“There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”
At the beginning of the 20th century, the Spanish poet and playwright Federico García Lorca proposed a new theory of artistic inspiration in his book In Search of Duende. He explained that duendes are what inspires artists, not muses.
So, what is a duende?
Originally, the word in Spanish is a contraction from “master of the house” or “house spirit.” Often, translators into English render it as elf, a term that doesn’t have the same meaning and reverberations.
In the folklore of the Iberian peninsula, duendes are genderless figures, forces older than the jinns that populate the relatively more recent Moorish tales; they are older than the daemons of the Greek myths, and belong to the remote tales of a Celtic-Iberian past.
According to Lorca, the duende is an impish creature, a daemon that artists struggle with as they pursue the inspiration for their art form. “All art is capable of duende,” he wrote; music, dance, poetry, song, every type of artistic or performing endeavor. But it’s a constant battle.
What inspires one artist, doesn’t touch another. Lorca thought that artists must search for their particular duendes and, if they are lucky enough to find them, grapple with them for the rest of their lives. That’s a key difference between the duende and the apathetic, uninvolved muse. Lorca also said that there are no maps or directions to help artists. The duendes may inhabit things, people, or places. They lurk everywhere.
Here are places where I have found my duende:
Family: My duende has always pointed to the two sides of my family, who fought on opposite factions of the Spanish Civil War. From grandparents to parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, they have always been endless fonts of love, conflict, and bewilderment.
The Lady of Elche: I first felt the presence of the duende during a school trip to the Prado. I was aimlessly wandering from hall to hall and spotted her, an Iberian sculpture with almond-shaped eyes and an incredible headdress. I was riveted. I couldn’t walk away. Ever since that day, I’ve treated her like a relative and visit her when I am in Madrid. The Lady now resides in the Museo de Arqueologia Nacional (National Archaeological Museum).
Landscapes: From the shores of the Strait of Gibraltar, across my ancestral Andalusia, to Castile — where I grew up — the natural landscapes, architecture, and the characters that inspire me are rooted in the stormy history of Spain. I may have wandered away from the Spanish language but the duende holds me fast to Spain. I know in my gut that won’t change.
Beatus of Liebana: Medieval manuscript with illustrations brimming with whimsy, wonder, and charming foolishness. It makes me smile when I look at it. It’s also an antidote against solemnity.
A Gourmand: My duende loves food and drink. That’s why to me, for example, Spanish beaches not only smell of salt air but of fried sardines and cool, foamy mugs of Mahou beer. The streets too, in late afternoon, smell of café con leche (latte), or chocolate con churros.
During the creative process, duendes and artists wrestle with each other, and the fight leaves traces on the resulting artwork, and on the artists themselves. Another key concept of duende.
I’ve seen duendes on the facial expressions of jazz musicians and on flamenco dancers when they are transported by their art. Spectators are not only able to spot the duende but be affected by it. This is why sometimes people cry at a musical performance, or get into a trance-like rave. When a book moves you, you are responding to the author’s duende.
That’s why we say in Spain that something — a performance, play, a painting, or a book — has duende. We also substitute ‘angel’ for duende in the sense of personal charisma, or grace when referring to a dancer.
Check this recent video of film director Tim Burton at the Prado. His excitement is palpable when he sees the painting, The Garden of Earthly Delights by Hieronymus Bosch. There is no doubt he is fascinated. He gets Bosch’s duende.
The duende is NOT a Spanish phenomenon. Lorca simply named it. These rascally creatures are spread thickly across the planet. The works of Guillermo del Toro, André De Shields, and Ursula LeGuin attest to the wild and wonderful variety of duendes.∼
“We glow, we are consumed with eagerness to commence the work, with the anticipation of whose glorious result our whole souls are on fire.”
In The Imp of the Perverse by Edgar Allan Poe