Cordoba Art Galleries

Umbrella up, strolling past more closed churches, beautiful, but closed to the Protestant, went stone, tiled saints in search of the Museums of Fine-arts and Julio Romero de Torres Museum. Do look him up and look at his paintings of tragically sad but stunningly beautiful and erotic images of the Andalucian woman. She is of another time, another place to a girl from Yorkshire, but she pulls you in.

Now the museum. Places are on the map here, they look easy to find, but they seem to lose themselves in the maze of streets. Eventually arrived, crossing a major road which I did not expect and the museums were not there. They should have been. I strolled towards another ancient, decaying church and there was the sign. "The Museums of Fine-arts and Julio Romero de Torres Museum." At the bottom of the square, more work going on, the fountain, wetter in the rain, a small, gift filled shop opposite.
I went in. The museum shop was closed, the man at the entrance kiosk let me in. No cost. I entered the inner square, bushes and trees perfectly clipped. Dark green in the rain. First, on the right, was the Julio Romero house and gallery. A guard sat with his eyes closed, listening to his i-pod. A room to the right looked like the artist's living room. The paintings upstairs were of twenties Spain and its men and women. I studied their dresses for Tessa's family in Jerez in Leaving Coty. Long straight dresses, three quarter length sleeves, belts, hair in low buns, low heels, the heat of the sun on their skin.
Simple with sheened stockings captured in paint.

And names. Rafael, Horacio, Manuel, Joaquin, Flex and Cristobal.
And the women, Concepcio, Maria, Rosarill, Ysolina, Benedicion, Rafaela, Nine, Eva, Amalia, Mari Liuz, Ines.

And one other couple.

Across the courtyard is the other art gallery. I put my umbrella in the compartments in the entrance. Guards strolling, talking.

Lots of religious work, but the most stunning are the sculptures. Fabulous. I loved that the galleries are so small, little houses housing art.

Then up to the Place de la Correda to see if there was a market. No, just a vast open space that will hold markets and events and used to be the bull ring. People live in the apartments looking down onto the square. This was unexpected in its size and the colour, green and red. It felt like communist Spain, it felt edgy, dodgy, not pretty, but passionate with an edge of danger. In sunshine it would be transformed with food and voices and music. But not today. Today it was raining.

I wanted to find a church open today. Not even the local St. Basil's would let me in. I'm thinking of writing a letter about this problem.