Skip to main content

La artista interior

Recientemente mire un grupo en facebook que cree hace años llamado "Jugando con colores", el cual tiene varios de mis trabajos pictóricos. Visitar la colección pictórica del grupo me ha dejado, tristemente, un sabor amargo en la boca. Todos y cada uno de esos dibujos y cuadros los hice yo, pero a hoy no me siento capaz de hacer algo remotamente parecido a muchas de las piezas que están allí.

Ya en un post anterior (Véase: "Mi musa e inmigración" Abril 2011), comentaba como sentía que había mutado mi musa, de ser una musa pictórica a una escritora. De alguna forma hoy mas que nunca siento que necesito volver a pintar, a pintar como lo hacia antes, sin pensar, sin planear, sin parar. Tengo ahora, mas que antes, libertad y tiempo para dedicale horas, días y meses a creaciones, adicionalmente he transformado una parte de mi casa en un casi estudio artístico, pero tristemente aun no siento la fluidez de antes cuando me enfrento una hoja en blanco.

Temo aveces que mi artista interior esta tan golpeado por la fuerte autocrítica que se dejo apabullar por mi misma y esta agonizando. Siento que finalmente me a convecido consistente o inconscientemente de que el talento es efímero y el mío ya se esfumo. Irónicamente en esos momentos es que algo grita en mi interior y me lleba a mirar esos dibujos que tengo archivados, en un caja o en la Internet, mientras mi artista interior me susurra a el oído "recuerdas lo bien que se sentía hacer esto?, dale, hazlo otra vez", al unisono de las inseguridades que dicen:"fue un golpe se suerte, nada mas."

No se si mis años productivos artisticamente han pasado. Si esta etapa de gris (no blanco, no negro, no nada) en la que se encuentra mi "talento" es definitiva y me gusta pensar en que tengo que ejercitar la mano y el ojo, hacer cuadros, rayas, caritas felices, personas con palitos, pero algo, para que lo que vive dentro de mi no se muera de tristeza, quizas aferrandome a una ilusion, o tal vez a una verdad.


Popular posts from this blog

What we started a drunken night out

I met Justin in Medellin in May 2007, while he was traveling around Colombia before moving to D.C to attend school. He visited Bogotá and the coffee country before arriving in Medellin, where he stayed at a hostel where one of my best friends, and occasional I, used to work. While I waited for my friend to finish her shift before going out, I saw him first and everything about him grabbed my attention. I remember asking my friend who he was but she was in a bad mood and wanted only to go out and dance the day off. I was glad when I saw him again at the bar I was dancing with friends. Yes, he was good looking and a good dancer but there was something else that made my eyes glued onto him. It was kind of embarrassing— it’s not the Latina seductive style to stare— but I couldn’t stop. Anyway, I’m not really a shy person so, in the end, it didn’t matter that much. Eventually, we found ourselves dancing with each other, pretended to talk and kissed.

We run into each other again the next nig…

In the Land of Freedom

Since the arrival of the first European immigrants to North American the country known today as: The United States of America started to be built on immigrant blood.From mass immigration though Ellis Island, New York, in the early 1900’s to crossing the border walking the deserts of Texas or Arizona today, the idea of America as the land of freedom, where the sky is the limit, has attracted and continues attracting immigrants around the globe. For many years, in order to control the unstoppable immigration; which has apparently transformed into a problem, thought the years different immigration polices and strategies has been used being Secure Communities being one of the most recent.Although Secure Communities has effectively deported dangerous criminals, the program should not be enforced nationwide as a federal law because it breaks apart American families while reducing the cooperation between illegal immigrant communities and local police.After the attacks on September 11th the D…

The first of many

When I was 14 years old I was ready to start to work. According to the Colombian law I was not allow to work with out my parents permission. My dad was against that idea, so I have to wait while felling jealous of my brother Agustin, whom just 2 years older than me, was working at my dad's uncle electric store during the holidays, making money.
As soon I turned 18 I stared the job search. After sending a couple of resumes with the blank spaces where my experience should go, I got finally hired at a restaurant. I was thrill, the time of make my own money and grow independent have finally come!. The restaurant, "La Parrilla de Martin", was an Argentinean style stake house just a couple of blocks away from my house and in the same bus route from my college. I set out my schedule: I will work 3 lunches and 2 nights, for a total of 5 shifts a week. 5 shifts a week and full time school didn't sounded that hard for the 18 year old me, but in reality it was impossible.