Mon 13 Sep
Bad mental health day that actually started off okay with some morning chores and shakshuka, but soon descended into full sweaty procrastinating. Didn’t manage to send my postcards or buy some eggs as I’d planned, did manage to wash every single pair of pants at the same time and therefore all movement was excruciating for the entire day. Combo of mental and physical pain was a bit overwhelming. Had a good cry to Tirzah’s new song + video, she finally got signed and has an album coming out: by far one of the most beautiful songwriters of our generation. I feel lucky to experience her energy while we’re both alive.
Had a mini breakdown when I got to Pols to start on my studio work, and received some wonderful warmth from friends, then listened to Art & Labor while drawing on the outdoor step, drinking gallons of water and breathing deeply. Came home, ate more shakshuka and had a nap (a novelty!). Took myself into Ruzafa sans phone and happened upon a British couple for a drink. I love talking! Maybe I’m finding it hard coz all the silence?
Tuesday 14 sep
Therapy with a side of self-loathing. Took their advice and removed myself from the apartment, had a glass of white wine and read my book near Ruzafa church, purchased some figs, gorgonzola, peanut crackers, honey and some nice beer and escorted my body to the Turia park. Ate food, looked around, felt something.
Waddled home, took a business call then went against my best judgement and smashed out a run down to Science and Art zone. I think the phallic buildings, tekky underlights and tourist photo opportunities just make it an interesting place to observe. I wonder if I was here with someone, would I see it as a romantic spot? Cold shower, lots of vaseline, rub my tummy. Got a late invite to Cuba12 artist space round the corner, where we watched football, drank a beer and hatched some plans for a party in the Horta. Lucia was selecting music, mostly reggaeton-influenced electropop, and translated one of the songs for me on the fly, it was a special moment!:
“Tell him. Tell him. Tell him you’ll be seeing me again. He’s whispering in your ear but you should tell him you won’t be there later. Tell him my perfume is intoxicating and you’re coming over. Tell him. Tell him you’re going to be mine tonight. Tell him.”
Wed 15 sep
Wow, today was really difficult and rewarding. Heightened awareness and non-judgemental observation of my emotions, two skills I’ve been slowly (painfully) learning over the past 30 months, came to the fore. Being able to pinpoint a trigger that sends one spiralling is not innate, in a fortunate upbringing it’s taught by caregivers / accepted as healthy / worked on fearlessly / normalised in relationships. I missed out on some of this education, but I’ve had the privilege of more free time and financial access to psychological help in my recent life.
When I’m lacking in self-confidence, every tiny decision is oiled w precarity. I involuntarily & wholly embody a scarcity mindset: stubbornly believing an opportunity will vanish, a plan will fail, a choice will stink, a loved-one will leave, and sometimes materialises this way (though not as a direct consequence it can be personalised, of course). It looks like faffing or pacing or checking my phone or standing still outside a shop, and feels like prickly heat. Being able to catch sight of the bastards –to name the triggers– is half the challenge. Evasive and shadowy, insecurities require deep, uncomfortable in(tro)spection. How are we supposed to overcome our most profound flaws if we don’t intimately know them?
I am grateful I could name it today: imposter syndrome and heteronormativity.
inside / outside. chaos / order. personal / cultural.
despite my chronic indecision
I opted for a beard trim, hair wash and cut
the young man tolerated my spanglish in silence
he took pride in his work while I dissociated in the chair
he took my face off while i stared into the hall of mirrors
he washed my hair while wearing a mask
he took lots of hair off while i gripped the chair arms
he spoke in english to me at the end of the appointment
he received my money, compliments and thanks
When I speak my own truth out loud it’s not to diminish others, or to platform a hierarchy of needs, it’s knowing I have a choice about how I want to be with myself. I’m little use to anyone otherwise. The desperation of anxiety is a highly selfish energy, it demands acute attention for the owner despite every other thing that is happening or has ever happened to anyone else. To take ownership of a negative thinking style is to realise the ultimate choice. To act with abundance of love and vulnerability is to wrench a feeling from the clenched fist of emotional austerity.
Grateful for the warmth and openness of the earth-angels Carles, Nestor, Sonia and Hugh today.
Thurs 16 Sep
Ventured to El Carmen to watch the Tribunal de Las Aguas - The Water Council meeting that happens at 12pm every week. It's a touristy affair, full of pomp and drama, carrying symbolism of traditional farmer democracy, though I’m sure it’s organised differently behind the scenes. The official of the ceremony calls out the names of the Acequies that are being represented by landworkers and councillors: the bodies of water are present in name only and have no choice other than to be spoken for by old white men in suits.
I may have just about adjusted to Valencia time, which feels refreshingly like enjoying each moment and arrived way too late for my liking. Cycled out towards Manises to find a 27 section aqueduct, saw it from a footbridge and decided against further inspection. Pushed on instead, stopped for a cold fanta in a canteen, then found another spot I fancied checking out instead, a weir through the other side of town and down through some allotments.
