Day 14 part 2
To take advantage of free museum weekend we started nearby at the Centre del Carmen which features artifacts and art from the 20th century. It’s housed in a 13th century convent which has been preserved and offers a vegetation-laden courtyard surrounded by three stories of large display areas.
While there were many interesting features, the one room that stood out for me was a very large collection of mostly watercolors of influential people that had musical, political, or architectural connections to this part of Europe.
From Picasso to Andy Warhol to Edith Piaf to Janis Joplin the approx. 14 x 18 muted-color paintings and pencil drawings, some were just portraits, combined together to tell a varied, rich story of that era.
There was plenty of wall area throughout and lots of space was allotted between pieces with well thought out lighting and mixed media to accentuate the works.
I think what intimidates me about colossal museums like the Louvre and Prado is the vast quantity of quality pieces on exhibit. With limited time, and aching feet both times, I felt rushed to move from one great work to the next to the next, when if there were 10 or 12 pieces per room you could take in all of the detail and artistry and not feel like you were skimming the surface of awe-inspiring collections. But with the massive quantities to expose they have come up with the best possible compromise.
It was noon and I was idling in the grand doorway of the convent waiting for Carol when a very interesting couple caught my eye.
They were locked tightly arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder. Two women approximately in their 70s. They bore a stern, determined countenance as they moved barely above a shuffle towards me from the far end of the square.
Both had multiple layers of clothing on despite the balmy weather and it gave them a formless shape. Old handmade sweaters topped faded dresses that reached mid-calf, exposing support hose and black sensible working women’s shoes with a block heel.
It was apparent that both women, possibly sisters, had been reduced substantially in height , probably from osteoporosis, as their gate was stiff and calculated. The real clue to the loss of stature was in the left-hand woman’s hand.
It was an aged wooden t-handle cane that now was at shoulder height instead of the more comfortable chest height. It would have been a gradual degradation because a sudden loss would have precipitated much pain and probably immobility. Listen to me make a diagnosis with so little information.
Arm rigid in the forward position it was her companion’s stability that kept them both on the straight and narrow path towards me.
The right-hand woman wore a headscarf of the type you would deem appropriate in a more rural location. In her left hand she held a burning cigarette and would puff on it about every ten steps, or about every 30 seconds. Smoke curling from her lips it was obvious that it had been a long relationship with the cursed habit.
I had plenty of time to concoct a back story to their intertwined lives. Probably both widows with a hard scrabble past that had lived close together. Children along the way that learned the meaning of sacrifice and respect. Grandchildren that were given gifts of hard candy and wooden handmade toys.
They were within 5 meters now and still looked straight ahead not noticing my presence in the 15 foot tall doorway. Feeling emboldened I opened my translation app and typed in ‘May I take your photo?’ in the English to Catalan textbox as I felt that was more likely than the Spanish which was not wholly embraced by the oldest generations in this area.
Not meaning to startle them but to still get their attention I approached from the side and spoke the typical ‘ola, buen dias’ greeting and thrust out my phone in front of the smoker.
It stopped their momentum and she looked at what I had written, refocused, and read it again. Neither wore glasses. She shook her head in the negative and rubbed the hip that touched her sister with every step, then repeated ‘No’. I backed away apologizing in English and they moved back to their original pace.
Neither of them said anything to each other and I was left embarrassed. I knew from previous attempts in similar situations that it was a long shot with no upside for them but it would have been a picture with substantial meaning for me as I felt they were representative of a cultural dimension that was fading quickly.
Carol suddenly appeared and we walked at our usual pace passing the women and I leaned into her and told her of my desire to capture their story and she looked back and suggested that she could clandestinely take a photo from off to the side and they would be unaware of the deed. Not even tempted a bit I decided that would be a betrayal of their dignity and we moved well beyond them in a mere moment.
Because of the language barrier there was no way to develop any reference or relationship to have asked permission in these circumstances and I felt that I had given it my best shot.
Off we went to fill our day with the sights and sounds of Valencia but I was feeling that I had missed a golden opportunity to capture a key moment in Catalan life.
Blue Delivery 