For a brief moment you understood that time–the phenomenon we measure in days, hours, minutes–was merely an illusion that could be dispelled by a wish granted by a genie; dissipated into an eternity for a butterfly flying through the vast blue sky.
One in seven billion or one of seven billion? What is the difference? Lost and found or really found and lost. Finding that one soul, the one person in this world who will make all the difference. That may be impossible. Why should one person be so important? And the rest?
One of seven billion can be anyone and any one of us. One stands out and the others recede. One is the dream, the goal, or the disappointment. And the other? Oh, the other is the perspective of who we are, a reflection of our importance in the world, to ourself, to each other. When we are found we feel immense. When we are lost, the vastness immerses us in the great void, the ultimate nothingness.
How important can we be with seven billion inhabitants on the planet and a gazillion stars in the sky?
One of seven billion or one in seven billion, the difference between wanting and knowing, being sold short, and merging with the all. Which is which? They become confused and oscillate like the image when seen one way looks like a profile, and another, a vase. A change in focus changes the universe. But in which way?
Octavio Paz said the world changes when two people see and recognize each other. How about, the world changes when one person melts into the all encompassing unity. The world changes when we blink our eyes and the scene changes. Or we look through a kaleidoscope and turn the wheel to rearrange the pieces. Is it that simple? Sometimes, but not until it is.
One in seven billion or one of seven billion. Which are we? How de we know? Either on any given day, or both everyday. And the number is growing and we get smaller and smaller every moment or larger and larger until we are everything.
It is a history lesson, biology, anthropology, or physics, a study of the human condition or the annihilation of the planet.
One in seven billion or one of seven billion, you are, my dear, and so are you, and you, and I am and so are we and so on. If only we could touch all of them, or just one of them, maybe seven billion would not seem like such a big number, or one so lonely.
Capturing travel through space in time, evoking movement by making it static.
When divergent worlds converge, we pick up strands to weave a tapestry of something of our own making. When does art become art and an artist an artist? Who is meeting whom? Are they coming together or moving apart? Who is it that thinks these strands go together? Only I can know the connection of how the correspondences merged into one.
Reacting to life, creating images, with or without a camera: the video letters, a creative dialogue between two men; the tale of a trip, a creative dialogue between memories and the present, of one; and I interact with both of them, an inner dialogue that creates this. What was it that connected these two? The pace, the self-reflective narrative voices, the intimacy, the lighting, the intertwined bits and pieces of experience, intertwined with my own experiences, my own desires. Paris, Mendoza, San Juan, New York, the journey, the café, film, music, the streets, performance, a box with the same cover as a box I used to store stationary and old letters in; Jose Luis, Jonas, Francene, Antonio, friends who shared their interests, their lives, that I wove together to speak about mine, without them ever knowing.
“To rehearse over and over every moment of our lives until each one turns out right or at least comes closest to the ideal moment; with a stage or film director we could try out each situation, each moment, each circumstance several times, until it is comes closest to what we hope for.”
Reality is not, as Jonas says, what we interact with, touch, drink, know. It is not so much an attitude as a perception, what we make of it. It is not the object. It is the meaning we give to the object and that is not static, nor definitive. Nor can it be perfected or aligned with what we hoped for. Creation is done in real time, every time we interact with what is in front of us, each time is perfect, whether we hoped for it or not. And it is always our own.
All the best,
Let’s keep in touch.
Sostenible no sólo se refiere al medio ambiente. Es ser integro, genuino y coherente en pensamiento, palabra y hecho en todo lo que hacemos. Casi imposible para nosotros los seres humanos. Pero como ideal, de mucho valor.
Sustainable does not just refer to the environment. It means having integrity, being genuine and consistent in thought, word and deed in all we do. Almost impossible for us human beings, but as an ideal, of great worth.
Mi palabra favorita es tangencial. Un término de la matemática muy descriptivo con connotación perfeccionista apuntando a un ideal. Tangencial: que toca la superficie, sin penetrar o profundizar, infinitamente rozando la periferia, siempre al margen.
*La traductora, en la soledad de su oficio, se encuentra escindida entre el idealismo y la precariedad.
Manual de traducción de Juan Gabriel López Guix y Jacqueline Minett Wilkenson
(*”El traductor” en el original, que no viene al caso aquí. Sin entrar, por el momento, en el debate sobre el uso correcto del género, será suficiente decir que no considero el masculino universal sino lo que es, una referencia a los hombres.)
Así es vivir de traductora. Pero, no quiero quedarme en los extremos, y ya no busco el medio. La nueva tarea es oscilar entre divisar cada punto y todas las posibilidades a lo largo del continuo, y dejar que se borren en una sola nubosidad.