. Wander a bit, hop on the bus for next stop: Deiá.

Oh yes, Deiá--my favorite! A pleasant lunch on a terrace in the sun, including the best roasted pepper and squash soup--with toasted pumpkin seeds, fresh carrrot slices, sprouts (and more)--and a small cerveza de barilla. Aaah.

Hop on the bus again, to Sóller, this stretch a white-knuckler ohmygawd, even closed my eyes on one turn, in spite of being determined not to. My mind was furiously attempting to invent new words to describe this... this.... this......... But failed. Film at 11.

Sóller. WTF? Where am I? No map, info, people, nada. Shops closed. Hm. Start walking... 10 min. or so, and I could hear people. Ah-ha, civilization. Noticed some tracks in the street, followed them, yes!, the plaza--this is promising. Continued up the hill... found the station. Considered going back to Palma on the first train, I'm not liking this place. Oh, but here's the trolley to Port of Sóller. What the heck, hopped on, it pulled out of the station 3 min. later. Holy cow--need new words. (I'll get back to you with them.) The trolley is as rustic as they come, wooden seats, views that could poke your eyes out. Yikes! Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!

Arrive in the Port de Sóller, on the far north side of the island. Boats. LOTS of boats. Breathtaking views. (Lots of tourist chachkas, we'll skip those.) Ramble a bit, then park it for a cappucino. The Italians do have words for this: dolce far niente (roughly: sweet doing nothing) Half hour before trolley returns; stroll a bit more. Hop on. Back to Sóller.

Still not much impressed with Sóller, even tho' some places are open now (the post-siesta segment). Wander. OMG, look at that! The sun on the tramuntana is.... GAH! Run up the street. Click, click, click. Back down. Check station, see if tix available in advance. Not yet. 30 min. to spare. Hm. Oh! A free Picasso ceramics exhibit in the station. 15 min. left now. Oh, again! Across the courtyard, a free Miró exhibit. (Still don't get Miró, guess I'm a Philistine.)

Train pulls out of Sóller. A bit of light in the sky, and then it's dark. Through the tunnels, across the valley, palm trees and churches uplighted. The train car is heated. Guess where it comes out? On your lower back!!! It's radiant heat. (Really, I could not make this s**t up!!!!) Aaaaahhhhh. Rattle rattle, click, clack.

Back in Palma. Walk through Plaza Espana, Down C/ San Miguel (bustling with Christmas crowds), down the bazillion stairs to my street, past CaixaForum. Yes! I've made it in time for the local Caixa exhibit: "The Cinema Effect". Only enough patience for Lonely Planet Julian Rosefeldt's short. Bollywood meets backpacking! Too fun! Wish I could get it on DVD. (Nope.)

Sigh. I'm almost home. Wait, there's a superb sax player, doing the Ave Maria. OK, one more video. Now I'm almost in the barn... wait! What's this? This door was never open... the portrait photographer. Wow!

Almost home... hey, across from the hotel's front door... this was never open before. A nativity scene-like recreation of the whole island, in miniature! Buzzed that. OK. Enough!

YES. 10 hours later... full circuit. Didn't even break a sweat. HA! Home run! What a day!!!

P.S. Sorry 'bout the phone line in the pic... will p'shop it out when I get home. Gotta pack again now.

Oops.

I sat on the wrong side of the plane. So top pic is taken across five seats and the aisle with the zoom lens, through the dirty plane window. Perhaps I'll have better luck on the final leg, back to BCN to fly home. Still you can imagine, it was pretty exciting coming into Palma de Mallorca.

Second pic is a grab shot out the taxi window. Holy mackerel, Andy--that is one BIGASS cathedral!

Third pic is a few steps out the hotel door--on the top part of Passeig del Born. Christmas is in full swing here too.

And lastly--continuing my evening walk--another shot of that overwhelmingly huge and awesome Cathedral, La Seu, lit magnificently--as is the king's palace to the left of it, Palau de l'Almudaina--perhaps I'll post that one later. I gotta scoot--I do not have my intentions in place yet for Mallorca, and time is way too short here.

¡hasta luego!

Farewell my lovely.

...my lovely Madrid, that is. I'm packing and flying out early tomorrow. I hope to get out for a last tapas or two and cerveza at Viva Madrid (2nd pic), or perhaps the place next door which is very highly touted--I can't remember its name at the moment, I am pretty well spent right now. But I thought I'd leave you with some pretties, to hold you over, because it's likely to be a couple of days before I post again. (Especially since yesterday had no pics, lo siento!)

Mallorca, here I come!

Pondering Rembrandt

As I look Rembrandt in the eye, or try to--he's looking slightly to the left of me, which is a little frustrating--I am marveling about the miracle that is this work, here and now, speaking to me from the 17th century. "1642-43", according to the I.D. plaque. He lived to be 63 years old--in a year I will catch up to him in that way, at least!

Underneath the two strings of crystals (the curators think those are gold chains; I disagree)--which are draped across his fur-trimmed cloak--he's wearing.... a t-shirt! He has about 2-1/2 chins, and they need a shave. He has observed his subjects with great intensity, which is evidenced by the deep crevice in his forehead, just above his nose. He is preoccupied with something, but not really worried about it. No, it's more like.... sadness.

The indirect gaze gives a pensive quality, as if he's saying to me "Well, here I am. What you see is what you get." There is no pretense in his gaze. Doing the math, I realize he's only 36 here, and will continue to paint many more masterpieces. Perhaps none as fine as this one, though. Maybe he's pondering what to paint next.

A half dozen portraits on either side of him, painted by others--all fine citizens of their day, I am sure. They're decked out in their finery. All dressed up and nowhere to go. And nothing to say. But Rembrandt has a lot to say, my eyes return to his face like there's some magnetic force field embedded in that string of crystals. What is the message? I will ponder that further, when I get "home" this evening.

Written on Dec. 1, 2011 while communing with Rembrandt's "Self-Portrait".
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
So I did ponder--and google--this evening, and what to my surprise, discovered that this self-portrait (photo posted yesterday) was painted at the time that his first child died, or within a year of that event (again, the plaque gives a time-span, not a date: "1642-43"). That look in his eyes? It is sadness. And two more children died after the first. So I'm thinking that there's only enough sadness in his eyes for one death; the curators could perhaps say more definitively that the painting was completed in 1642.

What do you think... shall apply for The History Detective show?!

Carmen has excellent taste.

Today I visited the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, the third in the "triangle" along the Paseo del Prado. My favorite by a long country mile, although I haven't seen any of the Baron's collection yet, his wife has been collecting more recently, and WOW! does she have good taste. Her acquisitions required a new wing, and I spent about five hours in it... and still had to walk past the always-entertaining Franz Hals (and plenty others). What's intriguing about this collection is the specific works that she was able to aquire; all the names in the text books, certainly, but an early work, or for whatever reason, a work that does not fit with the stereotype of what is generally recognized by that artist. Cases in point:

A Goya that does not look like a paranoid nightmare, "Asensio Julià", c. 1798.

An Edvard Munch, "Evening", 1888 -- a very tranquil, pastoral sort of scene.

Even a Max Beckmann that I liked, still a bit fascist looking but quite evocative -- "Leave Taking", 1942.

An Edward Hopper that I totally would not have guessed was by him -- "The 'Martha McKeen' of Wellfleet", 1944. I might have thought Bellows, perhaps, but then the way Hopper constructs his figures is right there. Of course!

And a very uncharacteristic Kandinsky... "Murnau, Houses in the Obermarkt", 1908. Beautiful! I had to sit in front of that one for a very long time.

And, much as I do like Matisse generally, there was one painting at which I had to sit down and weep; "Conversation Under the Olive Trees", 1921. I don't know why. Perhaps pure exhaustion!

I could go on and on and on... and just about the unusual aspects of her collection. This is my new favorite museum. Carmen's collection is stunning. And enormous. And I'll have to go back tomorrow. Regrettably, no photos allowed here, but I did get one contraband shot before being reprimanded. I don't think Rembrandt would mind.

Oh, P.S. The Baron bought the Rembrandt... I just realized I did walk through a few rooms of his collection before I reached hers.

