“Being an artist means,
not reckoning and counting, but ripening
like the tree
which does not force its sap
and stands confident
in the storms of spring, without the fear
that after them may come no summer.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke
‘Historias del gas’
This morning, as I started on the rooftops, I didn't have anything to write with, and it was really itching me. So I started ringing doorbells, and in barely an hour, I had already collected a nice haul (…)
The wandering
It's my fault. I had established a long time ago that when things would go wrong, I’d simply cut myself off from the rest of the world. Remember when I was little? I used to call it “the extinction”. (…) But I'm scared. I think I'm stuck, Lidy. I can't get out of it. (…)
“It does come. But it comes
only to the patient,
who are there as though eternity lay before them,
so unconcernedly still and wide.
I learn it daily, learn it with pain
to which I am grateful:
patience is everything!”
