Barcelona, Love, & The Economy

By December 1st, my boyfriend and I will have transplanted ourselves from Paris (me) and London (he) to a cozy 45 square meter flat in Barcelona.  I’ve had a tendency through the years to disclose my flights of fancy in ill-conceived rushes of enthusiasm only to later regret it. As we all know, sometimes visions of sugarplums do not materialize.  That is not to say that I haven’t given each and every one of my dreams my all and had more than a couple come true.  It’s just that dreams can get a little fuzzy toward the final frame.  This time, the final frame is all I see.  As 2008 stumbles toward the finish line, my dreams are once again before me. One dream completes, another waits to upload, and a third begins at the very beginning. And at the same time, I’m driven to distraction by events taking place back home.

Living in Paris has changed everything, the order of my priorities, the sharpness of my values. It’s finally flushed away the detritus, the lovingly worn but ripe for discarding parts of my life – glib, clever, soulless part time players, shopping sprees packaged to my cerebrum as errands, the all-too passionate conversations about vapid pop culture personalities plastered on tabloids, playing along with the deification of brands.  I came here to get some distance from the demands of materialism, to flee the ad world, to stop subjecting myself to the daily charades of office politics, to put a distance between myself and my language, and to question the mindless comprehension that becomes a hum under the surface of everything so blindingly familiar.

I’ve been gone 22 months. Now a new newness is at hand. I’m swapping French for Spanish. I have no foothold in the new land. No job awaits. No program. No new book to start. It’s not a sabbatical. I can’t couch it in any of those terms.  It’s a nose dive hopefully onto a bed of roses on a cloud of honey and spice.  We’re hoping for a little harp action – and a little financial luck.  Because we’re going for broke precisely as we enter the worst economic period since the Depression.

I have to say, I’ve been anxious. I know that in five short days we will know who the president will be and we will either be elated beyond imagination, dancing in the streets (well, I’ll have to do so figuratively and through youtube), or so utterly frightened we’ll be running from the theater of American life like the opening scene of The Blob.

I’ve been watching this campaign so closely that it would be fair to call it an obsession. It’s a comfort to me that America (and its myriad of dreams) is still at arms reach even with all its follies and absurdities.  Nobody on this side of the pond can quite understand the thing that makes us American and love it the way we do. It’s been quite an embarrassment lately and not just because of George Bush’s administration, but because of our insouciance about how out-of-touch we truly are as a nation.  But now, suddenly, we have this person, this clear-talking level headed, comforting presence that has brought out a lot of hope in all of us, a sign that we’re not just crazy when we compare truth to sensationalism, globalization to domestic arrogance.  Finally, someone who everyone can get behind and at the same time will tell us we need to ramp up and pay attention to the innovation going on in the rest of the world. That we should solve problems, not rest on our crumbling laurels.  As chain stores and billionaires take over New York, I see that perhaps all is not lost. From under the economic and cultural rubble, lo and behold, there is a voice of reason.

I’m using the disaster of the economy and Obama’s campaign as a guidepost in my own personal affairs – my business plans, my conflicts about subjecting my creative projects to scrutiny and criticism by a flailing paradigm (the publishing world). A renewed effort to participate in the world of culture making without big compromises to my integrity and passions. And to my love life, which is also in uncharted territory. Never mix love with business? Well, we’re mixing it alright, and with relish. Please stay tuned and take a ride with us on the new adventures and misadventures of Girl on the street. And let us all pray for our futures.

Please check out Peter’s amazing photographs and go to the main site to see our latest Girl on the street coverage of the women at London Design Week, and shortly, The Freize Art Fair.

-Chauncey Zalkin

Friday • October 31, 2008 • by Chauncey Zalkin

Category: Barcelona, Blog, Chauncey Zalkin, Essays

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