Negative space drawing: eraser on charcoal background
Night gleaming by. Brick, concrete, lights lit and unlit, continual pantomime of red to green. The dance of the inanimate which evening tempers into the empty city after-dark. If you focus on the negative space the objects which claim it lose their urgency of presence. They connect where no confluence ever was. If you pedal harder the wind draws further into you.
That portrait of a dog buried in the sand.
That portrait of a dog sinking in the sand.
I remember it was sepia-toned.
The difference between sunk and sinking
Perfect-ness of the action which
begs the eye to follow through,
yet it just stares
frozen like the trapped animal
When you showed me a postcard
the year we met, the faded sketch
you imagined to be a head portrait
of a tired dog. (A happy dog?)
No it was sinking in an invisible mire
of canvas, not already sunk.
Sand and not white space
in old photographs,
the dog, the poor thing,
you loved its helplessness.
More like the night which quickly turned into a morning of sudden and unexpected unconsciousness.
I arrived at the Parque del Buen Retiro and managed to see this interesting video installation of sprouting flowers on a building facade. All over central Madrid there were musicians playing on towering platforms, videos with art slides, projections on buildings, huge crowds of people awaiting a tightrope walker who never actually appeared to walk the rope. We hung out for a couple of hours in one of my classmates’ apartment to have a few drinks, and by the time it was 3:00 it was time to hit the bars. I’d never seen so many people out at that time of night. The streets were full, and through the windows of crowded restaurants you would see older people chatting over dinner as if it were 8:30 in the evening.
We spent some time dancing in the bar. Then we started buying shots of rum and whiskey. Then we went to play with the huge rubber ducks that were floating in the main fountain and splashed around a bit. Finally we decided to catch a cab to this one girl’s apartment, where we continued the shots intake. And the rest is history (of which I cannot remember). I woke up confused the next afternoon in Natalia’s bed wearing her pink pj’s. Though it was quite painful, the night was extremely well spent.