Spanish views from a small town

I've abandoned my blog this month. This doesn't mean I haven't thought about things to write; I have some ideas in my head, and at least one in draft. Rather, I've been using my energy in other endeavors.  It's been a year of transition, really, which has affected me strangely, in a way I can't describe because I'm not sure yet of the effect. It's been my first full year trying to avoid salt (bwaa-ha-ha!), and of trying to walk every day (but not in the rain), of turning the half century mark (!), and of watching my daughter trying to find her way, post university (it's no country for young people).  I've been to some places this year. I've returned to Porto, my husband and I went to various different places within Galicia, including taking his mother to San Andrés de Teixido, where, according to the legend, if you don't go in life, you will go in death, reincarnated as anything, including a bug. Which is why you shouldn't kill an...

The Facebook pastel group I belong to has posted next Friday's painting challenge. We have to choose something that gives us comfort and paint it. We can't cheat and choose something easy. The argument is that if we love it, painting it will become easy. I have noticed that painting with pastels has become easier for me. What isn't easy for next Friday's challenge is settling on something that makes me comfortable. Where do I begin? Books, cats, kittens, food (yes, it does), daughter, husband, sun, sunsets, driving, lying in bed, falling asleep, painting, writing, going to a stationery store, going to a bookstore, words, walking in Santiago, morning coffee, taking photos, looking at photos, and so much else that doesn't come to mind at the moment. What do I paint? I suppose I'm lucky to have so many things in my life I can call comfortable. Too many people in the world have too little comfort or peace. Perhaps I'll go with a painting of some of my book...

I love art. I have always wanted to paint masterpieces. Unfortunately, I wasn't born with the talent needed for that. It wasn't until a co-worker, who was studying art at the time, pointed out that all I had to do was copy the lines of what I was looking at, that I really tried to overcome that lack. All I had to do was notice how lines converged, intersected, and diverged. According to her, anyone could draw.  I tried it. The tricky part was looking at something in two dimensions, rather than three. Once my brain accepted it and my hand stopping trying to poke through the paper, I was drawing. It wasn't perfect, but it was acceptable. I scoured bookstores for books about drawing. I found one titled Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain . The author said more or less what my co-worker had told me; anyone can draw as long as they train the brain to see differently. I followed some of the exercises and advice given, and I began to draw decently. I was no Albrecht Dürer, bu...