Museo Reina Sofía

Hi-ho, hi-ho... it's back to work I go! Today's museum was the Museo Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, which houses a very interesting mix of sociological, literary, political and other cultural commentary told by way of the arts in all forms. I especially liked the vintage Spanish films that were playing, scattered throughout the behemoth four-story complex. I was there for hours--as long as I could stay standing--and probably saw about half of what is there. My favorite work was the Lichtenstein in the entry courtyard [pic 3]. But my favorite photo is of the kids on the elevator [pic 1]! They are looking out over the back entry courtyard, the other elevator shaft [pic 2], and the rooftops of Madrid. Spectacular!

Goof-off Sunday.

I went to the Rastro Market today, which extends for an untold number of blocks within a large triangular area, not far from here. I was forewarned about the crowds, and it's even more overwhelming than I could have imagined. I just had to put my boat in the stream and let go of the oars. Do you need some rubber tubing, perhaps [pic 1], or a good sturdy gas mask [pic 2]? Or maybe a chandelier or two [pic 3]? It's all there--and more--at the Rastro. The art on the exterior wall of a shop along the way probably describes, visually, what the owner would like to do with all these people: beat them over the head with a chair! [pic 4]

You probably think I'm exagerating about the "hoardes" of people that I've mentioned in several posts. I present the last photo [#5] in my defense. Case closed.

The sky is impossibly blue.

Sorry, I just had to mention that. It blows my mind every morning. [top pic] OK, now that that's out of the way, your friendly art scout has this to report: I went to church today. Yup. It was held at Casa Sorolla, and that is what is pictured under that impossibly blue sky of the first photo... his house. As I have mentioned, Joaquín Sorolla is the reason I'm in Spain, and today I paid him a long-awaited visit. He did not disappoint. Or, as they say in corporate-speak, he "met or exceeded expectations"! (Whoa. Where did that come from? Was I really a part of that world?)

Out of the 206 photos I took during my 2.5 hour visit, which shall I post? I'll go with this one [pic 2], which is the one that smacks you in the eyeballs when you walk in the front door. I couldn't help but swirl in the detail of the horse's hoof reflection [pic 3], it's so sublime. And what the heck, there's another slather of paint [pic 4] from a different painting. And lastly, one room of the interior [pic 5], viewed from the man's desk.

I had to come home and lie down after that blast of beauty. Thank heavens I went to the San Miguel Market early this morning to stock the cupboard with inexpensive and delectable alimentaçions, because it's weekend and the hoards are out full strength today. So much for going to the café around the corner... it's jammed to the gills. This lovely little tortilla de verdura will do just fine.

OK, it's official. This is ridiculous.

How did this happen? I'm still reeling. I happened to notice a poster for a Delacroix exhibit, over at the CaixaForum. [Some banks do good deeds. This one--Caixa Bank--is doing all the good deeds for all of the despot banks in the world!!] As I write, it was yesterday now that I hoofed it over there and... good fah-reeeeakin' lord... this is just... sputter sputter... GAH! Delacroix is the reason I went to France, almost two years ago now, and I didn't get to see much of his work then. I went to his house, and that was cool to see how he constructed his studio out in back of his Paris flat. But the work there wasn't his best, and all of that is a long story anyway, let's stay in Spain now.

Yes, here I am in Spain, and I got to see the "...most complete presentation since the centenary show at the Louvre in 1963." Yeah. It just happens to be here now, and I'm here now, and I just don't get why the gods are smiling on me so radiantly, they are fairly drooling on me!!!!! I don't know how many works there are in the exhibit... 100? 200? It spans his entire career and includes the amazing "The Women of Algiers in Their Apartment," 1834, which is enormous and exquisite and I'll have to go back and sit in front of that one. I don't know what else to say about this occurance, there's just too much to say, so I'll move on. So, so sorry I couldn't take photos in the exhibit. The second pic here is outside of CaixaForum, it's the most ginormous "living wall" that I've ever seen. Just for scale, up there in the top left corner is a little dot... no, a speck!... that's a guy's helmut, and his green suit, he's in the cage at the end of that long arm, tending to the plants.

