The song thrush

     Dear Fran,

     yesterday I had a thrush in my hand. Well, it was actually about five feet from my hand.

     I was pleasantly surprised when, walking through a small square, I came across this vivacious bird selecting and swallowing some hackberries, those small sugary fruits with a certain aftertaste of dates. He fluttered through the lowest branches and that is why I was able to enjoy for a few seconds — I do not know if it would last a minute — of that winged marvel.

     Fran, it is been a long time since I went out to the field and with this small dose that this overwintering has given me, I will spend a few days remembering the frozen forests of my land.

     Y. a.

     Mary

 

Social Outcasts

Page 136 'The Road to Wigan Pier'

 

«It was in this way that my thoughts turned towards the English working class. It was the first time that I had ever been really aware of the working class, and to begin with it was only because they supplied an analogy. They were the simbolic victims of injustice, playing the same part in England as the Burmese played in Burma. In Burma the issue had been quite simple. The whites were up and the blacks were down, and therefore as a matter of course one´s sympathy was with the blacks. I know realized that there was no need to go as far as Burma to find tyranny and exploitation.»

 

Sorry for not giving you a background, my dear chum, but without realizing it I´ve reached chapter IX of 'The Road to Wigan Pier' and I think I´ve discovered the pearl of this book, at least until what I´ve read.

 

(This, while apparently there´re already more than 90,000 deaths on each side of the war in Ukraine, and the joys and sorrows only come from the footballers of Qatar, that country that trades with the rights of people based on money. It´s clear that morality is like a seasonal garment: when you´re interested, you wear it; if you´re not interested, don´t use it)

 

Page 137

 

«Therefore my mind turned immediately towards the extreme cases, the social outcasts: tramps, beggars, criminals, prostitutes. These were ‘the lowest of the low’, and these were the people with whom I wanted to get in contact.»

 

In these paragraphs of this chapter we find the germ of Orwell's best-known works: Animal Farm and Nineteen Eighty-Four.

From my Borstal.

LDR

 

Orwell, G.- The Road to Wigan Pier. Collins Classics. London, 2021

 

Door by the River 

Dear Fran,

I would like you not to take what I am going to tell you as something pretentious —you are aware that I hate vain people—, but yesterday, at the inauguration of the La Rinconada painting prize, I had a feeling that I had not had in competitions previous. It was the first time that when entering the exhibition hall I noticed that my work (inspired by one of the American expressionist artist De Kooning) did not clash among the other 13 finalist paintings.

In fact, before proclaiming the two prizes of the night, I was hoping that one of them (of course, the second) would go to me; and even when they announced the name of the second prize, I thought that maybe I could be the first winner!

Door by the River

As far as I know, about 70 works have been submitted to this contest and mine was hanging in the magnificent Sala Maga.

The exhibition will remain there until next November 13. Do you decide to visit it?

Y. a.

Mary

 

Comply or die

 

Orcs only like music from their rifles.

RIP Yuriy Kerpatenko.

 

From my Borstal

LDR

 Seagulls

      What I am going to tell you is possible that someone has already gone ahead of me and written it some time ago.

     Do you know the Van Gogh painting titled Wheat field with crows? Surely you do. Apparently it was, if not the last, one of the artist's last works and where I have always seen a kind of premonition of the end of his life: on a beautiful wheat field (symbol of plenitude and creation), the Dutchman painted a flock of crows (symbol of bad omen) to balance life and death.

     On the death of the author of Sunflowers there has been speculation and will continue to be speculated with various theories. Was it suicide or not? In my opinion I think so and I'm going to tell you why.

     Dear friend, in 1955 Nicolas de Staël died. The suicide put an end to his tormented life and left his work The Concert unfinished. Shortly before, he had painted Seagulls, perhaps following Vincent van Gogh's behavioural guidelines.

     Y. a.

     Mary

 Nicolas de Staël

     Dear Fran,

     Do you know a painter named Nicolas de Staël?

     He was an artist who lived in the first half of the last century and who during his short life was struggling to reconcile classical and figurative painting and modern and abstract painting.

     It turns out that his work has hypnotized me; more than his work, his way of painting. And do you know why? Because I identify with the way of constructing the painting.

     He was a man who never stopped learning from his colleagues, whether they were older or younger than him. He had an insatiable curiosity to know the artistic currents that were in force in the Paris of his time, as well as to scrutinize the canvases that museums hang on their walls. I am about to think that he never managed to consolidate his own style (or that his style was the one that appeared at all times when he stood in front of the canvas), although we are capable of recognizing one of his paintings because in addition to dying very young he got tired very soon of what he was doing and then he changed and looked for another way of expressing what he felt.

     Fran, something like this is what is happening to me right now. If he allowed himself to be influenced by others, I am allowing myself to be influenced by him.

