Stolen Moments - Madrid

I remain at odds with Madrid. It shows. I stall, trying to decide what to say and what not to say. It has been nearly one month. The muscles at the base of my neck contract.

I can say the Juan Muñoz retrospective at the Museo Nacional de Art Reina Sofía was delightful, engaging. I could have spent hours there, wandering among the galleries, looking at the playfulness of the work, a rapt audience to his creative vision and energy.
I can say that the Reina Sofía´s contribution to the 2009 PhotoEspaña, The Atlas Group (1989-2004) Un proyecto de Walid Raad, is a powerful archive of Lebanon´s civil war, documented through both the quotidian and the unimaginable.

Secrets in the Open Seas made concrete the power of saying less in its series of four prints in various shades of blue, color chips from a paint store in which the price was too high. At the bottom of each image, a Pantone number identifies the tint and a single strip of images, printed as if contact prints from a single roll of film, tells the story of the group photographs each frame contained. The images, taken from 29 photographic prints in varying shades of blue, were found in the rubble of Beirut´s downtown commercial district. Every person in the photographs, man and woman, identified by The Atlas Group. Every person dead, in the Mediterranean, during the years of the war.


I can say the Museo Nacional del Prado is magnificent--Guernica, and Picasso's series of charcoal studies of the horrified mother cry out at the unimaginable. So much to see and absorb, the Joaquín Sorolla exhibit is a casualty.

I can say that the Museo de Arte Thyssen-Bornemisza reveals the passion of collecting art, personalizing its depth and highlighting its idiosyncrasies. I can say the museo´s temporary exhibition, Matisse: 1917-1941, is intriguing, revealing the artist´s path in his middle years. Gallery 5, focusing on form, particularly his nudes and the study for the Dance Mural Composition, captures the tension of his work in the early 1930´s.

I can say that My Things, an exhibition of work by Beijing artist Hong Hao at La Galería de Art Dolores de Sierra, part of PhotoEspaña, overwhelms me in a meticulous Where´s Waldo dimension. The minutae of his life broadens into a mosaic that resonates in Spain but offers me nothing new.



I can say that Petra's International Bookshop is a stolen gem of one morning´s hour, a Charing Cross transplant down a small, tucked away Madrid street. An ex-pat's oasis of English language books, some beloved and some still in line on the same shelf since the 1970's. In a word, it is tiny, stacked full of used books, some still in the suitcases in which they were purchased. A pen-and-ink portrait of Petra, the bookshop's eponymous cat, hangs in memorium over the shelf entitled,"Chick Lit." It is about the books; it is about being able to hold them in hand.

I can say that I am left wanting. I reach Madrid Sunday afternoon, too late to visit El Rastro, the famous Madrid flea market. S and I venture forth on a weekday, determined to ferret out some of the shops that parallel the streets that brim with blanket vendors on Sunday mornings. Treasures abound. I find wooden bobbins for making lace. S finds three fans, hand-painted and restorable, and a toy boxed compass. She wins.

I can say that having someone in your group who speaks Arabic and knows Moroccan cuisine can yield the best dining experience of a trip. Mint tea, tagines, incredible. Thank you, S!

I can say that the Madrid Metro is a den of thieves. W loses his camera and euros in two separate incidents. His face tells the story.

I can say that Madrid must work hard to win my affection, despite some stolen moments.