|Do yourself a favour and enlarge this panoramic shot. Alas, it does no justice to the real thing...|
Yeah, there I am, gripping that seat for dear life. I know it seems like I'm saying: Oh, look at the Sagrada Familia in the distance! Really, I'm berating Scott for having lured me into the capsule of death (as I refer to those cable cars).
We did more "touristy" things yesterday than ever I have before (seriously) - the Olympic park, Placa Espanya, Miro museum, cable ride, Citadel - and every bit of it was spectacular because, when the weather is 25C with no humidity and you can see the world's most stunning views from every vantage point, what's not to love.
But one thing I will say, I loathe artsplainin'. I may have made that term up, just sub out "man" and insert "art", but nothing is more absurd, to my mind, than justifying surrealist symbolism with a kooky narrative. (And I did my degree in English Lit with a minor in Semiotic Studies?!)
Who the fuck cares if the butterfly is a symbol for erotic intent and arrows are like birds in flight?! It undermines an entire work of art to try and decode it because, really, at a certain point every fucking Miro looks the same. (In truth, I do love his sketches and early works, before the surrealist insanity kicked in.) I'm the first to admit that my knowledge of art history and theory is limited to what I've seen on PBS documentaries - and I like to visit art galleries and read articles. Point is, I'm not exactly learned on the topic. But I know enough to know that art is a subject of the heart. I'm never getting the headphones at a gallery again.