Madolin Maxey Stories. It is always about the stories. Tales told across the dinner table. Memories exciting and evoking other memories. Talk of hot hot days, burning sun, too much wine, too little wine. Sand off the Sahara turning the sky terra cotta and coating the olive trees. Dark, throbbing carnival nights accentuating Gibraltar’s decadence. British bobbies, Moroccan mothers riding rides, Spanish families crossing to the Rock. Black mountains pushing hard up from the coast. Red endless skies. Black bulls. Clouds coming in fast through the Strait, passing Point Europa. Córdoba perceived as laser white and layered with religion, each one competing for the final say to God. Stories of remembered feelings. Stories told in paint.
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