Rendevous with Richmond

Ah. Ech. Life is good. I feel bad. Flying makes it worse. I have missing luggage. My head is full of snot and Goya and reconditioned air with molecules expelled from the passengers of flight 1411.
This time I had nothing to hear since I was the one expelling infected molecules...

I am home. Carole will be soon... with her expensive emergency passport in hand. She spent her last day at the Prado. It seems her blonde locks and intense looking at Spanish Art attracted a professional pick pocket who managed to get into her secure purse and take her wallet and passport. I am glad I wasn't there to witness the agony and defeat of a seasoned traveler being had, once again, by the Spanish inquisition...

With her employer's connections at the Reine Sofia and her capacity as a nurse she somehow managed to get an emergency passport in MADRID in less than 24 hours so she could travel home with the entourage. Madrid was one of those "life experiences" I'll hold onto for many years. The art, the people, the food, the RITZ CARLTON... hey... I am blessed... even if I have to travel with something close to "walking pneumonia." All things considered I am lucky to be home.

El Jardin de las Delicias

A report of a splendid morning in Madrid:
My second attempt to visit *Museo de la Real Academia de Bella Artes, the art school that Goya once directed was fruitful. It's not far from the Prado but its hours are different than most Madrid museums due to its educational mission. It's open on Mondays, which is a plus. I visited on a Tuesday morning before heading over to a luncheon at the Reina Sofia. Madrid is full of undulating hills... just enough to push my athletic parameters without strain so it was a satisfying stroll up the hill and then up the stairs to their permanent collection.

I walked into the Goya room first, by accident and the attendant quickly made me turn around! She wasnted to be sure that I didn't miss their expansive collection of Spanish painting. The Goya's were the highlights for me... small and powerful. The curator thoughfully provided English translations for each paintings' panel which always makes a difference. I did not know or remember that Goya lost six children in infancy, became deaf from illness as an adult and eventually lost his wife. Only his seventh son survived.

It was a dark period in Spain's history and from what I've read Goya's path was paved to be the messenger. One of his homes was nicknamed "House of the Deaf". How could I not know this? If anyone can recommend a good Goya biography I am long overdue a study of his life. I've loved his paintings since the first slide hit the screen in Paul Grootkerk's class.

The painting above depicts an asylum of the late 18th C but if it weren't named as such it could just as well be the Garden of Earthly Delights of Goya's world... of perhaps a long night at the White House. What can I say? To quote my Harryman: "Art is a beast that eats his own head" so Goya, once again, is the messenger for our times. (after seeing my artwork one time a French workman pointed to me and said in broken English "You are not an optimist.")
So, in reading this post, I guess one must consider the source.



Bosch's El Jardin de las Delicias




*I apologize in advance for this less than satisfying link but it will give you specific info about the art school if you're interested

Getting it together for the Reina Sofia

Today is Tuesday. Tomorrow there is the preview/opening of the Chuck Close Retrospective at the Reine Sofia. Today is my last chance to see a few things before it'll be time to pack my bags for Richmond. Unfortunately I'm not feeling that well. Today I met C at the Reine Sofia, we got a preview of the retrospective and we were treated to lunch in the ubercool R.S. cafe. A number of people involved in the installation of the exhibition were present - designers, curators, etc. They ordered a selection of amazing Tapas and Spanish Wines for us to share... it was a divine afternoon. I was happy to hear that the portraits of Klaus and Jed arrived from Richmond on Sunday. It was good to see a bit of Richmond in the show... and to really look at the work. I didn't know that Klaus was a monochromatic watercolor on paper mounted on canvas. Nor was it behind glass so it was much easier to apprecicate Chuck's technique that most of his watercolors. Glass gets in the way. Its a necesaary nuisance but one I appreciate bypassing whenever possible.

Afterwards we rolled upstairs and went straight to the third floor which houses early 20th C work. The center piece of the collection, in my opinion, was Picasso's Gunernica. It didn't disappoint me as Picasso sometimes can. He's one of the artists that can enrage, engage, infuriate and seduce me if given the chance. Guernica engaged, seduced, awed and inspired me. Worth the trip, really.

