One year, two lives

Last year I wrote about jumping into 2010 - little did I know how much jumping I would end up doing. Today on this first day of 2011, I feel compelled to take pause and look back at all the changes, storms, joys, disappointments and adventures 2010 has brought.

Essentially, my year has consisted of two lives, my Spanish life and my London life.

My life in Madrid began taking a turn for the turbulent early in the year when I fell victim to the instability of teaching English post recession. As I struggled to make ends meet, I came to the conclusion that this would be my last year in Spain. So I began to make other plans. Plans to return to Canada. Maybe. The idea of returning home had little appeal to me at the time so cunningly, I decided to go BIG and move to London instead. Once I made that decision, my life in Madrid took on a new lightness and joy returned. I unexpected got a photo published in the New Yorker Online and a solo photo show at a hip local pub gallery in Lavapies. Life turned extraordinary. I began selling my photos not only to friends but strangers too. I even got a paying gig writing capsule reviews for an iphone travel guidebook app. While I didn't have the money to travel as much as I had in previous years, I did form deeper friendships and built a wonderful community of friends around me. We danced to salsa at a cuban joint, drank copious glasses of Rioja, nibbled on olives by the bowlful, went to a mountain village and even made a music video on the streets of Madrid together. Long after I left I still felt a yearning for my barrio, Lavapies, and although I would continue to miss my Spanish life, I knew that the life I missed no longer existed for most of my friends also moved on elsewhere.

When summer rolled around and my classes finished, I packed up my things and moved to London. I found a life boat on my brother's living room floor and began exploring my new world. I wandered the canals, saw swans, visited Brighton, strolled in a Tudor village, ate oysters in Whitstable, heard a choir singing mass in Canterbury Cathedral's cloister, time travelled to Medieval England, set up shop with a girlfriend in super cool east London's Sunday Upmarket and sold my photos, finished an internship as a magazine blog manager, fruitlessly applied for countless of jobs across the globe, danced with Kiwis, became a 4 day a week yogi, got a photo published online for Guardian's Been There competition, revamped my blog, kissed a sweet man and lit up a tree, got snowed in, and had an enchanting London Christmas. My time here has been a mind boggling, surging swirl of new experiences, hopes, disappointments, magical moments, possibilities, impossibilities spiced with the raw excitement of the unknown.

And so I rode this wave of uncertainty rather blindly and tried hard to find solid footing on which to build my sandcastles but in the end, I was bested by an expiring visa and unresolvable unemployment. So I've once again had to make another life changing decision. I know now that this is the moment, the moment to go home to Canada. I've had my London experience and it's been an awfully big adventure, albeit a short one. In a few days I'm moving to Vancouver and so 2011 brings with it yet another new life for me. It seems that I am fated to continue singing the song of the lonely wanderer - eternally learning anew to say goodbye and hello.

I don't do new year's resolutions; I instead choose a word that focusses my intention for the year. Last year my word-of-the-year was Flourish and all the bits of life that happened forced me to grow and find ways of flourishing in both feast and famine. At final count, Flourish, as an intention, will have taken me to 3 countries! 2011's word of the year is Create. Let's just see where that takes me :)

Happy New Year! I hope this life takes you places you never thought you'd end up but are glad that you have!

How I long for Jesterday...

While I was traipsing around the English countryside, being driven along narrow canopied lanes, drinking local bitter, visiting castles and cathedrals, and attending Britain's largish Medieval Festival, my Belgian buddy had been a busy bee putting together the music video we did during our last month in Madrid. So instead of posting about my country trip, which I will do over the next few posts, I'm going to return to my beloved Madrid for a different kind of trip... one down memory lane. Ah, Jesterday...

I hope you enjoyed it! I highly recommend making videos as a fun project to do with your friends. We had a amazing day laughing and laughing as we made a spectacle out of ourselves on the streets of Madrid. Locals and tourists alike stopped to gawk at us and these are some of my favourite memories of my time in Mad Madrid. The photo shoot from that day is here.