     Y. a.

     Mary

 The trappist   

     Dear Frank,

     this time I have not had any luck. My proposal has not been to the liking of the Carmona jury.

     This year I wanted to risk in one of the most important contests in the country and my work, The trappist, has not been selected to be exhibited during the local festival days of this city.

     When I received the email thanking me for participating in the contest, I was a little disappointed, since I had high hopes that the portrait of Justo Gallego would hang on the old walls of the Town Hall; however, just after a few seconds, two thoughts invaded me. On the one hand, this rejection makes me continue with more conviction along the path I have chosen for painting portraits, and on the other — even more important — my place will have been filled by a young artist who is taking her first steps in this difficult world of Art. In the end, dear friend, how many years of artistic activity (or any other activity) do I have left?

Y. a.

Mary

 You never have to look back 

 

«Thank you very much for your words. Save those beautiful memories you have of my brother because I don´t think you could talk to him. Mike has memories, the problem is that he can hardly ever express what he feels because he can´t find the words; this leads him to become frustrated and remain silent.

Finally, thank you very much for your interest. I´ll tell Gertrude, and you receive my best regards.»

 

This was the terse reply I received from Johnny.

Johnny, Mike´s brother, is four years younger than him and we will have exchanged three or four words in our lifetime and that was fifty years ago.

The message (DM) has put me into a demoralised kind of mood. It´s curious how something like that gets you down. I don´t know if it was a coincidence or what, but at the moment I was reading the DM, a Barber adagio was playing on my stereo, I don´t know which one, but it´s the saddest music I´ve ever heard in my life.

And all for wanting to look back and step on the path — as the song says — that shouldn´t be stepped on again. Because neither Mike nor I are the same dimwit we were when we were just starting out.

From my Borstal.

LDR

 First solo exhibition!

      Dear Fran,

      I am very happy to inform you that 27 of my works are currently exhibited at C. C. La Estación in Guillena.

     As I had already told you, they are paintings reflecting some corners of Las Pajanosas, Guillena and Torre de la Reina; places for which I feel a special predilection.

     Needless to say, all the proceeds, in full, will go to the children with FD in these towns because, as you can imagine, I know well what it means to have to fight to be put on the same level as the bulk of society.

     The exhibition will be open until June 5 and I hope that many people will come and that the collaboration will be generous. I tell you, then, that the Fagin project is working and that I cannot stop talking here about the people who, like Loli, the Civic Centre’s librarian, are making an effort to ensure that everything goes perfectly and that visitors get all the possible information from the paintings, because there are some neighbours who, if not with a little help, do not recognize certain places.

     I have tried to present very varied pieces, but all with things to offer, just as we are in real life.

      Fran, I think it's worth approaching La Estación.

      Y. a.

      Mary

 The shadow of the tsar is long

«(i)três pessoas organizam uma manifestação de apoio a Alexei Navalny, opositor de Putin, acreditando que estão seguras em Portugal;

(ii)dão as suas identificações à Câmara Municipal de Lisboa, certas de que é uma entidad séria, fiável e que nunca as irá colocar em perigo;

(iii)a Câmara Municipal envía esses dados pessoais para a Embaixada da Rússia sem cualquier base legal;

(iv)a Rússia não é um regome democrático. A Rússia intimida e persegue os seus opositores.»

Cleaning out the drawer of magazines and newspapers, I found an opinion article by Nuno Pereira da Cruz, dated June 16 of last year, and I had no choice but to stop and reread it.

The journalist is very upset by the action carried out by the Lisbon mayor's office, which was none other than sharing personal information of human rights activists (names, ID, addresses, telephone numbers...) with the Russian regime.

«Assim, quando temos uma violação desta gravidade da liberdade, da segurança e das garantias básicas de um Estado de direito democrático, não interessa o nome do pobre funcionario que enviou os dados dos ativistas para a Embaixada da Rússia. Isso é poeira para os nossos olhos…»

This was a year ago. Today — after the Russian invasion of Ukraine — the tsar's shadow is even longer and suffocating, and his proselytes, wolves in sheep's clothing, welcome Ukrainian refugees to extract strictly personal information from them for the benefit of the Kremlin head honcho.

Could there be anything more demeaning?

From my Borstal.

LDR

Diário de Notícias Quarta-feira 16/6/2021

 The left hand

Today I have seen for the first time the hand of an old man. It has been while reading one of the stories that Ishiguro has included in his ‘Nocturnes’.

Almost without realizing it, turning one of the pages, I have come face to face with the arid relief of my skin. On the back of my hand has appeared the senile hair that randomly populates the semi-toughen folds of this part of my body, as well as some accumulations — of fat according to the dermatologist — with the appearance of warts that have been established with total impudence between the knuckles and the wrist.

