Answers from the Earth (Traces - 11/22)

With the idea of integrating myself into the natural space where I live, I carried out a ritual that came out from a dream. My dream evolved burying blank cotton papers into different holes that I had previously made in the earth. By burying these papers I whispered and requested Mother Earth to manifest them.

For three years and three nights the papers remained hidden in a bed of earth with natural dyes and rainwater. After that I unburied them in search of an answer that could only happen by the influence of the natural environment.

In the constant endeavour of burying and picking up papers, the earth returned to me in each image, later photographed, with a surprise and a question, clearly revealing the immensity of the transmission in face of the smalless of the search of the possible meaning.

The simple task is a worship to the place where I have lived since my youth. A ceremony that joins my identify and my life story in communion with natural elements that have always been within reach of my soul and my hands.

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The Instant (NAT Art Residence 09/22)

Ritual Poem

To deepen, what is to deepen?

What does deepen mean for someone who thinks he or she deepens?

To dig into, Into the stone? To break the stone like today?

To rub the Stone until it gets white? Until it explodes?

Until it bursts in blank? Until I explode?

And if it happens… what does it happen?

Is there more Grace inside of me?

Is there more wind after the wind? I answer to myself.

Do not hurry but get your suitcase ready because this is more tan one trip and the night hungry cats are waiting…

Uncertain clarity

I can see the stone. I can see her as thousands of greys, sustained, defiant.

What is she hiding? What does the sea write every day on her forehead?

My eyes cannot read her, but the sand does, and I look for her to rewrite her history, putting with my hands bunches of experiences on her.

The stone is alive and screams. At night, she cries for the loneliness of the day. She asks me, without saying it, she claims to me and in the same way I question her, I demand, I require: “Give yourself, open up to me”, I yell at her and hit her but at the same time I am hitting myself, my hands hurt.

It is the afternoon, the clouds are unloading laughter, it is raining drops of gold and I am looking. A bird is watching from the sky, then there are two, then there are seven… They stop in an intimate place of my memory. There they continue.

And I come back the following day to write new pages; and the same stone is now smaller, like an ice cube in a glass. She becomes different and I perfume myself with her gray thay is in the air. I caress her, but it is my skin that is grateful. Something has changed… Am I the stone? Or maybe we are the same one thing?

Beginning

My stone is gone, but she is at the very same place. She doesn’t recognize me. I get angry. She is so far! My heart runs until it reaches her: “Are you there? Is it you?” And she answers to me: “You are not you.”

Clarity

Smelling wind, the dawn light confitms your voice. I am coming back to me; I had left. A gry cloud takes me while I look at the leaves of yhe walnut tree that are trying to fall. Two seagulls fly, a cow moos…

And getting into my back, breaking my spine without pain, the stone finally pronounces my name.

I go for her, I find her. She doesn’t see me, she doesn’t greet me. I approach to her very slowly; I slide my feet onto her back, I run over her, I tie her up.

Something happens and it rund down with my ice tears. I can’t see, I can’t hear, I just feel. My body falls apart and

I am stone, I am a cloud and I am the Universe,

The black thread dances with the wind.

It is the Instant.

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From what is real to reality

A serie of images rise from what is real, creating levels of perception in a holy place where the oniric world and the organic world blend in.

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