Between 1992-3 I lived in Barcelona, Spain, painting in a studio close to the Picasso Museum and Maeght Gallery in the Barri Gòtic. I was there working towards my Master of Arts Degree, awarded in 1993.  Absorbing the atmosphere of Barcelona’s culture, its art galleries and museums, was an experience that eventually transformed the way I connect with my painting.

Being in Barcelona changed me.  It was the first time I had been on my own since I was thirteen.  It was so good to make my own acquaintance.  There were negatives as well, I was mugged, suffered from a painful undiagnosed illness, and never had enough money. This taste of reality meant I wasn’t looking at the City through rose coloured spectacles. However, Barcelona is so vibrant a city, its vibrancy seemed to seep from the pavements and buildings, and it was part of the air. Just being on the roof terrace in my building was an excitement; the sounds coming up from the street, the roofs and surrounding mountains and right down to the sea was a feast for the eye, it fed something in me that had felt starved.

Throughout the winter months I would walk down to the beach at Barceloneta to savour a refreshing renewal the sea brought to my senses. Lunch in Barceloneta would be an incredibly good value special, fried queso bocadillo and glass of cava at the hugely popular Can Paixano champagne bar.

I spent wonderful hours at the Tapies Foundation Library, as well as the Miró Foundation on Montjuic from where the city seemed laid out at my feet. I nursed a coffee while people watching on the Ramblas, had breakfast on Sunday mornings in the port area while trying to read the Spanish newspapers. There were regular events held in the many city squares, classical or pop concerts, the Merce Festival when Dragons would snort out fire, and always the Sardana danced on the weekend in front of the Cathedral.

The Sardana (video-link) is a Catalan traditional dance. Local Catalan people would just stop and join in the dance and it was moving to watch the different generation's dancing together. It was especially so once you knew that the Franco Regime had banned the dance (as well as the Catalan language). The dance sort of looks simple but in fact is surprisingly complex. When I was there many of the older people dancing it would have remembered some of the atrocities and repressiveness from the Spanish Civil War.

It's funny that all of this didn't seem to filter through to my work at the time. Or if it did it was sort of pushing some darkness before it so that the essence of its effect on me didn't really manifest until later, when I was back home in England. All I know is that something fundamental and freeing had happened in the communication between my painting and me.