Bird: El inglés volando is full of… birds! My choice was not random. Picasso’s father and my father have a lot to do with it. And well, personal likes, dislikes and experiences.

Have you ever been to Málaga? If you have, you’ve probably visited Picasso Museum. I really enjoyed all about it. The exhibition is very comprehensive. You get to learn how precocious little Pablo was. You can see the work that allowed him to enter the Fine Arts Academy when he was only 14. He was awarded the maximum grade for this little painting because of the mastery he showed as regards light, composition, etc. On the other hand, you can see that he was an old man and he was still trying to paint like a child… I particularly like the one called Bather (1971). He was already 90!

Being simple is so difficult…

If you can’t get enough of Pablo Picasso and you still have some time in Málaga, you can go to the house where he lived when he was a little child. Sadly, there’s not really much to see there. Yet, the visit rounds up the vision of the artist and it’s useful to put things into perspective.

Everybody knows that Picasso’s father was a painter, not a bad one. He was a teacher and taught his son himself.

The difference is that Pablo’s head was not that of a teacher’s: he was a genius. He was able to go far beyond his father’s teachings. You can see a big beautiful painting of a group of doves in one of the rooms of the house by Mr. José Ruiz. I call it beautiful because I like doves in the way they are depicted, in their quiet murmur. We will never have the opportunity to interview this man, but to me, it seems clear that he liked birds very much. And that Pablo inherited the affection for them too.

As a child, our genius was made to repeat the exercises that he was told to do: Painting birds, painting their legs, etc. It was not his choice. Still, there are a number of these animals that he still drew and painted as an adult. In this house, you can see a series of drawings of a little owl. There is some sort of a love story between Picasso and this bird. It seems that
the poor animal had some problem and he looked after it for some time. They became friends: Windows and doors were open, but it wouldn’t fly away. And this way, le petit hibou became the protagonist of many drawings. It was not a dog. It was not a cat. It was an animal his father had taught him to love: a bird. When I understood this, many things clicked in my head.

My father has loved doves since he was a little child. He, a convinced atheist from an early age, became an altar boy for his love for doves. Becoming one of the assistants of the priest was the only way to gain access to the tower of the church near his house. Now he could see them so closely! Eventually, he was allowed to have his own dovecote at home. He has always been a friend of them, not their owner. He feeds them and offers them a safe place to spend the night, but they are always free during the day. If you love something, you must let it go free…

I can remember the dove shed at home when I was a little girl. My sister and I were shown how delicately the male dances around the female when they want a possible girlfriend, how defenceless the young pigeons are, how to call them with the right whistle… I can remember a female dove that died of love. She refused to eat or drink because the male she was in love with would not dance around her…

As about myself, I am not Picasso, but I do know the feeling of your father sowing the seed of love for birds in your head. That’s something that may sprout immediately or, as in my case, after many years; but you are certain to discover that miracle in yourself. Deep roots will develop and branches will grow much higher than you think. There is bound to be a day in which you will look at a bird and you will discover he is your equal. There’s a life to be lived, more or less fortunate, may you be a person or a bird. There are nests/houses to build and clean, children to protect, friends to chat with, enemies to worry about. A final death to look at.

Picasso and his father, me and my father: We are all just birds.