CRUSH
Exchange, experimentation and celestinage at La Praga
Foto Crush
2021
JUNE | TEATRO PRADILLO.
JAN-JUNE | LA PRAGA. MADRID
CRUSH
Exchange, experimentation and celestinage at La Praga
Crush is a space for getting to know each other, or unknown each other, from the depths of practices. A one to one encounter from where to situate ourselves in the moment before, before things become something, before we can even formulate what we are doing. It is a context of mutual learning where we learn from each other under basic conditions. It moves away from productivist logics and focuses on the encounter itself and whatever emerges from it. In the beginnings, in the in-between. In the sharing of what lies between two worlds that meet. What are you doing now? How do you work? Look, I'm starting to work like this. Ah, that's good, are you teaching me? And you? I'm asking myself these questions. We can do this. Yes. Sure, we can. Maybe this other one. I'd like to try this. Then let's try it.
With:
Victor Colmenero & Cristina Mejías
Raquel G. Ibáñez & Silvia Zayas
Ohiana Altube & Lidia Hurtado
Co-curators: Marta Echaves & Esther Rodríguez-Barbero
Coordination: Paula Cueto
texts:
UNA EPÍSTOLA AMOROSA (DESDE EL CONVENTO)
Dear friends,
A little while ago I opened my eyes, I had closed them for a moment to listen better. Suddenly when I opened them I was here in a small room with white walls and a window to my right. In front of me there is a piece of paper with the following written on it: Dear Raquel, Marta, Silvia and Paula on a wooden table. I wonder how it got there, what mysterious mystery it is that surrounds my body. It looks like the room of a convent, only there are no crucifixes or virgins, no symbols, it must be a secular convent. There is a lot of silence. The silences of a convent are not the same as the silences of a village house at siesta time or the silences of the desert. Each place has its own silence. Here, in the convent, there is a window through which a ray of sunlight enters and hits right between the eyebrows of the sad smiley that Raquel drew next to the letter. It's fascinating, it glows in the dark, it stares at me and its eyes are like two deep holes where all the things that haven't found their way to be said yet fit. The murmur and the buzzing. I remember I was in the Flotarium that Silvia and Raquel had built to let us fall, and suddenly, as if from nowhere, I appeared here, in the convent.
FULL TEXT:
https://www.tea-tron.com/calapraga/blog/2021/04/07/una-epistola-amorosa-desde-el-convento/
texts:
UNA EPÍSTOLA AMOROSA (DESDE EL CONVENTO)
There is something that unites us from before. We were united by a lorry. Victor and Cris a story of a bent reflection. I go backwards. Lately I've been very aware of a question: from where do we do what we do? In the encounter between Victor and Cris there are things from behind. Things that were already happening before the encounter, underneath, in the anteroom. From that day they met clandestinely in the space, when it wasn't yet clear what was going to happen but the spaces were beginning to close. And then came the state of alarm. And they sent us that photo of them having a vermouth at an improvised table, the two of them smiling next to Abril, Cris's dog. All in the prelude, when we knew nothing of what was to follow, before the chaos ensued. In the midst of the chaos, little things happened. One day Victor sent me an audio of a text in English, it was William Wilson's story. He asked me to recite it while listening to the audio I had received, which I couldn't understand very well because someone had recorded it synchronised with someone else's audio. So it was full of uh, ah, mmm, haha, ehhh. The chorus of the doppelgängers who don't know they are doppelgängers, of the voices of consciousness. One day, a long time later, Cris found in the bathroom of the parents of someone very close to her, a poster signed by William Wilson
The very same. The affectionate one. And it was from a festival in France, so she wrote to the festival asking about this guy Wilson (I don't think they answered her, because William doesn't usually answer just like that). The thing is that one Christmas day she sent a photo to Victor saying:
-I've found William Wilson!
FULL TEXT: