Sunday market, Pollensa

Went to market today,
clouds threatened and wind blew,
but I sat on the steps of the Calvari for an hour and made 45Euro. Was a rewarding little excersize. xx

Farewells

Saturday again, and the group leaves. A wonderful group this week, and Im sad to not be leaving with them as all thier energy is slowly drained from the place, and in its place, the gradual build up of a new group and a new dynamic. I have just riden into town, into this old cyber cafe in the back corner of the pub, its full of blokes again, yelling and spitting over card games and cigarettes, sitting close, one eye on the TV which shows footage of the floods in the mainland. A long and dark morning, the weather is moody and gorgeous, the garden moist and dark and shady, and insects turn up everywhere in the place, crawling out of holes and cracks in the stone, lizards retreat indoors as do stick insects, centerpedes and spiders, being swept aside and gathered by the days cleaning.

Its my last day here on the island and in the wake of this great group, and this great time, its nice to feel gratitude for the island and its gifts. The ladies left me a good 100euro tip! and also bought a bunch of my artworks so with full pockets and an extra full journal, i get to packing my bags, and prepare for the last rainy and glorious Mallorca evening. This week the grip it has had on me has slowly loosened, much to my discomfort, a slow farewell, and the more I bid it goodbye here the more i feel i will come back one day. Last night I went and hungout with my friend Frederico and enjoyed the stars, shooting and sparkling above us, as he told me tales of the kinds of people to get magnetized to this place, and why. There truly is something about it here.

Goodbye goat-bell mornings
good bye fig-sweet evenings
and that hot sceneted wind
goodbye nude swims with sunsets
and salty hilside rambles,
and valley strolling, piglet visiting,
flower picking, scenery sketching.
Goodbye friendly landscape
and your seasons shift
your autumnal colours now,
and your dry earth then,
your rocky pastures,
your twisted olive trees, curling out of the earth,
ready to curl back in.
your sweet rain-smell,
your little chatting birds,
your wild cats, all flattened roadside,
or whining at my window.
Your fullsky of stars bright,
your fullnights of mountain dreams-
with visiting lions and babies and medicine men.
Goodbye all you wise ladies who come here to share,
now i have more must-dos,
more compliments,
and more scribbled email addresses,
loaded in my bag.

Goodbye warm family who welcome me,
and your pets who keep me warm,
and your life you tentatively though gingerly open to others,
a great sharing.

Goodbye wonderful food,
I will miss such a kitchen!
goodbye magnetic island.

Saturdays

OK, The new week has started here at La Serannia. Winter has arrived bringing the urge for sleep ins and more tea, and makes this place really feel like home! The last few nights having the kids here has been lovely, wandering down to the lamp lit barn, for a few wines and a little sing and a movie and mostly being silly and rude and then around midnight I crawl out of there all wine-filled and joyous, to climb up to the main house under the canopy of great cold-night stars, all glistening and gentle, into my own cosy bed. And now the kids have gone, flew down the highway today and out of the mountain range, after a breakfast and a hug, A busy day ensued, all parties coming and going, new team arriving, old team leaving with all thier debris and flowers and paint-marks on the floorboards for us to deal with. And all of us staff jostled around eachother in a synchronious dance of efficiency getting the whole place made over for the arrival of more American women to come and demand more coffee and enjoy the place. The last group were great, although harked from an insular and repbublican world of South Carolina and to me it felt like all this *find yourself* week away thing was like an accesory, or a lifestyle thing, other than something real, or deep. But, everyone that comes here harks from a different world and for different reasons. These picket-fence ladies with their boys and husbands out hunting for the week while their gone, still must have gained something from here, even if its just a great memory and alot of fun talking about dreams and getting imaginitive. Even though it all felt a little novelty.
This new group seem great, older, artist types, a group I would like to join, more serious, more sincere. Harking from New Mexico and Sonoma, New York and Chicago, an interesting bunch to get to know and learn from this week, my last week. I have compiled a little list of things to do before my departure next week and as i went walking this afternoon I realised Oh how I must come and paint these feilds, these gnarly figs trees dancing together over centuries, these lambs and rams and groves! But it was a thought that I could do this for eternity. And even if I dont end up having the time to do this, it makes these landscapes eternal soils for my imagination and creativity. I soak up these last days, and appreciate the friends and relationships I have made. The next three weeks in Barcelona with the kids are going to be fun, and a reward, somewhat, for the weeks of comtemplation, patience, learning.

