Una ventana al mar, Spanish for "a window to the sea". As Xubias, A Coruña, Spain.
In the fishing villages of northern Spain, windows were painted with whatever was left over from the boats. Paint made for the sea, to stand the salt. From the water, they say, a fisherman could pick out his own house.
The window was where you waited. For the boats to come home, and for those who had gone further. Every family in Galicia knows someone who crossed this same sea, to Buenos Aires or Havana. Many never came back. We call it morriña, a longing that crosses the ocean both ways.
In 1925, Dalí painted his sister Ana at a window in Cadaqués, looking out to sea, her back to us. We never see her face. We never know what she is waiting for.
The shutters are open. Someone is waiting.
Una ventana al mar, Spanish for "a window to the sea". As Xubias, A Coruña, Spain.
In the fishing villages of northern Spain, windows were painted with whatever was left over from the boats. Paint made for the sea, to stand the salt. From the water, they say, a fisherman could pick out his own house.
The window was where you waited. For the boats to come home, and for those who had gone further. Every family in Galicia knows someone who crossed this same sea, to Buenos Aires or Havana. Many never came back. We call it morriña, a longing that crosses the ocean both ways.
In 1925, Dalí painted his sister Ana at a window in Cadaqués, looking out to sea, her back to us. We never see her face. We never know what she is waiting for.
The shutters are open. Someone is waiting.
