Julio Cortázar shared with a certain person the original “The persecutor”, with a person who chewed literature; a connoisseur, let’s say. This person told him he’d better get rid of it. It was not by chance, of course not, that Cortázar did not throw such a novel into the trash can, but by that touch of serene and humble stubbornness that usually characterizes most of the artists who mark, in some way, a milestone in the area in which they work. And I’m not talking, but not at all, about that other variable called perseverance, or about discipline.
In all these years I’ve been reading I’ve come across some very talented people who, out of nowhere and with a little help, have achieved a very good literary level. People who, I’m sure, if I spent at least one or two hours a day on the subject of writing would achieve levels of excellence. I have also come across, who knows, the writers of this century who, for my part, do less harm than the writers of the trade blame them for. Writers who write about anything, without too many spelling mistakes, and with a style not too grayish, to tell you.
And I have also seen, though rarely, certain contortionists. People who know about technique, who undeniably have talent, but who have not, it seems, been denied art. And then you find yourself with somersaults of rhythms, accents, figures and resources of all kinds, but in the end nothing new, even when the emotion is achieved and well placed on the table. Art doesn’t know, doesn’t understand and doesn’t care about rules or regulations. We are the ones who seek to facilitate access to art through such and such rules. Such a silly secret.
All of us who saw the Matrix remember when the seer denies Neo being the one. That is little compared to the moment when the talented one marks the virtuous one who is only that, a simple and vulgar virtuous. Meanwhile the public, the ordinary people, those who read something that sounds nice and don’t know why the hell it sounds nice. And then the difference between the talented and the virtuous. The virtuoso needs that audience and is able to adapt to it, while the talented is able to do without any audience.
“Every morning of the world” is the second film that Idoia suggested I watch, and that I cried when I saw it as the manual says in these cases. It comes with a tightly woven sound and has an impeccable script from afar. He beat me low on several occasions – the referee went in to separate – because the cello and I are friends, I have two daughters and thus a women and I am divorced, so it’s all wrong. But well, advantages of this era, that such a beautiful girl has such good taste and takes you into account. Thank you, Fire Hair!