Please enjoy this “Historic-Artistic” description of
the weir on River Turia at Manises from wikipedia. It’s so good:
“The current work can be dated from the seventeenth century. It is a compact and straight wall built with large ashlars and mortar that is arranged slightly obliquely over the Turia river, after a meander that allows it to take better advantage of the rush of the current to divert the water towards its left bank. There is a small section of canalization excavated in the ground that leads the water to the beacon that evacuates the captured surpluses that do not correspond to this ditch and the mouth that gives proper access to the Mestalla ditch. The large beacon retains the ashlar foundations. The metal gate dates from the second half of the 20th century as the previous one was destroyed by the flood of 1957, as also happened with the house of the gates and the gates of the mouths themselves. It conserves the arches of the mouths of the acequia and ranks fifth of the nine channels that are born from the Turia River, reaching the limit of the municipal terms of Manises and Paterna, about 500 meters upstream from the bridge linking the two municipalities. The Mestalla weir is arranged transversely to the direction and direction of the current with little inclination to guide the waters towards the mouth of the source of the canal in contrast to what happens in the Montcada, Tormos or Mislata weirs. Its profile is staggered with five steps built with interlocked limestone slabs about 20 centimeters thick and rectangular in shape. The start of the weir occurs on the right bank from a buttress with a triangular base embedded in the slope of the bank. At the bottom of the river bed there is a set of lime mortar and edge forming a stepped space to allow the seating of the limestone ashlar pieces tongue and groove in the heel that prevent sliding due to the force of the current. The aggregate used in the construction of this base is quite irregular and comes from the erosion of the river due to its pebble. The crowning of the weir is resolved with limestone stones two meters long and about 50 centimeters wide locked on the sides. The channeling wall of the canal is made of locked limestone ashlar and with vertical notches made in the pieces to accommodate and slide the gates. The floor of the space delimited by the beacon is resolved with a paving of the same pieces as those used to form the bleachers of the weir. Also part of this set of hydraulic constructions are the remains of the gate house, a bridge over the canal which, due to its appearance and conservation, could be more than 400 years old, the remains of an old mill, etc.”
Fri 17 Sept
Met Carles and Nestor at the Recreo Book Fair just before 6pm, walked around and talked to some of the stall holders I recognised from Offprint. Drank a few small vermouths at Cafe Museo (apparently a classic spot, although the quarter slice of orange was a little stingy) then popped into the opening of Amalia Ulman at CCCC. It was a hard room to play, very tall ceiling and odd angles. She had a 8ft tall, thick, matte black curtain covering all walls in ripples, and a grey, office furniture showroom carpet that really stressed me out in the same way being in an office does. The sculptures are huge mens’ ties, presumably bent steel armatures with custom silk sleeves, bouncing and knotted on a plinth.
We go back to Museo for more drinks, and it feels like a hefty crew of the city’s young creatives are there. I’m introduced, fist-bumped, questioned and complimented, truly being received by the Valenciennes. Another group turns up and sweeps us up, b-lining for a Turkish wrap supper, which we then carry to a backstreet church and play reggaeton under the intricate sandstone doorways.
Saturday 18 Sep
A hungover mooch around the botanical gardens sets me up to hug some trees, who tranfer serotonin directly through my fingertips, quite amazing! I know Carles is very knowldegeable about this space, “It’s the third oldest in the world, just look at that tree!”, but we are precarious today. We’ll save the deep observation for next time. I take myself away from the city, first to Horchateria Subies, then to Parkque Paelleros. There is a wooden notice-board-like structure, with blocks embedded and engraved with the names of those who have planted trees (many fruit-bearing) in the orchard each year in the park since its inception. slab concrete picnic tables, the size of a church door, are matched with dense but disintegrating slab wooden benches. I pick a shaded one 20 metres beyond a teenage birthday party coz I know if i can tolerate the chat while I’m reading they might also play some good tunes.
Nearby, a brick console housing eight community barbeque pits has padlocks hanging in front of each set of Simpson yellow double doors, and two crates of broken wastewood tucked under. Though not in use today, there’s obviously some severe grilling action coming up. More parties turn up during the course of my study session / tabletop daydreaming, with granny trolleys presumably full of food and plates. It’s no wonder the park is buzzing when I finally pack my stuff to leave: it has been designed around the cooking and sharing of food, one of the founding pillars of community, a social glue and lubricant. Feeding people you care about is central to leisure organising, both dictating the vibe and intention, and being shaped by time of day, number of guests (plus unexpecteds), weather, dietary requirements.
Sometimes I feel we are so increasingly out of touch with our food in Britain that feeding ourselves outside is often an afterthought. We like to sit in the park and get pissed, then decide to order something hot off an app, do the decision dance, and wave furiously at the approaching delivery driver as they zip past on their moped. I’m casting my mind-body back to my favourite south London parks –Ladywell, Hilly Fields, Burgess, Ruskin, Telegraph Hill, Peckham Rye, Dulwich, Crystal Palace– struck by the lack of picnic benches (other than private ones controlled by cafe businesses), lack of outdoor barbeques (except those excellent brick basins in Burgess Park), lack of public fruit trees. Were they removed without our knowing or did they even exist in the first place? If they were there, when did they become deemed frivolous or superfluous? Were they removed to ensure higher footfall for on-site business? Is the stripping of public food-related assets from parks in London a slow and convoluted method of bolstering private landlords’ and local councils’ pockets with public money? Is it just another neoliberal ruse to increase dependence on service providers while instrumentalising the very same service providers to collect consistent land rent?
Sun 19 Sep
Up early to exercise: Elena passed a suggestion from her sister Clara that I should change my route and head to Horta Sud, so I took some straight roads past sports centres and municipal centres on the edge of the city, then loads of wiggly dirt tracks through the patchwork of farms. A few had scary dogs. Some had protest signs against the use of suphates.
Was running late so jogged to Xativa metro station and headed north to lunch in Foios, Carles’ hometown. Ate some ok paella, q greasy (which I’m told is a common style in opposition to tomato based) and rice was overcooked but the alioli was such a touch. Nice vermut with a horrible olive. went down the road for horchata except I had a nacional – iced coffee with a dollop of ice cream. QUick tour then home. Watched sundown and read in Parc Central.