Torera Americana

I spent a weekend in the pueblo of Cenicientos. It's located in the south east corner of the province of Madrid, positioned close to Avila to the north and Toledo to the south. I was invited by my friend Nereida, whose family lives there. The first day we went to a Plaza del Toros, but a special one. Nereida's friend Antonio, who works at the facility, explained that here is where they train the toreros and they have competitions with the young bulls. Nereida was disappointed that there wasn't a competition this weekend, but Antonio offered something even better: he gave me some instruction and in depth descriptions of how bullfighting works.

The pictures work almost like a moving picture. David, Nereida's boyfriend, was shooting pictures like crazy. Enjoy the photos and I'll try and explain as much as possible.

Cristina, Nerieda, and me

A meat cow.

Antonio and I feeding the cows. Nereida and her mother thought I was really brave.

Antonio as Señor Junio. (That's him in the picture.) His father owns this place and they have quite an active business. Antonio was really proud of this picture. I'm guessing he does pretty well in the competitions.

Me pretending. Little did I know what Antonio had in mind. Good thing I'm shameless.

I can't believe they made me keep the hat on... Here Antonio is explaining that I need to coax and tease the bull by moving the capote (cape) in a particular fashion. I need to keep the cape away from my body and my feet in position. This particular cape is called the capote de brega and it is traditionally a bright pink and yellow, though some toreros think that the yellow is bad luck and choose green for the second color.

Then I can move the cape as the bull comes nearer. The feet and the arms work together to keep the bull close to the cape but away from my body.

And if possible, I need to try and look as chulo as Antonio.

Yeah. Right.

Here comes my toro! Not nearly as suave as Antonio, but not too shabby!

Gorka (Nereida's brother) and Antonio showing me how it's done.

Gorka loves being the bull. That kid is always smiling. Antonio won major points for being able to whip that heavy cape around like it was silk.

Trying again.

Antonio is saluting the crowd. After, he throws the montera (hat) on the ground behind him. If the hat lands with its opening to the ground, it's good luck. If it lands upside-down, heaven help you.

Antonio is now teaching me the second part of the bull fight. This cape is called the muleta and it is designed with a dowel and sword (estaquillador) to flare the cape.

Here you can see the sword (espada).

My form is severely lacking.

It's heavier than it looks, and a little awkward.

¡Antonio el toro!

Correcting my form.

With the "real" toro.

What is my toosh doing?

Whoops! My sword lost its spot.
Showing me how to stick my hips out and bring back my shoulders.

"Mas chulo, Jamie! Mas chulo!" dice Gorka. "Jajaja! No soy una chula, Gorka. No puedo!"

Going for the killing stroke.

Success!

Goofing off.

Antonio showing off. ¡Gracias a David por las fotos!

The cow whisperer calling his herd.

Antonio and I feeding a macho bread with our hands. The cow tongue was huge, slimy, and strong.

Checking out the meat cows. What a fun adventure! The next post will tell all the other adventures in Cenicientos. It was a crazy-full weekend of castles, cows, and countryside.

Bragging Rights

If you know my brother Terry, you'll find this little intro funny. Not funny in the normal sense, but you know when a comedian says something more true than actually funny? That's Terry.

When I was 13 or so, Terry was home from college and listening to me rattle on about something or other. Everyone was in the kitchen cooking, listening respectfully to whatever teenage nonsense I had to say. Terry waited until I was finished and then asked very seriously, "Jamie, have you ever considered taking drama classes?"

I was taken aback. "No..."

"Because you're really dramatic," he finished.

The rest of the people in the kitchen were a little shocked at the back-handed comment, but I remember wondering if he was being honest or truly making a joke. Even then I recognized how melodramatic and over the top I could be. To this day, I honestly believe he was offering both a joke and some advice--and the teasing never really bothered me.

The other day I was freaking out about moving away from Madrid. The time had come to finally buy the one-way ticket to New York and I'd broken down crying at the little advert for Segovia in the corner of my screen. Would I ever see the Roman Aquaduct again? WAAAAAAhhhh!!! I needed something to shake me back to reality. I saw Terry online and we started to chat. Terry said a lot of bluntly helpful things, but my favorite was this: "Do you want support or advice?" Damn, this guy is good. And then he went on to ask me if I really was ready to end my adventures. HECK NO. Terry's loving wisdom keeps getting more and more poignant. I miss our long talks and his inquisitive mind.