Another wednesday morn

Its 11 am, and quiet around the retreat. The birds playfully chatter and some kind of OmShanti mantra music soothes the guests doing mask making from dream symbols. Kyle and Anna are here! So lovely to have some friends to share this space with. Its a joy to wander the lands with loved ones and watch the stars, and wake up next to familiar faces. Saves me from going crazy out here, really. I stay until next saturday and although this place feels like home Im getting more impatient, which is another test. The next week brings a new art group and this week I am blessed with the company of 7 Gals from the states who are the most demanding guests, taking much of my time and energy. Although, they are terribly kind and interested in me and hail questions on me and give me poems to read and interpretations of my dreams. Its been an interesting cultural study watching the different people come through here, and how the Americans are compared to the Danes, the poms.. I try to keep out of the way when Im not working otherwise they will demand more of my time, hide by the pool in the sun!

Near to the end

A new group have arrived! And Im back form my weekend with Alex (rom Copenhagen, see post 1). The few days in Sitges, south of Barcelona were fabulously resorty and indulgent. I must say I have been subject to great examples of pleasure and indulgence these past few weeks, and learning that it takes more forms than its decadent and spoiled reputation. The Sitges film festival was brimming with fat and geeky looking Spanish film directors, as it was a fantasy and genre film festival. A glossy catalogue delivered to our room of the hotel which hosted the festival, including tickets and a themed laptop bag, showed an array of predominatly Asian, South American and American Genre films, all gore and missing eyes, wrong turns and other worlds. We had a balcony, a bar fridge, a view of a nude beach, and a perfectly sunny palette of sky, so didnt see many of the films on offer. One film i saw was the english dubbed version of Ronal the Barbarian, the film Alex was represnting from Denmark. It was a well animated but grossly rude tale of a man who succeeds against all odds and comes up against boobs and babes and balls (the tag line). Ultimatly very silly and culty, we'll see where it goes beyond the 14 year olds. There were fellas around me, all bespectacled and boyish, full of giggles and claps when silly scenes emerged, like when Ronal took a magic potion that made him invisible except his balls, hence his balls went adventuring alone getting into lots of trouble. I had pleasure watching these blokes and their boyish laughs even though some seemed to be in their forties. So, we enjoyed immensly the fantastic Spanish 5 course buffet breakfast, and also took advantage of various company credit cards, eating well, drinking well, and going to the nude beach to compare our bodies with those of all-over tanned Europeans who walk, hand in hand, showing their gleaming bronzed buttocks like some proud mediteranean statue, standing, contra-posto against the sun, all sillouhetted and ready for my pencils and paper. Had some good sketches amongst these sun-bathers and their sunburnt bits'n'peices. The days flew, and after a few nights with a generous and interesting programmer for Tribeca film festival, talking industries, career paths, celebs, directors, dealing with people and artists, we parted ways in the lofty foyer of Melia hotel, amongst red carpets and coffee drinkers and we said goodbye yet again, for when the next rendezvous we never know, hopefully in Barcelona! I jumped the train back to Barca, then spent the night with my wonderful friends Anna and Kyle.
They met me at the hostel, as i was napping and taking in some afternoon peace before the evening began, presumably with more wine and entertaining. I was having a minute to myself when they walked through the door and it was a wonderful pleasure to see old friends again! I was somewhat speachless, perhaps from the exhaustion of three days at the festival enjoying the pleasures on offer, but still, its good to see familiar faces for a girl who has been lonely in the mountains. We planned to rent a place in Barcelone for the month of November. To invite all the friends who are living in the north of Europe and suffering the dreary weather, to have a place to cook and share and base ourselves, meet some Spaniards and enjoy a city. We spent the evening, as everyone emerged from siesta and opened their bars, wandering the gothic area, El Raval, and the funky back streets. Got lost in alleys as we caught up on months of travels and stories, laughed our way excitedly through the streets imagining our days here, our days there ie: "we can frequent this bar!" , outside a 3Euro mojito divebar sporting bearded gents and shady yet suitable location. It was nice to get the social juices flow after my solitude, and I now feel, back here in the mountains, strangely subdued and ready for the next step. This evening 7 women arrived from Souwth Carohlaahna. Very friendly bubbly and interesting women whose accents make me want to mock them silly, i have to refrain myself from adopting their fun way of speaking, its very infectious! A good group it seems, and Im glad that if this in my ast week here that the group is fun and eager for me to join in. I did some paintings on postcard sized paper and sold them 5bob a piece and made 50 bucks from these lovely ladies, which is very helpful. Makes me think maybe I could make more and sell them at the markets....? (Will post some pictures soon).

