In the mist of a Sunday morning, seven year old Joan headed to his secluded sandy hill. Nothing could have removed the rose-tinted spectacles he proudly had in front of his eyes. The world was opening to him revealing only beauty. He absorbed as a sponge the pure azure behind his back and felt vastness of the sea. Its mild nature provided strong support and confidence. When he arrived, the birds have already engaged themselves in joyous chants calling each other. The sparrows were the loudest during the young hours of the day. The myriad of them charmed him as Aladdin’s magic lamp. Tiny and swift they facetiously chirped either when flying or hastily hiding among the branches. He talked to them as he preferred to communicate to those of his size. To be seven was not to be understood by the adults. Particularly if you knew what you wanted.
Stricken in years the castle stood there impressively to welcome him every time he came. The notebook with sketches kept the soul of the old residence of kings. He imagined Jaime II to pass along the corridors chasing with his comrades. “He must have run around the place he had built”, Joan thought to himself. “As his royal followers must have wept there when they were imprisoned. The palace and the prison, what a destiny for a majestic fort.” All was captured in his sketches. The towers, the yards, the walls, one-story buildings, stone passes. The notebook was titled The Bellver. These meetings were enchanting at the beginning, when he only discovered the place. But last week his grandmother took him to Llonja, when she went to visit her friend. The Arab quarter imprinted strong impression upon him with its narrow streets and atmosphere of the ancient times. On top of it, he saw Mr Gaudí sipping tea in a restaurant. He must have come here for his portion of vegetables and salads. It was the place for vegetarians and it was near the cathedral. His heart increased the speed of beating when they went by. The famous architect came to the city to participate restoration of the parts of La Seu. The excitement made him breathe heavily. Granny looked at him under the eye and smiled. “He will be as great as Gaudí ”, she thought.
Antoni passed fifty few years ago and didn’t look as a dandy any more. Love disappointment had not weakened his spirit for work as it did for his physical appearance. Known as a man who cared for smart looks, he was not easily recognized any more. Coming to La Ciutat did not impose any dress code to him. He was overwhelmed by this gothic pearl and chose to come by the sea to admire its magnificence. The specific local sandstone it was made of intensified his intention to put the accent on the needs of the ordinary that came there for the daily masses. They had three doors to enter, but couldn’t escape the mesmerizing rose windows of various shapes, which recited the hymns of the Holy book in light and colour. “When they sit to listen to the priest or the choir, they must look at something even more beautiful”, Antoni thought. So he moved the altars towards the congregation in order to draw attention to the baldachin that was decorated by the symbols of the Eucharist and Holy Spirit. Five lamps added stupendous effect to the natural lights that fell through the stained-glass windows. La Seu’s interiors won his heart with gold that did not shine indecently. Greatness of the stories it told from the Biblical period excited his mind, but modern times had the tales of their own. What continually possessed him was the Parc de la Mar. It gave him peace both when he looked at the cathedral and the Palau de la Almudaina and when he wandered around looking at the sea. People did not disturb him. Enjoying beauty in their leisure or listening to the concerts, nobody bothered him for the last ten years. Before he stepped on the bridge that would take him to the ship, a young girl smiled at him: “Goodbye, Mr Gaudí. Thank you and good luck.” He waved her and cast the last look at the marvel of La Ciutat, the Cathedral of Majorca.
Pilar walked slowly towards la Place de la Reina from where they should start today’s carriage ride. She knew every detail about Antoni Gaudí and the cathedral, not only about its history but also some bizarre and interesting facts shared among the artists. Construction of the cathedral of Santa Maria of Palma lasted for almost four centuries after Jaime I had begun the transformation of an Arab mosque into a catholic temple. Its Catalan Gothic style was influenced by the other European designs to make it a Cathedral of space and light. Eighty seven windows and eight rose windows let the Mediterranean sun scatter around the premises following the two light phenomena that took place annually. On the 2nd of February and 11th of November every year, at about half past eight in the morning, the main rose window cast light below the wall containing the rose window of the main facade. Set alight, the colours of the two were displayed in a magnificent blend, blessing you with warmth of sun and beauty. She learned this had been the site of the Roman citadel once as the whole city actually lay on the Roman structures.