Now, to go back in time, before the decision to move to New York was made, I had to be pushed. First, I had food poisoning. The food poisioning came just before the news that I could no longer stay in Spain--so my naturally melodramatic self was also starved of food--causing a weepy state that was borderline pathetic. On that day, I'd posted something on facebook that indicated a little understatement of a bad day. What do you know, but my other dear brother Eric happened to notice and interpret my little post on Facebook. He responded in such a sweet and encouraging way that I suspected he had spoken with Mom.... Either way, I was touched, encouraged, and duly impressed.

In the following days, Eric wrote me a few supportive emails--not only encouraging me to do what is best for me and to appreciate the crazy flexibility in my life, but also sharing a bit of his life as well. He filled me in on how much he loves being a dad and updated me on his family. No matter how busy Eric is, if he has an inkling that I'm struggling, he lets me know that he's there for me--in a phone call, email, facebook message, whatever works.

And then there are my parents. I don't know how to even begin. They support me in every adventure by believing in me, by offering me financial help, and by joyfully joining me. My desperate calls sometimes wake them up in the early mornings but they are always happy to hear from me. Mom keeps up with my incessant chatter and Dad patiently listens and offers well chosen nuggets of advice and concern. They visit me, they laugh at me, they ask all the right questions, they would come to every concert, every exhibition, every workplace, and every city I choose to call home. I am so lucky.

My "littlest" brother Mark has his own special brand of affection. Out of the blue he'll text me something to make me laugh. My favorite was: "Im in my truck on the way to a service call with both hands on the wheel munching on a crunchy granola bar out my mouth and i sneezed." I laughed so hard I cried. Every year, Sarah, Katy, and Mark pack up at least one package full of funny little gifts that make me giggle and feel loved and missed. When I come home, they make me feel like I was never gone. They're so full of imagination and fun that I can hardly believe I gave up living just a ten minute walk away from them. The first year I lived in Spain I thought of them every time I did something extraordinary and had to hold back the impulse to call them during each crazy adventure.

I have the best family in the world. Three wonderful brothers who I adore, three amazing sisters-in-law who are both friends and sisters at the same time, a niece who is so smart, talented, spunky, and beautiful that I'm a little jealous, and four hilarious and imaginative nephews that I miss playing with so much. And my two parents who are feircely supportive, blindingly loving, and whip-smart. After all the turmoil and intense planning of the past few weeks, I've been thinking a lot about how wonderful it will be to see them again.

We're stubborn as mules, heart-breakingly blunt, and ridiculously flawed, but my family is the best thing in my life. There is no way I could be a traveler, painter, teacher, musician, or mentally stable person without them. Punto.

La vida buena

Change is coming. It tends to this time of year. A little timeline of events:

January 2007--Graduated from PLU and ended a three-year relationship
May 2007--Moved to Bellingham
January 2008--Hired by the American School of Madrid and began my process to move to Spain
January 2009--Decided to stay in Spain another year
May 2009--Offered long-term substitute position at ASM
February 2010--Decided to leave ASM (complicated)
May 2010--Secured a job at English for Fun
January 2011--Quit English for Fun due to stress, began work at American Language
February 2012--Decided to leave Spain and move to New York

Whew! I think I have a healthy respect for this time of year. I'm not sure what next year will bring, but with one application to grad school under my belt, I'm feeling a bit more confident that next January and February will be more peaceful.

The last month has been a whirlwind of reevaluating my life, changing directions, and putting actions behind my words. I've felt very human lately. I've made a lot of mistakes, said and done a lot of stupid things, and have been humbled by the kindness of others every day. Nothing about that last sentence is new... but I've been feeling the full brunt of my own imperfections as my mind is struggling to keep up with all I need to process in this move.

I'm young. I'm infinitely young and fallible and crazy and a total mess. I'm weak, I'm silly, I'm annoying sometimes. Sometimes I fart. I'm a reckless flirt and yet absurdly naïve about men. I can be self-righteous and pontificating, judgemental and stubborn. I can be insecure to the point of letting opportunities pass me by or letting people take advantage. I am often late. I'm full of talk and not enough action. And I'm trying so hard to be better that I often dwell on my mistakes to the point of obsession.

