Ardent About Art: Thoughts from Florida

The best classroom, if you ask me, is life. A particular portion of life. Not what you'll find in massive malls or on huge highways -- although there are things to learn there, the lessons are ones you probably already know (for instance, that people are way too obsessed with acquiring shiny new shit).

The life I’m referring to is that which exists in the cracks – where we don’t usually venture. By considering what lies beyond our self-imposed bubbles, these places (and the people, objects and sentiments that exist there) can truly inspire. 

I’m writing this from South Florida. It’s no Rome and it’s no London. It doesn’t feature Sistine Chapel ceilings or Westminster Abbeys. It does, however, house rough-around-the-edges – albeit golden – nuggets of the type of teeming, brilliant life I’m referring to.

I was lucky enough to be struck by this variety of living, breathing art yesterday. On my walk from little Havana (rusted barbed wire fences, the all-encompassing aroma of barbequed meat, aging couples passing the time on front porches) to the vastly dissimilar hoity-toity Bal Harbour (pristinely manicured lawns, gold-painted fire hydrants, svelte ladies touting designer handbags housing designer dogs).

This solo stroll supplied me with something like mini mind vitamins. It prompted to me to ask questions … reach conclusions … and most importantly, consider my place in this world and how I feel about it.

Michelangelo said people paint with their brains and not their hands. And that's exactly what I was reminded of on my little walk.


Art is everywhere. Your mind is the only blinder that'll stand in the way of you seeing it. 

In Anticipation of the London 2012 Olympics

I came across this poster ("Birds 2012" by Tracey Emin) during my visit to Tate Britain. One of a collection of works commissioned for the 2012 Paralympic Games, it speaks to me in a sweet and subtle way. I regret not having bought it (was so cheap and would have looked beautiful in a sleek black frame) but couldn't have lugged it through Spain.

Let the games begin.

One love,

E

Spain part 2: Mallorca

Mountains and wind mills.
Sand and sensational ocean views.
Boats and roundabouts.
Palm trees, Majorcan pickles and mojitos.

Mallorca was magnificent; a real vacation within my vacation. Although at times I found the heat hard to bear, the sheer natural beauty of it all was breathtaking.

Getting there was a cinch (an easy breezy hour long flight from Barcelona). It was driving in the pitch dark along steep, narrow, windy coastal cliffs to get to our remote hotel in Pollenca on the north of the island (so remote that our GPS couldn't detect it) that was the tough part. Needless to say, no thanks to the advice of the nice albeit clueless woman from the hotel who simply told us to "go up the mountain and then down the mountain" (our running joke of the trip) we arrived safe and sound.

We awoke the next day to quite the sight: acres of immaculately manicured grounds looking out onto breathtaking mountains and a beach with crystal clear water that captured the light like a thin sheet of dilating glass. Although we were initially put off by the the "classical elegance" of the place compared to the cool modernism of our previous lodgings, it won us over with its unbeatable views and first-rate food (each item offered at the breakfast buffet was pure perfection).

Formentor (now Barcelo Formentor) really is the stuff of dreams -- a "veritable Eden" visited by figures known the world over from Charlie Chaplin to the Dalai Lama. Its formidable history is riddled with highs and lows, like the dips and ascents of the surrounding cliffs and seaside waves.

We spent our days by the beach reading, collecting seashells or on our lounge chairs doing absolutely nothing. In the late afternoon, freshly showered and saltwater-free, we'd hop into our convertible smart car and drive to Puerto Pollenca, a fun, lively tourist-ridden affair of a town where we ate overlooking sailboats and listening to live music. It was clean and comfortable there, the ideal end to each perfect day in paradise.

Spain Part 1: Barcelona

Palm trees, balmy breezes, pretty passersby.
Hot sidewalks, cold drinks. Long hair, short shorts.
Fans, frills and espadrilles.
Bold colors and clean lines.
Fluid movements and passionate pounces.

After four glorious days days in Barcelona I'm off to Mallorca, where the Spanish Royal Family spend their summer holidays and Claudia Schiffer, and an increasing number of German and English sun-seekers, come to unwind.

Beautiful Barcelona is a place I won't soon forget. Unlike Paris or London, the vibe is much more elusive but no less formidable. The city's emphasis on design is what really sets it apart. Everything is both more aesthetically pleasing and functional. In lieu of offensive steel garage doors blocking off storefronts after hours, Barca has pleasant, unassuming security gates. Collectively, the smallest details - from whimsical knot-shaped locks on public toilet stalls to split-three-ways poles in the centre of subway cars - make all the diffence.

