The imperfection is the identity of the beings, and (after all) their beauty

The natural colors of the city. The line and the light. The details. The dirt poetry, with its core drenched in humanity. The alive niff of the colors. That which is alive spreads a natural niff that in any sense is deeply beautiful, and we can't trap this beauty. This beauty is invisible when the aseptic minds watch it.

The light, the orderliness and the chaos. The beauty of the alive imperfection. If we look at all the dead things of the world, it turns out that only the lovely imperfect things are alive. The imperfection is the identity of the beings, and (after all) their beauty. The chaos is the main performer of the beauty every time it destroys the dead perfection of the utilitarianist obsession of the Homo sapiens. The chaos save us from the ugliness of the status quo, and it beautifies the humdrum perfection of the orderliness, the humdrum perfection of that which is only valued for its utility.

We need shadows, cracks, moistures, dirtiness, astringency... and an entropy that be constantly creating an inimitable freedom. We need minds that open as the flowers do when the sun lights them up, and be able to see the beauty of the imperfection; the imperfection as a motor of the creation and the beauty; mistery of the instant; natural and astonishing drive that compels us towards the random. Once the random created us as a surprise, as an imbalance of the placid nothingness; and then, the chaos and the beauty appeared.

A place where the stars draw, over the sky, the answer to the questions about the beauty's misteries.

 Parc Güell, Barcelona.

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There is a place on mind where consciousness flies over gleaming colors. These colors take their hands and start the elevated dance of existence. A place where the stars draw, over the sky, the answer to the questions about the beauty's misteries.

There is a place for the thoughts that calls us to fly over the Mediterranean waters and over the patchs of the olive-trees, to see the geckos beside the lights of the old country houses and the tall palm trees that hold the dome of a sky full of twilights.

There is a red earth that  is ours. An earth made of blood, sweat and hope. An earth irrigated by the aches of many mothers, and by some special scents: wine's scent, and scent of ancient cellar, and scent of wet and mown grass. An earth irrigated by the tears of some ancestor that feel happy for the sight of the growing life, in spite the sorrows, the wars and the death.

There is an space that no critical can touch with the tips of the nails. A place beyond the rational reality. The wise critical is silent in front of the art, because the art doesn't walk by plotted routes. The unexpected realities discover never seen oceans; indescribable blue stained oceans.

Suddenly, in the middle of this immense space. The true “I” recognises itself in the outside light. This light explains why we are, and why no matter if the beauty is (or isn't) useful, and why  worth breathing, and why we should fear nothing, and why is all so deep and so beautiful.

Barcelona, Gaudí, and modernism.

Image from TimBray in Wikipèdia

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 Modernism is one of the most beautiful artistic expressions of Barcelona. The architect, Antoni Gaudí, came true his imaginary creations through the construction of all types of buildings. These buildings have become a universal symbol of Catalonia.

In the picture above you can see the Sagrada Familia, perhaps his most iconic work.

Gaudí was a deeply religious person, and a great Catalan.

In 1924, at age seventy-two, Gaudí was beaten by the Spanish police.

Gaudí wanted to attend a Mass dedicated to the patriots killed by the Spanish army in 1714. Spanish government banned this Mass. Gaudí refused to obey the police. The police forbade him to speak them in Catalan, and tried to force him to speak in Spanish. Gaudí refused. Police beat him, and he had to spent all night in jail, and pay a fine.  

Image from J.Soler. Modernist house.

                                                               Image from J.Soler. Parc Güell.

                                                     Image from J.Soler. Parc Güell.

                                                      Image from J.Soler. Parc Güell.

                                                          Image from J.Soler. Parc Güell.

 Image from J.Soler. Parc Güell..

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To the post I wrote yesterday:
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Recovering lost innocence of nakedness

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Other posts about Catalonia:

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VIA CATALANA. 400 km of human chain.

Catalonia is a nation, and catalan isthe language of Catalonia. All the nations need to speak in their heart's language.

Catalonia. A long way of resistance.Thanks Pete!

European Countries

About freedom of people and countries.

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