My day ended with a very fun gathering of international expats. I found MadridBabel online (through InterNations) and, long story short, have some new Madrid friends. What a loquatious bunch! I joked with founder Francisco that I'll have to start PortlandBabel when I get home! Who's on board?

Happy Thanksgiving, Everybody!

I hope you are all enjoying a wonderfully yummy T'day with family and friends. Pictured above (top pic), you will see my nod to Thanksgiving dinner, which I spotted on the way home this evening, at a street vendor's stall. A sweet potato!!! (I think... it has a red skin... I get them confused with yams.) She had these, and roasted corn on the cob and roasted chestnuts. I may go back for the other two before the night is over, it's get-off-my-feet time right now. (Well, it was that time about 3 hours ago, but it's really hard to leave the Prado.)

So as I sit here scooping out it's sweet insides, accompanied by a lovely little bottle of Tempranillo, a Catalan tomato-bread thingy I'll explain later, and a few other assorted treats... don't cry for me Argentina. I spent the whole day in the Prado, and have plenty to give thanks for in this precious moment of time. And I am doing just that, now, as I type and think of all of you who may read this post on this special Americano foodie holiday (...or tomorrow when you come out of your stupors. lol)

Yesterday I took 111 photos (hey, I shoulda done that on 11-11-11!), and today? Three. Yup. 3. That's it, there you go, they're all here. Sorry, no photos in the Prado. I don't know what that second picture is... tell ya later when I find out. And the third.... that's Velasquez, sitting outside of the Prado. I saw several rooms of his work, but had to stand up Rubens. Sorry Rubens, I just maxed out at seven hours. That was a shame, but I'll connect with him another day. (Two free hours every evening... yeaaaaaaaaaa!)

In spite of it being an amazingly perfect cloud-free sunny day--geez it was hard to be inside all day--I did indeed commence my art museum oddysey today. When I first got there I headed strait for the Sorolla paintings. Six of them. Oh... surprise... two more in another room, not dedicated to him. Joaquín Sorolla is the reason I am in Spain right now, and I'll be going to his own home/studio/museum while I am here in Madrid. But it was good to see a bit of his work already. Interesting to see him in the Prado, he doesn't really fit there at all. So fresh and spontaneous and light-filled, his work is quite a contrast with, oh, say Tintoretto. Gawd is he morbid. Walked really fast past him.

Well, that's the short and quick of it. The street is starting to bustle again, outside my window, and I think I need to join them.

Again... my most heartfelt wishes for your HAPPY THANKSGIVING!! Here is a song of thanks for you, and thanks to Ben and Marina of Notes in Spanish for pointing the way to this.
Gracias a la Vida, Mercedes Sosa

Go Toward the Music.

I hear you're supposed to "go toward the light" at the end of this grand illusion, but I think I'd rather go toward the music. As my pics are downloading to the computer, I'm listening to Anthony Bourdain's "Celebrity Playlist" on iTunes. (Hi Dyan!) The camera offload will take quite a while, the street musicians were busy tonight, and I've got video clips of many... and have gone from having about a pound of change to not even enough for a bus ride! That's OK, they were all worth it, and I'm happy to leave some "thanks" in their hat or guitar case.

What a walk this evening! Unexpectedly, I went to my first art show tonight [pics 1 & 2] which was not only open at night but free. Hail yes! It was an exhibit of 23 young artists, the show was called "Grafika". What is your interpretation of the first image? Leave a comment, below, if so inclined.

I got to see la policía in action again [photo 3], they're just as present and active here as in Barcelona. They actually hauled this guy (on the far left) off to the gaol, leading him alongside their pretty ponies. He doesn't look that rough, does he? Guess you have to look sharp in these parts.

Eventually I got to where I was headed when I set out, and tried my best to capture the awesome Palacio de Cebeles [pic 4]. Looks like it's time for that Canon G12 that I'm desirous of, my present cam isn't up to the job. Oh well. You get the gist, I hope.

On the way home, I passed the Horno San Onofre (horno = oven) and, well, can you blame me for buying one of these?! [pic 5] It's my reward for writing up two posts in one day. Chomp!

Expose yourself to art!

