"Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire; you will what you imagine; and at last you create what you will." --George Bernard Shaw
No dejar ir lo que está hacerlo fuerte, crear hacia los lados del reflejo que crea y recrea materia luz y sombra, visibilidad, visión, vista.
El ojo es un otro.
Comunica subjetividad en una otra retina y para adentro.
Yo es otro.
Soy más acá y allá."
este statement ha sido escrito con la colaboración de elisabeth gardner y paula castagnetti
A yearning for art and nostalgia. The Spells and Wishing Wells look toward an intuition of oneself through the notion of fate and fable. Perceptions of a mask of secret longings and delicate exploitations leads to the haunting questions of destiny and a time lost. -- Diane Powers
"We invite you to participate in open discussions that will take place in theatrical space within the Garnet women writers-directors cycle. These talks will be focused on the artistic and professional work of Gatto Agustina, Andrea Servera and Fabiana Barreda. The coordination of the table will be by Natalia Fernandez Acqui. I ncluirá fotoperformance a collective exhibition in the Gallery , and its theater program works, " Paris in America "by Paula Herrera, Saturday at 20.30hs from 17 / 9 and" Brick "Camilla Fabbri, Saturdays 23hs from the 3 / 9"
It was idleness that brought her to the mist that auspicious morning. She could feel the damp cover her like tiny pearls dancing on her skin. Through the hazy stream of restlessness she searched for bits that emulsified a blush in her humanity, some little flame to keep her warm like fresh winter down.
Behka loved the color of moss, the tangibility... a stone covered in cool with the illusion of warmth as her toes rubbed over it. It was the garden and its pâté table of mysteries that stirred her as she lifted a single gardenia from the ground. She marveled at the strength of the waxy, dark green leaves that dangled from her affectionate fingers, the delicate petals of vibrant white that would surely turn to brown at the touch, already showing tinges of amber from the fall to the cold ground, the pungent fragrance overpowered her at the idea of contrast.
Never had she seemed so enchanting to the mist, so perfectly beautiful in folds of thin white, her nightgown snagging on thorns of Barberry as she fumbled for the path. It was between shadows that he could see the specks of golden light in her hair. He imagined her lying on the warmth of her pillow a few short moments ago. "Watch your step," he thought as she sought passage through squares with leaves that were slippery from the dew he had made especially for her.
Behka's need for water and air encompassed her deeply for the fantasy. The scent of lilac stung her nostrils as her two eyes fixed on the space of soft white to the fore. Slowly she found herself leaving the hues of her garden as a house sparrow whizzed by and startled her delicate dream. Longing for the vastness ahead leaving behind the flutter of the butterflies and the wood of formed cypress trees for partial borders of thinly sown flowers she invented in her sight which "surely must be there," she mused. She hunted no warning to the language of birds and their post. "There lies little room for wretchedness in this clear vapor of light," she thought to herself, "He's immense with possibilities and mystery hiding the sun lovingly within his arms meant only for me."
Her pace quickened as he welcomed her to his world. Behka found herself in a twirl, dancing within the pockets of his air, moving about his arms in which he used to catch her with soft swirls of white. She delighted him so. The silver chain that she wore sparkled faintly but beautifully against her skin as she reached to feel for it so she could know she was indeed there. The folly of all this glee spun her to a bit of a frenzy and she found she could not see and with every movement against her skin he would fade. She grasped for him as anger rose within her. "Why won't you hold me!” she yelled into the mist. She began to feel small within his enormous space and a chill began to set in. The mist tried to embrace her but he could not. He found himself captivated by a lush garden ever so fair beyond a clearing just over the path. The lushness of the maple trees empowered him with a desire to blanket her with dew and silence.
Behka collapsed in sweet tears as her fingers thumbed through blades of green, feeling unloved and unseen. She lifted her head to see the slow moving vapors covering the garden next door, his powerful embrace fading every pastel petal of the peonies when she felt the warmth of the sun on her slender shoulder. As she dried her gentle red cheeks worn with self-pity she began to feel her affection for the mist once again. Behka wandered back into her house, crawled back under the covers and began to dream of mysteries that she wanted to feel and the mystery that she had surely felt, it was at that moment when she touched the stained blush of her cheek.
"Melodio lay snoring in a ginger flower when it first sounded in the garden that morning. That is always the way with unexpected things. They rain down on you when you have your face upturned and are scarce aware of it. The child's laugh was a waste of music. As if someone had tipped over the cup of the sun just to see it run all over everything. Melodio swiftly jumped up onto the shoulder of the child to hear what it was thinking.
"You startled me, playful girl," said Melodio to the big laughing child walking through the garden, who only just now had bothered to notice him, "and where has that nosey beagle of yours got to?"
The child only sent another peal of laughter ringing through the clean transparent air. "Be a good girl now," went on Melodio, "give me my breakfast and I will reward you by telling you something about my days in town."
The child obeyed, pinching the dew from a snapdragon's lips into the tiny mouth of the fairy. Melodio began, "As you know, I was not always a wild sprite. I used to be quite respectable and live in town like everyone else. And for a time I roomed with a marionette family that had fallen on hard times. Martin and Marion, those were their names, worked very hard, responding to every tug of every string just to keep their three children in pointed shoes and fresh paint."