Our hotel (OMM, right off the beautiful Paseo de Gracia, similar to Paris's Champs Elysees) was a shining example of this type of good design. Overall, it was sleek and stylish, packing a mean punch with its use of interesting materials and unexpected features.

Overlooking our room past the vine-laden balcony were large, interesting structures protruding from the grassy courtyard below. At dinner in the impressive eating area on the main floor, we realized those structures were mini skylights supplying much needed natural light to that section of the hotel. The hallways were also staggeringly different from anything I've seen back home. We were taken aback and then delighted by the pitch black hallways offset by pops of fluorescent lighting along the walls. For a second, we forgot we were in Spain as opposed to aboard Captain Picard's USS Stargazer...

My favorite feature of the hotel was its rooftop terrace and pool, complete with a sensational view of Gaudi's eccentric Casa Mila (better known as "La Pedrera"). The awe inspiring building, with its bold forms and undulating facade, is made entirely of natural stones. From our lounge chairs we were able to contemplate arguably the best part of the structure: the rooftop is made up of multiple chimneys that together resemble a sea of surrealistic sculptures.

Our last night there was spent sipping sangria and watching an exciting, passion-filled flamenco dancing spectacle at Palacio del Flamenco. I thoroughly enjoyed it and was glad to get a taste of authentic Spanish culture. The costumes were flashy and fabulous, and the feelings the performers emoted through their art was truly harrowing. As Ari eloquently put it, flamenco is like a one-of-a-kind mixture comprised of one part exorcism, one part mating ritual, and one part intimidation tactic. I absolutely loved it and am loving everything about this last leg of my trip.

LONDON, LUV

Pretty and punky.
Rain, tea and Queenie.
Top Shop and high tops.
Pounds and the underground, double decker buses and red telephone boxes.
Trafalgar Square, Big Ben and the London Eye.
Stockings, snogging, trees, trellises.
Beheadings and brick lanes.

London has been a "proper" good time! In only a few days, I've managed to see and enjoy a decent amount of the city. I literally haven't stopped. But the lack of sleep and fatigue are a fair price to pay for all I've gained from this special little jaunt.


My hotel (Princes Square Hotel in west London, near Notting Hill and Hyde Park) has been great -- convenient, central location close to the tube (Bayswater station) as well as plenty of shops and restaurants. The former Victorian home has been newly updated with a fresh coat of modernity and surprisingly comfortable (the old pics, as shown online, make it look pretty tatty).

I'm writing this at 7am Saturday morning, from the Tarmac at London City Airport on my way to Barcelona.  The weather is supposed to be divine and after 3 weeks of more or less incessant rain, I couldn't be more excited for a decent dose of vitamin D.

Here are my thoughts on the places I visited in lush, leafy London:

*Camden Market (open 7 days a week) was definitely one of the highlights of my trip. It is rich in history (stalls are set up all over the area in little alleys, under bridges and even "horse tunnel," which was formerly a horse stable) and bustling with bright colors and even more colorful characters. The cobblestone streets, pierced patrons and wide variety of items for sale (think handmade soaps, reclaimed jewelry and countless graphic t-shirts) made for a really superb day.

The vegan scene is alive and well here too which made me love it infinitely more. If you're ever there, be sure to pay a visit to vegetarian hotspot inSpiral Lounge right before Lock Market. It overlooks the pretty canal flanked by willow trees and the food is truly spectacular. Thinking about the cakes and milkshakes I didn't have a chance to try makes me want to snap my fingers and be back (I could really go for their iced coffee and big, hearty brunch right about now...)

*I liked Greenwich, but didn't love it. Found there wasn't much to see. Apparently time was invented there and I would have liked to learn more but didn't get to it. Oddly enough, my favorite part of the trip to Greenwich was the tube ride home! Passing above the countless quaint and cool developments along the Thames was interesting and enjoyable.

*Soho was cute. Made sense for me to go, but if I was here for fewer days I would have skipped it. Great veg food and smoothies. Definitely a quirky little area.

*Would recommend anyone in London only for few days SKIP Harrods. It's really highbrow and stuffy, and the shopping (unless you're miss/mister moneybags) isn't even that great. The famous food court was cool enough but inconvenient: I bought lunch only to be told there was nowhere within the store I could eat it. Thankfully, I found a quiet bus stop a short distance outside the premises. Not my cup of tea to say the least.

