Tag Archives: flamenco

Dance the Bright Flamenco


“Dance the bright flamenco.   Let the music ring.   Dance around with graceful steps and move to the Spanish beat.  Red silk roses pinned in precious hair and glossy gowns fly as you throw your hands up and dance, just dance the bright flamenco.”

Here’s the final installation of my Flamenco triptych.  I must admit to feeling a bit sorry that the project is finished.  I have other ideas in the pipeline, but nothing to start straight away…. Hmmm.  What to do! What to do!

Anyway, I digress – I hope you like it?  Feel free to look at the others in the series here.


Flamenco 3, completed in watercolour January 2012



Play it again Sam – more arty inspiration


I finally finished the second picture in my Flamenco series (there will be three).  Again, I’ve taken inspiration from my new home and the painting was completed in watercolour.  I hope you like it!

Flamenco 2 in watercolour

“Dance is music made visible.”


When I started this blog, I promised to include some of my artwork.  I’ve been thinking about it for a while and discovered that I’ve given the pieces I’m most proud of away.  After all, art is designed to be seen, and I am grateful that some of it hangs on the walls and friends and family.  (I am pretty sure they’re there all the time – not just when I come round!)  So this left me with a bit of a dilemma.  What can I share on here?

Well, given that I’m now in Spain, I decided to look to my new home for inspiration.  Here’s my latest creation in watercolour inspired by Flamenco dancing.  I hope you like it!

There will be more to follow I promise – I just can’t promise when.

Flamenco Dancer in watercolour

The rain in Spain falls mainly….


on my sodding house!!  Now, don’t get me wrong, I know rain is good.  It helps things grow and waters our gardens and fills our water butts and all sorts of lovely thing like that, but SERIOUSLY?  I’ve had a right nightmare today and it’s all because the rain in Spain most definitely does not fall mainly on the plain.

It’s been launching it down since last night and at around 9am this morning we started having intermittent power outages.  It’s alright though, because we’re super organised and have lots of back battery packs in the form of UPSs (uninterrupted power supply) and they tide us over nicely when someone is playing silly buggers with the lecky supply.  (I work for home so this is a complete must.  Also they act as surge protectors for all our precious electrical gadgets).  The only problem is that they are only meant to be used as a temporary back up.  They are not designed to power my hive of office activity for any significant length of time.  Inevitably at around 11.30 ish the power monitor on the unit was screaming at me that is was about to run out of juice.

What now?  I thought.  Tim to beg borrow and steal some power and internet supply from my friendly ex-pat neighbours; who, I might add, never seem to have as many electrical problems as we do.

So, that was how I found myself cosying up with my laptop in my 70 year old neighbour’s bedroom for a few hours. If he wasn’t gay, I’m sure he would have thought it was marvelous!  Needless to say I spent my morning be offered endless cups of tea and listening to enquiries as to whether I was warm enough.  Thank God for the older generation – I was lovely and toasty!

This being me, it could only get worse.  When I made it home, I discovered more disasters awaited me.  In my rush to continue working, I’d managed to leave the front door open so our 2 biggest dogs (the smallest is a Mummy’s girl and had come with me to work) had been out on a nice little, puddle hopping adventure.  The floor, sofa and both dogs were soaked.  Great!   Also, our chimney had leaked.  The water had run down the flu pipe, into the log burner – which hadn’t been cleaned after yesterday’s fire – and on to the floor.  There was a lovely big puddle of brownish-greyish water in the middle of the living room floor. Just brilliant.  Add to that – I was no longer lovely and toasty and I was starting to really regret offering to do overtime at work meaning I’ve given up my Friday afternoon’s off for the next two months.

Ah well.  At least it’s Friday.  It’ll soon be Ceveza-o’clock.  I hope.