Photo-manipulation of a portal in Mexico to accommodate the subject-matter
"El Hombre de la Esquina Rosada"
Just finished a Borge's biography by James Woodall, which I had bought some time ago to add to an already inflated list of books by and about Uncle Georgie. This time I was readier not to loose implicit or more subtle links. Borges lived in Spain, namely in Madrid, in places with names that have now a meaning for me. Argentine national sport of attenuating their Spanish roots and prefering to elaborate on supposedly more glamorous British or French DNA is also better understood now. And I've met a Buenos Aires-born Madrileña that evokes the pinkness of JLB's masterpiece "El Hombre de la Esquina Rosada", one of my long time favorites. Pure love for literature brought me to Borges in my youth; Piazolla took me later on to a second wave of curiosity for any porteño-related stuff; now, embarking on my third journey to Borges's works, I realize that's Buenos Aires what is ticking me this time. I'll blog about it some day.