Tim and Martina are aware of my desire to depart earlier than planned and I know that while i was gone they could feel the lack of me being around so its a week when we make the most of eachother, and I have a great eagerness to get out into those mountains and make the most of being here while it lasts. Although, I think I have already made the most of it in many ways, its been a beautifully rewarding experience, even though Im here in extreme comfort and isolation, I have learned alot, and feel I will learn alot more this week as I am soaking it up before my imminent departure. Will write of the outcome, the departure, the Americans and the week of yoga and art making with them.

Having mad nights of full and intense dreams, where my bed is a canvas for submerging beings form my unconcious, a page of chracters and moments and confrontations and still I wake with a room full of the energy of people, family, and animals, scenarios that are surrealist and detailed with Spanish lifestyle frills, and as I sit here, after cleaning up the table after the women, in a big and lofty kitchen in the wake of activity, I pray for a rested and full nights sleep! I send lost of love through the airwaves today,
Rx

These winds

These few last weeks we have had days of big winds, mornings where the valley is subject to great sways of seasonal change, pushing the last of the seeds around, and clearing debris. Each time, it carries a cool force from somewhere, and little by little it gets cooler and cooler, winds from across Europe come over the sea and make these mornings chillier as we slip softly into winter.
Each evening this week I have been by my self at La Serrania, the two guests left Tuesday. I have enjoyed the pleasures and the pains of being trapped in paradise, the upside being able to swim with no clothes in the setting sun! But, I fear after this weekend that my little ritual will change, this morning the pool is choppy with leaves and winds, a cold front pushing around the wet garden, and finally, winters presence prevails. The island is still charmingly beautiful in the winter, the olive and almond trees all leafless and expressive, the pines hold a dark light and become mysterious, the ocean, something to watch only, to enjoy from afar.
When the owners return from their lives and visit me up at the ranch, I excitedly over compensate for the lack of ears, and bore them with my rabbling and my pent up words.
The cat has been my faithful and kind companion, snuggling up to me, holding on tight with her arm around mine, pushing her little wet nose into me, and purring like mad. Sharing my bed and the couch, and watching Almodovar films into the night.
This morning Tim watches the rugby world cup and I can hear him and the german commentary getting exited and expressive. A woman has arrived, who I met the other day whilst we worked on the almond trees. ( battering them with a stick so they plummet to the earth to land on big nets we drag around the sundrenched garden, made about a garbage bag full!) and she is in the throes of divorce, quietly telling me, in her SwedishGerman accent, of how he up and left her with three baby boys. And as we have chatted here and there, I gather the loss in her silences, and feel her desperation, and know how she considers the impossible idea of never returning to her consuming boys and consuming affairs, so stay island-bound and free. I feel the strength of her will and negotiation of her desires. It's here that people come to escape and I feel the weight of their lives as it slowly slips off their shoulders and follows the winds to the hills for the week. The energy of healing can be heavy in it's subtleties, and takes many different forms.


I am off the island for a few days, to have a little break from these mountains, to get beyond them to the rest of the world, leaving the dreamland to the beat of Barcelona to go to the annual Spanish fantasy film festival!

A day of mine

A little reason to love Spain.