I tried to give the collection as much attention as I did the Prado but once again, I lost C & C and the wine we enjoyed at lunch took me for a tail spin. I think I'd be ok if I weren't fighting a bug of some sort. I looked HARD in between, once again, looking for pay phones to call C. A surprise I didn't expect were the wonderful Gris and Tapias on the third and top floors. After exhausting myself and discovering C on the third floor she gave me her ticket as she had to get back to her responsibilities. I ran into B, M, M and B before I left. They are in just in from NY and I heard their voices in the Dali room. They seem like a friendly, if jet lagged, collection of faces. Later, I met C back in the room after I stopped by the book store and picked up a few publications. I am absolutely depleted. Time for a shower.

C has been in the room for awhile, looks great and is ready to go out into the night. I don't know if I have it in me tonite. I think I'm down for the count.

Tintoretto, El Rastro and more

Carole and I met Claus and Billy at the Prado at 10am in order to avoid the lines for the Tintoretto show. This Venetian painter was well worth racing to the feet of the Prado. I avoided Venice on my only trip to Italy because I was traveling solo and wanted to wait until I could see it with my true love at the time. Big mistake. Lessons learned....

Tintoretto rocked and must be the next best thing to visiting Venice. I love his use of classical narrative and interpretations of great stories such as Helen's abduction from Troy. Afterwards we scanned the gift shop and managed to find a few affordable books, etc. The weak dollar has really made me thriftier than I'd like to be.

Our reward for getting out and spending time with our muse was an invitation to eat brunch in the Ritz Madrid's great dining room. It reminded me of the Jefferson's spread without the jazz combo. Instead it featured Beckham, Posh Spice and the little spices with grannie. They were enjoying brunch across the dining room. I haven't spent any time visiting their place is celebrityland but I must admit I can see the attraction. Beckham is a true Adonis. I had NO IDEA.

After a few glasses of champayne, an espresso and a sampling of every great tapas I could imagine we left the gilded dining room of the Ritz and made our way across town to El Rastro, the famed Madrid flea market.

I like to visit a citie's flea market since it tells me so much about the place and its people. FYI - El Rastro is a tiny market and doesn't come close to the numerous markets in Paris or London or even Glasgow. Even though we arrived late I knew from the lay of the land its more like a one of the small neighborhood markets in Paris than what was implied in the travel guides. It was a bit of a walk there and back - which ended when Carole had to get back to the Paseo del Prado for work.

I managed to squeeze in a short visit to the Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection which was well worth the reduced three euro entrace fee. Their portrait collection was the most memorable for me... with a striking Rembrandt and some of the best Ducth painters. I hope I can squeeze in the Portrait show that opens on the 6th, the same day as the Chuck Close retrospective at the Reine Sofia.

No need for a Compass...

My friend C and I both ordered the menu del dias at El Pabellon Del Espejo on Saturday morning. This charming bistro is located in the middle of Passeo de Recoletos in Madrid. The service was great and parralled the decor's vintage charm. We broiled Cod was perfect and we finished our meal with a generous slice of layered chololate cake.

As we admired the chandelier and stained glass from the end of the restaurant there were hundreds people gathering outside. Some were coming into the bistro with placards and red and yellow banners. It turns out there was a manifestation scheduled for that afternoon and evening...against terrorism... according to our waiter, but others told us it was directed to the Basque rebels. It was beautful, watching all kinds of people gather to demonstrate.. and inspiring. I hope to post some video of the manifestation on Google video soon.

We made our way to the archeology museum after stopping many times to interview locals for the Praxis Project... (did I mention I am not bilingual?) About the time we arrived at the two pair of winged sphinxes stationed by the museum entrance Carole had to leave for work. She'll be on call for the duration of this adventure so we've just learned to improvise.

The museum reminded me of the Victorian and Albert before it was new and improved... the original vitrines still holding its collection of mummies, et al. Afterwards I mady my way back to the hotel. The crowds were thick and everyone was listening to the speach being broadcast from the Plaza of Independence. Crowds were clapping and chanting their support. The streets were closed to traffic for the demonstration so it was possible to walk right up to Neptune's and Cybele's two fountains. I can see why Madrid is a late night city... its really most beautiful after dark.