Should I put on heavy boots and an overcoat, and go flashing? heh heh (inside joke for Portlanders). Well, Bud Clark's got nothing on ultra-decor Madrid (top pic). This nude beauty is on the facade of the Palacio de Cibeles, in the plaza I will return to this evening for some night shots. That's the jaw-dropper plaza I saw last night on arrival.

Sidenote: Now that I think about it, I don't know the background to that famous flasher poster, myself, so I found the story here: Expose yourself to art!

Right now I'm resting my feet to get ready for another prowl around town. Wish I'd bought a pedometer so I could keep track of my foot-mileage! I would guess about five miles today. And as I rest my feet, this (second shot) is the view from my leetle desk, past the balcony grillwork to the street. It's siesta time right now, so no people streaming by, below. It's a bit too chilly to leave the window open like this, but how could I not? I keep putting on more layers. Three so far... probably do four by the time I go out again.

It was a glorious blue-sky day when I set out this morning, so I've only walked and gawked... and scoped out the Prado and the Thyssen-Bornemisza museums, to see what kind of lines I'm in store for... and therefore, what type of museum pass I should get. Neither had lines at 11 a.m., that was a big surprise. Last photo is in the Parque del Buen Retiro, where I saw the first hint of Fall color in trees. I have learned that leaves have Fall color in only 10% of the world (although I should fact check that!), so that was nice to see.

Stay tuned.... night shots to come.

Farewell, Can Serrat, El Bruc and Montserrat!

It was a glorious last day, the sun shone on my last long walk as I said goodbye to the world as I've known it for the last three weeks. I am way behind on the blog. Blame it on the two nights of concerts (one lasting 'til 6:30 a.m.), and then my "last supper"! Can Serrat tradition is that Marcel cooks whatever you want for your last night. I asked for his roast chicken with veges, which sounds very mundane, I know, but not when Marcel cooks it! Mmm-mmm... It was a raucous last night, too, with several bottles of Cava, and then I treated all to a bottle of "Aromes del Montserrat", a liquor that the monks make up there at the monastery. Yum! I was surprised at how emotional I felt, especially with Marcel and Karine, they are the dearest people on the face of the earth. Anything we artists needed, they were there for us. I know we all felt honored and respected, which is not a real common experience for artists... not in my experience, anyway.

Today I had a full contingent escort down the mountain to Barcelona, with about a half dozen of the artists taking the bus with me. (OK, I'm not that special... they were headed in for a day in Barcelona. Still, I really appreciated the help with the luggage.) So it's been a very festive few days, and I managed to get all packed in time, anyway.

I arrived in Madrid a couple of hours ago. Oh geesh. I already know I gonna love it!! All the many-tiered wedding-cake buildings lit up at night was quite a sight. The cab driver couldn't find my street, but was kind enough to turn the meter off while he drove around looking for it! When does that ever happen?!?! So I got a nice tour of the Plaza Cebeles and Puerto del Sol and everything in between. Did I mention... OH. MY. GAWWWWWWWWD!!!?? I just sat in the back seat of that cab with my jaw hanging open. Sorry no pics yet. I was too stunned.

Now I'm comfortably ensconced here in the hostal in an amazing area, I have a little balcony, I couldn't believe it when I looked out, I'm near the corner and can look down three different cobblestone streets. Across the street is a sign for Yoga, and I found a little bodega around the corner and got small bottle of Rioja and some fresh fruit. Happy me! I made it here. (I hate the traveling part of traveling!)

Your friendly art scout will be on duty in the morning! Stay tuned.

It's art if I say it's art!

And this is as close as it gets, for now. No gift wrap paper, ribbon, or otherwise are available here. So a plastic bag (from some post cards?), various treasures plucked out of nature, and a bit of spare string off of my improvised pochade case will have to do. (The black and grey streaky background is the tabletop of my workspace in the studio... archaeological evidence of many people having worked there!) Marcel is a musician himself and I know he likes blue & jazz. On my recent BCN trip, I was able to find Esperanza Spalding and Howlin' Wolf CDs at FNAC, I'm sure he gonna love 'em!