Pilar met Joan when she attended a concert at the Caixa. The Gran Hotel for many, it became a venue for the artists and got another name. She loved to spend some time within its corridors, watching works of art and sometimes engaging into artistic discourses. Not once would she sit on the bench across the street to just look at the building. It felt like a meditation. Irregular and wavy shapes gave her eyes a good rest while her thoughts were focused on emptiness. Oddly enough, she bumped at him when she went to listen to an international piano player. A woman behind her.accidentally stepped on her wraparound long skirt and pulled her back, when she immediately swayed forwards. When she returned the balance out of his arms, he said: “I must apologize for this inconvenience. Let me take you to this place tomorrow and tell you a secret about it.” Embarrassed and blushing, she automatically accepted. The exhibition was not her cup of tea, but she did not venture to express her opinion. Suddenly, he asked: “Do you like this one?” She watched and inspected the theme and the shapes. It had realistic motives which she liked. One could have recognized what was on the drawing. She nodded and he smiled: “This is mine. I will have the exhibition here one day.”
She soon found out that his mother was Majorcan and that he had spent summers here since the age of seven. As a native, she decided to bring him into the world of patios. It was June and Corpus Christi was approaching, making it an excellent opportunity to explore those that otherwise were not open for visitors. She armed herself with knowledge of facts. The celebration proved as a great joy. The day was sunny, people were merry, the food was traditional and he was amazed to see all the yards, stairways and plants.
They had first appeared in the thirteenth century. There was not much light due to the narrow streets and well-to-do citizens provided their houses with the yards to bring in some radiance. The yard was circled by the mansion erected on the second floor to be reached by the staircase. To show their fortune, they opulently decorated with flowers and plants while the stairway became a competitive element in being more grandiose. The Italian influence was quite strong in the 15th century, while the 16th and 17th centuries marked the flourish of the patios. Fortunately they did not serve only to expose men of good means, but used to acquire an important social role. During rains, people used them as shelters, children enjoyed beautiful playgrounds and not seldom would the adults gather there to have a discussion in the open air. The stately houses were not only a matter of prestige, but also the heralds of sad or happy events among the residents. Joan thought that such a beautiful architecture had to have determined the Ciutat’s identity. The city cherished the beauty of various styles showing great respect for the modernism of the present day. It would be difficult to estimate whether the older architects were more sensitive to aesthetics than those of modern time.
The two youngsters soon fell in love. For weekends, they swam in a calla below the castle that seemed to have remained undiscovered by the majority of people. They were never alone, but the beach was not crowded. During the weekdays, they both adored strolling around the old town. In the evenings, they would go to a concert, accompany a social gathering or simply sit in front of the house drinking sangria. She especially loved to spend time in Passeig des Born and watch people going around. On the other hand, Joan enjoyed any fiesta in the town. There were many, but this one would be special.
Last year the Three Kings had really been enlivening. Music was played on the streets and squares of the city for many days and the atmosphere was as hot as in the summer. Although it was January, the weather was warm stripping people of sweaters and jackets. Clad in light garments, men and women sang and danced freely with their sleeves upturned by the elbows. Joy spread everywhere around the city and it was not odd to see people in folk costumes doing daily errands. Everybody felt the year would benefit them all, not only individually but collectively as well. During Sent Sebastia, the last of the fiestas, given the name after the local patron saint, Joan kissed her for the first time.
Since then, every fiesta made their hearts beat more quickly. The bodies were enraptured with an emotion neither of them felt before nor knew its name. It gradually became quite clear and bright feeling, providing security and warmth. He was sure the feast day of Santa Ursula and eleven thousand virgins was the most appropriate to pop the question. It was the late October and the nights began to smell of chilly air. Many young men would serenade to their maidens. He learned to strum a guitar for the occasion and sing some of the most popular ballads. When he would enter and sit at the table where steaming mussels and bunuelos were to be served, it would be the right time. He would drink wine through the night with Mrs Joan Miró to be and her family. Tomorrow, during the day fiesta, the news would be communicated to his family.
His dreams came true. Mallorca became home from where he would be absent for his arts’ travels only, staying in Paris and in places around the world. Palma was the love and light of his life, the everlasting romance that determined his destiny.
Ljiljana Kostadinović is an English translator with experience in literary and TV translation. Her translations were published in the magazine for literary translation The Bridges (Mostovi) and online library Project Rastko.
She had an uncommercial blog in English World of Difference. Author of stories and articles published in electronic and printed media (Original Magazine, Politika, National Review and other). The book The Mediterranean Appeal (written in English and adapted in Serbian) awaits publishing.
She has various artistic interests, particularly in theatre and film, both feature and documentary. Long-term passion for photography is raised to another level entering media.
Her photography can be found at http://www.facebook.com/ljilja.costa and http://www.instagram.com/ljiljacosta
Her primary focus is to promote cultural diversity and blending of cultures.