Eventually, my memories of the darkness and the cold – which surrounds us here in Estonia for 9 months out of the year – may come back to me, but Spot is a small puppy that grew up in Catalonia, who we are all trying to sway every day. He has been successful in learning his job. He helps to find new owners for the pictures and accompanies gallery visitors on their art journeys. It’s the learning Estonian part that will take a bit of time.

The strange thing about this kind of life is the fact that you really can’t plan ahead - it simply isn't worth it, since some patterns in our life simply arise, repeat and perhaps at a specific moment also fall apart. All by themselves. On another occasion, to simply give in to life and trust it, now that is the art of living.

That is my relationship with journeys. In each city where I’ve gone for only a moment and stayed for much longer, I have found at least one gallery that has been able to domesticate me.

Once, many years ago, when I set out to briefly visit Greece and ended up staying there for six months, a jewellery gallery managed to domesticate me. That gallery was run by a lady from Georgia, and I ended up there simply because I was interested in viewing beautiful jewellery. We started talking, and eventually things ended up with me helping her and offering viewers jewellery and tea.

That was a long time ago, and my affair with that gallery turned out to be a short one.

My last journey was to Barcelona. I also initially headed there for a brief stay, to hide for a moment and focus myself. But that ‘moment’ stretched into two years, because Catalonia quite successfully domesticated me and simply wouldn't let me leave. Looking back and analysing things, one of the reasons was clearly the similarities that can be drawn between Estonia and that small cultural space struggling towards independence. I find many different similarities between the people of Catalonia and Estonians. Serious, closed, industrious, prone to complaining a great deal, while at the same time accomplishing many things. It is difficult to let people get close to you; but, once you have proven yourself, they hold onto you.

Barcelona was a random choice, one I was led to by rumours and, of course, the climate. Working in its favour was the fact that Spanish was a language I had mastered from my earlier travels (although I soon came to understand that not understanding Catalan made things difficult at times).

In Barcelona – a city steeped in art – it is impossible to go around the corner without seeing reminders of Dali, Gaudi, and Picasso staring back at you. In addition, Gaudi has inserted himself into the architecture and split the two biggest mountain slopes with Miro. Park Güell, on one, and a considerable portion of the magical Montjuici Gardens, on the other. In addition to the above mentioned artists, there is an entire pack of artists, writers, and musicians who have left something of themselves behind. There is so much of this that it doesn't take long before one begins to take living among all of this art for granted. It becomes ordinary. One doesn't have the time to look up at the Sagrada Familia, and the high concentration of tourists also makes doing so incredibly difficult.

The city of Barcelona is like a circus, on every level. History and the present day are intertwined. A five minute walk from the Gothic takes the traveller to the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art (MACBAN), which in turn has been taken over by street and skate culture. On the one hand, a multicultural, completely tolerant meeting place; on the other hand, a reserved world of Catalan language and culture.

It depends on what it is that you are doing in the city, and based on that you choose the face with which the city smiles back at you.

At first, my plan was to do my own thing and I had no intention of establishing a relationship with the city, but my sense of curiosity soon had me wandering through the labyrinth of streets.

On the third day, I wandered into the photo gallery Barcelona Visions. It was one of those random galleries that I happened to walk into, but something was different there.

In the gallery I was met by a bearded young man with a long dark ponytail, who didn’t even say hello, instead only raising his weary eyes when I entered. I took in the exhibition. Every small detail in the gallery bowed down to analogue photography, which truly fascinates me.

Somehow, gallery manager Joan Teixdor and I began quietly talking, and discovered that in our creativity we rely on very similar pillars of style and substance.

That was the moment that Joan domesticated me to the Vision gallery, in Barcelona. For the next two years, I worked at the gallery and it became 'my' place, and Joan became my role model, teacher and opener of doors into the very inaccessible region of Catalonia.

With his gallery, Joan Teixdor had focused mainly on analogue photography, but he also invited photographers who were using other mediums to organise lectures and exhibitions. He was very critical and selective when it came to his selections, although that lent his gallery a particular status, which fulfilled, above all, the educational aims, also educating the locals on what was taking place in the world. He invited photographers from the different corners of the world to hold exhibitions and give lectures.

I remember that the first lecture that I took part in was the project Reporte Kahlo. This was a project by Mexican photo artist Rodriques Vazqeus, in which he had 100 years later taken the camera that had been used by Frida Kahlo’s father, Guillermo Kahlo, who was involved with architectural photography. In Mexico, Rodrigo photographed the same structures that had been recorded 100 years ago by Guillermo, and preserved them using the same camera, the same angle and the same printing technique.

This was one of many journeys on which Joan took me and other visitors to the gallery.

He also brought Greece, Japan, Russia, Georgia and many others to his gallery. And through me, he brought Estonia. Even so, the majority of the public were Catalans, professors, photographers, writers and some random people, who were not afraid to remain inside the sometimes conservative and closed gallery.

I also acted like a stranger for a long time. Even during the presentation of my own audio-visual work, I left the room – afraid of criticism, as usual. This was a learning experience for me, that lying behind the masks of viewers who were closed and serious people may be very humorous and warm souls.

Joan took me deeper and deeper into the world of Catalonian photography. He began by offering me a proper education in analogue photography, bringing me along to other galleries, the university, and enticing me to work together with obstinate composer Victor Nubla. I went along with all of it. And that is how two years passed me by.

In addition to creating and sharing art, the world of galleries is at times also like a club, where people get together and talk until they reach clarity on the matters of the world: troubles of the soul, politics, the economy, what is playing at the theatre and how many dogs each neighbour has. Independence was always a topic at those discussions. I was more of a listener than speaker when it came to such topics, although their attitude towards me as an Estonian also carried a note of respect, since I was from one of the few small countries that had fought for and won its freedom. In summary, many citizens of big countries do not know where Estonia is located. Among the Catalans, out of everyone that I met during my journey, there was not one who didn’t know about Estonia.

The Barcelona I left a few months ago no longer exists and the gallery is also not operating against the current backdrop of events. Even so, on my way each morning to my most homey gallery, Haus, I travel back in my thoughts to Barcelona and I begin to feel warm inside, regardless of the strong November wind. I have enough of these warm memories to last me for the entire long, cold winter, and I am willing to share them with all of the visitors to the Haus Gallery."

Astrid Valdmann, gallerist at Haus Gallery