The "cellar" looks awesome down there, we're all set for another concert, and several pieces of artwork by each of us are on display (spotlit, even), so that the village peeps can see what we've been up to here. I do so hope that Ramón comes to see his portrait. ( I doubt that Mireia is in the village now, unfortunately, I've heard that she actually plays with the Barcelona Symphony.) I'm showing those two small studies, and a larger painting, the first faux Mir, "Canyelles".

Ought to be a very fun night. Happy Birthday to Marcel... I'll drink to that! :)

Guess who this is.

Spain's greatest living guitarist, Manuel González. Yeah. We're tight now. heh heh (All right... not!)

Now this synchronicity really takes the cake. (There have been so many of them here, I haven't mentioned any because it's gotten to be a bit over-the-top.) I intended to go to the Palau de la Música Catalana see Madeleine Peyroux last night. But the universe has its own ideas about what I should do, sometimes, and this was one of those times. I had just gotten into Barcelona (one hour on bus, then 1/2 hr. on Metro), dropped off the bag and was headed toward La Rambla when someone put a promo card under my nose. My automatic response said "no gracias" and kept walking. But that leetle inner voice said "don't be so hasty, girl!" and I turned back and sheepishly said "mmm, quizás..." and took the card afterall.

Well, I'm reading and walking and my eyes are popping out of my head, I had--just the night before--listened to a CD that Marcel and Karine have here at Can Serrat by this very same artist. I would not have heard of him, otherwise, so of course I thought this must be a divine intervention. And, as it turned out, the tickets at the Palau de la Música were waaaay too pricey for my blood (what? you want to see the stage? oh, that will be extra... lots extra!) so it was a no-brainer. Off to the Basílica Santa Maria del Pi I went, last night, and oh my. Words cannot express. I am still (and will be forevermore) mystified as to how I was one of only 45 or 50 people who got to hear him play in that tiny little (medieval) church. (It was actually in a chapel, adjacent to the church. I don't think many more could have fit in there.) I do have contraband vids, but if you want to see/hear right now, google his name including "guitarist" and a YT vid will be at the top. And in it, he's playing at the Palau! (So I get to see the interior afterall. Sort of.)

It's just icing on the cake that I got a picture with him. Have you ever seen me smile so big? Really, any bigger and I'd have 20 chins instead of only 18!!

The rest of the BCN visit (The Picasso Museum...? Oh geez. I get it now.) And the rest of the two days... will have to wait. I'm wiped out--I'm sure I walked at least 15 miles in those two days. And now that I'm back, I have to finish my gift for Marcel's birthday tomorrow.

Montserrat... Take Two!

Rerun! Back to Montserrat today, and it was the best. I got to spend as much time as I wanted in front of my beloved Mir paintings! I kinda freaked out at first though, because the lower level--where the paintings are located--was closed for construction. OMG. Disaster!! My blood ran cold at first. I mustered all of my equanimity and went back out to the ticket counter and asked (quite calmly, I'm sure of it) how I could find my way to the Mir paintings, now that the stairwell was tancat (I see that word a lot here in Cataloña... it means "closed"). After some language sorting-out (no, not "Miró"!), I was led through the maze of gallery spaces to my room! Little kayzine, happy again! (Five pages of notes scrawled, I won't bore you with them.)

While I was up there, I heard another 1 p.m. boy's choir and recorded a video of it... so when I get home, any of you within spittin' range will get to see that (or be subjected to that, as the case may be!) And--camera functioning--I got some of my own photos of the extraordinary interior of the basilica.

So. Painting? (I suppose you're wondering?) I had another rough day with that yesterday, the painting that I was wanting to commence... and did commence.... will have to be addressed at home. Since there were no supports (stretcher bars) at the art store, I attempted to tape the canvas to a board. Well. Another example of the fine craftsmanship of the products here (not!), the masking tape is about as sticky as a post-it note. It didn't even stay attached through dinner, when I returned to the studio to paint, the canvas had half fallen off the board. Grrr. Undaunted, I applied another pound of tape, and began to mix paint. Oh horrors!! The cobalt blue I had purchased to replace my dwindling supply was the consistancy of syrup and had practically no pigment in it!!! Gawd.

