>From Argentina I had the pleasure of crossing the epic Andes into Chile to visit a friend, Daniel Perez, who is livng and working in Santiago. We made our way to the Pacific and the sweet little city that is Valparaiso. I was immediately enchanted with its rainbow array of tin homes clustered on the hills rising from up the coast, rickety old trams that precariously carry you up the steep hillsides, and art painted all over the canvas that is Valpariaso. I am not the only one who was so enchanted – the famous Chilean poet Pablo Neruda made one of his homes, La Sebastiana, there to better soak up the inspiration.
Walking around Valpariaso I couldn’t help but be reminded of another city, very dear to my heart, which was a well of inspiration for the Spanish Poet, Federico Garcia Lorca. While Granada, Spain is nestled in a valley as opposed to lining the sea and the moorish-style homes are white-washed with red tiled roofs as opposed to bright splashes of color, both cities have an energy and soul. A sense of passion, and a legacy of inspiration and artistic expression. And they both have my heart.
I want you to know
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
if each day,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
The infinitely crystalline transparencies reveal themselves in dim splendor. The shadows hold night in their tangles, and the city begins to shed its idle veils, rendering visible its cupolas and its ancient towers illuminated by a soft golden light.
The houses reveal faces with empty eyes among the verdure, and the grasses, poppies and vines dance entertainingly to the sound of the breeze from the sun.
The shadows are lifting and vanishing languidly, while in the air there is a piping of ocarinas and reed-flutes produced by the birds.
In the distance there are confusions of mist and heliotrope among the poplar groves, and now and then, in the dawn freshness, is heard a distant bleating in the key of F.
Along the valley of the Darro, anointed with blue and dark-green, fly pigeons from the countryside, whiter or darker, according to whether they come to rest beneath the poplars or beneath masses of yellow flowers.
The sober bell-towers are still asleep, except for some small bell on the Albaizín ingenuously quivering from its cypress tree.
The rushes, reeds and fragrant grasses are bent down to the water so as to kiss the sunlight whenever it should be reflected there…
The sun appears, almost without brightness….and in that moment the shadows lift and vanish, the city is tinted pale purple, the mountains turn to solid gold, and the trees acquire the brilliance of an Italian ascension.
And all the softness and paleness of indecisive blues changes to splendid luminosity, and the ancient towers of the Alhambra are illuminated with roseate light…the houses with their whiteness, and the shadows, exchanging brilliant greens.
The sun of Andalucia begins to sing its song of fire which all things listen to with fear.
The light is so marvellous and unique that the birds crossing the air are rare metals, solid rainbows and red opals….
- Federico García Lorca, from ”Impresiones y paisajes 1918”