Today I woke, and after a meditation, a good bunch of slow laps in the mountain-reflected pool, and a good morning breakfast for the guests, I got a ride into town. Its good to get to town after being a little holed up at La Serrania, and I am joyed by seeing people, even in the calm of siesta afternoon, shopkeepers sitting curbside, mostly old men, gossiping, watching the afternoon roll into the hottest part of the day.
So, I hurried up the towering mountain that hangs over Pollenca town, a rocky and steep climb, a winding and slippery cobbled path. And in the heat of the afternoon, getting a little sunburnt, the town sat sleepily below me, hanging in the suspension of the Spanish day, the compulsory pause, the natural post-feed rest, the slump. Up on the Puig de Maria, which seemed to be totally deserted, was a rambling old stone monastery, all Spanish charm with swaying sea-breeze poplars and those cone shaped trees, and acorn strewn grounds, wild goats and their babies, all bearded and nimble, scrambling from the paths. And rocky sandy buildings, all cool and shaded inside, a quiet little church, with that stained-glass light play thrown around in colourful peace. And lofty presbitary spaces, and lookouts, and crumbling walled gardens, all terracotta-potted, with ancient wells and olive trees. Oh the peace and charm of this mountain top reverie! In that space in the afternoon where time stops, and me, book in lap, legs resting on the rounded curve of a tumbled pot, back against the sandstoned brick of an ancient hand-worked wall, above me an open window, a cat, and a view over the light drenched horizon. Those faded colours of distant mountains, light and sea spray, shading them dull and far. And the resting towns below and beyond, all adding to my sweet Spanish afternoon. I got hot, those white legs getting pinkish and I retired under a light dappling oak, watching the goats and pigeons, reading.
I meandered down after a few hours, and a good meditate in the silent, warm chuch. Back to town and its on! Fruit baskets pushed back to the streets and cafes a-buzzing yet again, and children return with their unifroms and books from school and the town has woken up and so have I and I wonder if the mountainous reverie stays up there, suspended in glistening peace. Im going back tomorrow! RX

Week 2

The afternoon is mine!

The flock of brits have left the island and their retreating week and left me to a magnificently quiet and calm afternoon. And in this calm the mountains and I enjoy an afternoon together, they, all cloud-light dappled and shaded, all misty in the sundrenched distance, and I, recovering from the intensity of being apart of the re-awakening week of 11 strangers. They all turned out to be kindred spirits and lovely people, gentle poms who left me parting gifts and a generous tip. They were ever so Brittish with their camp-fire songs, their incessant chatter of all things menial and boring like Doc Martin and the Royal gossip. In their wake is a week ahead of 2 Germans who come and idly lazy pool-side, a sight which i suspect will continue all week. They giggle and squirm in the sun and breeze, moisturizing eachother and laying about in white linens and panama hats under the flapping umbrella. Its just me and them this week and time to ride to town, time to explore the area beyond the sub-universe that is La Serrania. Silent winds wobble the flowers in the oncoming autumnal change, and the sharp edge of the mountainview increases in contrast as the sun slips away, there is a great sincerity to them, the waz they rise and fall, kneeling to the valley, and extending themselves to the afternoons in full light and colour.

I have been reading Lolita and am whisked away by Nabokovs invocation of dreamy desire and earthy passions, all full of the language of holidays and vacations, albeit the paedopheliac backdrop, the imagery is fitting to my island paradise here.

Saturdays, my day off, is often something I anticipate and also dread as I feel the need to escape this little reverie of a place and its, at times, claustrophobic mountains. Though, the need seems to be not so pressing, its enough to be free of tending to people for the day, to enjoy the landscape to myself is enough of a recovery of the week and my desire to depart is fullfilled by dreaming and painting the day away, either pool side or lost in painting with a great podcast and a pot of tea.

I have spent the morning painting, and have just done a little watercolour in purples of the darling cat, Cookie, and her laconic sun-stretched pose in the bench in front of me, she seems to know what Im up to.

I just went for a little swim in the view-reflected pool, cool and calm. I feel the wake of the departure of a lively group and feel the emptyness, and realize my job is actually quite a sad one, so be making friends with these great groups that come and open up and enjpy their time, then wave quick goodbyes and Im left with the silence.

Im off for a walk to the woods, Rx