The art of killing it

Brussels on a cold Valentine's evening. I had made it to my favorite bookshop while I was killing some time before going to cinema. My hands were itching at the look and the touch of all these beautiful books, but since my wallet was painfully empty, I had to leave it for another time. On the days of my other Belgian life, I used to spend some Sundays at the librairie Filigranes , and loved leaving, feeling slightly guilty, with a much bigger shopping than the one book I came to buy. My visit on that Thursday was quick, just to check the shop was still there, for my future Sundays. I walked downhill and found it, this amazing independent-to-the-bone cinema, one of these magic places that make you wonder how on earth they manage to survive in this rough commercial world of ours.A must visit, if not by going there, at least here

I had been invited by my fellow AB to see her friend's (Sabrina Calmels) documentary "The Grand Scheme", following three painters from New York and San Francisco. I have to say I am suspicious as soon as I hear about a documentary... It seems every intellectual wannabe who doesn't have anything to do and has a vague notion of filming starts making documentaries. Most of the time they are pathetically boring and aesthetically nerve-racking. But I trust my AB's taste, so I went and was not disappointed. The movie is a beautiful tribute to creative process. We get into the universe of "The Goldmine Shithouse" : three artists, six hands, sleeping together, waking up together in one open gallery for two weeks to create, paint, carve tirelessly on the same wooden canvas. "Try again. fail again. fail better." If the painting is not good enough, they "kill it". No matter how much work has been spent on it. No matter if someone found it actually great. When the painting is not finished and resists, well you gotta kill it and start again! The film is full of art, paint, and humor. Its main thought, focusing on the process rather than the achievement (this is no success story, we are not given the chance to see the actual vernissage, neither the full exhibition) could be applied to any form of art, and from a broader point of view, to our life process - one needs to kill it sometimes, or else let go, and start again. Inspiring documentary! 

I'm not very good at "killing it". That's most probably why you get to read this post. But I learn, I promise!

U-turn

My mission was completed as I found the flamenco artists we were looking for and was glad my guess was right:  the person I searched the musicians for loved the twin Flamenco Heavies. I had a tremendous time in Jerez, unsurprisingly, since I was never bored with gypsies.
I managed escaping to Burtuqal, taking a walk in the sand and a long look at my beautiful Atlantic ocean.
I finally went to Granada and I have to make three statements:
    When arriving to Granada, I had like a déja vu, since the surroundings and the snow white peaks of Sierra Nevada behind the city look very similar to the Atlas behind Marrakesh... No wonder the Moors established  such a city there.. when they arrived they thought they were home!
    I was told that the Moors had been pushed out some five centuries ago. It was a lie, they never left! I saw them in all the locals' faces.
   When I visited the Alhambra, as much I was blown away, I have to say (and it surprised me at first place!) I felt some kind of resentment toward the Catholic barbaric Kings that occupied the place so shortly after this eighth world wonder was built...
A month in Andalucia passed so quickly, with happy reunions, interesting and fruitful new encounters, a joyful sunny farewell and a few blue hours before take off .
In this month, I ate enough jamon (if it is ever possible to connect "jamon" and "enough"), learned how to cook a "carrillada", drank more than too much Cruzcampo (that is always too much, starting from the first sip), was touched by the bliss of love and got shaken upside down once more, attended an endless juerga flamenca, met the new born babies of my friends, got to know all the gossips I needed to know about (if that is ever possible), was advised to give a name to my transplanted corneas (Antonia y Pepe) to feel more at ease with them, met Anthony Hopkins and Albert Einstein in one, a photographer who's specialty is to take pictures of things you don't see (or you don't remember ever have seen, even if you were standing just next to her when the shutter was closing), and a funeral violinist  who at times, also plays in bullfighting arenas.

Now at the other end of the U-turn, I found myself suddenly back in the "flat land" that is not really, but still a bit mine, for the sake of the years I have already lived here, and not so long ago. Back to grey skies, to seeing giraffes from the window,  back to good silly crisscross talks with Sarajevo, back to good beer, even back to a relocated friend from Sevilla who still calls me "Bruji"... and thinking I shall wonder if my U-turn is not in fact a roundabout with various exits, since for some weird reasons, the people from here are called, in Spanish, the Flamencos.