I’m walking down Gran Via in a hurry. As fast as the stride of my skirt will allow me. The skirt cost me four euros in Mosaico. I’m huffing and puffing, on one hand I’m carrying a cake suitable for coeliacs and on the other a handbag with a bunch of evergreens sticking out of it. To be honest, they are my favorite flowers . I know I’m on a tight schedule and that I’ll probably be late, but even so I stop at the famous mirror on Gran Via and take a photo. You don’t always carry a bouquet of immortelle and a gluten-free cake in the street. I’m in a hurry, not only because I’m late, but also because I still have to pick up my fanzines. I still have to pick up my fanzines from the printing office and I don’t even know what they look like.I have to get to Espacio Lavadero and I have to do it just at the precise moment when Ana is not present, so that she doesn’t discover the flowers and the cake that are obviously for her. I like the idea of centering the night around Ana.It’s her expo and her birthday celebration. I think it’s perfect to hide myself in her figure, it makes me forget that I’m exposed myself, that my name appearsout there, without pseudonyms or anything, in the open. I think it’s the first time thatI’ve participated with a tangible object in a place sufficiently legitimized to call art what I’m carrying: literally, a printed tutorial on how to make a Valencian paella.

When Dani sent me by Whatsapp that document in which he said something like; “we have thought of you to participate in El Postalero :D” I was very flattered, Then came everything else. Over the last few years I’ve become more and more aware that art has more to do with the confidence with which you present your pieces, with your ability to placate the specter of possible criticism, than with the artistic act itself. Perhaps, now that I think about it, the artistic act is simply that :to name it as such and not let your voice tremble. But my voice trembles constantly, I ask for help all the time, I’m totally dependent, I cry out of frustration and insecurity. The other day a friend of mine said to me, “Can you stop and start calling what you do art” and I found out that I really don’t. I don’t want to. In a way I like to keep myself in this strategically skeptical, distant, detached position.Strategically skeptical, distant stance to the art world, to keep observing as a kind of outsider, even if it costs me a cry from time to time. I am afraid of getting so far inside that I’m capable at some point of bringing a tutorial of Valencian paella to El Postalero and do it without batting an eyelid.

At the end everything went well. Ana had her well-deserved starring role, the exhibition was beautiful, she was shocked by the cake and flowers, we have shared a beautiful moment with our friends and I have sold a couple of fanzines. The proof of art, a day more, has been overcome 👍