Well, perseverance furthers, as the I Ching says. So I rustled through the raw pigments in Tupperware (left from Montserrat restoration, mentioned in a previous post), and found the perfect shade of cobalt blue (photo, above). Yeah, one would think, anyway, but as it turns out, when mixed with my medium (walnut oil/alkyd, which makes the paintings dry really quickly so I can get them home), the color vanishes and a deep dark dull navy blue results. OK. I caved. As I said, I'll paint that one at home. (And you don't get to see the rough start of it either, it's pretty dreary, what with the ghastly "blue".)

I'm going to Barcelona tomorrow, so my painting days are pretty much over. Tonight I'll do a work on paper for Marcel's birthday gift. We have another big blowout party/concert coming up for that, on Saturday. That will likely be my last artistic effort here at Can Serrat.

Mireia Peñalver

It was a lovely 11-11-11 here (several days ago, now), starting with a morning of yoga in the sunshine facing Montserrat, and ending with a concert in the village. A 19-year old cellist (named in this post's title) played a Bach recital for us, solo, and it was exquisite. I hadn't taken my camera because I just wanted to enjoy the evening without distraction. Well that is always a mistake. Luckily I had my phone cam at least, and the (very poor) resulting image is what I'm working from for this new painting. This is the grisaille, and I can see geeky bits that need correcting, but I can do that when I do the painting on top. I'm letting this underpainting dry, catching up on the blog, then it's off to chart my course for the remaining week. I need to stop painting 'long about Saturday, at the latest, in order for the most recent work to be dry enough to roll up and pack. So, which will I continue to work on? Hmmm...

Making my way down the mountain

I've made some headway--in the top half anyway--with what I shall call the "Mirasian Montserrat" (Mir colors, Asian influence, view from Montserrat). If I were feeling chatty, I would mention Jackie's grandfather, Yang San Lang, who is a famous painter. When she saw what I was doing, she had to show me his work online immediately... ohmygosh! Am I channeling him now?!?! (Google his paintings in the "images" section, if you are inclined.) His work looks a lot like Mir's. Too funny!

Ramón finale

I don't think I posted the "final" Ramón, so here's that. (Creases and all!)

I'm not slacking!

Really, I'm not! It may seem like it, but I have been painting. It's just that the last two efforts really sucked, so they will not be found on this blog. Ever. I admit to being slightly out of sorts, the weather has been glorious, but we have to hike out of here to enjoy it. The property is down in a hollow and quite damp. I feel like I'm living like a medieval monk, and it's ironic that I'm reading Ken Follet's Pillars of the Earth while I'm here. If you have read it, you'll know what I mean, and if you haven't I heartily recommend it, it's been keeping me up 'til 2 a.m. at least, every night. Quite a compelling read. But now, to painting....

This fresh start (shown above) that I began today seems promising. I saw this view--or close to it--from waaaaaay up the mountain at Montserrat, and it was truly stunning. But it didn't have these colors. No, I am borrowing heavily from the way Joaquim Mir saw it; perhaps he was looking from the same spot on a Summer evening? Or maybe he just throws the whole palette at his canvases, my gawd... so much color!! I'm having to mix buckets of paint, which is a good learning experience, I'm usually so miserly with my paint!

The shape of this particular canvas is influencing me too, it's getting a sort of Asian feel to it. I'm really hoping to get a feel for Mir's brush work, it is so wonderful. I plan to go back up to the Museu Montserrat next week and spend several hours in front of all of his paintings, in that room full of his work up there.

Thank heavens I brought some toned canvas, because supplies and stretcher bars and such are a big challenge to find here. If they aren't in Martorell (1/2 hr away), then it's down the hill to Barcelona and I just don't need anything badly enough to make the trip. Since I can't stretch the canvas properly, I'm wondering how I will get rid of the creases from being (poorly) packed on the way here. Ah well, I'll worry about that later.

Gonna be a flurry of painting in the next 5-7 days, because I'm leaving a week early and spending more time in Madrid instead. I'm so so so looking forward to the museums there, especially the Museu Sorolla. Oh yeahhhh!