barcelona in ink

Yesterday, Nina said something that I feel accurately sums up the experience I had in Barcelona— "there is a before and an after Barcelona." I had such an amazing time exploring, meeting talented artists, making new friends and reflecting on my life decisions and recent and ongoing artist's block. Being able to talk and listen to Lapin, Nina and Miguel was the most valuable and memorable part of this trip, and thumbing through their sketchbooks was incredibly inspiring. I've missed being around other illustrators, artists and designers— the exchange of ideas and art with others is so necessary for inspiration and motivation. I feel revived.

Had the volcano in Iceland not erupted when it did, I wouldn't have met Lapin, Nina or Miguel— the timing would have been off. What I thought was bit of bad luck turned out to be the best I could have hoped for. Indeed, I feel that my life and art post-Barcelona is moving to a new beat.

Thank you Lapin and Lapinette, thank you Nina, thank you Miguel, thank you Barcelona.

Lapin draws me on the terrace.
See Lapin's sketch of me on his blog.

a last look

decorated

mercat del encants

Three illustrators awoke one morning and made their way through the quiet industrial jungle, towards a market of fleas.


At the market, a kind silver-haired man offered them a paper cone of sugary fried dough sticks in exchange for a couple of shiny coins.


The sweet golden treats were called churros, and were the finest to be had— crunchy and sugary on the outside, soft and warm on the inside. Our three illustrators gobbled them up with delight, as they wandered through the labyrinth of obsolete electronics, forgotten books and unwanted china.


Arabic, Catalan and Spanish filled the air like birdsong, as the three searched for treasures hidden beneath the heaps of stuff, struggling to find the tiniest piece of shade from the Mediterranean sun.


After bargaining with sun-browned wrinkled faces, our three set off in search of something delicious and cooling, a bowl of garlicky gazpacho, from a nearby café. As they selected the little table under the deer head, the lovely Julie appeared and joined the trio for the feast. The bowls were enormous, dripping with condensation from the warm air, and filled to the brim with the chilled soup. Satisfied and comfortably cool, the four stepped out into the afternoon, ready for their next adventure.

miró

Oh Miró, Miró, Miró— how I love you.

walls

Before diving into a colourful world of stars, circles, lines and birds, Lapin, Lapinette and I decided to swing by the temporary Murals exhibition at the Fundació Joan Miró.


Wall artists from Mauritania, the US, Mexico, Thailand and Europe, painted directly onto museum walls alongside the intricate and bold work of graffiti artists from Bosnia-Herzegovina and Singapore— a truly international burst of creativity and colour. The variety and energy of the show was so diverse, so exciting, I'm lucky to have caught it. I loved the contrast between the muted, anonymous hand-painting by the Coopérative Féminine de Djajibiné Gandega, and Lothar Götz's bright, angular precision. I marvelled at Brian Rea's obsessive scrawling and Ludovica Gioscia's waterfall of funky wallpaper. I was mesmerised by Sakarin Krue-On's redder than red, delicately dotted wall.

What gorgeousness.

perspective

picasso and the mammoth

Well, you kind of have to visit the Museu Picasso when in Barcelona, right?
It's one of those things. For days I'd look at the long line stretched down the narrow carrer de Montcada and keep walking. As I've said before, I've never been a Picasso fan, though I do respect and appreciate his work. So should I wait behind the twenty something tourists and spend the nine euro admission fee on a lukewarm feeling? Well, yes.

The line moved surprisingly fast, and I was directed by a bored staff member to where I should start exploring the five gorgeous mansions that housed the museum. The buildings date all the way back to the 13th to 15th centuries, and are gorgeous in and of themselves— as I tried to snap pictures inside the museum, I was reprimanded by another bored, and slightly irritated staff member. Apparently not only are you forbidden from taking photos, you can't even draw inside the museum with anything other than a pencil! A stricter place, I have not visited. I've posted what I was able to sneak past the guards— none of which are a Picasso, I'm afraid.

What to say? The museum is lovely, and my feelings for Picasso remain unchanged. I sipped an Estrella in the museum café, drew a rabbit, and headed out for some more wandering. Just across the street from Museu Picasso, something caught my eye.


A large and wondrously tacky heap of fur and tusk stood in the entrance of what I was happy to discover is Barcelona's first ever hands-on mammoth museum. As I stopped to marvel at the thought of a mammoth museum, the admissions man beckoned to me in Catalan, then Spanish, and eventually English.

"You can touch the bones!"
"That's really great, but I just gave my money to Picasso."
"Come, feel the fur!"
"Wow, that's fur alright. No seriously, I can't."
"Ok, ok, student discount!
"What? Why? No— really, thank you."
"Ok, ok, child price! Come on— come see the mammoth!"

What could I say? It's a mammoth museum!

...with a couple of rhinos and a bou mesquer.
I loved it.