Life imitating Art

This weekend I allowed myself a little city break in the European capital - Brussels.  I did try and tease you a bit about it in fact if you've been following my instagram (#fs6inbxl).

Unwittingly, to some extent, this trip turned into a 'life imitating art' episode, the art, being Guze Stagno's What happens in Brussels stays in Brussels (read my review here).  Let me just summarise why:

• Through an odd turn of events, I was 'sort of' staying at the Hotel Des Colonies - the same one which Stagno's characters slept in (I was actually staying at the Hotel Siru, but the two are interlinked and with a joint reception / breakfast area at the moment); 
• Despite not taking a trip over to Bruges like the Stagno crowd did, I took the ultimate in tourist traps - a hop-on hop off bus ... which is ironic, seeing as I lost count of the times I've been to Brussels in the last 9 years; and
• I finished off my stay much as the hapless group started it: lunching at L'Altro Mondo ... which did almost send me to the other world courtesy of a super-sized plate of pasta swimming in beschamel! 

Ever since I've read the book, every trip to Brussels sees me looking out for the characters described, trying to see the Capital through their eyes ... but trying my best not to behave like them! 

But besides the Stagno references, this trip was 'art-full' in another way:  I spent my Saturday morning at the recently opened fin-de-siecle museum, soaking in a variety of art nouveu and realist pieces from the late 1800s.  Once the 'traditional' art fix was had, I headed off for my regular stroll in search of street art and the murals which adorn a number of Bruxellian corners. Needless to say, my thirst for this type of art was more than quenched.  

I feel that every time I dedicate a little extra time to this city, I find myself falling more and more in love with it.  I will never love it as much as my own Valletta or adoptive Krakow - nor will it ever top my favourite cities list and topple Prague or Ljubljana from the top spots.  

But Brussles has something that very few people - at least in my line of work - see beyond the Euro-grey.  It is a vibrant city full of delightful contrasts: where the majesty of the Grand Place and the Old Town sit in a friendly arrangement with murals depicting Tin Tin and other Belgian cartoon characters as well as street art pieces by popular artists like Space Invader and less famous ones; art-nouveau avenues host contemporary luxury and high street stores; grey suits invade the lush green parks on sunny lunch-breaks. It is a city that has social problems which can be easily seen, but which I feel endorses its diversity and celebrates it - it is ultimately, the capital where all of Europe and beyond, meet. 

Carnival in Valletta

Even though I can't really remember when was the last time I dressed up in full costume and make-up for Carnival, I have a strange affinity with this time of the year.

It's a love-hate relationship really, much like the one I have with the Eurovision song contest. I hate the cheesy music, the hackneyed dance-routines, the overly-dressed kids and the adults who try to look like kids in their 'fun' outfits. Both Carnival and Eurovision have these things.  And yet, every time either of them approaches, I'm overtaken by a strange need to somehow be part of the scene.

Brazilian carnival representation on the streets of the Maltese Capital

National treasure George Curmi 'il-Puse' on the King Carnival float, protecting his violin from the rain

Once I finished my errands this morning, I headed to the streets of Valletta in search of some Carnival spirit.  Now that I'm living in the City, it came as a much easier task to accomplish. The children's dances were taking place on St George's Square (including a reprise of the "one pound fish" song which you can see here) and I couldn't but admire those kids bearing the cold and rain that had started drizzling by then while going through their choreography.  A couple of floats, including King Carnival drove past Republic Street as I was going round.  I would have loved to catch the satirical floats which I believe were also going round, but there's still a few days left of the festival so I might still be in with the chance of seeing them.  (Satire was only brought back this year after a very long absence - maybe finally this little island has reached the necessary maturity to know how to laugh at itself.)

Merry making marching band

I feel this strange urge to be part of Carnival - the traditional one, not the Nadur one - might be due to my Peter Pan complex.  I shudder to think I will ever grow old, at least mentally.  I don't want to ever become bitter and jaded.

The innocence and lust for life in childhood are too precious to let go of ...

Sweet temptations before the Lenten fast

subway dreams

I have a dream.

Not a very complex one, though civil engineers / architects / cultural heritage managers / artists may disagree on the level of complexity I envisage. Let me tell you about it.

Ever since I returned to Malta, it has become a regular habit of mine to change buses to work in Blata l-Bajda.  As the Maltese readers will know, this area known as il-Bombi is notorious for commuters crossing the multiple carriage way haphazardly - commuters who should actually be crossing to the other side of the road from the underpass linking the two sides.

I'm not too keen on risking my life, especially first thing in the morning.  So I take the underpass. Only another handful of commuters does unfortunately, and I don't really blame them. The underpass is, for want of a better way, sordid.  Monday mornings are the worst, with regular remnants of the weekend's less than sociable goings-on.

But it shouldn't be this way.  I dream of this place, and any other of the few underpasses in Malta being different.  I dream of them as being a pleasure to walk through.  I remember a few years ago Kinemastik had held an event at this particular subway - evidence of which is still on its walls in fact, thorn and graffitied over.

I dream of these underpasses being brightly lit, why not, painted over with artists' commissions livening up the place.  Look at the Maalbeek Metro Station in Brussels.  I fell in love with this station eight years ago when I first ventured to the European Capital and haven't fallen out of love since. The Belgian born and bred Benoît van Innis was commissioned to produce wall paintings on tiles in 2001 when the station was being renovated.  The illustrations are charmingly cryptic, much like many of his The NewYorker covers, but give due celebration to one of the highly accredited artists in Belgium. 

I dream that entering the local subways doesn't make you feel as though you're entering some god forsaken dungeon, but a place where people can quickly socialise, possibly carry out some last minute purchase - a paper, a coffee, maybe some breakfast on the go - as they rush with their fellow commuters to catch the next bus.  Think of the theatrical entrances to the Paris Metros in Guimard's art nouveau style and what a point of historical, architectural and touristic reference they have become nowadays ... a beauty in their own right!

Some dreams remain just that: dreams.  Others can lead to hopes and plans. While it isn't in my power to plan and affect any physical changes, I do have hope.  My hope stems from the University Skate Park subways which I went through recently and saw brightly coloured with young, mostly unknown street artists' works.  I have hopes that with the Bombi and Floriana subways being a stone's throw away from the 2018 Capital of Culture, these spaces will be renovated as links to/from the City, reflecting the artistic and cultural beauty of it, while simultaneously providing a safe option for commuters to actually use. 

I have hope. But in the meantime, I'll keep on dreaming. 

confession #000061

... or, strawberry fields forever

this morning started off in one of the most idyllic ways, at least for the city girl that i am.  freshly faced and clad in my rather bourgeois fred perry stripes, ankle-grazing skinnys and ballerinas, i hopped over to the farmer's market which is actually just round the corner from our apartment in krakow.  the 10 minute trip put me in a good mood and i figure i should adopt this as a bit of a habit ... though getting this done before the 07:30 start of work day schedule may seem a bit gruelling ...

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confession #000054

... or, david bowie is in my head

if you've been following closely enough, you'll know that last week i went for a quick break to london. initially, the aim was to go catch up with some close friends and visit the roy lichtenstein retrospective at the tate modern.  as an afterthought, i figured i should try my luck with visiting the david bowie is exhibition at the victoria and albert museum as well.  tickets online have long been sold out for this so i didn't know whether i would actually manage to go in.  i'm delighted to report that the stars aligned in my favour.

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confession #000053

...or, i should be packing

yes, i should really be packing right now. even though i only returned to krakow last night, this afternoon sees me travelling to malta once again, only to head off to budapest on wednesday. it's complicated. don't ask. 

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