At the hotel I met C, C and M to have drinks in the lounge and make plans for our Saturday night in Madrid!

The Prado

I was very, very lucky to find a hostel so close to the Prado, train station and the Ritz. This place is private, quiet, cheap (30E.) and sparkling clean. I'd stay here again. I left my bags with the staff this morning so I could embark on a day at the Prado. I know C. and entourage are expected around noon but I also know that delays are common so I took that as an opportunity to spend the day close to home and with my muse. I've wanted to see this collection for many years. Velasquez, Goya, Murillo, Rembrandt.... they are all here and more. Today I paid my respects.

I normally try to scan each room in a casual manner - always ISO inspiration or a lesson to learn. Not this collection. I took a map and actually marked it up...checking off each room as I made my way through this temple of art. The black Goyas were the paintings that held me the longest... seemed the most relevant and telling. There was also a lovely drawing show on the bottom floor that contained pages of Goya's sketchbooks. I haven't exhausted myself so thoroughly in a long time and took only one break for a cafe con leche and tostillo this afternoon. The cafe was my only disappointment at the Prado. It seemed one step up from the cafe at the Greyhound station in Richmond. The food was better but it was dark and institutional... a lot like the cafe at the airport. Its surprising since the bookstore has all this expensive loot (postcards are one euro, etc) and the ammenities at these world class institutions are devoid of much consideration. Of course most of my attention was spent on protecting my assets since these are the kind of places where tourists lose their credit cards, cash, etc.

I also spent a lot of time looking for a payphone so I could call the hotel ISO of C and Co. I was finally able to charge my French mobile last night but haven't had the time or clarity to figure out how to recharge the SIM card with prepaid minutes. This could be a problem since C. can't reach me otherwise.

I don't remember what time I finally received confirmation C. had checked in but I called room #604 and then left the Prado in order to "check in" at the Ritz. C had taken care of everything, had my bag taken up from storage and was basically at the door, glowing in a plush white robe, when the doorman delivered me to the sixth floor. Wow... it felt so good to be stationed in one place... particularly a place noted for its five stars! I left C in short order to pick up my other bags from the hostal. We toasted our great luck... for uno momento we are living the live we want to live!*

Even better, was an invitation for drinks from C's employer in the lounge downstairs. It was time to wake up and smell the roses. Our conversation came easy... art and politics**, history and culture***.... the only thing that would have made it better would have been the presence of the Harryman. Tonite I'll be counting my blessings as I fall to sleep.

*With shots of Bushmills from a fifth I'd picked up at dutyfree in Phillie. That was a committment... hauling that thing up to Bilbao and back, though it came in handy on the night train back into Madrid.

**C's employer is a long time New Yorker, democrat and occassional fundraiser when duty calls. He listed all the reasons Guliani would be a terrible prez.

***I heard a great story about day they opened the Lewis Wing at the VMFA... the Lewis's flew a plane full of NY artists to Richmond to have lunch with the govenor and wife...

From the wayside, between the lines

Madrid's Botanical Garden

The train from Bilbao arrived without cause. I woke in time to wash my face and gather my belongings. (around 8am) It felt better... arriving in a station I was familiar with.* I was still on the fence about what to do... seville, cordoba or madrid? My research at Atocha proved very helpful in that regard. The fare for the high speed train was substantially higher than I was prepared to pay in my state of weariness.... more than 100 E. I decided to take a night and clear my head before C & C arrived. I gathered myself and headed north toward the Prado. If nothing else, there was always the museo and their coat check! As I grew closer to the Prado I looked left and right in search of a sign. There was a hotel to the left...too shabby and big and close to the street. As the Prado loomed closer I came to a small Plaza on the left, across the street from the Botanical Garden. It was circled by a tapas place, a wine bar and more. In the middle was a fountain and beyond that a small sign that read HOSTAL!

I walked over and rang the bell and spanish errupted from the speaker. I asked if there was a room and they buzzed me in! I opened the door to see a LIFT!!!** I went up and the man asked me if I had a reservation. no, I said and he nodded sadly and held up his hands in that universal expression of "there is nothing I can do..."
Another woman said Wait(!) would this be ok? She opened a door to a tiny room with a single bed, tiny desk, lamp, wardrobe and a sink!!! H E A V E N.

