arte y cotidianidad
I met D one fine noon, it was cold outside, and for that reason I used to shower at noon, I didn't like that feeling of cold on wet. I almost ran out of the shower, it was still dripping because I had not dried up properly, I put on a shirt, underwear and, pants, I combed my hair without too much effort and turned on the computer to enter the meeting where I would see her for the very first time.
I have never liked colors so much, whoever has spent a couple of afternoons with me, knows. I think the colors are too exhibitionist and therefore I don't like them. I know it's just my opinion, but that's right, maybe the colors seem unpredictable to me. I always try to dress with simple grayscale colors. Colors seem positive, demanding, at least the colors that flood us in commercials, in clothing stores, in shopping centers, on television, in series and movies, colors and colors, more colors to make us look happy. but I have nothing against happiness, I enjoy life as much as I can and color has nothing to do with it, at least not this obligatory color.
That's how I met D, in a virtual meeting, she smiled a little nervously. We talked about her work, about her ideas, about what she knew how to do back then. It was a professional talk, but always with the simplicity of a person who is willing to listen. As we did countless afternoons later, talking about work, life, the sea, nonsense, real stuff, memories, joys, vegan food and dreams. we passed words between the screen and we never met in person, face-to-face I mean.
There are other colors, which are not full of positivity, but of difference, colors that do not pursue exhibitionism, or the pride of banality, these are colors that seek, in principle, to emulate reality and mix it with fantasy, ideology, nature and spirituality, and in that sense with difference, imprecision, unpredictability, and pain, the pain caused by not knowing what will happen, not being able to control life, or ourselves, the pain of negativity, of not having the obligation to be happy, but one day to be able to be.
Knowing D, made me feel that I can love in different ways, that sometimes "unpredictable" means feeling in another way that I did not know, that I can contain my impulses, that I can laugh out loud without any obligation, that I can cry in front of a screen because I still miss you, because the unpredictability of your departure still hurts me, and because D was there, almost like a fictional character that I invented to cope, recover and continue, because sometimes D disappeared in her own daily life, in her own anguish and joy, and D was just a colorful presence, that color that not only seduces by its obligatory exhibitionism, but also that imprecise color that comes and goes, that sometimes is there and sometimes disappears.
D, is for me - I hope you understand it well - as one of these monsters, full of color, full of life and doubts, concerns and searches typical of her perfect age. D smiles commonly, but I imagine her in solitude, sometimes serious, sometimes sad, sometimes doubtful, and I imagine that there she changes color once more, like those alebrijes that every time you look at them they seem different to you. Those that color is not the forced and positive happiness so current in our western societies, but the possibility of the unpredictable, of the amorphous, of the painful, the possibility that the indigenous cultures of this country inherited us, pain and happiness.