Rodrigo Hernández, querido amigo, me invitó a participar de esta exposición, en ese entonces él vivía en Alemania.
La propuesta era que cada artista eligiera a un curador con el que trabajar. Recordé a Ala Younis, amiga de Jordania con la que había estado manteniendo comunicación vía email. Nos conocimos conversando, cruzando juntas un gran puente. Trabajé sobre un texto que ella escribió sobre el día en que nos conocimos.
Aquí está el texto (en inglés):
We met on our way to a bridge. one that
it was mainly designed for vehicles, but had a pedestrian track. Before we have
reached the bridge we picked up snacks. In each trip I favor certain chocolates
or drinks. New York tastes like peanut butter most of the times now. I can't
remember the sounds of cars (aren't they are typical to each place?) but I
remember we were hanging in the air, cars running under us and to the
sides while we walked. What would have happened if this bridge did not take it
anymore at that moment of our passing, I had thought to myself. It was a nice
sunny day in middle of winter fit for a walk. We did not want to reach to
Brooklyn, we only wanted for our feet to step on a legendary bridge. We spoke
about things we fear, things that stand in our way, things that we love. We
spoke on how we took decisions to keep those we love, or find them at least.
Dear Rita, I think I have found what I
am looking for, but there's nothing within my reach that I could do at this
stage to be found 'back'.
Well, I am more 'noticed' now than when we met, but I am still in the same
place: lingering for good days, which I might have as well lived but do
not know. So small these things that I wait for, so simple yet only to be
heartfelt. The figures in your tiny drawings resting on their tiny pedestals
stay in my mind. Small people in small worlds, that are the whole world to
them. So small the things that affect us: a genuine word, a tender smile, a
special green blue.
I also found out that I favor botanical gardens. Somehow they are my places in
the cities I visit. I always arrive early and they are most of the time empty,
except when I am looking for a bench to sit on. I never really try to memorize
the names of the large thick-trunk trees, probably because I am always sure I could
find them when I want, on the internet.
I just typed Botanical Gardens in wikipedia.. I see an illustration of the
Hanging Gardens. Doesn't the legend say that the world's most wondrous gardens
were built for a loved woman who missed the green hills and valleys of her
homeland.
A hanging garden, a hanging bridge, and I hang on. Your drawings also flow, always hanging somehow onto the walls of the places you have installed your work in.
A relay of love, in third person, if only those who we think of could read these notes beyond their words one day.
A hanging garden, a hanging bridge, and I hang on. Your drawings also flow, always hanging somehow onto the walls of the places you have installed your work in.
A relay of love, in third person, if only those who we think of could read these notes beyond their words one day.
Aquí la página de Ala: http://www.alayounis.com/
Y también aquí, un still del video que hice. Tomé una rama, la incrusté en un palo en forma de “T”, en cada extremo de la rama coloqué una foto circular (una de Ala y otra mía). Luego puse la “T” en equilibrio sobre mi mano. El video termina cuando la gravedad gana la partida.
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| ¿Estás ahí? (still de video) |
