Paris Parfait

The master craftsman

The beautiful tiled sign outside the workshop of Antonio Campos

In a storeroom at Ceramica Santa Ana in Triana, these scales were once used to weigh and cut tiles.

This early 19th-century carved Spanish table is weighed down with stacks of old azulejos in a back storeroom at Ceramica Santa Ana.

For Sunday Scribblings, a tale of an unexpected meeting with Seville´s most lauded tilemaker:

On Friday I read two separate pieces about the famous master tilemaker Antonio Campos - one in a book, the other in a Madrid-based magazine. On Saturday morning, I was walking around Triana, the area across the Guadalquiver River renowned for its azulejos (tiles) and retablos. I walked in and out of several places, asking if they had any antique tiles for sale.

I wandered down a side street, away from the shops and noticed the beautiful sign (pictured above), on the side of a building. A door was open, so I walked into a dimly-lit workroom. Behind a large table a bearded man with curly hair was standing, naked from the waist up, his hands and arms immersed in clay.

"Senor Campos?" I asked. "Si," he nodded. For a moment I was struck dumb. Here was the man I´d been reading about the night before, standing before me, literally, in the flesh! "Me llamo Tara. Soy periodista de Francia," I stammered. (My name is Tara. I am a journalist, from France). He nodded and looked at me expectantly. As my Spanish was limited, I motioned that I wanted to look around his workshop and he nodded and continued working - no doubt thinking, ´who is this mad woman and why is she bothering me?´

While looking around his dusty and crowded workshop - which seemed to be a converted garage, filled with hundreds of moulds and stacks of tiles - I was trying to remember the Spanish words to ask where his azulejos or tiles were sold. But all I could think of was "se vende?" He rattled off a series of sentences, ending with the word ´mercado,´ which I recognized as "store." Then he looked at me expectantly, waiting to see if I would go away. At that moment, a man walked in, obviously an employee. So I mumbled, "gracias" and hurriedly left.

I felt embarrassed by the incident and a little stung by his behaviour, which seemed a bit rude. Then again, if a stranger walked into my ´office,´ interrupting my work, I might be annoyed too. So I walked back to the largest and most elaborate mercado on Triana. As luck would have it, Ceramica Santa Ana, was Sr. Campos´s store! In continuous operation since 1870, it is revered throughout Spain for its exquisite replicas of 16th-century tiles.

When I asked the friendly manager if he had any antique tiles, he said no, but I could look in a back storeroom at stacks of "old ones." Thankfully I was wearing jeans, as I got to climb around the very dusty showroom (where I surreptitiously took some photos) and blow dust and straw off some beautiful old tiles.

As I was waiting to pay for my purchases, a local woman asked me for help in identifying the origin of a particular tile. "No lo se," (I don´t know) I said, but she kept talking to me in Spanish! I just smiled and nodded - the universal response when you have no idea what someone is saying.

I was just happy that after my chance encounter with the master, I took home some of his work!

Joaquin Cortes and the bullring

Plaza de Toros de Sevilla! It was a cool, windy evening and sand from the bullring occasionally swirled around, mingling with smoke piped from the stage during Joaquin Cortes´s powerful performance of Mi Soledad. His grandmother, well over the age of 90, was walking on her own, as she was escorted through the Entrance Principal.

I arrived at the bullring at 9:20 for a 10 p.m. performance, expecting the procedure would be similar to attending a performance in Paris: standing in line outdoors, having bags searched, before finally being allowed into the theatre. Instead, I was whisked in and escorted to my seat - no waiting in line.

While taking photographs of the bullring and stage, two "teens" seated behind me started saying "Hello, Thank you very much!" They were very entertaining in their attempts to speak English - which was still superior to my Spanish. When they asked if I would take their photo, I was delighted. Manuela (right) is only 12, while his friend Diandrina is 13. While trying to find a pen to write their names, I stopped an elegantly-suited man walking past. Turns out he was the manager of the bullring and sat down and chatted with me.

Two Spanish women who appeared to be mother and daughter were seated on my left. The 30-something "daughter" was elegantly dressed in black trousers, a simple silk top, discreet jewelry and stylish flats. The "mother," 60+, was too tanned, wearing a fake-cheetah mini skirt, a low-cut lyrca top, four-inch heels, flashy jewelry, lots of makeup and her short hair coloured in at least four shades of blonde and red. She never once acknowledged my presence. But at one point during Joaquin Cortes´s performance, he descended from the stage and the woman jumped up and ran after him, trying to get his photo. She returned to her seat, swooning like a star-struck teenager.

The seat to my immediate right was empty. A woman seated at the end of the row overhead me speaking English and asked if she could move to that seat, if the ticket-holder didn´t show. Turns out she was from Tucson and lived in Washington, D.C. She was in town with some friends for the Biennale: two weeks of flamenco performances at various venues. She was also taking flamenco lessons while here. It was fun comparing notes with a fellow American.

I got some photos of Cortes´s performance, but need to wait until I´m in Paris and try to edit the lighting, before posting. And what a performance it was! Without a doubt, Joaquin Cortes is the most confident performer I´ve ever seen. His talent is immense and he knows it. His expert dancing was accompanied by an astonishing ensemble of musicians, including an accordion player, two guitarists, two bongo players and several magnificent singers. The evening was magical. At one point, Cortes talked to the audience about the importance of continuing the tradition of flamenco in Seville and in Andalucia (at least I think that´s what he said). And at the end of his spectacular performance, he was carried on the shoulders of the cheering crowd out into the street!

Flamenco´s influence is everywhere in Seville - in the style of dress, the form of music and the vibrant nightlife. Late Sunday night, someone in the building next door to the hotel started practicing the footwork of flamenco, sans music. At the same time, outside my window, someone else was strumming the guitar. No one ever tells anyone to be quiet in this lively city, no matter what the hour! I´m beginning to think that´s part of Seville´s charm.