Haunted Walks Under the Big Silver Moon.

The time I resided in London museums became home.
Every single time I felt sad or melancholic inevitably tended to overpass the golden doors of an art building. Recognizing me was easy those days: a tall, pale girl with floating black hair wandering through the galleries as a spectre.

Since I was a child, I never felt really comfortable with other people.
I am not a total misanthrope (well, no too much), it´s just I rarely feel myself in the crowd. In this sense, nature made me following some uncanny mold which disables my emotional reaction to daily events and social feedback but magnify my feelings about painting, sculpture and any kind of artistic manifestation. So, as I said, I spent great quantities of my time in the UK exploring these hidden chambers full of treasures. At that time my favourite shelters were Victoria and Albert Museum and the Wallace Collection. It´s hard to explain the peaceful feel when I contemplated the inexhaustible succession of marbles, Venice cristals and pre-Raphaelite allegories.

However, everything has an ending and I had to come back to Spain for finishing my degree.
My homeland is very popular in honour of its landscapes with magic woods and cliffs and the magnificent ancient cities but - oh, alas! - we don´t have a single remakable museum.
As long as I remain here I had to look for new sources of contemplative pleasure.

It is told that wit is the father of genius, so after a reasonable time scanning different possibilities, I declined to look for more galleries and started thinking about classic buildings. This was the best I could do. One cannot ignore the huge variety of historical places around and these old fashioned haunted mannors will be always my best friends.
Walking under the charming shadow of an isolated victorian house or inside the corridors of a ballroom is one big pleasure. The best thing: absolutely free.
If you were asked for, what place would you choose as your favourite shelter?

Last Summer Days in the House of Despair

There are few things to do these days.

Summer is almost over and evenings are becoming shorter, chilly and windy. Human beings (poor little things) must leave their delightful walks under the sunshine and going back indoors. One can easily presage the winter coming.
When September arrives I do not feel Spanish anymore, the rest of the country will have one more month of shinning existence but in this small northern corner the warm season is gone. My homeland is a vission composed by wild landscapes, merciless wind, stone cities and deadly coasts dreamt by a Pre-raphaelite painter or some ancient storyteller, and we - the inhabitants - behave as sleepers.

Mornings are not usually different.
Three days ago I woke up just for finding an insidious grey daylight slipping through the curtains. Then, a sudden thunder sounded somewhere and rain began falling. With so little options and the majority of my books miles away on my apartment (I am spending the last holidays at my parent´s) I decided to sanctify this unexpected captivity to good films.
The winner was The Call of Cthulhu, a 2005´s production.

For being honest I did not expect too much from it. Normally, Lovecraft´s adaptations are poorly based on texts and too much focused on special effects. However, this one was the opposite. The project, distributed by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society, recreates the misterious universe in a terrific movie. The Call of Cthulhu was recorded by using many of the most popular techniques from the 20´s. As a consequence, the final product it´s a exquisite silent film with a strong artistic design. It is the best adaptation I´ve watched the last month by far.
So if you find yourself imprisoned by a storm at home as I did, don´t waver to give it a chance.

Reincarnation

Postmodernist critics would probably say that the web is a non-space.
I´m not gong so far, but it certainly possesses some kind of untouchable charm. This quality may come from its evident lack of physical support, or maybe just the opened possibility of hidding real identity. Whatever it is, I find particularly agreeable the idea of Omnipresence.

Everyone can fly from one place to another learning, reading, sharing or simply moved by the pleasure of anonymity.

As a single humanoid form based on carbon I also enjoy these little stupid pleasures. Unlike day by day, regeneration is always possible here and if one has the particular tendence to be reborn through the natural reformulation of ideas, then the cyberspace is the perfect drug.
What I am trying to say with all this meaningless tongue-twister is that, after a prudent time of meditation, I am able to start a new period in a new place.
Maybe this.