Artwork by Luka Andeyro: May 2013

Before the people come into the space. The musicians are rehearsing. The photographs that were taken by people are shown on the walls, format: 10 x 15 cm, beside candles.

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The happening starts

Entrance's Ticket:

Text written by Julieta and performed by me. It was recorded and sounding when the people came into the space:

<<Como una astilla que penetra en la carne una noche oscura con dolor, pero sin que te des cuenta. Que desplaza tu sangre para hacerse hueco ella. Que en un instante cose tu piel. Para hacerte creer que siempre permaneció allí dentro de ti y escabullirse de cualquier intento tuyo por recuperar tu carne, tu sangre que murió porque entrara ella. Hay días que permanece quieta, vigilándote sin que tú sepas por qué no te sientes libre sino perseguida por unos ojos que acechan tu alma. Son los suyos; pero en poco tiempo te conviertes en una extraña, ¡ya no hay quién te encuentre!, porque el brillo de tus ojos te lo chupan los otros desde dentro. Te consume, te duele, te escuece, te infecta y sufres sin poder gritar contra nadie. Porque parece que no hay nadie que te esté haciendo ese daño y por lo tanto, te gritas a ti misma. Y sentirte tu propio verdugo te condena a muerte sin posible salvación, por lo que rebosas una profunda tristeza. Hay días que te miras la piel, que la palpas. Pero ¡parece tan tuya!, los ojos de dentro se han impuesto. Y entonces, te espera lo peor; vivir un día tras otro creyendo que eres otra, ¡perdida!, ¡sin ti!. Pero hay días que intuyes que esa otra te tiene amordazada, y que ni siquiera te alimenta. Pero no puedes plantearte hacerle frente, porque ¿como vas a luchar contra ella si sólo puedes mirar a través de sus ojos?. Si los tuyos no los tienes, ni te tienes. Pero los días pasan, y empiezas a intentar cuestionarla, aunque sólo sea racionalmente. “¿Qué haces aquí?”, le preguntas tímidamente,”si yo nunca te dejé entrar”. Y ella irónica y cruel te contesta: “no me dejaste pero ahora eres tan mía que no puedes pretender que me vaya”. Y a ti la respuesta te desarma. Y después de enrrabiarte y darte puñetazos te dices, “sino voy a poder echarla tendré que intentar ir llegando a un acuerdo con ella”. ¡Pero ella no quiere negociar, se niega!. “¡Que vas a negociar tú, ser insignificante que no te tienes ni a ti misma para hacerme frente!”, te grita desde dentro; “¿no estarás pensando en declararme la guerra sin tener ejércitos? porque te recuerdo que corres el riesgo de desangrarte”. A ti te invade un intenso miedo. Pero empiezas a desear tanto recuperar tu sangre y estás tan harta de la tristeza que emana de tus huesos, que sabes que la única posibilidad que te queda: es arriesgar tu propia vida en la batalla. “Aunque sea a dentelladas la sacaré de aquí”, te dices para provocarte. Y así comienzas a desgarrar, poquito a poco, centímetro a centímetro; tu piel, tus músculos y tu carne para extraerla. Hay momentos en los que tienes que parar, porque el dolor llega a marearte o incluso te hace perder el conocimiento. Y poco a poco, conforme vas quitándola, te das cuenta ¡de que no hay sangre! Que lo que queda, es un hueco de piel, dolorida, vacío...¡y entras en pánico!. Y desesperas. Pero con mucha paciencia y esfuerzo, día tras día, la sangre empieza a brotar. Primero gota a gota. Meses más tarde, un pequeño chorro. Luego un manantial que se seca de vez en cuando. Pero, poco a poco, va cogiendo caudal; y se convierte en un hermoso río. Entonces, con la piel todavía dolorida, es cuando, junto con el éxtasis que te produce el verlo y sentirlo correr; te preguntas: “y ahora ¿cómo lo manejo?” Y el universo entero queda en silencio.>>

<<Like a splinter that penetrates your flesh/body with pain during a dark night, without your notice. It hollows out a space for itself, displacing your blood. In an instant, it sews your skin to make you believe that it was there since the beginning of the time, and escapes from any of your attempts to recover your flesh, your blood that died because it entered. Some days the the invader stays still, surveiling you; you do not know why you do not feel free, but you feel stalked by a pair of eyes that hunt your soul. Before long, you become another, you no longer know who you are, because the light in your eyes is absorbed from within by the eyes of the invader. It consumes you, it hurts, it stings you, it infects you, and you suffer unable to scream at anyone. It seems that no one is doing that damage to you, and so you scream at yourself!.
You feel as if you are your own executioner, sentencing yourself to no possible salvation. So you overflow a deep sadness. There are days that you look at your skin, you touch it, and it seems to be your own, but your eyes have been replaced by the invader's eyes. You expect the worst: to live , day after day, believing that you are the invader, lost! But there are days when you sense that the other has you gagged, and it does not feed you. How can you fight against it, if you can only see through its eyes? If you do not have your eyes, and you do not have yourself? But the days pass, and you start to question it, at least, in a rational way; "what are you doing here?" you ask it timidly, "if I have never let you get in". Ironically and cruelly, it answers you: "you did not let me in, but now you are mine, so you cannot expect me to go out". Its answer disarms you, and after getting enraged and hurting yourself, you say, "if I would not be able to throw it off I will have to make an agreement with it". But it does not want to negotiate, it refuses you. "You that are an insignificant being as you do not even have yourself to fight against me, how are you going to negotiate?” it yells you from inside. “I hope you won’t be thinking about declaring war against me without armies because, I remind you, you run the risk of bleeding to death.” It invades you with an intense fear, but you start to wish so strongly to get your blood back, and you are so exhausted from the sadness that comes from your bones, that you know the only chance you have left is to risk your life in battle. “With bites I will kick you out of here”, you say to encourage yourself. So you start to tear, little by little, every inch of your skin, your muscles and your flesh, to remove it. There are times when you have to stop because the pain makes you dizzy or even pass out. And little by little, as you took it away you realize there is no blood that remains, there is a painful empty hollow skin. And you panic! And you despair. But with patience and effort, day after day, the blood begins to flow. First drop by drop. Months later, a small brook. Then a rivulet that occasionally dries. But little by little, it begans to flow and becomes a beautiful river. With the skin still sore, you see and feel its flow with this ecstasy, you wonder, how do I handle it? And the whole universe remins silent.>>

Having a dialogue with people about the process

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People giving feedback of the experience writting on cards

Since the beginning of the happening, the photographs and material that was produced by people during the process were proyected on a wall of the space.

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