Snake Dance

I have never been to an auction of any kind and not usually pay much attention to announcements in the press by any auction houses. Nevertheless I couldn't help but notice the vintage photo of a sensual dancer accompanying the announcement. It was her collection of valuable jewellery that's to be auctioned on the 16th and 17th, in the Balcli's Gallery in Barcelona. The dancer in the photo below was Tortola Valencia. Born in 1882, educated in London, but had chosen Spain as her permanent home. I have never heard of her or known anything about her at all until this so irresistible image of her doing the Snake Dance that made me read the article which goes with the advertisement of the auction. She was apparently very famous in her time, beautiful, exotic, and daring in her artistic interpretation of her dances, ultra avantgarde in concept and technique in the beginning of the 20th century. She had also appeared in various films and documentaries. She was extremely popular, successful and had made lots of money, but astute enough to know how to manage her fortune, investing in only the very best art and unusual jewellery. She lived a very extravagant life surround by her collection of priceless paintings, art objects, stamps, antique furniture and of course rich and famous friends, amongst them dukes and duchess, politicians, literary writers and poets ... Although not so blessed in love, she had her share of many illustrious lovers. She spent her later years painting in her luxurious ivory mansion in Spain. She died on the 13th of February, in 1955. Tags:auction,snakedance

• Current Mood: Artistic

No Funeral For Me ...

As much as I could possibly avoid it, I don't go to hospitals. Not even to visit anybody, including friends. It probably seems callous or even heartless. I just find it very depressing and it makes me immediately feel suffocating. For the same reason, if I am very ill and hospitalised, I also prefer not to have visitors. How can the sick rest and recover when the room is full of chattering friends, telling you how much they enjoyed being at this and that place, doing such and such wonderful things and having a real grand time, while you are in utter discomfort or pain wishing they would just leave you alone?

I always try my best not to go to funerals especially, friends or even family's if I could somehow avoid it. Unless of course if my absence should cause great upset or incomprehension to the dead friend's family. Pain to me is something very intimate and personal, and I am not at ease with it's public exhibition. In any case I can't stand the sad atmosphere and I can't conceal my emotion nor hold my tears.

Even when the diseased is not a close friend. Funerals seem to upset me even more than the family members of the dead, and this could sometimes be rather awkward, and might even cause suspicion. That happened a few years back, when a Spanish friend died still a young man, after being sick for less than 2 months. He was the close friend of my regular dancing partner at the time, and we had been many times out dancing together. For whatever reason he (the one that passed away) never went with his wife. She hated it and couldn't dance anyway I was told.

At his funeral I was so very upset and couldn't stop shedding tears, that the family members began to eye me suspiciously. Not much later his widow looked me up for a 'chat'; she had thought I had been his lover as, apparently, he had as much as admitted he had one. It was not me! That did it. I swore I would never attend any funeral ever again. Not even my own!!!

I might attend a funeral though had the departed was an enemy, so as just to make sure that he was indeed lying in the box! But then I had never had someone I would consider an enemy!

Tags:funerals

• Current Mood: Determined

In Case It's Not Obvious Enough?

Even as early as an early teen, it fascinated me the explanation at the end of an article, signed by a name then followed by 'writer and journalist'. With the passing of years, this fascination continues because every article you ever read in any media always ends with such and such a 'name', then 'writer and journalist'. 'David Jones, writer and journalist', 'John Smith, writer and journalist.' I find this as ridiculous as putting 'Rafael Nadal, sportsman and tennis player', or 'Obama, politician and president'.

I always put this superfluous monotony down to little consideration and respect to the journalist to dignify him, almost like saying 'He is journalist, poor man, but he is okay, he can write.'. I wonder whether it's result of the indifference of the journalists themselves, that it matters not to them if it's a full-stop, or a comma, this adjective or better the other. Nobody ever questions it. I have never seen any other professionals that care so little about their profession.

What is more surprising, for me anyway, not only is this absurdity not abating, it propagates more by the day. A few days ago I walked past through the main street in Darnius. On the front of a house, No. 38 of that street, there's a plaque, in which it says 'In this house was born Jose Maria Gironella, writer and novelist'. Same nonsense, this time applies to a novelist. Of course he is both. Isn't that obvious? Would eliminating the superfluous word 'writer' make him less of one?

Not too many things in the world are clear and precise, but I dare presume all novelists are writers, same as all pianists are musicians, and all water-colour artists are painters. Why the idiotic addition then? Later I took a look at the News online, Tribuna.cat, and saw an article - Senlit de Pais - signed by Cesc Serrahima, writer and poet. That's all I need to see for one day! Are there poets who are not writers?

I do realize there are exceptions. These days there are male who are not men, or female who are not women. Aren't there?

Tags:journalist,poet,novelist

• Current Mood: Thoughtful

Hilarious Tango

If you love dancing the Tango like I do with great passion, here's a demonstration showing you some mighty fun steps ...