On a sad note, another friend of mine from Madrid, Nick, who was to visit me in London in mid Aug, died recently from a diabetes related fall. He was an eccentric, cultured and lively character, a right English gentleman who never shied away from sitting on the grass in his white outfit under the scorching sun. He delighted in saying that only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. Cheers to you Nick! You knew how to live life to the fullest and you remind the rest of us to live well and large while the sun still shines. Besos a ti, mi amigo xx.

Shots from my exhibition at El Gato Verde

Setting up the show on Sunday.

Me and Gina in front of my street art wall.

Me, Belen and Pam enjoying the opening party.

The early crowd. It actually got a lot more crowded than this but by then I was schmoozing and boozing and not thinking of taking photos.

I got final confirmation of the exhibition Wednesday night and in the following days worked so hard on putting together a show that I couldn't even think about my move to London, let alone be sad about leaving Madrid.

Instead I spent my last few days in Madrid curating, getting my photos print ready, framing, working out logistic installation problems, making labels and worrying about the food. This was a DIY project and very labour intensive. Fortunately, I had a lot of help from my friends. They were amazing and I wouldn't have been able to pull off this show without them. So I humbly thank you, in particular:

Buchanan for the enchufe and acting as my advocate

Belen who was my translator and appetizer-making/installation goddess

Gina who helped me curate and put the prints up and whose endless encouragement was like an angel whispering in my tired ear

Sirio who helped me install the show with meticulous efficiency and invited so many people, he filled my exhibition space with bodies.

my buyers, I won't name you but I thank you for your financial support of my work!

and the guys of El Gato Verde for being lovely and to Quique for making it happen by squeezing me in, in between exhibitions.

Besos to the lot of you!!

I got a lot of really positive feedback and I feel like I'm prepared to have another show again soon. Thanks to everyone who came and made it such a success! This was my opening/farewell party and so many of my friends came out to wish me well on my new adventure. It was a wonderful night and a awesome way to leave Madrid - not with a whimper but with a bang!

In the next little while, I'll be doing a revamp of this site since I now live in London and need to widen the scope of my blog. I'm also planning on setting up an etsy shop to sell my prints. So stay tuned, exciting changes are on the way.

Today I went for a lovely walk along the canal - one of London's lesser known beautiful spots. A photo essay is currently in the works.

So for now, cheerio!

My Photo Exhibition

I'm super excited about my upcoming show. It's my first ever show and I'm a bouncy ball of nervous and thrilled. So much to do, so little time. This show was an unexpected gift and I plan to carpe diem! A day of random bumping into friends in my barrio, Lavapies, on Friday, led to a solo photo show. How freaking cool is that! Thanks to Buchanan, a man about the barrio extraordinaire, who made this all happen!! You are the man!

I hope that some of you will be able to join me this Sunday and help me make this show a success!

See you Sunday! Besos!

Spring is in the air again and love is all around us.

The weather turned wet and cool and spring-like early last week so I donned my lemon yellow pea coat and began looking out for signs of rebirth. The forecast tells me the sun will return this coming week so I can again look forward to more browning of my face and arms. Yay, for I really need to stock up on sun rays before I set off on my new adventures.

Sending you all some Sunday Love! The rebirth of wonder is all around us!

All photography by Shehani Kay

Photo Essay: mountain villages, monastery lighting and natural pools

Yesterday was a public holiday in Madrid so a friend and I took a day trip and wandered leisurely around the pretty mountain village of Rascafría, which is in the northwestern part of the Community of Madrid in the Sierra de Guadarrama. We indulged in a long lunch on the terraza by the bubbling brook that runs through the village and sauced ourselves with the huge bottle of wine that came with the menú del día at Casa Juanita for 11€. After we gorged ourselves, we took a stroll around the village. Here's what we saw:

Later we made our way to El Monasterio de El Paular, and sauntered its halls and corridors:

After we finished wandering the grounds around the monastery, we headed over to the nearby Área Recreativa de Las Presillas and lay on the cool grassy meadows along the bank of a series of natural pools formed by the Lozoya River.

