Hola, querido hiver.
Tenía ganas de volver a publicar en esta comunidad de Literatos. Espero que te disfrutes mi escrito.
Imagen propia
Escribo este texto como el alfarero crea su vasija del barro. Amaso los pensamientos que rondan mi mente. Añado un poco de agua que reblandece la masa arcillosa. Así la puedo trabajar, presionando con las palmas de las manos, sin prisa pero aplicando toda mi fuerza.
Cuando tengo el material lo suficientemente maleable, le paso el rodillo. Escribo sin buscar hilo argumental ni significado concreto. No pretendo un resultado sino que dejo a mi instinto jugar con la razón. Un cuaderno viejo, con letra apenas comprensible, hasta que la conciencia se nubla o la muñeca protesta dolorida.
Como ese alfarero, deposito las palabras en el torno. Les doy vueltas y más vueltas. Continuo mojando el barro y mis manos se funden con él. Lo que simula ser un conjunto de palabras inconexas se transforma en destellos de un tema que me atrae como la luz a las polillas. Encontré el faro hacia el que navegar.
Ya con un objetivo al que dirigirme, rescato aquellas frases que resuenan de manera especial. Añado aquí y quito allá. Perfilo. La vasija toma forma. Sus paredes se levantan guiadas por mis dedos. Parece que el esfuerzo invertido da frutos y lograremos crear algo de la nada más humilde. Barro y agua.
Tras añadir algún que otro adorno, aplico los barnices que darán color. Delicado proceso en el que el pulso es protagonista. No te pases con las florituras o dejarán de leer por no entender. Sencillo y directo. Pero, sobre todo, sincero.
El último paso es el más delicado. Pulsas el botón de publicar, introduciendo con mimo el texto en el horno. Ya no podrás modificarlo. Cuando el temporizador salte a los minutos programados y abras esa puerta, el mundo será quien juzgue lo que con tanto amor has creado.
Dedicado a mi abuela paterna, cuyas manos crearon del barro el jarrón que ilustra esta entrada y que me ha servido de inspiración.
Aviso: Todo lo publicado en este post es de mi autoría, excepto los elementos en los que doy crédito a su/s autor/es. Por tanto, en caso de plagio o difusión sin mi permiso, ejerceré mis derechos de autor si así lo estimo oportuno.
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ENGLISH VERSION
Hello, dear hiver.
I was looking forward to post again in this Literatos community. I hope you enjoy my writing.
Own image
I write this text as the potter creates his vessel from clay. I knead the thoughts that haunt my mind. I add a little water that softens the clayey mass. Then I can work it, pressing it with the palms of my hands, without haste but applying all my strength.
When the material is sufficiently malleable, I roll it. I write without looking for a story line or a specific meaning. I don't aim for a result but let my instinct play with reason. An old notebook, with barely comprehensible handwriting, until my conscience becomes cloudy or my wrist protests in pain.
Like that potter, I deposit the words on the potter's wheel. I turn them over and over. I continue to wet the clay and my hands melt into it. What appears to be a collection of unconnected words becomes flashes of a theme that attracts me like light attracts moths. I found the lighthouse to navigate towards.
Now with a target to aim at, I rescue those phrases that resonate in a special way. I add here and take away there. I outline. The vessel takes shape. Its walls rise guided by my fingers. It seems that the effort invested pays off and we manage to create something from the humblest of nothing. Mud and water.
After adding the odd ornament, I apply the varnishes that will give colour. A delicate process in which the pulse is the protagonist. Don't overdo it with the flourishes or they will stop reading because they don't understand. Simple and direct. But, above all, sincere.
The last step is the most delicate. You press the publish button, carefully placing the text in the oven. You will no longer be able to change it. When the timer jumps to the programmed minutes and you open that door, the world will be the judge of what you have so lovingly created.
Dedicated to my paternal grandmother, whose hands created from mud the vase that illustrates this entry and that has served as inspiration for me.
Notice: Everything published in this post is of my authorship, except for the elements in which I give credit to its author/s. Therefore, in case of plagiarism or dissemination without my permission, I will exercise my copyright if I deem it appropriate.
Translated with (free version) www.DeepL.com/Translator
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Me gusta tu post.Hermosa alma @palomap3 de barro y agua.
¡Gracias por tus palabras! Sabiendo que alguien ha sentido bonito al leerlas ya me deja satisfecha. Un abrazo. 🤗
Be careful! Lighthouses are usually there to keep you safe from the rocks that lie below.
This was such an enjoyable read, @palomap3. You certainly are a master writer who knows her craft well.
I came in via Dreemport. 💛
Oh! You are right! I didn't realise. You can tell I live inland, haha.
Thank you for your kind words. Coming from you, who write so beautifully, they mean a lot to me. I am an apprentice!
A big hug. 🤗
Nice craft
Thank you! 🤗
Yay! 🤗
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