It’s not possible to see everything at the Just like my most favourite of festivals, Glastonbury, you have to mentally prepare yourself for that fact beforehand. It’s not like visiting a gallery where the works of art are neatly lined up in rows for you to inspect. No. This one night only event emerges out of the bricks and mortar of our village: art is pinned onto walls and fences that you might have previously ignored, the villagers allow artists to hang work from their “persianas” (shutters”) and some take great pride in having art that blends beautifully with the colour of the walls of their home. What was once an empty building becomes a gallery, nooks and crannies are discovered, trees suddenly become easels.
The day dawned last week and with it came the inevitable concerns about the weather. Anxiously looking at the sky and then at your work, often printed on to things which go rather soggy when wet, and then back at the sky, wondering about whether it’s worth running to get a tarpaulin, or can you risk it is a normal state of affairs for anyone showing their art. I hung up my stuff up on the fence, my husband put up some lights for me, we hunted down Mateo who had the village hammer and roll of gaffer tape to stick down any electric cables, then we put my business card next to them and then went off to explore.
Walking around the village, peeking into gardens and houses, we saw hundreds of creative works in a variety of different modalities: photographs, paintings and sculptures all exhibited outdoors on the streets of the town, houses, patios, facilities and interior galleries, the town square town and even the church. There was live music everywhere you turned, with jazz, blues, rock and even a late night impromptu punk performance down the back of one of the streets.
Like the old British street parties, everyone was on the street, happy faces, enjoying themselves, kids running around like wild things having fun, and the weather? Totally perfect. At the end of the evening when it was time to go, we took down my photos, put them in a bag, and walked back up the hill. Overnight the street cleaners were out, washing the pavements and removing litter. When the sun rose on Friday morning it was as if it had never happened. Another magical, beautiful night in Majorca. Thank you Nit de l’Art. www.mallorcamatters.com