"Every morning Marion would sketch a new smile on Martin's face and they would put on their little red vests and go out to knock their wooden heads upon the world. But every day the strings would grow more slack and the people of the town would allow themselves to be less and less diverted. Pina, their eldest daughter, hated her strings, and begged me to help her cut them off. I resisted. I told her that without her strings she would be as defenceless as a wooden doll in an age of porcelain. Secretly However, I wanted to see them all without their strings, I wanted the strings to search in vain for the eye-holes of their shoulders and their knees, for the tensions to get lost and never become gestures and jokes."
"One day Pina came up close to me, I could feel her sawdust breath on my eyelashes. She said she knew how we could cut her strings and it would be okay. She said I could give her my wings. She said that even though she was made of wood, my wings were strong and would carry her. I told her it was a bad idea. Even then I knew a fairy can never give its wings away. But there I was, tying with cherry stems my beautiful butterfly wings to her back. She asked me to give them a coat of lacquer, to make them look less strange, and I did that too. I guess I was a little in love with her." At this moment, Melodio saw Carlo, the child's rambunctious beagle, bounding over cypress bushes toward them.
"Keep the beast away or I will not finish my story." The child looked sternly at the dog and Carlo stopped, barked, and leapt off in another direction. "And a sip would definitely ease the telling." The child splashed the contents of a brimming rose on the fairy's face, drenching his entire head and collar and shoulders. Melodio sneezed and continued, "The night came for Pina to be free, to try out her wings beneath the stars. The moon watched out of the corner of its eye as she rose. The points of light held the dark blue between them like a cloth in which to catch her. She rose like a sparkling dragonfly, and I could hear her giggling in the eaves. But then something went wrong. I could hear Pina breathing heavily with the effort of trying to stay in the air. I begged her to come down. But she refused to ever touch earth again, and beat her wings even harder. Finally, in exhaustion, she made one last tremendous push up into the sky, and for a moment it was as if she were another star glowing in the firmament, and she flew higher than all the strings in the world. Then, after a breath, down she came, like something falling, confused, a bundle. I heard her wooden body hit the tiles of the roof of one of the houses. For the next few days I could hear her moaning, and sometimes I thought I heard her calling my name. I tried to climb up to her on the tinkling of lunchtime bells and on the tolling of churchbells, but no tintinnabulation was strong enough to lift me where I wanted to be. And so I wept for days and nights. I wept so long that finally the birds came to drink my fairy tears. A lady turtle-dove said to me then, 'Why do you cry so, fairy child?'"
"'I could not save her and I helped to cut her strings. It is my fault,' I replied"
"'What a curious fairy to speak of fault,' said she. 'Pina is more beautiful without her strings. And if it comes to that, she has been saved, after a fashion.'"
"'Please tell me how,' I said."
"'Take my word for it,' she said. 'Her arm caresses the swollen belly of a lady sparrow, her cheek warms the eggs of a barn swallow, her small hands hold up the edge of a finch's nest. Don't worry. We that fly have Pina in safekeeping.'"
"It was when the lady turtle-dove said this that I noticed the first buds on my shoulders sprouting the new leaves of my wings again." Here Melodio stopped talking. The air was still. The garden exuded the warmth of mid-morning.
"Why are you looking at me that way?" Melodio said."
She walked down the path on what seemed like any other morning. Her tempo with a fearless skip, for she was the apple of her fathers eye and the china doll her mother dressed in tights, white gloves and lace. She first noticed the sounds in the remoteness of the silent break of day. She curved her head toward the cypress trees just making out a murder of large black birds throughout the mist. Like a great wind the shrill and flapping of wings encompassed her. Her school books dropped to the ground like stones. Shock gave way to panic as the raven took hold of her scalp, claws intertwined and matted in her curls as droplets of blood rolled down her cheeks. The raven shook her viciously and didn't release her for ten years.
Through a plight of exhaustion she spotted a garden just across the way with a green meadow and a strong Oak tree. She laid her head to rest in the cool grass feeling for the safety of the rich soil below. In the shade coveted by the Oak she fell asleep, there she lay in peaceful slumber for twenty years where she grew roots that knotted with the mighty Oak which seeded the Earth.
She dreamed and dreamed until one day, she awoke to the soft nuzzle of a dove. "I will make all your thoughts and ideas come true," said the beautiful white bird. "And all your dreaming while you slept will happen for you." He showed her images of what could be and offered her love and knowledge of the sea. The dove began to fly fading from her vision like a ghost dissolving to the clouds. Desperately she tried to follow pulling at the roots, breaking them to shard split wood. The meadow where she lay turned brittle as she collapsed to a thatch prickly and sharp. Watching the Oak wither and die a wave of misery came over her.
Through the pain that she created there she reached to her head to feel the mark of the raven, when a blackbird sat beside her.The blackbird smaller than the raven you see, says, in his most mocking tune, "How foolish is she?" "For it is a fool indeed who tries to escape her destiny."
