Yellow Souls
Yellow Souls
Aquest treball és groc. No pot ser d´un altre tint. El groc és dur com un “g roc” i s´està en el “g cor”. A Catalunya, els delits grocs prenen forma de llaç, un llaç replè a vessar de grogues històries. És fet amb el groc del sol, dels pixallits i del safrà; del groc que reclama el dret a decidir > desobeir, decideso; del groc que es sulfura amb els borrosos > calculistes > empobrits > xarlatans; del groc pels sor presos; del de la no violència, groga, groga, sempre groga.
Aquí i Avui, el groc ha ultrapassat al groc.
Demà? Llepa pols, se´ns escola de les mans, però tinc les ninetes grogues i el llaç que m´acompanya és un cigne. No és el primer dia, a mig mati, que malaltissament somnio com centenars, milers de llaços grocs en fila traspassen a rues, com si res, el gruixut i maliciós mur d´acer aixecat per la malura. N´estan convençuts, ben decidits. Aturar-los? Treu-t´ho del cap. Marxen com són: Yellow Souls traversing matter.
Aquest treball és per a les persones que han estat violentades, insultades, colpejades, les empresonades i les forçades a l´exili, sense matisos ni accents, totes a causa del seu groc tarannà: demogroc, dignigroc. L´humil groc d´aquest treball, el groc del serpentejar de la història, l´he pintat pensant en elles, retallat i afegit durant el meu dol groc com una criatura quan juga amb els seus ninots.
Per totes elles, des del més petit fins al més gran, amb respecte i deute: "Res s´ha mullat en el cor de l´oceà / No cal que ressegueixis racons buscant troques per descabdellar / Ni agafis pedres toves per llepar-ne els ossos / Sents? / Són uns altres: Free Yellow Souls traversing matter".
Aquí i Avui, el groc ha ultrapassat al groc.
Demà? Llepa pols, se´ns escola de les mans, però tinc les ninetes grogues i el llaç que m´acompanya és un cigne. No és el primer dia, a mig mati, que malaltissament somnio com centenars, milers de llaços grocs en fila traspassen a rues, com si res, el gruixut i maliciós mur d´acer aixecat per la malura. N´estan convençuts, ben decidits. Aturar-los? Treu-t´ho del cap. Marxen com són: Yellow Souls traversing matter.
Aquest treball és per a les persones que han estat violentades, insultades, colpejades, les empresonades i les forçades a l´exili, sense matisos ni accents, totes a causa del seu groc tarannà: demogroc, dignigroc. L´humil groc d´aquest treball, el groc del serpentejar de la història, l´he pintat pensant en elles, retallat i afegit durant el meu dol groc com una criatura quan juga amb els seus ninots.
Per totes elles, des del més petit fins al més gran, amb respecte i deute: "Res s´ha mullat en el cor de l´oceà / No cal que ressegueixis racons buscant troques per descabdellar / Ni agafis pedres toves per llepar-ne els ossos / Sents? / Són uns altres: Free Yellow Souls traversing matter".
Yellow Souls
This work is yellow. It could not be any other colour. Groc, (Yellow in Catalan) is hard like a “g roc” and it lives in the “g cor” (heart). In Catalonia, yellow delights take the form of a ribbon, a ribbon full of yellow stories. It is made with the yellow of the sun, of dandelions and saffron, the yellow that demands the right to decide > to disobey, decideso, the yellow that gets angry with the blurry > calculating > impoverished > charlatans, the yellow for the political prisoners, of non-violence, yellow, yellow, always yellow.
Here and Now, yellow has surpassed yellow.
Tomorrow? Lick dust as it drains out of your hands, but my pupils are yellow and the ribbon that accompanies me is a swan. It is not the first day, in the mid-morning, that I dream unhealthily about hundreds, thousands of yellow ribbons marching forward in a row, as if the thick and malicious steel wall built by disease was nothing. They are convinced, well decided. Shall we stop them? Get it out of your head. They march as they are: Yellow Souls traversing matter.
This work is for those who have been attacked, insulted, beaten, those imprisoned and those forced into exile, with no nuances or accents, all because of their yellow disposition: demogroc, dignigroc. The humble yellow of this work, the yellow meandering of history, I painted it thinking about them, cutting and pasting during my yellow mourning, like a child playing with dolls.
For all of them, from the smallest to the largest, with respect and indebtedness. “Nothing has got wet in the heart of the ocean / It is not necessary to find corners, looking for balls of wool to unwind / Nor take soft stones to lick the bones / Do you feel them? / They are the others: Free Yellow Souls traversing matter”.
Here and Now, yellow has surpassed yellow.
Tomorrow? Lick dust as it drains out of your hands, but my pupils are yellow and the ribbon that accompanies me is a swan. It is not the first day, in the mid-morning, that I dream unhealthily about hundreds, thousands of yellow ribbons marching forward in a row, as if the thick and malicious steel wall built by disease was nothing. They are convinced, well decided. Shall we stop them? Get it out of your head. They march as they are: Yellow Souls traversing matter.
This work is for those who have been attacked, insulted, beaten, those imprisoned and those forced into exile, with no nuances or accents, all because of their yellow disposition: demogroc, dignigroc. The humble yellow of this work, the yellow meandering of history, I painted it thinking about them, cutting and pasting during my yellow mourning, like a child playing with dolls.
For all of them, from the smallest to the largest, with respect and indebtedness. “Nothing has got wet in the heart of the ocean / It is not necessary to find corners, looking for balls of wool to unwind / Nor take soft stones to lick the bones / Do you feel them? / They are the others: Free Yellow Souls traversing matter”.
