autorretrato
" El teléfono no acerca, confirma las distancias. No se es dos como en una conversación puesto que no se ve. No se está solo como delante del papel, que permite hablarse hablándole al otro, buscar, encontrar la verdad....uno no puede responder con nada a la ausencia."
Simone de Beauvior, La Mujer Rota
Creo que hoy comienzo otra etapa de vida y por eso escojo ese autorretrato como imagen del diario/blog. La Consuelo Wayuu saluda de frente, enigmática, sobre ese tono verde oliva. Mis días continúan entre matas y porrones en el jardín. Avanzo en mi tarea de jardinera y voy limpiando los espacios mientras me ordeno a mí misma. Hace tanto sol de tarde que me escondo en mi cuarto a escribir. Eso de barrer el polvo, recoger la tierra, enderezar raíces ¿no es también un ejercicio de escritura como este? Una palabra es una hojita verde que se dobla y que vuelvo a enderezar, que amarro y anudo para que sobreviva. Hay matas de sol y matas de sombra. Esa pintura negra en la cara me protege del inclemente sol guajiro; me esconde. Tengo miedo. Y no puedo llamar a nadie en mi auxilio. Tengo miedo.
" The telephone does not bring you closer, it confirms the distances. You are not two as in a conversation because you do not see each other. You are not alone like in front of a paper, which allows you to talk to yourself while you talk to the other, to look for and to find the truth...one can not answer the absence with nothing."
Simone de Beauvior, The Broken Woman
I think I begin another stage in my life today and for this reason I choose this self-portrait as the image for the blog/diary. Enigmatic, Consuelo the Wayuu looks directly to the front over that olive green tone. My days have continued among pots and plants in the garden. I go on with my gardener's tasks and clean out the spaces while I organize myself. There is so much sun out in the back yard that I hide in my room to write. Dusting with a broom, picking up the left over earth, straightening roots; are they not a writing exercise as this one? A word is a small bent green leaf that I straighten again, that I tie and knot so that it may survive. There are plants for direct sunlight and there are plants for shade. This black paint on the face is used to protect myself from the strong goajiran sun; it hides me. I am afraid. I can not call anyone for help. I am afraid.
" The telephone does not bring you closer, it confirms the distances. You are not two as in a conversation because you do not see each other. You are not alone like in front of a paper, which allows you to talk to yourself while you talk to the other, to look for and to find the truth...one can not answer the absence with nothing."
Simone de Beauvior, The Broken Woman
I think I begin another stage in my life today and for this reason I choose this self-portrait as the image for the blog/diary. Enigmatic, Consuelo the Wayuu looks directly to the front over that olive green tone. My days have continued among pots and plants in the garden. I go on with my gardener's tasks and clean out the spaces while I organize myself. There is so much sun out in the back yard that I hide in my room to write. Dusting with a broom, picking up the left over earth, straightening roots; are they not a writing exercise as this one? A word is a small bent green leaf that I straighten again, that I tie and knot so that it may survive. There are plants for direct sunlight and there are plants for shade. This black paint on the face is used to protect myself from the strong goajiran sun; it hides me. I am afraid. I can not call anyone for help. I am afraid.
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