We capped the day off by dining in the Plaza Mayor of a charming village called Cercedilla as the dying sun set fire to the surrounding mountains.

Yay for mid-week public holidays! I haven't had the chance to leave Madrid since Christmas so this was a much need sojourn and I feel very blessed for this perfect day away from the city.

Happy weekend everyone!

All photography by Shehani Kay

A Little Beijing Shack Inside the Reina Sofia

"Come with me to China," I beckoned to him as I led us through the doorway, into the shack. "Oooo, it even smells like China," I cooed.

"How do you know? Have you been to China?" he inquired.

"No, but I know very well the smell of Chinese shops." (as a frequent visitor to these types of stores, I'd know the distinctive musty aroma of dried herbs and mushrooms anywhere)

I found this recreation of a typical family shack especially memorable because it pays meticulous attention to all sorts of authentic shabby details: dirt-stained clothes and shoes, well-used cooking utensils, a sack of rice, an industrial-size bottle of cooking oil, a thin well-worn mattress held up with bricks, a discoloured cutting block, replete with a rusty cleaver, a Chinese musical soundtrack of popular songs, a window overlooking the other shacks outside, and yes, this home also comes complete with the fragrance of 'eau de China'. A shack of this modest dimension would normally house a family of four.

This installation is an example of why I think art can play an important role in enlightening society. Some art puts us inside a physical space we would never otherwise have the opportunity to be in and once inside this space, our imagination bridges the gap between us and 'that which is foreign', and we come away with a better intuitive understanding of 'that which we didn't know before' and this knowledge often transcends words. We simply feel it on a visceral level, we know it with our limbic brain.

Showcasing the 'making of the Chinese new worker class and 30 years of migration', the Culture and Arts Musem of Migrant Workers Museum, Beijing District 2010, is a part of the The Potosí Principle exhibition, a cooperation between Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía and Haus der Kulturen der Welt. Now on until September 6th.

Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía,

Calle de Santa Isabel, 52

All photography by Shehani Kay

A sip of Cuban spirit

Negra Tomasa's various Cuban dolls







The Priestess joins the band on stage

My first night flitting across the dance floor of Negra Tomasa left me with a keen desire to learn how to salsa for real. I mean, let's face it, salsa dancing is like sex with your clothes on with multiple partners and no bad hangover and awkward goodbyes the next morning... well, unless the dancing continues at home, that is. I can fake a salsa but there's no comparison to knowing the steps. My first night, I found my dance card quickly filled up with skilled and buff partners whom I simply followed to great success. What fun I had, laughing and dancing to a live Cuban band until 5 am.

My mistake was letting my friend convince me to go back a second weekend in a row. My usual rule is, if you had an amazing time at a bar/disco, for god's sake, don't go back the next weekend unless you want to feel the keen slap of disappointment. Slap. My second night reminded me of the importance of having a dance partner who can lead you properly and well. I found my dance card filled by one eager man from Ghana who was a relentless over-complimenter.

"You are so beautiful."

"Thanks."

"Has anyone told you, you look African because your lips are so plump?"

"Umm... yes." (it was Grade 8 and I think that mean little boy was trying to hurt my feelings)

"You are the best dancer here."

"Umm.. er... thanks.."

This last obviously coy lie made me very wary of the night ahead so my friend and I quickly escaped to home sweet home alone but not before some random Spaniard twirled me and kissed me on my forehead on my way out the door.

Ahhh Negra Tomasa, you are a capricious and promiscuous lady.

La Negra Tomasa

Calle de Cádiz, 9

cover=10€ which includes a mojito

915 235 830

All photography by Shehani Kay

Metro Stories: cussing out the bullies

* Warning: there's bad language and swear words in two languages in this post. For those with delicate and refined sensibilities, perhaps you'll want to avert your eyes and skip this post.

