Hace unos días, alguien muy cercano y querido para mí, me dijo: “No sueltes aquí tu puto rollo, en Internet no se lee, se escanea”.
Durante unos instantes (mi adrenalina se disparó) ¡Callé!
Mi (no) reflexión, arrojó tal frase, que no puedo reproducir aquí. La diré correctamente.
Voy a seguir escribiendo…¡lo que mis entrañas sean capaces de parir!… (¿se entiende, verdad?)
Por lo tanto, si a alguien le ha interesado mi verbo, y ha tenido el impulso, curiosidad y paciencia de leer mis dos anteriores posts, Origen y Evolución…, además de entregarle mi agradecimiento más profundo, le invito a terminar de leer la trilogía que completa este último post.
El desenlace de mi etapa anterior, distorsionó por milésimas de segundo la credibilidad en mi capacidad creativa.
Mis maltrechas células neuronales parecían volatilizarse ante la negación de una impuesta (aparente) visión anárquica y descarada.
Chiado | Ruas de Lisboa Series
I am back.
After the imposed hibernation for some hours, because of deterioration, energy, already, travels through all of my body.
My being is already free again. I can continue my creative process; even though the former state, the magic one, that one so joyful that I do not feel now, will catch up with me again; it is going to cost it, it always costs it, but it will make it. I know. It always does.
The trivial or great, ethereal and intangible, has become an alive protagonist. Elusive, nonetheless, does not, easily, let itself become visible. But it does not matter, I know I have it, I think I do.
Silk Road | Collection Ana Ráez
Yes, I sometimes, may know by intuition the origin of my work of art.
Any trivial or great detail captured by my intuitive retina, directly or indirectly, through my camera, can be the beginning of a close and long lasting relationship, which starts by the stage of observing.
Yes, by observing the emptiness.
You thought that, that wink, had become familiar, and nevertheless, you keep on watching the void space, caressing the white idea for many minutes…, time starts to distort itself,… they maybe hours, I do not know.
It seems to be that you go distinguishing… something is discerned…,but no, everything keeps on being so white, indeed, as when you are surrounded by fog and you may not even see your own feet, however, you know they are still there, you feel them… and at that moment, the trivial, or great, has already absorbed you, trapped you, it has seduced you, you notice it, and at last… you border on it.
This work of art is not for sale
At this first post I am going to allow myself a certain insolence , dedicating all of my work, illusion, and eternal gratitude, to the people who have made this possible… (even though, some of them are not here with us anymore)… who made it possible that I have been able to engage myself, always counting on their unconditional support and trust, to the profession I just love. Specially, to one of them.
Up to no long time ago, these two simple adverbs of frequency “Never” y “Always” were not a part of, in a very usual way, of my vocabulary, I would even, avoid them in an unconscious way; appearing to me so blunt, so immense, so excessively definitive, that they provoked a certain vertigo in me. Of course, l would use them with the responsibility, coherence and the respect the circumstances or situations would request.