Harrods is where the public was introduced to the first ever escalator! People was so nervous to get on such a seemingly scary contraption - moving stairs - that once they reached the top, the brave few who gave it a go brandy (for the men) and smelling salts (for the women).

*Portobello Road (in Notting Hill) is really nothing to see on a weekday. Aside from the cute kiddies in Hogwarts-like uniforms and mummy friends catching up on gossip as they push matching strollers, in hindsight it was a bit of a waste of time.

*The Tate Modern was great. I'm really happy I got to it. Was the furthest thing from a stuffy, conventional art exhibit. The works were brilliant in pushing the envelope, questioning convention and exploring the notion that truth can be unearthed from dreams. The whole production really got my creative juices flowing and had me thinking outside the box (always a good thing).

Walking from the Tate Modern to Borough Market (the city's largest and most famous food market), down narrow streets and hidden alleyways, was beautiful. Had some good veggie grub from The Veggie Table and made my way back home, to pack and get a good night's sleep before my big day in Barcelona.

A few of my favourite French things (parting poem pour Paris)

Cars on slick city streets, motorcycle engines idling, local bands playing American covers at Manfred and patrons clapping along to the music.

Arts & Metiers, Chatelet, metro doors that don’t open automatically and the promise of possibility that overtook me at each new stop.

Ellene, Imane, Benjamin and Stephane, who showed me, even in a country that dislikes differences, how similar we all are; Bhuddist, Muslim, Jewish, or otherwise.

The owners of family-run Lebanese restaurants who kept me well fed and in good spirits, the lady at the Laundromat who helped me do my first load, and my unforgettable neighbour in the miniscule apartment one floor up – without her I would surely have been locked out for days, not hours.

SYMPA, ET VOILA, MARON and the many other French expressions I'll no longer have the pleasure of hearing on a daily basis.

Savoring every single fragrant bite of crepes with apple compote, fresh figs and vanilla lavender confections.

And most importantly, mon Coeur, Marie, with whom I now have memories to last a lifetime and a friendship plus fort que the French Empire.

PARIS: PART 2

Part deux already. How time flies.

Things continue to be fantastique but also very soggy L

On Thursday, Marie, Clare, and I went for lunch in the 8^th arrondissement (the city’s main business district). I got off at Charles-de-Gaule Etoile right in front of the Arche de Triomphe. Although lunch with my favourite ladies here was lovely, I found the area lacking in charm (the small chunk I saw anyway). The last of the independent retailers there have been bought out, so it’s all expensive restaurants offset by a handful of overpriced souvenir shops. Next time I go back, I’ll likely be paying a little visit to les Avenue des Champs-Élysées (a.k.a. the most beautiful Ave. in the world). Window shopping at its finest!

Saturday I met Marie in the Latin Quarter at the fountain outside of the St-Michel metro. I love the area – it is simultaneously charming and lively; enjoyed by locals and tourists alike. As luck would have it, “our people” were taking part in a massive protest against the shooting and burning of live animals as part of preparations for Eurofoot 2012. To learn more and/or to sign the petition, click here.

After a delicious Lebanese lunch, we went to a gem of a bookstore called Shakespeare and Company. While technically not the original (which opened in 1919, closed in 1941 during German occupation, and was an important place for the likes of Hemingway and Joyce) it functions as a sanctuary for writers, aspiring writers, and artists and has done so since its opening in 1951. To learn more, please visit the Shakespeare and Company website.

Packed like sardines alongside other curious-minded bookworms from across the globe, I made my way along the bushels of books – some with inscriptions from decades past, others written by contemporary left-wing theorists whose work you might be hard pressed to find elsewhere. Each nook and dusty cranny appeared all the more magical and mysterious bathed in the dim light of antique chandeliers and skirted by creaky old floors. I felt a newfound sense of strength as a writer, knowing from the best and the brightest to the most bashful of beginners, we all do the same thing when we translate the thoughts, feelings, or ideas in our heads onto paper (or typewriters, computers, or iPads).

Last (but not least - I loved this) we visited the Pont des Arts, which is teeming with sleek, often colourful “love locks.” Each one containins the names, messages, and/or wishes of lovers who threw the key into the Seine as a sign of their eternal love. It was fascinating and fun to imagine the people who those locks belong to and where they are now. Are Ben & James still together? Did Marita get sick leaving Jose a lonely widower? How many children do Fanny and Matthew now have?

It’s getting late now and I’d like to check out the Musée d'art et d'histoire du judaïsme just down the street before it closes. I hope that’s enough to keep you satiated and I promise to check back in again soon...

Biz,

E