When I was a young girl, I was frightened by the work of Salvadore Dali; I have vivid recollections of being introduced to some of his more massively renowned pieces in elementary school art classes, of perusing the pages of a book belonging to my older sister, always shivering, the feeling of moth wings grazing my eyes. Bodies and other organic objects contorted and pulled apart, like mechanical devices in various stages of construction, doused in acid and the colors of oceans and sunsets. Alluring but comfortably disturbing. It was not until a number of years later, as a young woman, after exposure to different and new philosophies, colors of aesthetics, that I began to truly appreciate Dali beyond the obligatory nod to the Surrealist master, which a certain knowledge of basic art history warrants. It is not at all surprising that his illustrated interpretation of Dante's Divine Comedy is a glorious amalgamation of the bizarre, the beautiful, and the grotesque.
In a few hours, I again fly over to Barcelona, not terribly far from the birthplace of Dali, Figueres. The June skies and air in Spain are supposed to be ideal: warm and clear, before the arid overbearing heat of the later summer months descends. Although I was just in Barcelona this past April for nearly a week, my trip had been predominantly confined to the city conference center; this time around, I have a few days open and free, to explore and venture to the city sites. This side of the Atlantic has been almost growing unfamiliar, but, I am not complaining.
Barcelona bound soundtrack: Lucky Shiner Gold Panda and Coastal Grooves Blood Orange
(image taken from Open Culture)