Hostal Bruna was perfect for my needs. I washed my face, changed clothes, well, rearranged what I was wearing - and left shortly therafter to taste Madrid! I purchaced the local listing, as recommended by everyone*** and began the afternoon at the botanical garden. There was an exhibition titled "25 Spanish Artists of the Future in the gallery toward the back of the garden. I'll try to post photos soon. It seemed much a like a very good MFA show though the space was great and there was definitly some work I to be enjoyed.

Afterwards I decided to walk up Paseo Prado and Recoleto ISO lunch and perhaps an art fair I found in the listing. I started ISO Cafe Guijon where artists and writers have gathered for decaded. Touristy and expensive. I found another wonderful cafe further down on Paseo Ricoleto with a menu del dias of 10 E! That included bottled water, a cafe con leche, fried cod and an excellent plate of rice and seafood. Contentment.

I continued my walk north ISO of this friggin art fair of 40 Spanish Galleries... I walked, walked and walked. After almost two hours I came upon it... ferme. Closed. A week ago. The listing was wrong. A misprint. Of course I wouldn't have known this is another artist hadn't told me. She made her way there, too. She was Spanish but spoke excellent English. She called the security guards using the number in the listing to confirm what was going on. We checked out another show that was about to open in an adjacent gallery and she pointed out the best galleries on my map. She also told me about the magic bus number 27 which would take me all the way home. Well, at least as far as the hostal!

I watched a film on my computer just to veg and went out about 11pm in search of dinner. I guess I'm turning into a Spaniard. The places close to the hostal were a little too smokey for my mood so I found a market, discovered from wonderful Spanish Sausage (NOW I understand my Hemingway was also so excited about sausage and ham... I thought he was just a manly carnivore but this stuff is the best in the world. I wonder if it is legal to bring some back to the states? We'll see.

*I'll never forget getting out at the Bilbao station. It was dark and it was raining and I had no idea which way to go or what to do. Jet lag and ambien will add to the confusion already caused by an out of date map on the walls of the station and no open toilet, info desk, etc. It was s a d. A beautiful train station with no ammenties for the Guggenhiem pilgrims... hmmm. I hope this isn't a trend.

** another good sign!

***not recommended by me!

Adios Bilbao

Another night train. An young American boy/man from Utah on this one. We compared notes. He told me his Basque friends told him about a painting Picasso made about the Spanish War - and how Picasso would only donate the painting to Spain after the fall of Fascism. He said he was sad he hadn't seen it. I told him he knew the painting through books and television... it is a famous painting! I described Guernica and his eyes lit up... oh yeah....

I am counting the days until I can visit this painting at the Reine Sofia in Madrid.
I've included a preview below.

Missed Signals

Word of warning. Don't ask for directions to the train station unless specifying which one you need to go to... especially in Madrid! I needed to go to Chamartin. All northbound trains depart from there. I was directed to Atocha - which I loved - but it was the wrong station so I began my Spain experience by missing the train I'd reserved from the airport early this am.

Atocha has its charms... a rich botanical garden complete with turtles, a tourist info counter, coffee shops and shopping - but few electical outlets. A woman with a cell phone a laptop is always in search of a stray outlet. I could have taken the time to see a museum or stroll in the city but my jet lag was getting the best of me and I thought I'd do best to sit still or to carefully make my way to the Chamartin station. Its on a line that reminds of the RER trains in Paris. I could never figure out those buggers. Whenever I take an RER train I always want specific instructions - like when I visited my cousin outside of Paris - and even then I am never quite sure I am on the right train until we pass the first outbound station. Maybe its my dyslexia combined with jetlag... but the first pass to find that station was a disaster - which is why I missed the early train. It was all for the best since I didn't have reservations for accomodations in Bilbao and realized I could sleep on the night train. The Renfre trains are clean, spacious and this one was full of empty seats. I buried my belongings under my skirts, took half an Ambien and dreamt of Spanish Ham. zzzz. ZZZZZZ. zzzzzzzz