I recently returned from a trip to Europe which, I must say, is a continent with too much to see and enough culture and history to stick its tongue out at the United States. I won't continue with that thought.
I have wanted to visit Spain for a long time, and I was finally able to do so on this trip. Unfortunately I only made it to Barcelona and Madrid, but I was still impressed. Barcelona is beautiful! I love the fact that there are mountains AND the ocean, as well as an abundance of art, both old and new. Two days was not enough time to even scrape the surface of this precious city. I will be back.
After Barcelona, I spent a day in Madrid visiting a dear friend that I hadn't seen in 13 years. It was there that I saw some paintings that inspired me: flamenco dancers. I really wanted to see a live performance, but alas, I didn't have enough time. However, the city is full of souvenir shops overstocked with fans and flamenco regalia. That settled it. The paintings were too big to take home, but I was determined to make my own. Yesterday I started looking for images, as well as watching a few videos, to help me make a better painting. So, here's a more artsy end to my blog.
Flamenco: The Fight of Freedom
Her hands curl intricately, following the rich notes of the melody. A bright light highlights her scarlet dress and a yellow silk scarf pinned to her waist seeks to free itself as she twirls. An unseen guitarist plucks violently at the strings of his instrument, providing her with the rhythm she craves as she storms across the stage. Her shoes thump and tap, thump and tap, echoing into the darkest shadows of the room. Yet in all of the calculated commotion, she's dancing, nay, fighting for freedom. Smiles die on her proud cheekbones and fail to flutter across her boldly painted red lips. A new moon of stage light glows in her hair, it's perfect semi-circle mimicked in the exquisite arch of her back.
Flamenco. A dance and genre of music that originated in the southern Spanish region of Andalusia in the 18th century. A dance of rigidity dominated by exact steps and precise movements; however, underneath the costumes and pretentious routines, there is a profound liberty of expression, an internal and external fight for control of ones body. Dancers must escape the rules of time and social conventions, of unwanted emotions, yet as they seek this liberty, their inner joy must remain masked and solemn. Despite their struggle to maintain this facade, a triumphant glimmer occasionally rushes through the cracks in a defiant display. Flamenco has a soul of structured beauty, with the heart of a rebel. This is probably why gypsies were so influential in its development.
Close your eyes. You sit breathlessly in the dark bowels of the large room. You hear her steps thunder closer, closer. You catch a whiff of her perfume and feel the air move as her arms scream wildly in anticipation of the close of the dance. You long to open your eyes, to see her haughty expression, but you find you cannot pry them open. You feel trapped. A desire to run outside overwhelms you and you try to yell, but the sounds fail to leave your parched lips. It feels like a nightmare. You begin to move your feet to the notes of the insistent guitar, succumbing to this feeling of helplessness. You move them faster, and suddenly, an inner strength surges through your muscles, leaping along the sinews and bubbling through your veins. You, my friend, begin to dance, immersed for a second in her plight. You suddenly understand her struggle, and you make it your own. Freedom is just a few notes away.
-HK