And yet, I am constantly told by my friends and family how much they will miss me (Madrid friends), and how much they do miss me (all of you lovely people back home). I am humbled by their acceptance of my faults and their appreciation of my eccentricities. The incredible people here and back home have offered me commissions, essay and resume editing, dinners, parties, support, long chats on skype, chat, or the phone to not just help me through this difficult time, but to make this transition fun.

How do I thank my amazingly supportive family? How do I honor all the relationships that have helped me grow here in Spain? How will much more grateful will I be on arrival in New York, into the enthusiastic circle of friends and the harsh reality of unemployment? I am overwhelmed with love and humility.

And as always, no one says it better than Tim Minchin:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CDGuPp1np4o

For Sale

St. Paul's Cathedral, London

Acrylic on canvas

The month of January has centered around this painting. My dear friend Chad commissioned the work for his wife, and one of my dearest, dearest friends, Emily. Because they're both so important to me, and because of what this painting represents, I spent the entire month hopped up on caffeine and with paint under my fingernails.

Emily spent one complicated year in England without Chad. To live in London is an amazing opportunity--especially for a historian like herself. I was thrilled, we could talk nearly every day on Skype which was more often than we'd been able to talk in years. She often talked about the beautiful streets she explored or little day-trips she took with her classmates. I could tell she loved living in London just as much as I love living in Madrid. However, she missed Chad and her two sweet dogs horribly (and our Molly, of course). Though Chad was able to visit several times and they had a wonderful time exploring together, it wasn't enough. She returned home relieved to have the ordeal over with but with the landscape of London still haunting her.

Chad decided that Emily needed something very London-y and he and I conspired to bring this painting to life. St. Paul's Cathedral was just up the street from the Starbucks where Emily worked during her year abroad. She loves this building so much and would often tell me about how much she loved it. It was such a trip to paint a commission that had so much significance to someone's life and so many fun memories in the history of their relationship.

Partly because I'm also doing a project of paintings of my nephews, partly because of this commission, and with interest from another friend who'd like a painting of his parents, I'm for sale. I like painting things that have meaning for my clients. I like thinking about how they might see the painting, what memories it might kick up. And as much as I love teaching, I love staying up late into the night with my mugs of warm coffee and smooth tunes on my stereo. I like taking breaks from painting and glancing out my balcony window. I like organizing my painting materials and racing around the city for supplies. I liked finally breaking out of my obsession with the organic and challenging myself with the strict lines of a cityscape. I love it all.

I'm for sale, people. Commission me.

Will we be ready?

Imogen Heap and the smell of vanilla in my flat. Water on, tea to make. My feet still in my boots and my keys nearby. Like I might change my mind and go out after all. There are people to meet, friends to visit, but the winter air outside--so warm at midday--has cooled to a crisp bitter edge that sneaks through the cracks and crevices until my little apartment is cool and lonely.

I like lonely weekend nights at home. I like to step out on my balcón and peek up and down the street. I like to eavesdrop on the little groups of people smoking outside the bar below me. I like to spy on the handsome neighbor as he works on his computer across the way. I like the silence, the solitude, and the life throbbing below me.

After three, the bars on Palma close their grates halfway and only the regulars, the friends, and the possible shags are allowed to stay. The street quiets and darkens. Groups of friends stumble drunkenly past my balcony, not bothering to lower their voices or glance upwards. Teenage boys sing raucously while marching at the command of their hazing upperclassmen. University students find the bricked in stoop across the way and settle down to botellón with their joints and liter bottles of Mahou.

Looking down Acuerdo, above the streetlamps and solitary walkers, I can see the ambient glow of Gran Via and the angel's wings spreading protectively out above the rows of buildings. What a beautiful city. What a beautiful night.

Winter Light--Dia de Los Reyes

C/Mayor from the upstairs window of La Mallorquina. First time ever that I'd been there when the dining room was empty. So odd!

My friend Brian and I decided to go for a walk on King's Day to celebrate our love for photography and his new camera purchase. We went to La Mallorquina first (I needed coffee), then to Maoz (I needed falafel) and then finally to the Botanical Gardens. It was such a contrast from the packed Sol and APRECA. Such beautiful light, such a natural setting, and the beautiful Madrid light presiding over it all.

Bufkin walking in the lovely winter light.

Paseo del Prado fountain.

C/Preciados on my way home.