Spain Dad, a baby blog

I’m sitting on the couch in our living room looking at a series of three paintings hanging on the wall.

The paintings are not ours. They belong to our landlords. I doubt they are worth very much, but they are originals. They’re signed and dated.

All three are landscapes, and although they don’t say where they were painted, I’m sure they were painted locally. I recognize the scenery–the mediterranean blue, the clay rooftops, and the rusty earth.

In the first painting the the viewer is raised above the landscape, most likely standing in the foothills, looking out over the sea. The blue water is the centerpiece, covering the painting like a blanket, stitched around the edges with beach, brush, and rooftops.

In the second painting, again, the viewer is raised above the landscape, looking down on a small village. Mostly the burgandy roofs are only visible, the dwellings herded together like cattle in a cattle yard. In the distance, I see the outline of a ruined castle, perched above the city like a bird in a tree.

In the third painting the viewer stands at the edge of a village between two dilapidated buildings, each a mismatch of colors and corners, watching as the horizon begins to glow, breathing life and color into the red earth.

I like these paintings not because they are anything special, but because they are familiar. I’m comfortable with them being in my living room. I don’t mind looking at them everyday.

Choosing a baby name is a lot like choosing art for your living room. You have to feel like you can live with a little person with that name in your life everyday.

The name can’t be as exotic as Salvador Dali’s One Second Before Awakening from a Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate. Intriguing for sure, but too demanding. It’s just too much to look at everyday.

The name can’t be as abstract as Joan Miro’s Azul II. I want something that’s accessible to everyone, something people can relate to.

The name can’t be as traditional as Diego Valezquez’s Las Meninas. Unless you know the history, it looks the same as all the others.

Madre by Joaquin Sorolla.

I want a name like Joaquin Sorolla’s Madre.

Even though Sorolla painted this painting nearly a century before I was even born, somehow I get it. I feel like I’ve been there before, like I know this woman, and I know her little one.

Still, there’s a story behind this painting that leaves me curious and wanting, wishing I could physically climb through the frame into that room and be a part of their world for a day.

Sorolla’s Madre is familiar, recognizable, and original.