Since I moved to Spain I have often fantasized about what it would be like to tell someone off on the metro who is being an asshole. The language barrier really inhibits me all the time. Joder (fuck), mierda (shit), gilipollas (stupid asshole), puta (slut), and cabrón (motherfucker) just don't flow off the tongue in a natural way for me. I'm always left eating my words and seething in silence. Only recently have I decided to allow myself to swear and make sarcastic remarks in English, just to let off some steam. I mutter things like, fuck, jesus fucking christ, what the fuck? and "sure, why don't you take your sweet fucking time" and "yup, in the middle of foot traffic is a really great fucking place to stop". Still, I haven't become so bitter as to push people out of my way like some other folks. These bullies will shove you, step on you, yell at you and in general be complete fuckwits. Because I don't speak enough Spanish to give them a coherent piece of my mind, I'm often left feeling frustrated and impotent.

Well on Wednesday I finally got my chance to speak up. I was coming home on a very crowded metro and when the doors opened at Lavapies station a lot of people were trying to get out. There was this British brute who grunted "move it" and began pushing behind me to get all of us out the door faster. As soon as I heard English, I went into instinct mode and so I turned around and said, "Will you stop fucking pushing?!" I could see my admonishment trigger a look of surprise at being called out in his mother tongue and then a flash of anger ignited in his blue eyes. His fleshy face reddened. "Then move faster!" he retorted, to which I replied, "We're moving as fast as we can!" He snorted and said, "Yeah right." So I shook my head and said, "You're a fucking twat!" as I walked off the metro carriage. He went ballistic behind me and began screaming, "Come say that to my face you cunt.." etc. But I kept on walking calmly away and I soon lost him in the crowd. He was freaking out so much, people turned around to look to see what was happening! The Bulldog was bellowing out in what sounded like a battle cry. "Arrrggghhh!!" Que fuerte! My heart thumped hard in my chest as visions of him chasing me down and beating on me crossed my mind but I shook that fear off and kept on walking up the escalators, out the door and into the lively, people filled streets of my barrio.

The thing is, if it had been a Spanish gilipollas or even a Morrocan cabrón, I wouldn't have worried that he'd get violent on me. We'd just heatedly exchange swears and cusses, gilipollas and putas. However, the threat of violence felt very much more probable with the British bulldog. Perhaps it's because British friends of mine have often regaled me with horrible stories of bloody bar fights that bubble up from nowhere in the UK. Why is it that beneath the thin, flimsy veil of respectability, stiff upper lip and civility there lies a barbaric violent streak in the breast of the British bloke?

Photography by Shehani Kay. Original street art found near Metro Puerta del Angel

The Open Door

The hobbit-size storage room door on my floor was opened for visitors so I took the opportunity to snap a photo. There's something other worldly, mysterious and tantalizing about this open door. Who knows what visions of Cthulhu lie down the corridor and behind the little doors... what secret gardens and Narnias hide from our view.

This is a followup to the Fifth Floor series of photos I took back in March.

Photography by Shehani Kay

DemonEyes

Negative thoughts are like demons who watch for every opportunity to stick a dagger in your heart. These demons have many spies and these many spies have many eyes with which to peek under your every rock, into your every crevice and closet.

This week I've been stalked by the demoneyes and I'm trying hard to shake off their penetrating stares and cackling laughter. Some time this week I sipped from the poisoned goblet and drank deep the rotten roots of my youth. Some wounds are so ancient and painful, they still sting and fester when scratched. This indiscretion allowed the darkness to billow like storm clouds in the prairie skies. So as this storm thunders around me and these demoneyes keep their vigil, I too will keep my own vigil and ride out this bad weather. I shall stay aware of my black self talk and remember well that feelings are as impermanent as clouds on a breezy day.

Happy Friday! I'm off to have some wine with friends, my antidote for mal humor.

Photography by Shehani Kay. Seen near Viaducto de Segovia in Madrid.