The great artist Joan Miro bade me farewell. I was very young. I wasn’t quite sure how to think or act. I was saddened and exhilarated. I met and photographed one of the great artists of the 20th Century. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the experience turned out to be vital for my life and my career.
The moment spoke to my heart: I imagined I saw my electrolytes virtually projected dancing along the skyline. The surreal glow could only mean one thing: I was alive: Life changed on a dime. My dreams were becoming my reality. I was on my way to witness the history of nations. I was living in the history of our times.
I was desperately sad when I left the island of Mallorca that day, but I would discover new adventures ahead: and many days in Spain.
I recently lectured at the IAAC/Barcelona: A humbling and fascinating architecture institute.
I began my lecture by revisiting the significance of my session with Miro and earliest days in Spain. For a nano second while talking about my previous visits, I felt like the Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca upon his visit to New York: He was delightfully and frightfully overwhelmed by the moment and experience. He came away with a disdain for New York. I was delightfully and frightfully overwhelmed by my Barcelona moment. But I realized something wonderful was happening to me: every new experience equals living the dream.
There is something hallucinogenic in the Barcelona air. I remember standing at the end of the Blvd Saló de Saint Joan, where the Arc de Triomf resides. My feet felt like dancing. At first I was conjuring up my Fred Astaire style. But hey, I am in Spain. Instead the ghost of the great Barcelona Flamenco dancer Carmen Amaya arms extended, fingers alluringly motioning me into the streets. The sounds of the Flamenco quivered through the sky and clouds. Let’s dream a bit more. Why not? Why else does one travel but to realize dreams.
The city streets were mine. I collected a throng of companions to dance and prance in and around Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia and throughout El Born. For a fast second I was Cervante’s Quixote emboldened, enriched, and unleashed.
This content originally appeared on CounterPunch.org and was authored by Richard Schulman.