Porca vacca! I said to myself. I had to calm down and I have quickly thought that the texture that my left hand presents (I have not dared to compare it with the right one) is the result of the 2.5 dioptres that thicken the lenses of my close-up glasses. A little disappointed, I have taken off my optical aids and stopped reading.

From my Borstal

LDR

      Posadas

     Dear Fran,

     Yesterday I was in Posadas. I was taking photos of the town because I intend to propose to the town hall an exhibition of some of the corners that have caught my attention.

     I have brought home nearly a hundred photographs of the place, of which I will have to select 27, as I have already done with the Guillena exhibition and with the one I hope to do in Gibraleón. Therefore, I still have two years to choose the images that I will later transfer to the canvas.

 

In my opinion, one of the most charming places in Posadas

     As is my habit, I have preferred to look for the corners that go unnoticed during an express visit. Humble houses, streets far from the centre of the town that, however, make up the most genuine picture of the place, the orchards of the Barrancas del Molino, the back of the church, the Casino de los Señoritos...

     You may have already guessed that this series of paintings is also part of my Fagin project.

     Y. a.

     Mary

      I am like those insects

     I am like those insects that you discover when, still very early in the morning, they are attached to the tiny stalks of herbs, waiting for the sun to inject a little heat into their cold wings so that they can abandon their lethargy and begin to flutter through the fields in a new day.

     Fran, I need some time, when I get up, to warm up my fingers and my brain and take the brush.

     Y. a.

     Mary

Wednesday, 6 November 2019 

 New emperors

 Celebrities like Trump, Putin and some Trump and Putin trainees have in common a self-esteem beyond doubt that rests primarily on the conviction that they belong to a select race and a country that deserves its Lebensraum - nowadays economic - because 'all nation needs enough space to meet its growth and ensure its survival.’ 

Read more:

http://towerscross.blogspot.com/2019/ 

 Glasgow  

There was a Spanish poet who found Glasgow ugly and sordid. Now that I´m living in this warm and open land, understand perfectly why he said that.

It´s not the same to travel to a city for the mere fact of being retired and freely use your time as you please, than to have to go jumping from city to city because a civil war has been declared and you have to save your skin. You leave behind not only the bullets but the most retrograde ideas of a country that had been blown up. This is how Luis Cernuda appeared in the Scottish city.

He, who is taken by British on more than one occasion, had a hard time adapting — and it seems that he couldn´t — to the climate that reigns above 55º N. We must not forget that he was born and lived his first years in Seville. If to this we add the love disappointment that was dragging on, it´s quite easy to suppose that not even the most trained spirit would endure a new uprooting.

I write this because I have seen a documentary dedicated to the trajectory of the Sevillian where — among all the things that were said — it startled me that the poet and professor said, felt, that Glasgow stood out for its ‘ugliness and squalor’. If you have ever been there, you will have seen that it rains a lot, in all seasons of the year, that the stones of many of its buildings have a strong nineteenth-century smell and that people are imbued with their tasks...

The way I see it, no city is ugly. It's a matter of humour and finding the right angle and seeing it cast in 'a silver grey shade'.

From my Borstal.

LDR

 Predestination

It was in the Borstal that I heard for the first time about that German monk who dared to challenge Rome and the entire Catholic Church.

From what is seen, he was an individual with very clear ideas and a strong character. Today it could be said of him that he had high self-esteem.

If I put aside — which is a lot to put aside — the treatment he gave to the Jews, the figure of Luder has been a recurring image in my mind in recent years and it´s helping me to understand some things.

In my adolescence I was able to understand that this monk was against the wealth of the princes of the Catholic Church — something that Mike and I shared —, but that of the salvation of our souls only with faith escaped me. What happened then? That a person, whatever he does, if he fully trusts that God has noticed him, will meet with the 'righteous' and live eternally enjoying the goods promised by the Maker?

This didn´t enter my head. It's the truth. Nor was it a matter of discussing it with Mike because he was not a mate of staying focused on the same topic for too long. He was my friend, I know, but if my intellect is short, his was even shorter.

And I say this because for some time now I am coming across examples that could support the theory of the first Protestant. I have realized that when someone dies, in the circle of those closest to them, mistakes or vices that the deceased may have committed are not taken into account, but that there will always be a kind of forgiveness in their family and closest friends, clean slate, settling in all of them the desire to justify the life of the missing person.

On the other hand, there will be people who, having known the subject in question first-hand, will remember the swindles that the deceased committed and will lower him, at least, to the scoundrel that he was in life.

In both cases, family and acquaintances, act as mediators of the Supreme and grant, or not, their 'grace'.

From my Borstal.

LDR