Ando quite busy and I have no time to write a few words, so today, a day of Good Friday, Easter principle of Murcia have believed appropriate to publish an article Gaya , which this year has appeared in the magazine "Nazarenes" the Brotherhood of Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno de Murcia and in 1934, wrote Ramón Gaya for the truth.
When I read the other night I thought it was wonderful. Here I leave you to enjoy it and if you want, you can say about it.
The sleeper housed. 1975.
Oil on canvas. 73 x 92 cm. Lazo
return
Oil on canvas. 73 x 92 cm. Lazo
return
Angel Dusty
Truth. "Literature and Arts." May 24, 1934
Murcia Entering the years I break away and forgot that day either, come near to me, that this now becomes a double day, charged with two lives.
Murcia The most beautiful is the dust. What gives the landscape of the Japanese delicacy, such sunsets dense, is dust. The powder has been architecture resting their fingers as pens. The Door of Pardon and Bishop's Palace have gained much from this caress white, with the light rain that has been supported at the eaves, in the projections of the shields on the bellies of the angels, on both cheeks of pink stone.
The powder is key and key Murcia. Mr. Don Neat, Don Limpio, if you do not forget him, you can not ever penetrate the mystery of Murcia. And nothing is transferring its mystery Murcia. Murcia because it is not pretty, or cute, and kind. A beautiful city is Santiago de Compostela Avila, a beautiful place is Nimes or Versailles and a friendly air is Galicia. Murcia, strangely beautiful. Because it is not Cádiz, Cádiz even more and be your best brother.
Segura River is no water, is ground on. And the veritable river of Murcia is the Malecon. Dust everything, even the rivers. But the dust Murcia is not dead, there is dust of ruin that has been there when the war is not an outcast ever. Murcia dust lives, is beating, breathing like ants, and all of it is that, a clear ant, tiny, hot.
The day goes fast. No morning light. And blind, from the Malecon, missing the edge of all this sun breaking, destroyed also distances and the landscape is like a burning stone, like a torso here in the eyes. With this light weight, caught a nap, I found a dome cling in the distance where two towers (the Church of San Antolin) I am relieved. They were like a promise of blue sea. They were three down tulips adorning the time tenderness.
And here you can download, and enter a street as a corridor for a street intermediary between this world of gardening and living branch is the Malecon, with balconies that other world of the blind, closed as mournful voice. And housed.
Salzillo And in his confinement in prison. Because, not being a sculptor can not live in no time saved. Needs air and dust. So Jesus is wrong. His "Pain" is more than an image, less than a sculpture. The morning is your site, his own room, his museum. The "figures" of Salzillo need an accomplice, the life around, Murcia around, the more dusty light cogiéndoles waist.
His "Veronica" is perhaps the most orderly of his works, but not the best. To Salzillo is a serious danger to seek the construction and shape, because then faced with the false. And there will be false can be forgiven as Raphael, because Rafael is beauty.
What remains then coolly decorated with art that is the "Veronica" or plebeian your emotion, your great emotion without spirituality "Painful?
With all or nothing. Yet if you're on the street, housed. We love you, love you only. You are always humble in doing your work, and that's a big flaw for an artist. Goodness yes, love, tenderness, but never the humility poor. In the morning, dust, and sun, you save yourself. Gaya
Murcia The most beautiful is the dust. What gives the landscape of the Japanese delicacy, such sunsets dense, is dust. The powder has been architecture resting their fingers as pens. The Door of Pardon and Bishop's Palace have gained much from this caress white, with the light rain that has been supported at the eaves, in the projections of the shields on the bellies of the angels, on both cheeks of pink stone.
The powder is key and key Murcia. Mr. Don Neat, Don Limpio, if you do not forget him, you can not ever penetrate the mystery of Murcia. And nothing is transferring its mystery Murcia. Murcia because it is not pretty, or cute, and kind. A beautiful city is Santiago de Compostela Avila, a beautiful place is Nimes or Versailles and a friendly air is Galicia. Murcia, strangely beautiful. Because it is not Cádiz, Cádiz even more and be your best brother.
Segura River is no water, is ground on. And the veritable river of Murcia is the Malecon. Dust everything, even the rivers. But the dust Murcia is not dead, there is dust of ruin that has been there when the war is not an outcast ever. Murcia dust lives, is beating, breathing like ants, and all of it is that, a clear ant, tiny, hot.
The day goes fast. No morning light. And blind, from the Malecon, missing the edge of all this sun breaking, destroyed also distances and the landscape is like a burning stone, like a torso here in the eyes. With this light weight, caught a nap, I found a dome cling in the distance where two towers (the Church of San Antolin) I am relieved. They were like a promise of blue sea. They were three down tulips adorning the time tenderness.
And here you can download, and enter a street as a corridor for a street intermediary between this world of gardening and living branch is the Malecon, with balconies that other world of the blind, closed as mournful voice. And housed.
Salzillo And in his confinement in prison. Because, not being a sculptor can not live in no time saved. Needs air and dust. So Jesus is wrong. His "Pain" is more than an image, less than a sculpture. The morning is your site, his own room, his museum. The "figures" of Salzillo need an accomplice, the life around, Murcia around, the more dusty light cogiéndoles waist.
His "Veronica" is perhaps the most orderly of his works, but not the best. To Salzillo is a serious danger to seek the construction and shape, because then faced with the false. And there will be false can be forgiven as Raphael, because Rafael is beauty.
What remains then coolly decorated with art that is the "Veronica" or plebeian your emotion, your great emotion without spirituality "Painful?
With all or nothing. Yet if you're on the street, housed. We love you, love you only. You are always humble in doing your work, and that's a big flaw for an artist. Goodness yes, love, tenderness, but never the humility poor. In the morning, dust, and sun, you save yourself. Gaya
