June 12, 2011 – Sunday Afternoon

There are a number of pleasant distractions for a Sunday afternoon here in the Bay Area. Yet, if I were in Madrid, I could add bullfighting to the list. I actually have never been to a bullfight and really have no interest in seeing one. Yet there is something I find compelling about the imagery. When it’s depicted in an Almodóvar film, bullfighting becomes downright glamorous. I wonder if there is an artist somewhere in Spain who would look towards America and say the same about NASCAR? I suppose it is always possible to see something in a foreign culture that is not really there, but that would be a stretch. The imagery of bullfighting in art always draws me in as well. Can a corpse be stunning? It can if it is Édouard Manet ‘s painting of a dead bullfighter. Today’s inspiration and material came from something a little more ordinary — some vintage bullfighting postcards and a ticket to a bullfight in Madrid on a Sunday afternoon 50 years ago.

April 30, 2011 – Madrid

Madrid is calling. I have been to Madrid but I have never been to Madrid.

Back in my college days, when you do things that only 20 year olds do, I flew to Madrid with a cheap air ticket and a eurrail pass. It was to be a month of wandering Europe. The plan was an eventual return to Madrid a few days before it was time to depart. I went from Spain all the way to Sweden and back. A few weeks later, an overnight trip from Austria had me arriving one morning in Barcelona. The plan was to store the luggage for the day and take another overnight train to Madrid. Then have a few days in Madrid and head home. In the trains station I followed the signs to the place to store the backpack. I saw nothing but scaffolding. A gaping hole was where the luggage storage was supposed to be. It was something to do with bombs and separatists. I decided to find a hotel and head to Madrid the next day. One of the wonderful things about travel is getting sidetracked and tossing out the itinerary. Barcelona seduced me. A few days later, at the last possible moment, I took an overnight train to Madrid and headed straight to the airport.

With a few crumbled 100 pesata bills in my pocket not worth exchanging, I spent the last of my money on some goofy postcards at the airport. The silly ones wear lace has been sewn onto images of beautiful señoritas. I’ve always known I’d put them to some use. So here is my Madrid postcard piece. Unfortunately, I still haven’t been back to Madrid except with the vicarious trips taken in Pedro Almodóvar films.